Chapter Fifteen

“Will she die?” Grant asked, hovering behind Esme, who was the healer of the clan and was bent over Eve, tending to her puncture wound. Esme had sent everyone else, including a loudly protesting Clara and a grumbling Thomas and Allisdair from the room. His sister worked best alone, but she had not even attempted to make him leave. A good thing, too, as he would not have parted from Eve no matter if the king himself ordered it. He looked down at Eve, and his gut twisted. A sheen of perspiration covered her brow, and she was white as the thick fog that covered the rolling hills in the morning. She could not die. He could not fail to have protected yet another person he cared for.

Cared for . The term was not enough to describe the depth of emotion that Eve evoked. She stirred a storm inside him that threatened to destroy him if he lost her. He could not explore the myriad soft emotions trying to break through the barrier he was desperate to hold in place. He could not face the tenderness, the longing, the lo—He blocked the thought before it could fully form. His pulse pounded, as did his temples. Hollowness filled him. “Will she die?” he asked again, his voice a whisper.

“I kinnae say, Brother. She’s caught in the throes of a fever. How long did ye say she’s been like this?”

Had he said? Tiredness made his thoughts feel like sludge. They had journeyed from Linlithian to Dithorn in a day when it normally took two. He’d never ridden so hard or so fast, and he’d fled for his life many a time. They’d lost the Decres knights who had been pursuing them soon after reaching the woods. Eve’s men, for they were Eve’s men by rights, were not well trained in tracking men. He’d rectify that once he took the castle back in Eve’s name.

“Grant?” Esme asked, her fingertips brushing his shoulder. “Go take a respite. Ye kinnae aid Eve at the moment, and ye are barely standing on yer own two feet.”

“She’s been like this since midafternoon yesterday,” he said, only just remembering he had not answered his sister’s question.

Esme nodded. “If fever is going to set in, ’tis about the time it takes to do so.”

Eve moaned just then and thrashed her arms. He bent down beside her and set his hand to her forehead. “Shh, Eve,” he whispered, his chest squeezing. “I’m here.” Immediately, she stilled, and he relaxed.

“Ye care for her,” Esme said, the awe in her voice apparent. He nodded, too damned tired to deny it to his sister, even though it was private. He’d not even explored it, the deep endless cavern of it, himself. A powerful ache took hold of his chest and squeezed until he took a shuddering breath.

“Don’t leave me,” Eve cried out, thrashing her arms once more. “Don’t leave me, don’t leave me.”

Grant gripped her wrists in a gentle hold and placed her arms by her sides as he whispered to her. “I’ll nae ever leave ye, ye wee stubborn lass. Dunnae ye leave me.” Eve sighed and stilled once more, but he frowned at the searing heat from her body. He glanced at his sister. “Is there nae anything we can do to ease her discomfort?”

“Sometimes cool baths help,” Esme said. “I can—”

“Nay, I wish to do it,” he said. “Tell me what to do.”

“Simply dip a rag in cool water and run it over her skin.” Esme walked to the washbasin and brought it to him. Grant pulled the bedcoverings down past Eve’s long, slender legs. She was wearing only a thin léine, and the outline of her lush breasts and curve of her hips through the linen made him want to run his hands over her body and worship her. Protect her. “Eve,” he whispered close to her ear, “I vow I’ll nae ever let harm come to ye again,” he said as he lifted the léine to drag the cool rag over her taut belly.

“Such a promise is impossible to keep, Grant,” Esme said, “and she would nae like to be treated as if helpless.”

“Nae helpless,” he corrected. “Protected. I promised her that I’d teach her to defend herself, and she vowed to me that she’d nae go courting trouble, a vow she broke immediately.”

Esme scowled at him. “Only a man would see a woman saving his life as the woman courting trouble. Did ye want her to stand there and watch as the arrow her uncle shot at ye struck true?”

“Aye,” he said, his temper flaring. “That’s exactly what I wanted, since it meant her risking her life otherwise. ’Tis my duty to protect her, and ’tis her duty to stay alive!” he thundered, an image of his mother coming unbidden to his mind. He turned away from Esme’s probing stare and dipped the rag in the cool water once more, then trailed it up each of Eve’s arms before laying it on her forehead.

Esme kneeled beside him. He could feel her looking at him, but he kept his stare on Eve. For one, he wanted to see any change in his wife that might occur. But also, Esme had the uncanny ability to read people’s inner thoughts sometimes, and he’d rather keep his plaguing guilt over his mother’s death to himself.

“If that is the only duty ye allow her, Grant, she will grow to hate ye. The two of ye will nae ever have a marriage of love.”

Love? The word struck a chord deep in him. It echoed in his ears and reverberated in his mind. He could not love her. He could not allow it. Clenching his teeth, he fought against the rise of emotions in him once more. Devil take it. He wasn’t sure he wanted any part of such a thing. Just caring for Eve had made him crazed. What would love do? He’d loved his mother, and losing her had sent him reeling for months and had changed him forever. Loving Eve would be even worse. He knew it to the depths of his soul.

“I dunnae need love,” he choked out, the feeling that he could not breathe gripping him once more. “We have desire, and I like her, certainly—”

Esme snorted at that. “Ye fool yerself.”

Possibly. Hell, quite probably. But all his warrior instincts told him to fight the tide of his feelings for Eve, a tide that was threatening to sweep him away. “Then let me,” he finally ground out when Esme poked him.

“Grant Fraser,” Esme growled, “just why do ye think Mother went to our enemy clan to aid them?”

“Foolishness,” he snapped as he ran the cool, wet rag over Eve’s legs now. She kicked out then; she would have kicked him in the face if he hadn’t caught her ankle gently and lowered her leg to the bed.

“That’s yer wife stating her opinion,” Esme said, matter-of-fact.

“She can have all the opinions she wants, but I’m her husband and her laird, and she will obey my orders.”

“Mother liked to feel needed, and Da made her feel useless,” Esme went on, ignoring him. “He allowed her nothing but trivial duties, and her mind and spirit were too great for that.” His sister met his eyes. “Eve is like Mother.”

He looked away and studied Eve, half-amazed at how simply looking at her made his chest ache and half-concerned that she had such an effect on him. Eve was very similar to his mother in many ways. “I’ll make her feel important,” he vowed aloud. She did not need to be a warrior to feel important. Running the castle was a great duty, and his wife would be the one to oversee it all.

Esme yawned. “Are ye certain ye dunnae want to lie down?”

He nodded, brushing a loose tendril of hair from Eve’s damp forehead. “I want to be here if she needs me.”

“Because ye care for her much more than ye are admitting to me or yerself,” Esme said to his annoyance. He waved a hand at her, and she chuckled. “I’ll return in the morning, but if ye need me or if her fever increases”—her voice dropped low with concern—“come rouse me immediately. There’s a root called bane weed that I can give her if truly needed. It has been known to aid fever, but it also carries a great risk of making a woman unable to bear children. I myself have had to give it to two women, and neither of them have conceived a child since taking it.”

He nodded, praying to God he did not have to make that choice for Eve, for he knew how he’d choose.

After Esme left his bedchamber, he dipped the cloth in the water and gently drew down Eve’s léine to sponge her chest, neck, and face. Unexpected desire stirred deep within him, but he pushed it away. It would be a long while before he allowed himself to touch his wife. He would ensure all of her strength had returned first, so she did not overtax herself and have a setback as Loranna, Simon’s late wife, had. She had been injured, and seemed to be recovering, so she took up her duties at the castle once more, and her fever had returned and became so severe that she died.

Grant dropped the rag into the water basin, leaned back in the chair, and closed his eyes, recalling the past. Grant had thought Simon indifferent to Loranna’s death, as his brother had left while she had been sick, and Loranna and Simon had been estranged. But he’d discovered later that Simon had not actually known how much danger Loranna had been in from the fever. Grant turned his right arm over to look at the inside of his wrist where the brand he’d given himself was. He traced his finger over the mark.

God, how he’d wanted to be in his brother’s circle of renegades, but Simon had kept him out to protect him, almost to the detriment of their relationship. He’d thought Simon a traitor because Simon had kept what he was doing a secret for so long. Thank God they had reconciled before he’d died. Still, Grant balled his hands into fists. They’d lost much time as true brothers due to the rift, and for that, Grant was to blame. But he would avenge his brother. He had not forgotten the MacDougalls or what they had done. He would not let Simon down again. He would get vengeance, but it would be carefully achieved so as not to put any of his men in unnecessary danger. And his first order of business would be to go to Linlithian and establish himself as the new lord. It should be a simple matter of returning there with Eve by his side, but he was not such a fool as to go without a contingent of men to hold order against any of Decres’s knights who may not wish Grant as their new lord.

Nor was he so naive as to simply believe it would be that easy when the matter relied on King Edward keeping his word to acknowledge Eve as the rightful heir. He’d seen the English king break his vows to men too many times, to take back land he had given or castles that had long belonged to families, merely because it pleased him to do so. No, Grant needed to be prepared for the worst possible scenario: that he would have to battle the Decres knights, King Edward, and quite possibly the MacDougalls, for control of Linlithian.

The images he’d noted while at Linlithian rolled through his mind now. He sat with his eyes closed, the need for sleep tugging at him, but he battled it by recalling all the details that would be useful in seizing the castle. Now that Frederick Decres was dead, the king would make a move. Grant had hoped to take Linlithian before the king had even been aware of what he was doing and establish Eve there to hopefully gain the trust and favor of the men who once served her father, but that opportunity was likely now gone.

He knew King Edward was not far from Linlithian, and the Decres knights would surely send a messenger to him before Grant could return with Eve, or even Clara in Eve’s place if she was too weak to travel.

With nothing but time, he lay there carefully considering how to take Linlithian by force and how to win over the Decres warriors—or banish them from the castle, if necessary. And then he turned his mind to Eve’s sister, Mary. He wanted to reunite Eve with her, if possible, and in order to do that, he needed to know all the details of the night that Eve had last seen her. He would ask Eve, of course, but she was young and had likely forgotten much. But Clara might remember something useful. Next time he spoke with her, he’d question her about it.

Eve stirred suddenly and then moaned, but it was different from before. Grant’s eyes flew open, and he sat upright, reaching for her hand. She whimpered in her sleep when he touched it, and then she snatched her hand back, curled into a ball, and began to shriek.

“Eve!” He shoved out of his chair and thought to take her in his arms, but she cried out even louder when he touched her again. Stark fear battered him as he looked between Eve and the door. He had to get Esme, but he didn’t want to leave Eve alone.

The door crashed open with a bang, and Thomas ran in. “What is it? What’s wrong with Eve?”

“Fetch Esme!” Grant barked, not even questioning what Thomas had been doing lurking at the door.

His younger brother nodded and hurried out of the room. Grant turned his attention back to Eve, reaching for her again but stopping short of touching her. He didn’t want to cause her any more pain. She writhed and moaned on the bed, now clutching her skull.

“My head!” she bellowed. “You are splitting my head in two!”

“Eve, hold on,” Grant urged, feeling as if worry was shredding him.

“Stand back,” Esme demanded as she pushed past him with Clara at her side. She set a hand to Eve’s forehead and hissed. “The fever is much, much worse, Brother. I fear…I fear it will kill her.” She turned to Grant with tear-filled eyes. “I brought the root. What do ye want me to do?”

Grant returned his gaze to Eve, skimming over Thomas, who was standing there gaping, and Clara, whose face was drained of all color. “Give it to her,” he choked out, a numbness descending upon him.

“Ye recall what I said—”

He waved Esme to silence. “Aye. Eve’s life means more to me than an heir she might give me.”

Grant did not miss the relief that passed over his sister’s face or Clara’s rush of breath that she pushed from her lungs. Had the women doubted that he would choose Eve over an heir?

“Hold her by the shoulders,” Esme ordered.

Grant did as she said, and Esme pried Eve’s jaw open, dropped the tiny bits of root into her mouth, then held a wine goblet to her lips and tilted a bit of liquid in. She shut Eve’s mouth and held it closed as Eve fought her. Clara moved to Eve’s other side and whispered reassuring things to her. When Eve finally settled, Esme released her and then indicated for Grant to do so, as well, but as he did, tears began to leak from Eve’s eyes.

Guilt stabbed at him. Would she be angry when she learned the truth or would she understand that it had been the only way?

“She will understand eventually,” Clara said, as if she’d read his mind. “After the pain of discovering she will likely not have a child passes, she will understand.”

He nodded, appreciating Clara’s kind words, but all he wanted now was to be with Eve. “Leave us, please,” he commanded Esme, Thomas, and Clara, glad that they immediately obeyed. Grant sat staring at Eve, who panted with pain. A physical need to touch her burned inside him like a fire raging out of control, but he held himself still until the panting ceased, and she lay there, still as the dead.

His heart nearly stopped at the thought. He carefully put his finger under her nose, and her warm breath wafted over his skin. Abruptly, she turned on her side at the edge of the bed, and he gently lay down beside her, tentatively touching first her back and then her shoulder, arm, and hip. When she sighed and scooted back toward him, he trembled with relief. He moved closer to her, and gently encircled her in his protective embrace.

“Ye are a fighter, Wife,” he whispered into her hair. “Now if only I can make ye a listener, I think we will be verra happy.”

He lay there, listening to her deep, steady inhales and exhales, and gratefulness that Eve had lived made his throat tighten and his eyes water. God’s teeth, the woman made him soft as dough. He’d have to work on that. But sleep, which he’d not had in what seemed like forever, beckoned to him now with his wife nestled in his arms, resting peacefully. So finally, he allowed himself to give in to the desperate need, breathing her freesia scent as he drifted toward oblivion.

“Grant?” Bryden’s voice came from the door as he knocked.

Grant carefully rose from the bed and made his way to the door, opening it and stepping into the passageway.

“How is Eve?” Bryden asked.

“Better,” Grant replied, a rush of relief tingling through him.

“I’ve news ye are nae going to like.”

“Get on with it,” Grant said, impatient to return to Eve. She was his main concern at the moment. Though, God’s truth, as laird, the clan should always come first; he could not make it so in his mind.

“MacDougall warriors were spotted near the borders of our land,” Bryden said.

Grant’s hands fisted at his side as rage beat like a drum within him. They were circling like vultures for Eve. Word of her uncle’s death must have reached them. “Double the warriors on guard.”

Bryden nodded. “What of Lady Eve? When she is well enough and ventures out should I assign a man to guard her?”

“I want ye to guard her personally, but stay back so that she dunnae ken it. My wife is verra independent, and I’d rather she nae feel like a prisoner.”

“Of course,” Bryden agreed. He gave Grant a concerned look. “When was the last time ye ate?”

“I dunnae recall,” Grant said as his stomach growled. With Eve so sick, he’d had no appetite or desire for food. He was her husband. It was his job to ensure she lived, and he would do everything in his power to make certain that he did not fail, including going without food and sleep when she needed him. And Eve had most definitely needed him. She needed him still.

“Come and sup,” Bryden said.

Grant shook his head, seeing Clara come to the top of the stairs at the end of the passage.

“Cousin, ye need to eat. I’ll sit with Eve if—”

“Nay,” Grant snapped. He knew Bryden was trying to help, but he’d not leave Eve.

Clara strolled toward them and paused by Bryden. “Why don’t you have one of the serving wenches bring a platter of food for Grant?”

A momentary look of annoyance skittered across Bryden’s face, but he nodded. Grant assumed his cousin did not like an English woman making a suggestion, even if it was a good one. He’d have to speak to Bryden later when there was time.

“Eve is resting peacefully,” he offered Clara as Bryden strode toward the stairs.

“I’m glad. I came to check on her and see if I could offer aid. I confess I’m no healer like your sister, and I’ve been so worried. I spoke with Esme, and she says the bane weed will most likely make Eve nauseated.”

He jerked a hand through his hair. “What have I done?”

Clara patted his arm. “The only thing you could—just as I did the night I took her to hiding so long ago.”

Clara mentioning the night Eve’s parents had been killed and her sister Mary had disappeared reminded Grant he wished to speak with her about it.

“I wish to talk to ye about the night Eve’s parents were killed and her sister went missing. I wish to talk to ye about yer escape.”

“What do you want to know?” Clara asked.

He liked that the woman did not mince words. “Tell me what ye can recall of Mary. Did she ride alone? Was she on foot? Was someone looking out for her as ye were for Eve?”

“Mary was riding with John, the stablemaster. She was but a wee lass of five summers. He was seeing to her safety, even as I was seeing to Eve’s. But they fell and were trampled. Why?”

There was no way to soften the shock of what he was going to tell her, so he simply spit it out. “There is a verra good chance that Mary and John are alive.”

“What?” Clara’s face went pale. “But…but—”

“I ken yer shock, but the song the bards always sing about the missing heiress of Linlithian includes a part about her missing sister, and that would be Mary.”

Clara nibbled on her lip as she nodded slowly. “Yes, it would.” She suddenly gripped Grant by the forearm. “The plan that John and I came up with to get the girls to safety was to ride out to the Calder clan.”

“They’re an enemy clan of ours,” Grant said, thinking immediately of Millicent. His former leman had been a Calder before wedding one of Grant’s guards, who was now deceased. “I ken someone who might be able to aid me in getting safely into the Calder holding and having an audience with the laird to see if John and Mary ever made it there.”

The plan was sound, but it would be best not to tell Clara of his former relationship with Millicent. He’d broken it off when she’d proven to be a spiteful woman and only allowed her to stay at Dithorn because he’d promised his guard on his deathbed that he would always give Millicent shelter as long as she wished it. He suspected, though, that neither Clara nor Eve would approve of him traveling to the Calder holding with a woman with whom he’d previously joined. Yet, that was exactly what he’d have to do to gain entry without the threat of being killed. Since Millicent had been born a Calder, she could go back to her clan freely to see whatever family was still there, and as the man accompanying her, he would be guaranteed safety while they were there.

“I sent messengers on several occasions to the Calder laird,” Clara said. “At first, I received no response when I inquired about John Talbot and Mary, and last time, about a year ago, I received a message that said there was no one there by those names and there never had been. I fear speaking to the Calder laird will bring no answers,” Clara said, her voice unhappy.

“It may nae,” Grant agreed, “but if there is any possibility that doing so will lead me to reuniting Eve with her sister, maybe—”

Understanding lit Clara’s eyes. “You fear she will blame you for the bane weed,” Clara said on a low voice.

He clenched his jaw but nodded. “Aye. I would give her a reason nae to hate me.”

Clara smiled gently and squeezed his arm. “I do believe you’ve already given her many reasons, but if you could find her sister, it would mean the world to her. She’s had to bear a lot of sadness, and I think part of why she was able to remain so strong was the hope that she would return to Linlithian one day and recapture the happiness she’d known as a child, which had included her uncle as part of her family.”

“She will have a chance to be happy there,” he said, willing it to be so. “We will live here, of course, but while I’m establishing control of the castle, we will stay there, and once it’s established and I have my man in place to oversee it, we will visit often not simply because I need to but because I ken she will want to. She is my family, and I want her to be happy.”

“Yes, of course,” Clara said slowly, “but Eve wants to feel the love she once felt.” She eyed him expectantly.

“Ye’re here,” he said, purposely avoiding her probing stare.

“For now,” Clara replied. “But once I know Eve is settled and happy, I’ll go.”

“Where? Ye’re more than welcome to stay on as part of the clan.”

“I thank you,” she said, “but I have duties I swore to uphold long ago, and Eve is but one of those duties.”

“Do ye care to tell me more?”

Clara smiled secretly. “I cannot, but I’ll tell you this: men are not the only ones who can be warriors. We women are mighty, and our weapons are not always swords. Words often cut as sharp as a blade.”

“God’s teeth, woman,” he said on a chuckle, “dunnae tell Eve that. She wishes to wield swords, and if she wields words, too, I’ll be outmatched.”

She surprised him by winking. “What makes you think you are not already?”

He opened his mouth to answer when Eve suddenly cried out. Fear sent him bolting through the door with Clara on his heels. Eve was standing by the bed, doubled over, retching violently, but before he could reach her, she collapsed.

Murmured voices invaded Eve’s dreams. She tried to open her eyes to see who was there, but it felt as if someone had nailed her eyelids shut. They would not budge.

“Let me watch her, Grant,” came a voice she recognized as Clara’s. Happiness warmed Eve’s heart knowing that Clara was safe and there with her. She tried to smile, but her cheeks and her lips would not cooperate, and when she attempted to speak to Clara, what came out of her sounded more like a cat’s pitiful cry than words.

“Nay,” Grant finally answered. “Ye see, she cried out in her sleep when she thought I might leave her.”

“Bah!” was Clara’s response, making Eve want to laugh. “She was probably crying out for some peace and quiet. You’ve sat by her bed for three straight days telling her horrific battle tales—”

“She likes them,” Grant protested. “She becomes verra still and quiet when I tell her of all the battles I’ve fought.”

“And you sing her all those awful Scottish ballads,” Clara muttered.

He’d sung to her? And sat by her bed? And told her stories?

Eve strained to make her lips form the smile that wanted to burst forth.

“Both God and Eve like my singing,” Grant said in an overly confident tone. “There!” Suddenly, she felt strong hands under her shoulders. “She’s smiling.” And then she was pressed against a rock… Or was that her husband’s chest?

Eve tried harder and harder to pry open her eyes. When they finally did, blinding light made her gasp. “Dear God, ’tis bright in here!”

“Eve!” Grant said on what sounded like a happy sigh. He kissed the top of her head, and his arms tightened around her ever so slightly. Then he pulled back, and she stared in shock at her husband’s haggard face. He had many days’ worth of beard growth, which would have been rather becoming if not for the dark circles under his eyes. She frowned as she studied him further. His normally blue eyes were so bloodshot she could hardly see the blue.

“You look like death knocked at your door,” Eve blurted.

“He has nae slept,” Esme said from behind Grant.

Eve blinked her eyes, which were now watering from the light, and then attempted to focus on Clara and Esme, who’d both moved to her bedside.

“We tried to get him to sleep,” Esme clucked.

“This man you married is sinfully stubborn, Eve,” Clara said, giving Grant an approving look that made Eve want to laugh. Her husband had obviously won Clara’s approval. Eve frowned, trying to recall why she was in bed and unaware of how Grant had won over Clara.

“What’s the matter, mo bhean mhaiseach ?” he asked.

His beautiful wife . She rather liked that endearment.

“Is yer back paining ye? Yer stomach?” he asked, an odd, tight look coming over his face as he laid his large palm over her stomach in an almost protective manner.

She considered his questions for a moment, concentrated on how she felt, and then gasped. “I was shot!” Grant, Esme, and Clara nodded. “By Uncle Frederick,” Eve added, her voice catching. All three of them nodded again. She had so many questions. She started to sit up, but a wave of nausea overcame her, and she slapped a hand over her mouth, fearing she’d be sick.

“I’ll get the sickness pitcher!” Esme cried out and scurried away only to come right back with a large pitcher that she shoved at Grant, who held it up to Eve.

“Retch in here, Eve,” he ordered as Clara came to her other side with a wet cloth, which she laid atop Eve’s head.

Eve swallowed several times, and the nausea passed. “It’s better now,” she said, moving to sit up again, but this time much more slowly. She glanced around at the concerned faces and offered a weak smile. “I take it I’ve been sick a few times?” Given how they’d been prepared for it, her assumption seemed sound. The uneasy look they all exchanged baffled her, though. “Don’t look so concerned,” she assured them. “Your healer gave me something for pain, yes?”

Esme nodded. “I’m the healer. And aye, I gave ye something for the pain the arrow caused ye, but ’tis bane weed that makes ye nauseated.”

“Bane weed?” Eve’s brow furrowed.

“I’ll be the one to tell her,” Grant interrupted, misery lacing his tone.

His tone and the worry in his eyes caused gooseflesh to sweep across her arms. “What is it?” she asked, fear blossoming in her.

Grant looked to Esme and Clara. “Leave us,” he ordered.

“Clara is not of your clan, and you cannot go about commanding her, Grant,” Eve chided, as she fully expected her stubborn friend to ignore his demand, and she did not want him angry at Clara.

To her utter shock, Clara said, “’Tis fine, Eve. I’ll be just outside the door if you need me.”

Well, of course, she needed Clara! They had much to discuss, and she really did want to apologize again for how horrid she’d been when they had parted at the convent, especially given how Clara had been correct about her uncle.

Oh!

“My uncle… What happened? How did we get away? We have to return,” she rushed out, her words coming as fast as her thoughts did. “Linlithian is mine.” She looked to Grant. “Ours. ’Tis ours. We must—”

Grant pressed a finger gently to her lips as he sat on the edge of the bed facing her. Then rested his hands on her hips. Deep in her belly, her core tightened with awareness of her husband and the desire he made her feel. “Dunnae fash yerself, Eve. I will take Linlithian for ye.”

No, they would do it together. It was her right!

She opened her mouth to argue, then promptly closed it. It was wise to know when to pick one’s battles, and now was not the best time. She felt weak, and she needed strength to persuade her husband to take her with him. Instead, she forced herself to nod. “What happened to my uncle?”

Grant took her hands in his, worry dancing in the depths of his blue eyes. “I killed him Eve. I’m sorry.”

The news made her want to weep, which angered her. Her uncle had killed her father and mother and had caused her to lose many precious years with her sister, or possibly even forever. Maybe her parents had not died by his own hands, but by his order. And he’d tried to kill Grant! She knew she should not feel sad to hear of his death, yet she did. “I don’t know why I’m sad,” she muttered, even as hot tears began to fill her eyes and roll down her cheeks to drip off her face.

Grant brushed his fingers over both her cheeks and then gently leaned forward and kissed her. “Ye’re sad, mo bhean mhaiseach, because despite what he did he was your family, ye loved him.”

She sniffled and nodded. Trying to ignore the sadness, she said, “I doubt I look very beautiful at this moment.” Her eyes already felt puffy, and if she’d been lying in bed retching, she must look a fright.

“To me,” he said, sliding his strong fingers into her hair to cradle her head, “ye look beautiful.”

“You have terrible eyesight, then, Husband,” she grumbled.

“Nay, lass. I see ye, and ye are beautiful. Ye will make—” He stopped himself mid-sentence, his brows dipping together as he frowned. He inhaled a long, slow breath. “Ye do make me verra proud. Ye are so braw.”

She had the strangest feeling that whatever he’d been about to say was not that. “Something odd is occurring here,” she grumbled. “I do not care for secrets, even ones meant to protect me. So simply spit out your thoughts.”

“Ye caught a terrible fever because of the arrow,” he said softly.

“And?” she prodded. She could tell he was hedging, which was not in character at all given how blunt he’d been since they’d first met.

“I feared ye would die, as did Esme. She told me she could give ye something called bane weed, which would save ye from death by fever, and I had her do so.” He paused, as if in thought. “As Esme told ye, that’s what made ye sick to yer stomach. Ye retched for an entire day and night.”

“Well, goodness,” Eve said, squeezing his hand. “Were you worried I’d be vexed about that? You two saved my life. I—”

“Eve.” The pain she heard in his voice made her catch her breath.

“Yes?” she whispered.

“The bane weed Esme gave ye,” he started, then audibly swallowed. “It’s kenned to make women nae able to have bairns.”

She heard his words, but she was not comprehending what he’d said. “What do you mean it’s known to do that? I can still have children, yes?” Her heart began to thunder as he simply stared at her, his lips parted, a pained expression on his face.

“Likely nae.” His answer sounded as if he’d choked it out. She rather felt like someone was choking her . Breathing had become difficult, and she tried to suck in a deep breath, but it was more like a short gasp. Her hand fluttered to her neck, and when she laid her fingertips against her skin, the wild flutter of her heartbeat thumped against the pads of her fingers.

Likely not. His words echoed loudly in her ears. Likely she would never hold a baby of her own in her arms. Likely she would never rock a child to sleep, feed them, bathe them, watch them grow. Likely she would not be able to give Grant an heir, which he would want as laird of his clan. Yes, he had a brother, but men wanted sons.

She bit her lip as the thoughts came as fast as the tears. Would he take a mistress to bear him a child, then? Could she deny him such a thing? Would he even take her feelings into account? She had to know.

“But…you need an heir,” she said, unable to outright ask such a horrid question. Her breath caught with both hope and fear.

“Aye,” he agreed.

It felt as if he’d reached into her chest and ripped out her heart. In that moment, sound rushed at her from all around—her thundering heart, his breathing, children laughing from the keep below—and she realized, with horror, that her husband had stolen her heart like a thief. How could that be? A hundred slivers of things he’d shown came to her at once. Honor. Loyalty. Bravery. Tenderness. How could it not have happened, was the better question…

Her throat tightened. He had her heart and her castle, what did she have of his? She certainly could not have his love if he was going to join with another woman. She did not care that it was the need for an heir that propelled the decision. Her father never would have done such a thing to her mother. Because her father had loved her mother.

Grant started to reach for her, and she pushed his hand away and turned her face from his. “I’d like to be alone,” she said.

“Eve…”

Her name was a plea upon his lips, but the pain in her heart turned to anger. Anger she could stand; the pain, the loss of the chance to be a mother, was too great to bear. She had no true family, and a child would have been that for her. And her sister, if Eve could ever find Mary, but in this moment, it seemed utterly hopeless.

“Go away,” she said stonily, pain trying to force itself through her anger. If she could just hold on to her anger, maybe she would not feel the pain. She did not want to feel it. She’d vowed in her darkest hour of wretchedness after her parents’ deaths that she would not allow pain to consume her, but she felt consumed in pain now. It burned her from the inside out. How much loss was one person supposed to bear?

“Eve,” he said, his tone uneasy in a way she’d never heard before, “we must talk about Linlithian.”

The pain broke through her circle of rage, and she felt as if it would cleave her in two. Childless. Parentless. The words pounded in her head. She grasped frantically at the anger, yanking it up to use it as a sword. “Linlithian!” She curled her hands into fists, facing him once more. “Of course you wish to talk of Linlithian! Do not fear, Laird Fraser!” Wariness swept his face, and he removed his hands from her thigh. She fought the urge to touch him. She would not beg for him or his love—ever. “I will help you gain Linlithian even if it kills me to do so. It is all that matters now!”

To him , that was…

As the tears coursed down her cheeks, she realized that if someone told her Linlithian had burned to the ground, she might well cheer. “Leave me be now,” she finished in a near-broken whisper. “Leave me be.”

He rose without a word, without attempting to persuade her to let him stay. Her heart twisted, but she bit her lip until a metallic taste touched her tongue. She shoved the need for him as deep as she could and turned away. The moment the door closed, she buried her face in the covers and wept.