Chapter Eleven

Grant shifted his focus from the abbess of the convent to Eve. The abbess had just informed them that Clara had been taken by Eve’s uncle Frederick, and Grant winced at the hope he saw in Eve’s lavender eyes. His wife believed that her uncle coming here was a good thing, but he did not see it that way. He steeled himself for the battle that was about to ensue. He may have been wed to the beguiling lass for only two days, but he knew by now she was stubborn to the core.

Eve looked from the abbess to him, and the grin that lit her face as bright as the sun faded as she studied him. “Why do you look troubled by the news that my uncle came for Clara?” she practically bellowed. Another thing Grant had learned about his wife was that despite the fact that she was a slip of a lass, she had a temper like a giant and she could voice herself louder than any man he’d ever met.

Grant inhaled a long breath for patience. He did not want to strain his relationship with Eve any more than it already had been, and not just because he needed her to help him take control of Linlithian. He did need her to do that, and he needed her to be willing to join with him so their marriage would be consummated, but he also wanted Eve as he’d never wanted another woman in his life. “I find it odd that yer uncle showed up here now, after Aros found ye. How did yer uncle ken where to find ye after all these years?”

Her eyes sparked with obvious ire. His wife was a stunning creature, but he’d been with many striking women in his life. It was not simply her beauty that called to the most primal part of him. He didn’t know if it was because she was his wife or if it was because she was like a knot he had an itch to untangle. He could normally figure out a lass rather quickly, but Eve baffled him. He’d tried to make it clear that he was honorable and would always fulfill his duty to her, and it had seemed to only vex her. She’d made it clear that she wanted to return home, and he’d assumed it was because she felt a duty to her family, so he’d thought duty would mean as much to her as it did to him.

She waved an angry finger in his face. Kade and Ross both glanced at him with expectant looks. He supposed they thought he ought to put a stop to Eve’s bold behavior now, and God’s truth, they were probably correct. But he did not want to trample his wife’s spirit if he did not need to. He rather liked it, as long as it could be controlled enough not to lead her into harm.

“You’re a cynic,” she accused.

“I’m realistic, not cynical,” he said with as much restraint as he could muster. The woman could spark his temper faster than his sister could, and that said a great deal. “Be logical, Eve. The MacDougalls wanted ye for themselves. When they heard the song from the bard that I did, they came straight here for ye.

“Well, mayhap my uncle or one of his men was at that tavern,” she said, “and heard the bard as well.”

“Mayhap,” Grant said, “but then why would yer uncle nae have come straight here as Aros obviously did. Why would yer uncle have waited until yesterday?”

Confusion, hurt, and then anger flashed across Eve’s face in the most fascinating display of emotions he’d ever seen. “Perhaps my uncle had to return home for his men,” she said with a stubborn lilt to her voice.

Ross snorted at that, and Grant shot a warning look at his friend. Her uncle was clearly important to her. Believing him good was also clearly important to her, and Grant understood why. Her uncle was all she had left. He was her only true family. Of course, she did not yet consider herself a Fraser. Grant would have to show her little by little that she was now part of the Fraser clan. “Ye have been missing for eight years, Eve. If my niece had been taken and missing for eight years, the Devil himself could nae slow me down from being reunited with her.” He hoped his words showed her just how important family was to him, which meant she was now that important, as well. But when she frowned, he felt his own brow furrow.

“My uncle came for me. That’s all that matters,” she attested. “I was not here, and so, of course, he took Clara.”

“Clara did not want to go,” the abbess said.

“Clara is a suspicious old woman,” Eve grumbled, but a fond smile pulled at her lips. “She ended up going willingly, yes?”

The abbess bit her lip, but then she nodded. “I assumed it was willing. Your uncle spoke with her privately in her room, and when they came out, she told me all was well and that she would see you soon. That we were not to worry.”

“There! You see,” Eve exclaimed. “Clara knows Uncle Frederick, and he set her mind at ease. She imagined things while we were in hiding that were never so. I’m not vexed anymore,” Eve said, more to herself than Grant or anyone else.

“Were ye vexed at her, lass?” Grant asked.

Eve looked suddenly regretful. “Yes, but I will set it all to rights when I see her. We can go there at once. How long will it take us to journey from here to Linlithian? A sennight?”

Grant’s jaw slipped open at Eve’s lack of knowledge regarding where her home had been. But then, she had not been there since she was ten summers, so she likely would not know. Except he would have thought Clara would have told her. “Nay, lass. The Valley of Blood is but a half-day’s ride from here.”

She frowned, looking as if she were trying to puzzle something out. She finally said, “My uncle must have truly believed me dead.”

Or he’d hoped, anyway, Grant thought to himself, clenching his jaw on the statement until he knew the truth.

Eve turned to the abbess. “I must leave at once. I’m sorry, Sister Mary Margaret. I would have liked to visit with you, but—”

“’Tis all right, Eve. I understand. I have a parting gift for you, though, if you will come with me to my room?”

Eve nodded, linked her arm through the nun’s, and departed without a backward glance. Grant watched her walk away, his eyes drawn to the feminine sway of her hips. She’d demanded to know if he’d intended to satisfy his lust upon her in the forest, and it had taken all his restraint not to do just that. He wanted Eve with a fierceness that defied reason, but he wanted her willing.

He faced Ross and Kade, who both looked at him expectantly. He knew they wanted to hear what he planned to do. “We’ll take Eve back to Dithorn, and then we will go to Linlithian with an army. I hope her uncle will peacefully relinquish the castle to me, since Eve is my wife—”

“He will likely want proof,” Ross interrupted. “We should bring the lass with us.”

Grant shook his head. “Nay. If he’s nae honorable, as my gut tells me he’s nae, then I kinnae chance Eve being near enough for him to take her.”

“Do ye think he’d hurt his own niece?” Kade asked.

“I dunnae ken,” Grant replied. “But until I ken the sort of man he is, I kinnae risk it. He likely will nae be happy she is wed to me, and as she is nae happy about it, either—” not yet, he thought, but he was hopeful Eve would come around, given her attraction to him—“it would be easy enough for them to have the marriage dissolved and Eve wed to another.”

“They kinnae dissolve a marriage made true,” Kade insisted.

Ross shook his head at Kade. “Ye clot-heid. ’Tis what Grant is trying to tell us. He has nae joined with his bride.”

Kade’s brows dipped together, and he regarded Grant quizzically. “Dunnae try to tell me ye dunnae find Eve bonny,” Kade said slowly.

“Nay, I find her verra pleasing to look at. What I dunnae find pleasing is the thought of having to ravage her to make our marriage true.”

“I always told ye that yer honor would cause ye problems with the lassies,” Ross teased, but Grant knew by his friend not protesting Grant’s decision that he wholeheartedly agreed with it.

Kade shifted back and forth, too well trained to question his laird aloud but not so well trained that he could hide that he was near bursting with the desire to do so. “Speak yer piece without fear,” Grant ordered Kade.

“Laird,” Kade began, “if ye should lose the lass—”

“I’ll nae,” Grant clipped. “If I were to lose her, I’d fail the king, I’d fail the clan, and I’d fail my father and brother once again. Eve will stay my wife whether she likes it or nae.” Though he could not deny that he would prefer her to like it, to like him . “I will secure the castle for Bruce and avenge my brother, and I will do so with honor.” And it was not only dishonorable but repugnant for any man to take a woman, even a wife, without her consent. “Eve will return to Dithorn, and ye will personally guard her until I return,” Grant went on. “I’ll leave half the men to keep our castle safe, and I will bring the other half to Linlithian Castle. I’ll take it if I must.”

“I’d like to accompany ye to Linlithian,” Ross said.

Grant locked gazes with his friend. “I was hoping ye’d say that, but what of Bruce? Should ye nae return to his side and aid his flight to safety?”

“And leave ye to fight the battle here alone while the English king gathers strength out of reach of his enemies? Nay. That is nae my way. I will stay by yer side as long as ye will have me.”

“It’s decided, then,” Grant said by way of thanks. His father had always taught them to restrain their emotions, and though Grant had once rebelled against nearly everything his father had taught him, he was wiser now. “We will leave for Dithorn as soon as I collect Eve. I’ll meet ye both in the courtyard.”

Kade nodded, but Ross fell into step beside Grant as he exited the chapel to find Eve. Grant paused in the passageway outside the chapel and looked at Ross. “Ye’ve something to say?”

“Dunnae ye think Eve will balk at being taken back to Dithorn?” Ross asked, concern in his voice.

“Aye,” Grant acknowledged, “I do. But Eve is my wife now, so she will do as I bid.” When Ross burst into laughter, Grant quirked a brow. “What?”

“I dunnae claim to ken much about how a lass’s mind works, but I can tell ye from observing my brother Angus with his wife, Lillianna, that just because Eve is yer wife dunnae mean she’ll do as ye bid. In fact, as far as I can tell, it makes it more likely that she will nae, so prepare yerself.”

“I can manage my wife,” Grant said confidently. “Mark my words.”

“I’ll remind ye of that,” Ross replied with a wink.

“What in God’s name do ye mean she’s gone?” Grant roared at the abbess, not feeling the least bit guilty about it. The woman had put him off for near to an hour, telling him that Eve had felt ill and had lain down, and now he knew it was because the conniving nun had been trying to give his wife a good head start on escaping him. He gritted his teeth as Ross smirked at him, and Grant recalled his earlier words about managing Eve. “Where has she gone?” he bit out, though he was almost certain that Eve was trying to make her way to Linlithian. The idea of her undertaking the journey alone set ice in his veins.

The abbess leveled him with an annoyingly calm look. “I could not say—”

He waved a silencing hand at her. He could see he would have to paint a clear picture for the unthinking woman, who had undoubtedly only been trying to aid Eve, who had probably talked the poor woman into abetting her. “Sister Mary Margaret, do you ken the type of men that travel the roads to the Valley of Blood?” Her instant frown told him the sheltered nun had no notion of the outside world. He did not wait for her to reply. “Bloodthirsty men, Sister. Lonely men. Men separated from their wives or mistresses for months on end because of war. Men whose morals have been shattered by the killing of war.”

The nun’s face drained of all color, as did her lips, which pressed together in a thin line. “Men who come upon Eve alone would nae hesitate to take her and use her in the worst way ye could possibly imagine.” Painting the picture for the nun had the unintended consequence of creating a clear, ugly scene in his mind of Eve being ravaged. He gripped the handle of his sword as his heart pounded viscously. “Sister, was she headed to Linlithian Castle? Which way did ye tell her go to?” He would have already left if not for the fact that there were several routes to Linlithian and taking the wrong one could mean Eve got too far ahead of them for them to catch her before nightfall. The thought of her alone in the dark make him suck in a ragged breath.

The nun bit her lip, a look of indecision skittering across her face. “Sister,” he repeated, the urgency he was feeling making his voice shake, “Eve is my wife. I only wish to protect her.”

“She does not wish to be your wife,” the nun stated emphatically, making him clench his teeth so hard that pain shot along the edge of his jaw.

“Wish it or nae,” he bit out, “she now is, and I would protect her with my life.”

The abbess’s lips parted, and her eyes widened. “She said you only wished to use her. That you do not care for her.”

He winced at that revelation. “’Tis true we were nae wed for love, and ’tis also true I need her castle, but now that she is my wife, I will care for her.”

The abbess frowned. “There is caring for someone’s welfare,” she said, looking pointedly at him, “and then there is caring for someone’s heart.”

Grant growled, and the abbess jerked. He did not have time for this nonsense. “Her life is what concerns me at the moment, Sister, and ’tis what should concern ye. If I fail to care for her welfare, it will nae matter if her heart is injured for she could well be dead.”

The abbess tilted her head and moved her lips side to side, clearly considering what he’d said. “You speak true. I cannot deny it.”

“God’s teeth,” he bellowed, “tell me the path she’s taken so I can catch up to her before men bent on ravaging her come upon her, or the man who took her before does. I can vow to ye that he would nae treat her with the respect and kindness I intend to.”

The nun sucked in her lower lip. “Her uncle will protect her,” she said stubbornly. “Eve is certain it is so.”

“Mayhap. Or mayhap nae. Would ye have her death on yer mind, her blood on yer hands, if she is wrong?”

“Oh dear,” she murmured. “Eve seemed so certain that her uncle is good.” The nun nibbled on her lip. “But then, Clara did, at one point, seem certain he was evil.” The sister quirked her mouth then took a long breath. “Eve thinks he’ll be able to help her get her marriage to you dissolved since it has not been consummated.”

He scowled at the abbess, whose tone had been very close to chastising. “I did nae deem it acceptable to ravage my wife to make the marriage true, would ye?” he demanded.

“Certainly not,” she said, and then shocked him by smiling. “It pleases me to discover this about you, Laird Fraser. And since I believe you will eventually make Eve a worthy husband and learn to make her happy, I’ll tell you she is taking the north pass. But you need not be terribly worried; I gave her a dagger to travel with.”

“A dagger? Ye gave her a dagger?” he repeated, near to seething between the abbess dragging out the telling of which way Eve had gone and the discovery that not only had his wife fled him but she had every intention of getting her king to dissolve their marriage. She’d maneuvered him like a chess piece. It was shameful, and damned if it wasn’t rather impressive, as well. “A dagger will nae save Eve if a group of men come upon her, Sister.”

“Ha!” the abbess said. “You’ve never seen Eve wield a dagger. ’Tis quite impressive.”

The nun’s words sent memories of his past crashing down around him. “I thought the same of my mother’s skills,” he said. “She’s dead now.”

With that, he turned on his heel, intent on reaching Eve before the same could be said of her.

Sleep would not come. And no wonder, Eve thought, turning on her other side. Her heart was racing, the ground was cold and hard, and every blasted sound seemed exactly like the sound of someone coming for her. And even if her mind had not been busy conjuring all the scenarios of different men she might encounter who would wish her ill, guilt festered inside her, which was horribly irritating.

She flipped onto her back and stared up at the moon. Why should she feel guilty for fleeing Grant? True, he was her husband, but that had been forced upon her. He cared nothing for her or her wishes. He’d proven that when he made offering help to rescue Clara contingent upon Eve becoming his wife, and he’d proven it again with his constant talk of her being his duty. He’d proven it a third time at the convent when he’d been speaking to Kade and Ross, telling them that he was going to take her back to Dithorn because he would not risk her at Linlithian until he’d stormed her castle and taken it, if necessary, since risking her meant failing in his duty. The man really ought to learn to check if people were eavesdropping at doors, though the Highlander probably simply didn’t care if Eve heard or not with what little regard he had for her.

Eve huffed out a breath. She did not want to be a man’s duty. She wished to be a man’s heart and soul as her mother had been her father’s. Once she was reunited with her uncle, they would speak with the king, and the king would surely dissolve her marriage. Then Eve would find her sister and secure the husband that she wished. Together, they would rule her home and avenge her parents. She squeezed her eyes shut to picture it, but to her vexation, a very clear image of Grant filled her mind.

She tried to push the picture away, but the harder she tried, the more real it became, until she could hear his voice, velvet-edged and strong, I desire ye, but ye desire me, too . Devil take the man for being right. Even now, parted from him as she was, she could feel his strong arms as they’d circled her, taste his heat and passion when he’d kissed her, seen the blue of his eyes darken as his lust for her overcame him. She fanned her face, suddenly hot despite the breeze of the cool night air.

Why, with the spark between them, if only there had been a possibility of love to come, she might have considered staying wed to him. The errant consideration had her bolting upright and staring wide-eyed into the darkness. How could she have thought such a thing? He’d forced her to wed him! But then he’d allowed her leeway in the joining…

She bit her lip at that fact. He had taken a snakebite for her, proving his bravery and that he would willingly protect her. Of course, the willingness to protect her was not born from love or even a liking of her, but of the need to have her aid him with her castle.

Her stomach growled, and her head pounded. She’d not ever sleep this night. She glanced at the sky. The moon was high, full, and bright. She’d stopped for fear of going off the path, but now she considered it might be best to continue on. Yet, as she pressed her hands down on the ground to stand, a stick snapped behind her, and the sharp point of a blade pricked the back of her neck. Black terror froze her for a moment.

“I was just telling my man here that I would dearly love a wench’s soft body under mine.”

Disgust roiled through Eve as she held her hands up in the air. She’d try reasoning with them, and if that didn’t work, she’d need just the right time to reach for and obtain her dagger strapped to her side. “I’m no wench, sir,” she said. “I’m the, um—” Her mind flailed for a moment, knowing she could not say she was the lost heiress of Linlithian Castle. “I’m the cousin of Lord Decres of Linlithian Castle. Do you know him?” Her heart pounded so hard it hurt her chest.

Hands grasped her, suddenly jerked her to her feet, and twisted her around harshly. Two men stood before her, their faces greatly obscured by the darkness, but she knew when one of them smiled as his teeth flashed in the blackness. “I know Lord Decres, certainly.”

“Oh thank God!” she cried out, practically slumping with relief. “Can you take me to him? I, well, my party was overcome, and I need aid.” She bit her lip, praying these men were not trained in detecting changes in tone as Grant was.

She felt the man’s fingers come to her waist before she’d realized he’d moved. He jerked her violently to him as his comrade laughed. New fear blossomed and stole her breath as his blade came to the side of her neck. “She wants us to take her to her cousin,” the man said to the other.

“Yes, my lord,” said one man, shorter and smaller than the broad-shouldered man.

“We shall,” the taller man said to Eve, squeezing her waist painfully, “after we have a bit of fun with you.”

His words curled around her heart like icy talons. “Sir, I am a lady and a Decres.” She prayed her voice didn’t sound as fearful as she felt.

“And I’m Guy de Beauchamp,” he said with distinct mockery. The blade at the side of her neck pressed deeper into her skin, piercing it. She gasped as he chuckled and slid his hand from her waist, up between her breasts, to clutch her neck. He leaned in to her, the evidence of his desire pressing into her belly. Nausea roiled her stomach, even as his lips came close to her ear, making her skin crawl. “Do you know who I am?” he said, his voice calm and cool.

“Yes,” she bit out, her fear giving way to rage. “You’re Guy de Beauchamp, as you just told me, but what that is supposed to mean to me, I neither know nor care!”

The hand around her neck pressed into her windpipe, and she automatically brought her hands up to his as fear-spiked rage had her raking at him to release her. She struggled for air as he tsked in her ear. “My lady,” he said, the words heavy with sarcasm. “Take a care with your tongue or I’ll be forced to cut it out.”

His hold on her lessened, and she gulped in greedy, desperate breaths. “The king surely will not like you abusing a lady!” she gasped.

His hand left her neck and slid around her back to crush her to him. She shuddered at his touch, so different from Grant’s. “The king gives me full impunity to do as I wish. He needs my coin and would not dare deny me,” he said, his hot breath hitting her face. She tried to strain away, but he gripped her like a vise. “If I want to ravage and pillage my way across Scotland and England, and my men do, as well, the king will allow it, as long as I continue to provide warriors and coin to aid him in crushing the Scots.”

De Beauchamp’s words landed like a blow to her heart. King Edward, if this was true, was no king she could ever pledge loyalty to. Was Grant’s king such a man as King Edward? She thought not, considering how honorable not only Grant but all of his men and Ross had treated her.

Her mind raced with how to save herself, and the only way she could see was deception. She said a silent, fervent prayer that she sounded believable. “I see. Please forgive me, Lord de Beauchamp. If our good King Edward grants you this right, then I’m happy to oblige.”

“Spoken like a true cousin of the cunning, conniving Lord Decres,” de Beauchamp said. His seeming familiarity with her uncle and his character parted her lips in worry, yet she shoved the concern to the back of her mind to address later when her innocence was not in peril. “George, my man, take your leave. I don’t need an audience to bed the wench. Go tend the horses,” de Beauchamp ordered, his hand coming to her breast and clutching it.

A scream sprang forth from her mind and filled her with a desperate need, but she swallowed it as George said, “Yes, my lord,” and turned to do as he was bid.

De Beauchamp released her and pointed his sword at her. “Take off your clothing.”

Never had she been so glad for an order in her life. “As you command, my lord,” she said, pleased her tone was steady and normal. She had the unexpected thought that Grant would be impressed. She judged the distance between her and de Beauchamp, and concluded he was close enough for her to plunge her dagger into his black heart. Smiling, she bent down and grabbed at the skirt of the gown Sister Mary Margaret had saved of hers, the one she’d put on to have better access to her dagger. Her hands shook, so she took several slow, deep breaths, as she pulled up her skirts bit by bit. When her fingers touched the leather of the dagger sheath, she allowed her skirts to drape over her hand.

“Will you undress for me, as well?” she asked, trying to sound inviting.

De Beauchamp grinned. “I do so love an eager wench.” He tossed his sword negligently to the ground by his feet.

And that’s when she attacked.