Kilts and Daggers (9 page)

Maybe Fagan did have a point. All she'd ever really desired was adventure and excitement. Until she was certain what she wanted her life to entail, she shouldn't make any rash decisions. That's when she reached the conclusion that she'd lost her mind because she was about to do something she'd never thought she'd do.

She nodded in agreement with Fagan. When a glint of humor finally returned in her expression, he saw it too.

“And donna be so angry with Ravenna. She's your sister. She's only looking out for ye. I often tell Ruairi that sometimes I am the only one who knows what's best for him. He doesnae like it, but he listens. Ye donna want to be your own enemy, if that makes any sense to ye.”

Grace gazed out at the ocean. For a moment, the sound of the waves could have lulled her to sleep. She felt as if the weight on her shoulders wasn't as heavy as it had been before. She stuck her fingers into the sand and pulled out a shell to study it. “You do realize that I am an English lady who has taken the advice of a Scottish captain. Whatever is this world coming to?”

“Gach ao
n
`
s le chèile an aghaidh an domhain.”

“Pardon?”

“Everyone together against the world.” He stood and pulled her to her feet. His thumb gently caressed her cheek. “Are ye all right now?”

“Yes, thank you. I really do feel better.”

“I'm glad to hear it.”

Pounding hooves sounded from the top of the hill. They spotted two riders as they galloped their horses close to the path to the beach. The men did not wear the Sutherland tartan, nor did they see that Fagan and Grace stood on the sand below. At least Grace was able to notice that much. When everything fell silent, Fagan placed a firm hand on her arm.

“I want ye to stay here. Do ye understand?”

She nodded.

Grace watched him charge toward his mount. He quickly released the tethered reins and swung his leg over his horse. The man didn't even use the stirrups. Within seconds, he was over the hill and gone. She wasn't sure who those men were and realized that she shouldn't be standing here in open view. She bent to gather the blanket when she heard the whinny of a horse. When she stood, she held the blanket in front of her in a protective embrace.

The man's chestnut-colored horse pawed the sand. He sat atop his mount, wearing the same black tunic and dark-colored kilt that he had worn before. And of course that same bloody sword was still sheathed at his waist. She noted his long, black hair, set face, clamped mouth, and dark eyes—which were fixed on her.

“What do you want?” she asked him, not expecting an answer.

“Ye.” His voice was emotionless and it chilled her.

Her pulse began to beat erratically at the threatening tone in his deep voice. She felt as if a hand had closed around her throat. She needed to do something fast, but if she tried to escape up the sandy path, she might lose her footing. She struggled to accept the fact that there was no other alternative but the beach. So be it. She wouldn't give in without a fight. She was a Walsingham.

Grace dropped the blanket and dashed along the shore. As the sound of clomping hooves came close behind, she realized she wasn't putting up much of a fight. The man was on horseback, and she was on foot. Instinctively, she did the only other thing she could think of that might aid her. She turned into the water.

As she swam out into the cool depths of the ocean, she tried not to think about her skirts weighing her down or how her breath hitched at the sudden change in temperature. When her arms grew tired, only then did she turn around and realize the man was gone. She looked to her left and then to the right.

“Grace!” Fagan galloped down the beach and called to her.

She clumsily paddled back to shore, and when she could finally touch the bottom, she waved her arms over her head. “Fagan!”

He arrived by her side at the same moment she came out of the water. She was so exhausted that she dropped to her knees on the sand, gasping for breath. Fagan knelt in front of her. He brushed the hair away from her face, and her eyes met his. The strange surge of affection she felt coming from him frightened her.

“Are ye all right?”

She nodded, and his expression changed to one of relief.

“I told ye to wait for me on the beach. Ye picked one hell of a time to go for a swim,
bhana-phrionnsa
.” He held out his hand and pulled her to her feet.

She knew he was making light of the situation and not teasing her maliciously. “Who were those men?”

“The only matter of importance is your safety. Let me get ye back to the castle.”

“Fagan…” Her feet were firmly planted and she refused to budge.

He stretched his neck from side to side, and then his eyes darkened. “They were damn mercenaries.”

When Fagan and Grace entered the great hall, Kat's eyes widened. “Grace, why are you all wet?”

Torquil stood by the girl's side, studying Fagan from head to toe.
“Dé do naidheachd?” What's your news?
“Ye're nae wet. Did ye throw Grace into the sea? I donna think Da would approve of that.”

“Did I… What? Nay, I didnae throw Grace into the water. Where is your father?”

Torquil shrugged.

Fagan placed his arm around Grace's waist in an instinctive gesture of comfort and led her to the stairs. “Why donna ye change your wet clothes? I'll find Ruairi and Ravenna, and then I'll meet ye in Ruairi's study.”

She nodded and lifted her wet skirts as she climbed the steps. The idea had crossed his mind to shield her from the truth, but Grace needed to stop living in a fantasy world. Ravenna was right. Her sister was young and innocent to the ways of the world. He also couldn't deny that he'd decided to be honest about the men at the beach in the hope that he'd curtail any more of Grace's asinine ideas about working for the Crown.

“What's wrong with Grace? Why is she all wet?” asked Kat.

To Fagan's surprise, Torquil took the girl by the hand. “Come, Kat. Let's go to the kitchens.” The boy started to walk away and then looked back. “Do ye want me to find Da and Ravenna for ye?”

“If ye see them, send them to your father's study.”

As Fagan entered the bailey, a familiar curse cut through the air. Ravenna walked toward him hurriedly, glancing uneasily over her shoulder. The reason for her distress was clear—again.

Angus followed her.

No wonder Ruairi had a strong urge to throttle his wife on occasion. Fagan also had a difficult time understanding why the lass had such a foolish fear of the wolf. Angus never hurt anyone. More to the point, Ravenna was more dangerous than the animal. When her eyes met Fagan's, her voice was both soft and alarmed.

“Help…”

He waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. “Angus!
‘Se peasan a th'annad. Dèan às!” You're a pest. Be gone!

“Thank you for that.”

“Where is Ruairi?”

“I haven't seen him since I returned from shooting targets with Grace.”

“Can ye find him and bring him to his study? We need to talk.”

“Of course. Is everything all right? Oh, please don't tell me my sister did something. She was rather angry at me.”

He found himself quickly coming to Grace's defense. “Nay, 'tis naught like that.” He looked around the bailey and hesitated. “I saw Kat and Torquil in the great hall. Have ye seen Elizabeth?”

“I wasn't looking for her, but she's usually in the library. I'll go and find Ruairi for you.”

“And I'll make certain Elizabeth is in the library.” As he turned to walk away, Ravenna reached out a hand to stay him.

“Should I be concerned?”

He smiled. “Nay, 'tis but another day in the Highlands.”

She lifted a brow and spoke dryly. “You always have a way of making me feel so much better, Fagan.”

* * *

Grace changed her wet clothes and tried to comb the sand out of her gritty hair. Ravenna was right. The only world Grace knew was her simple life of having dinner with Uncle Walter and his family, living in the manor house, and now and then being able to attend court, which was only recently. And to think the man with the scarred face was a bloody mercenary. Heaven help her. She'd been careless in assuming the man was one of Ruairi's guards when she'd seen him in the trees. She didn't want to dwell on the fact that she and Ravenna could've been hurt by her own foolhardy behavior.

After Grace was presentable, she made her way to Ruairi's study. She didn't need to knock because the door was open, and Ravenna, Ruairi, and Fagan were already seated. When she entered, Fagan immediately rose and approached her.

“Are ye all right?”

She nodded in response and turned with a start when Ravenna touched her arm. The troubled look on her sister's face told her that Ravenna was aware of the encounter on the beach—well, that and the fact that Ravenna embraced her.

“I'm so relieved you're all right. Come and sit, and tell us what happened.”

Grace sat in the chair with her fingers tensed on her lap. Ravenna and Fagan took their seats flanking her, while Ruairi sat in the chair behind his large wooden desk. Grace couldn't help but feel like she was in the middle of an inquisition.

“Start at the beginning. Why were ye at the beach?” asked Ruairi.

She became increasingly uneasy under her brother-in-law's scrutiny and awkwardly cleared her throat. She was caught by surprise when Fagan spoke for her.

“Lady Grace wanted to see the beach again and I escorted her.”

She'd have to remember to thank him later for not mentioning the little quarrel she'd had with Ravenna that had made her weepy and irrational. “Yes, I had asked Fagan to take me.”

“Tell us what happened, Grace,” said Ruairi.

She stole a quick glance at Fagan, and he gave her an encouraging nod. “As Fagan and I stood on the beach, we saw two riders galloping on the path above us. Fagan rode after them, and I stayed where I was on the beach.”

Ravenna's voice went up a notch. “You left her?”

Grace turned to Ravenna. “It wasn't like that. There were only two men, and we didn't think they took notice of us standing on the beach below. I knew Fagan needed to find out who they were. I urged him to go while I waited for his return.”

“But there were more than two men,” Ravenna clarified.

Grace detected an odd tone in her sister's voice. She turned to face Ravenna. “You can't place blame on Fagan since neither one of us knew of the other man.”

“Please continue,” Ruairi cut in.

“There isn't much else to say. The same man that I saw in the woods found me on the beach. He sat on his mount and stared at me. He didn't move. I thought about running up the path, but then I figured my skirts and the sand would weigh me down. Deciding my only option was the beach, I ran along the edge of the water. I heard hoofbeats behind me and decided that I had no choice but to try to flee into the water.”

“That was quick thinking,” said Ravenna.

Grace nodded. “I swam out into the sea as far as I could, and only when my arms and legs were tired did I dare turn around. When I finally had the courage to look, the man was gone, and Fagan was calling me from the shore. Why would mercenaries be on your lands, Ruairi?”

“I donna know, lass. That's what I intend to find out.”

* * *

Fagan's mind raced. Ever since he and Grace had left the beach, the scene played in his mind over and over again, refusing to cease. He tried to remember all the details, but it was difficult to remove his emotions from his recounting. How could he? He'd left Grace. She could've been hurt. He didn't need Ravenna to remind him of his poor judgment.

When Ravenna and Grace left the study, Ruairi placed two tankards on the desk and filled them with ale.

“'Tisnae your fault. Grace wasnae harmed.”

Fagan rolled his neck from side to side. “I should've been more cautious. She was all right, aye, but I shouldnae have taken the chance. She could've been hurt or worse.”

“But she wasnae. Ye know as well as I do that ye cannae think that way. If ye start to question your actions every time something is afoot—”

“I know, but somehow that revelation doesnae make me feel any better.” Fagan grabbed a tankard and was taking a drink of ale when the door opened.

Ravenna closed the latch behind her. “Grace will be all right. She's going to rest for a bit.” She walked across the room and sat in the chair beside Fagan. Lifting a brow, she leaned her arm on the desk, tapping her fingernails in an annoying gesture.

“I see the look in your eyes, Wife. I told ye that I donna want ye involved.”

“And I heard you the first three times, Husband. You are aware the man tried to harm my sister. You should be thankful I'm not out there hunting him myself. Instead, I'm sitting here talking to you like a good wife. Now…do you think the mercenaries have anything to do with Laird Gordon or the Earl of Orkney's son, Robert Stewart?”

Fagan chuckled when Ruairi sighed, and in return, his liege gave him a hostile glare. Fagan was always amused when his friend realized his wife wasn't going to relent on something.

“I donna know. Redshanks,” said Ruairi.

“Pardon?”

“Is that nae what the English call mercenaries from the Western Isles? They wear their kilts and wade bare-legged through the rivers in the coldest weather. The men are often MacLeods or Campbells, among others, and armed with bows and two-handed claymores. These men are dangerous, offering their services and providing loyalty to only those who pay the highest amount. In the past, they've kept to the borderlands or traveled to Ireland, but something has drawn them here to the Highlands. I donna know why they're on my lands or what the hell they want. Until I know what that reason is”—Ruairi continued to speak calmly—“nay one is to leave the gates without an armed escort. Do ye understand, Ravenna? There is nay room for debate on this.”

“Yes, of course.”

“I'll increase the men at the border and make certain nay one comes in or out without us knowing it,” said Fagan.

“Aye. I'm also going to send another missive to the Munro to keep him alert. If this is some type of revenge for Gordon or Stewart, Ian should be aware. My dungeon is ready and waiting for one of those bastards to set foot on my lands again.”

* * *

Grace awoke with a start. She sat up on the bed and the room was dark. She couldn't believe she'd fallen asleep so early, but after all the excitement she'd had, she shouldn't have been too surprised by her weariness.

She lit the bedside candle and illuminated her bedchamber. As she brushed back the fallen hair from her eyes, she realized she still wore her day dress. She rose from the bed and looked out the small window. Blackness greeted her, and she knew it was the dead of night. Her stomach promptly reminded her that the last time she'd eaten something was in the morning to break her fast.

Grace donned her silk slippers and walked out into the hall. Everything was silent, and only one torch lit the wall. She managed to find her way down the stairs and into the great hall where a dark shadow greeted her with a wagging tail.

“I see it's only the two of us, Angus. Do you want to walk with me to the kitchens?”

The wolf followed her, and she made her way into another shadowy room. She reached to her left and hit her hand on the wall.

“Of course this couldn't be easy.” She lifted her other arm to the right, and something dropped to the floor. “Just my luck.” She felt Angus brush her leg as the wolf sniffed around whatever it was she'd dropped to the ground. She bent over and placed her hand on the back of the animal.

“Angus, why can't you be a good boy and pick up whatever fell? I can't see a darned thing.”

The only response was a wagging tail that thumped hard against the wall. Grace tapped her fingers around the cool stone floor until she felt the candle that had fallen and brushed a boot. She jumped and fell backward on her rump.

And then she froze.

That's when a warm chuckle greeted her. The man lit the candle and the flame flickered in his eyes, which were amused but beautiful nonetheless.

“Fagan…”

He placed the candle down on a nearby table. “And just what are ye doing wandering around the castle in the middle of the night, lass? Out of the way, Angus.”

“I'd slept much longer than I had intended. I'm famished.”

Fagan lowered his hand and pulled her to her feet. “Sit down at the table, and we'll get ye something to eat then.”

Grace pulled out the wooden bench and sat at the kitchen table. “What are you doing up so late? Or perhaps I should ask why so early.”

Fagan walked over to the pantry and lifted the curtain. “I couldnae sleep and I heard ye talking to Angus.” For a moment, he disappeared into the room, and then he reemerged with a loaf of bread in hand. “This was all I could find.”

“Bless you, Fagan.”

He placed the bread on the table, and Grace tore a piece off the end. She was so hungry that she didn't even notice he had poured her a cup of mulled wine. He pulled out the bench and sat across from her.

As she looked up, she noticed the cup and took a drink. “Thank you.” Briefly, she closed her eyes as she satisfied her thirst, but then she opened them when she felt a nudge under her arm. Angus looked at her imploringly.

“Angus, ye're badly behaved.”

“It's all right.” She took a piece of bread and tossed it to the wolf. The animal devoured the food with his massive jaws in seconds. When Angus gave her another pitiful look, she shooed him away. “Now that's enough. Off with you.”

Fagan chuckled. “Ye know? I could tell him the same, and he only stares at me like I'm daft.” He hesitated, and a worried expression crossed his brow. “I should have ne'er left ye alone. It was my duty to protect ye.”

She waved him off. “Fagan, I spoke the truth in Ruairi's study. You couldn't have known about the man. It's not your fault.” When he glanced away from her, she reached out and touched his hand. “It's not your fault,” she repeated.

“Are ye all right?”

She rolled her eyes and took another bite of bread. Wiping the crumbs away from her lips, she smiled. “You shouldn't feel any guilt over this. I wasn't harmed. Besides, I'm a Walsingham. Of course I'm all right.”

“Aye. How could I forget?”

She took another sip of wine and studied him over the rim. She never thought the two of them would be sitting here now, peaceful, talking over candlelight. Grace had to admit that she found some comfort in being open with Fagan. Not only that, but she found the steely captain was becoming much more…tolerable. Frankly, he wasn't nearly as exhausting as he had been before. Perhaps her feelings had changed for him because they no longer sparred with each other, at least not in a hateful way.