Chapter Thirteen

The corpses of the men Grant killed littered the ground. Kade and Ross, who were bloodied from their own battles, faced him. Early-morning sunlight shone down on him, making him squint and causing Kade to raise a hand to shield his eyes. Ross did not blink, nor did he attempt to shield his eyes. He stared unblinking at Grant. “Maybe Eve went willingly with her uncle.”

“Nay,” Grant responded, his body tensing.

“These are Decres’s knights, Grant!”

Grant glanced at the armor of the dead man nearest to him. It had a falcon and a sword emblazoned on it. “She betrayed ye.”

“She did nae betray me,” he said, working his jaw back and forth to loosen it.

“She did nae scream to alert us,” Ross pointed out.

Ross’s damn persistence that Eve had betrayed them irritated the devil out of him. “There are a hundred reasons Eve may nae have screamed,” Grant said, “and ye ken it as well as I do. Someone could have covered her mouth. Or hit her upon the head to put her to sleep.”

“Or killed her,” Kade offered.

Grant felt as if someone had just stabbed him in the chest. Was Eve dead ? No. Why would they kill her and not leave her body? Unless…

A notion came into his head that made him want to bellow with rage. He shoved past both Ross and Kade and headed toward the stream. It was deep in places, and he’d not thought to look for a body.

Her body.

Why in God’s name had he not looked yet?

He strode into the water, ignoring the calls from Ross and Kade. He waded toward the deeper section of the stream, though it was not so deep that he could not touch bottom. He scanned the area for a floating body, for Eve’s body. Bile rose in his mouth as he skimmed the water again and again, seeing her image in his head just as he’d last seen her in reality—a peaceful look upon her face, eyes closed, and red hair fanned out around her like a fiery halo.

“Eve!” he roared, his voice echoing back to him into the dark chambers of his heart and the long, deep tunnels of his mind. “Eve!” But there was no response. She was not there. And if she was not there, where was she?

“Grant!” Ross said as he grabbed Grant by the arm and tugged at him. Grant hadn’t even noticed the man had entered the stream. “What the devil are ye doing?”

“Looking for my wife,” Grant said, shoving Ross away. His chest squeezed into a fist, and breath was hard to come by. “She’s not dead.” He said it more to assure himself than anything. “Her uncle must have her. He’d nae kill her. He’ll want her alive to use her.”

“Grant,” Ross said, “Ye must consider what I said. What if she betrayed ye? What if she left willingly?”

He shook his head. “She’d nae.”

Ross put a hand on his shoulder. “How do ye ken? Ye have nae kenned her long.”

Grant turned to fully face his friend, prepared to argue, but a niggle of doubt stopped him for a moment as he considered what Ross was saying. “It dunnae matter. She’s my wife. We made our marriage true last night, and even if we had nae, I would go after her to ensure she was nae harmed.”

Ross sighed. “There’s that troublesome honor again.”

“’Tis nae just honor that drives me to my wife,” Grant said, unable to say more because he could not properly communicate his feelings. All he knew for certain was that she was in his blood now, and he would ride straight into danger, straight toward death, to save her. “If luck is with us, we will reach them before they arrive at Linlithian.” Once her uncle had her within those walls, rescuing her would take an army and an all-out attack, and Grant feared what might happen to her in the meantime. Her uncle may not risk killing her, but he could hurt her in ways Grant did not wish to imagine.

Once they waded out of the water, they started toward Kade, who stood with the horses beside what was left of the shelter Grant had made for himself and Eve. As they neared Kade, Grant frowned. “What are ye holding?”

“Yer wife’s gown and slippers.” Kade met Grant’s gaze. “I dunnae think she left ye willingly. I dunnae ken many women who would depart in nothing more than their léines.”

“Give them to me,” Grant ordered, clutching the items that Ross handed him. He brought the gown to his nose, not caring that Ross and Kade were watching him, and inhaled Eve’s scent. He would get her back. He had to. And not just because she was his responsibility as Ross had suggested. Eve had opened a door within him that he’d intended to keep shut, and now that it was open, there wasn’t a hope to close it. He wasn’t even sure he would want to if he could.

Eve returned to consciousness with a start and a gasp. She scrambled off the bed she was in and ran to the door. She tried to open it, but it was locked. She beat on it, but no one answered. Shaken and confused, she moved back to the bed and sat, pulling her knees up to her chest and becoming aware of her half-dressed state. She shivered from the cold room…or was it from anger or fear?

She shoved at the fear within her. She could not allow it; yet the emotion did not care for her denial. It clawed at her insides, scratching and ripping the armor of bravery and hope she wanted to cloak herself in. Why was she so terrified? She’d faced many horrible things already in her life and lived through them. Yet, the black fright threatening to consume her felt greater than anything she could recall.

Realization came to her like a mountain of snow crashing upon her. Her uncle’s words roared to life once more, nearly bursting her eardrums with their intensity: Kill them. Her head rang with the noise of the words. Kill them, it came again. She pressed her hands to her ears and screamed until her throat burned with her effort, as if someone had lit a torch in her throat. Her screams turned to racking sobs that she could not quell. She sat huddled on the bed, chin pressed to her knees, and she cried as she had not cried since losing her mother, father, and sister. But now, now she had lost her family for good. Her uncle was evil. The last of her blood relations had been lost to her if Mary was gone, and if she could never find her. And what of Grant? He would have been her new start, her new family, and she had not understood how bad she wanted it, needed it, until this moment.

Grant. Grant. Grant. His image came to her, and she cried so hard that she could not catch her breath. Sadness pressed on every part of her, until she felt she would simply die from the weight of it. She rolled onto her back, squeezed her eyes shut, and cried until her nose was stuffy, her head aching, and her vision blurry. When there was simply nothing left to shed and the cover beneath her head was soaked with tears, she stopped and lay there silently, recalling the night before and all the hope she’d found so unexpectedly.

It was that memory of that hope that got her to push herself to sitting and open her eyes. She could not simply crumble, even if Grant was dead, the mere thought of which left her gasping again for breath. She would not be a pawn in whatever plot her uncle had planned. Determination brought her to her feet, and she looked around the room, stilling when she realized she had been put in her old bedchamber.

She gasped with relief as she raced to the large wardrobe that concealed a door that led to her sister’s room—or once had led there. Eve tried to push it as she cast worried glances over her shoulder. When it became apparent that merely pushing it would not budge the wardrobe, she leaned her back against it, braced her feet against the floor, and shoved with all her might, grunting with the effort. The wardrobe creaked but did not move. Girding herself with resolve, she braced again and shoved, and this time, the wardrobe moved the slightest bit. But just as hope flooded her, the door to her bedchamber rattled.

Eve launched herself at her bed, pulling the coverlet over her bare legs just as the door opened and a guard appeared on the threshold with Clara by his side. Her friend had dark bruises under her eyes and a cut lip that made Eve cry out. The two women practically collided, hugging.

“Make her presentable quickly,” the guard said in a curt tone. “My lord wishes to get the wedding over with immediately.” And then he slammed the bedchamber door, and the distinct clink of it being locked filled the room.

God above! If her uncle intended to wed her, he was either certain Grant was dead or he simply did not know she was already wed to Grant. Eve looked at Clara’s pale, worried face. “Clara,” she said in a whisper, taking her hands, “I’m sorry I did not listen.”

Clara bit her lip and nodded. “Eve.” The woman’s voice broke on a sob, which was astonishing. In all the years Eve had known Clara, never had she seen the woman cry. Clara had been like iron—unbreakable. “You know how I do so love to be right,” she said, her eyes filling with more tears, “but in this instance, I would give my life to have been wrong about your uncle and spare you the pain.”

“Shush,” Eve said in a low voice so the guard on the other side of the door wouldn’t hear. She gave Clara an apologetic look. “I’m so very sorry that I did not believe you.”

Clara squeezed Eve’s hands. “It’s worse than I feared, though…”

Eve gave a brittle laugh. “What can be worse than my uncle betraying my father? Worse than him having my parents killed, all so he could wed me to a man he could control and thus, control the castle.” Clara opened her mouth as if to speak, but Eve had so many thoughts tumbling in her head and a desperate need to sort them out. “Do you know to whom Uncle Frederick intends to wed me? I cannot imagine who it could be. Who is so loyal to my uncle that he wouldn’t simply take control of the castle for himself, and—” The utterly distraught look on Clara’s face caused Eve to pause. “Clara, what are you not telling me?”

“I’d have already told you, child, if you would but take a breath and allow me to speak.”

“Speak, speak,” Eve encouraged.

“Eve…” A visible shudder ran through Clara, and Eve found that she, too, was trembling in fearful anticipation. “Your uncle intends to wed you himself. It’s what he has always intended.”

A wave of nausea roiled in Eve’s stomach. “But—” she sucked in a sharp breath, the sickening feeling increasing until she was certain she’d be ill “—that cannot be.”

“It is,” Clara said, unbending. “I heard it with my own ears.”

“No.” Flashes of memories of Eve sitting on her uncle’s lap and listening to his stories filled her mind, and bile stung her throat. “You must have heard wrong,” she whispered furiously.

“Eve,” Clara said in the stern tone she’d used often when Eve was younger, “I did not hear wrong. Your uncle told his man when I was in the room. They thought me still unconscious from the beating they gave me. He intends to wed you. He intended to do so years ago.”

“But I am his niece,” Eve said, horrified. “I was a ch-ch-child,” she sputtered.

“He’s a disgusting pig,” Clara said, never having been one to mince words. She set her hands on Eve’s shoulders and looked her in the eye. “He believed we both drowned and were swept away when they could not find our bodies, so he contented himself with ruling the castle at the king’s whim. But it seems King Edward is getting harder and harder to please, and your uncle very much wants to legally be entitled to the castle. That way, the nobles will side with him if the king tries to take it from him.”

“But if he thought us dead—”

“He has a spy in the MacDougall keep. It seems the MacDougalls are the clan that aided your uncle in his plot to attack Linlithian. He did not have troops of his own, so he promised them coin to aid him. There’s much more to tell you, but—”

“We must escape,” Eve finished. She wanted to tell Clara about Grant and how she was now wed—or she had been, at least. A knot of torment lodged in her throat at not knowing whether Grant lived or not, and if she stayed here and told her uncle she was wed, he might kill her. She’d rather not take that chance.

She glanced to the wardrobe. No one had ever known about the secret passage except for Eve, her sister, and her parents. Her father had ordered them never to tell another soul. He’d said betrayal could come from the person one least suspected. God above, but he’d been right, as had Clara. Eve’s anger at Clara had long since faded. Standing here with her battered lady’s maid now, who had given up years of her life to stay with Eve in hiding and who was now risking her life for her—again—Eve was grateful, not angry. She must tell Clara just how grateful she was, but she would have to do so later. Right now, the most important thing was escaping. She motioned to the wardrobe, then waved Clara to follow her. Clara’s brow furrowed, but she followed Eve to the wardrobe.

“There is a hidden tunnel that leads to the stables,” Eve whispered. Clara’s eyes widened. “If we can gain the stables, perhaps we can escape.”

“What is this ‘perhaps’ nonsense?” Clara said, winking at Eve. “We will escape!”

“We must move the wardrobe.” Eve set her back against it as she’d done earlier and braced her feet. Clara got into position beside her, and together, they shoved on the wardrobe, which moved with such a loud creak that they both froze, only daring to glance at the door.

“What are you two doing in there?” came the guard’s harsh voice, followed by the sound of keys rattling. Eve looked to the wardrobe. It had been moved just enough for someone to slip into the passage. They’d never make it out now that the guard was coming in. If he didn’t catch them in the passage, which he likely could, he’d be close on their heels and alert the other guards the minute they all came out at the other side.

“Go!” Eve hissed at Clara and pushed her friend toward the passageway.

“No,” Clara whispered back. “Not without you!”

“We’ll never both make it, but you can if I lie sufficiently. If we both stay, there will be no hope, and while Uncle Frederick will not kill me yet, but you—”

The door started to creak and Eve shoved Clara into the passage, but Clara grabbed Eve’s hand. “Who can I even go to for help?”

“Make your way to the Fraser hold, Dithorn, and demand to speak to the laird. I—” Eve gulped, realizing she did not know who would be laird if Grant had been killed. “Ask to speak to Esme Fraser. Tell her that I need help. Tell her, please.” Would Esme gather men for her? Would they even listen to Esme? Eve had no notion, but she had to try.

“But your uncle,” Clara wailed low. “What if he forces you to wed him before I return?”

Eve refused to believe Grant was dead until she had proof, and if he was alive, then she could not truly be wed to another. “Then I will wed him,” she rushed out. She did not have time to explain because the door creaked again. “Go!” she commanded and rushed to the door just as it was opening. Before the guard could step into her bedchamber, Eve shoved her way out and slammed the door behind them. Her heart was pounding as she looked at the guard. “I’m ready to be wed. My silly old lady’s maid is light-headed, and I’ve ordered her to lie down so she doesn’t ruin the wedding by doing something annoying, like fainting. I know my uncle would hate that.”

The guard—thanks be to God—did not look all that astute. He frowned at Eve, and then nodded. “Your uncle does not like to be kept waiting.”

“As well he should not,” she said, very careful to keep her tone normal. “As lord of this castle, he is an important man. Come,” she said, turning away from the bedchamber door. “Take me to him.” She held her breath, hoping the guard would comply.

He nodded and led her toward the stairs and then down the narrow, circular passage. She had not walked that particular passage since moments before she’d seen her father murdered years ago. Hopelessness tightened her throat, constricting her breath. The stairs wound round and round, past small windows that allowed rays of light to shine into the dark stairwell, and memories flashed in her mind: Her and her sister running with ribbons over their heads. Her mother singing as she walked hand in hand with Eve down the stairs. Her father carrying her up the stairs when she’d hurt her knee.

Her uncle had taken everything from her. She would get vengeance. Somehow, some way, she would get back what was hers. Grant would not like her plotting revenge and risking herself, she thought with a small smile. She prayed she got the chance to see him once again, even if but to argue that she should be able to be a part of bringing her uncle low.

As the guard led her to the great hall, Eve’s mind raced to uncover what she could do to avoid being wed shortly. She could think of nothing, and that knotted her belly with fear, which twisted and knifed through her when the great hall door was opened, revealing her uncle standing there beside a priest, the rest of the room empty. Her uncle looked much the same, except instead of his previously all brown hair it was peppered with white. He was as tall as she’d remembered and thin with a hawklike nose and beady eyes. The priest leaned close to him and whispered something. Eve did not recognize the man, though, and she frowned, wondering what had happened to Father Michael. Had he died? He’d been the priest of Linlithian Castle for as long as Eve could remember. He had christened Eve and her sister, and Father Michael had always listened to Eve when she had a problem. He had been so very kind and good. Everyone had loved him.

Eve sucked in a sharp breath as an idea of how to possibly delay—or gain help doing so—came to her.

“Ah, Eve!” her uncle boomed and spread his arms wide, as if she should simply walk into his treacherous embrace. She shuddered inwardly, but what her uncle expected was exactly what she had to do. “Eve, come.” He motioned to her. “Don’t be vexed with me for the way we were first reunited, my dear. Everything I did was done to keep you safe.”

“Of course, Uncle Frederick,” she replied, shocked at how calm she managed to sound.

She said a quick prayer that her uncle caught a pox that took his lying tongue, and she forced her feet to move. She walked toward him and the priest as if she were walking through thick mud. Her legs did not want to cooperate with her. Each step made the nausea increase so that by the time she reached her uncle, her stomach roiled like violent waves in the sea and perspiration dampened her brow.

Please, God, do not let him notice.

Brown, watchful eyes locked on her. “You’ve changed much, Eve. You’re a beautiful woman now.”

She wished she were a woman with a dagger, she thought with burning anger. She’d plunge it straight into his black heart. She forced a smile. “You are too kind.”

“Clara told me how you two managed to escape those wretched Scots. ’Tis a pity your sister did not. I’ve searched high and low for her, Eve, and I could not find her.”

Lies. Her uncle spewed lies like the sky released rain—freely.

Her uncle frowned. “Where is Clara?”

Her uncle did not have a single care for Clara, of that Eve had no doubt. He simply wanted her in the room so he could use her to threaten Eve if she did not do as he demanded.

Eve motioned nonchalantly toward the great hall door. “She was feeling faint, so I ordered her to lie down in my bedchamber.”

“I see.” His eyes narrowed for a moment, as if he was contemplating having the guard fetch her.

“She told me I am to wed today,” Eve announced, hoping to distract him. “Who will be my husband?”

Her uncle exchanged a look with the priest, who gave an almost imperceptible nod. It was a good thing she had not hoped to find an ally in this priest. She would have been sorely disappointed. He obviously did whatever her uncle bade him without question. “Eve, the king wishes us to wed,” her uncle lied again. Eve allowed a bit of her horror to show. After all, her uncle would not expect her to hear this news and not be surprised. “He wants Linlithian to stay in our family, and our wedding is the only way to ensure this and keep your father’s men appeased.”

It was interesting to her that her uncle had said your father’s men . As if he had never gained the knights’ true loyalty. “Do my father’s men hold his memory dear?” Eve asked, searching her uncle’s expression for a sign of the truth. Annoyance flickered across his face, and she knew then that they did. That gave her great hope, for it meant they did not find her uncle a good ruler in some way.

“Yes.” He offered a tight smile, which did nothing to mask his anger. “They searched for you and your sister for years,” he added, annoyance lacing his tone.

Her and her sister! Hope flared in her. Mary surly had to be alive.

“They will be pleased to serve you, and of course, you will be pleased to serve me, yes?”

She wanted to ask about Mary, but even if her uncle knew something, which she did not think he did, she felt certain he’d never tell her. “I will serve you always as you deserve, Uncle,” she said, thinking upon serving him with a dagger to his gut. She forced herself to muster another smile for him. “But before we wed, I would like to speak to Father Michael and confess my sins. Where is he?”

Please, please, God, let Father Michael be alive.

A fierce frown came to her uncle’s face. “I don’t think—”

“A minute if you will, Lord Decres,” the chubby priest interrupted, then smiled placatingly at Eve. “I’m Father George.”

Eve curtsied as was expected, though the man did not deserve such reverence.

Uncle Frederick looked as if he would deny the priest’s request for a moment’s time, but he finally nodded, and he and Father George moved a few steps away. Eve stared at the priest’s mouth as he spoke, trying to read his lips.

Let her. What harm. Goodwill breeds cooperation.

Uncle Frederick flashed a forced smile toward her. “I’ll send for him. He’s even slower than he used to be, and he now resides in a cottage beyond the woods of my land.”

“You mean my land ,” she said, unable to stop herself.

Her uncle flushed red, and his lip curled back. “What is yours will become mine when we are wed. I will be your lord.”

“Of course.” She forced the words out through clenched teeth and prayed she did not sound or look as angry as she felt.

Her uncle motioned for the guard. “Go now, Tormod, and fetch Father Michael.”

“Let me, Lord Decres,” Father George said. “It may take a word from another priest to remind Father Michael of his duty to come and listen to Lady Decres’s confession and properly absolve her.”

What utter lies! Eve fumed where she stood. There was no doubt in her mind that the corrupt priest before her wished to go to Father Michael to threaten him not to aid Eve.

Uncle Frederick nodded and motioned between Eve and the guard. “Return her to her chambers,” he said. She bit her lip on a burst of hope. Once she was in her bedchamber again, she could escape as Clara hopefully had. The guard started to turn her but paused as her uncle said, “On second thought, put her in my chambers, which are soon to be ours , and send my chambermaid to her. There’s a tub in my chambers, and clearly, you have need of one, as the washing Clara gave you did nothing to cleanse you. I’d have you bathed and presentable before our wedding.”

Her head pounded with rage, but she nodded. She could not afford to argue and risk her uncle sending someone to fetch Clara and use her to get Eve to do his bidding.