Chapter Twelve

The Present ~ 1475

Rough Bounds, Scotland

"He'll nae ask ye to dance, ye ken," Conall said as he came to stand beside Grace at the far side of the great hall. She looked up at him from where she was sitting in a shadowy corner, close to a window in one of the few chairs that had not been stacked against the wall to clear the floor for dancing.

"I dunnae ken what ye mean," she said, forcing herself not to look back to Brus. She'd been watching him dance with some dark-haired lass for the fourth time, much to Grace's irritation. The man had danced eight dances now, by her count. It was amazing how many serving wenches this stronghold contained, and they each seemed to materialize out of thin air to dance with Brus. She did understand the eagerness. He was easy to look upon, and from what she'd observed, he was an excellent dancer.

"Beg pardon, lass," Conall said, mirth putting lines around his blue eyes for a moment. "I mistook yer staring at him during every dance for a desire to dance with him yerself."

She scowled at Conall, but the blasted Highlander laughed at her. "Are ye always so rudely blunt?" she asked, trying to make her tone sound irritated, but it was obvious to her own ears she sounded embarrassed. Because she was.

"Aye, but ye must ken, thanks to yer da's lies, I was raised amongst men without the benefits of a woman's guidance in teaching me manners."

She stiffened at his calling her father a liar for the second time that day. "Why did ye come over here?" she demanded. "Was it to rub my nose in the fact that Brus obviously dunnae want a thing to do with me?" She winced, realizing her outburst had just inadvertently told the man she had wanted Brus to pursue her. She shoved her embarrassment aside, and as he took a breath to answer, her temper ignited and her embarrassment fanned the flames. "I would think since ye hate my da so much, ye'd take a wide berth of me."

"Aye." He nodded. "I gave ye every reason to think that earlier, but upon reflection, I realized Brus was right in that yer father's sins are nae yers nor Arya's." When he said her sister's name, his eyes lit up, and a smile he managed to almost totally repress tugged at his lips. But she'd seen it, and it cooled her temper just a bit. He liked her sister! But of course he did! What was not to like? Her sister was a treasure.

"Why did ye seek me out?" she asked again, but this time her tone was gentler.

He looked out toward the dancers, and she could tell he was looking at Brus and her sister. "To tell ye that ye should ask Brus to dance."

"Whyever would I do that?"

"Well, for one, ye're ogling him," Conall said with a chuckle.

Heat infused her cheeks. "I'm nae ogling him!" she refuted.

"Ye are, and I ken ye are, and I'd wager a bag of coins that Brus kens ye are too."

Immediately, her gaze went to the makeshift dance floor where Brus was still dancing with the dark-haired lass. "He made it abundantly clear that he is happy to part ways with me on the morrow."

"He would," Conall said with a nod.

She looked to Conall then. The man was staring out at the dance floor at Brus, but he slowly turned to her and hitched an eyebrow. "Ask me why," he said.

"Why?" she asked, without hesitation. Repressing her curiosity had never been a strong point with her.

"Because ye likely make him uncomfortable."

She frowned. "Why would I make him uncomfortable?"

"Because 'tis plain as day he desires ye, but ye are a laird's daughter."

"He said something similar," she acknowledged.

"See," Conall said with a wink and knowing look that brought heat to her cheeks.

"Nae the desiring part," she corrected. "He said I was a great laird's daughter and my da would nae likely ever approve of a match with him, and that he didn't even ken who he was." She fell silent and then added, "And when I asked him if he'd continue the journey with us, he said it was best if we went our separate ways."

"I'm nae surprised. I saw him watching ye, and he had that look about him he gets when he's deciding whether to pursue a lass or nae."

This was fascinating, and she found herself utterly drawn into the conversation, despite hardly knowing Conall. "What sort of look is that?" she asked.

"Oh, he does this," Conall said, cocked his head to the right, crossing his arms over his chest, and pursing his lips.

She gasped. "He did just that right afore he told me it was best for us to part ways!"

Conall grinned. "I've grown up with Brus, lass. I ken him mayhap better than he kens himself. We're like brothers," he said with a shrug. "Mayhap that dunnae make sense—"

"It does," she said, thinking of Arya. "I sometimes think the same thing of my sister."

"Why do ye think he'd decide nae to pursue me afore he really even kens me?"

"Other than the obvious?"

"Which is?" she asked.

"Who yer da is," he said, his tone suddenly serious.

"Back to that, are we?"

"Never mind what I think of yer da. If the king dunnae support yer uncle, yer da could well be in a fight with the king. And Brus would be on the king's side."

"My da would nae contradict the king's wishes, despite however much he may want to."

"If ye say so."

"I do," she replied, not feeling as sure as she sounded, but he was her father. She believed he was a good, loyal subject.

"So, why else might he have already decided nae to pursue me?"

"Because he could nae immediately see any potential faults ye may possess."

"That dunnae make sense!" she exclaimed, but his words reminded her he'd never met a lass he trusted with his heart.

"To me and ye," he said, motioning between the two of them. "Because we are ruled by logic in matters of trust with the opposite sex, but Brus... Well, he is ruled by his past."

"Are ye implying he only courts women he can find faults in?"

"I'm nae implying anything, I'm telling ye what I have observed with my eyes. I've good vision. Nigel would tell ye the same."

Nigel had said something similar when he had seemed to like her. But after he had discovered who her father was, he hadn't been nearly as friendly. "Who is that lass he's dancing with?" she asked, thinking on what Conall had said.

Conall looked out toward the dance floor then, and after a moment, he said, "That's Esme. She works in the kitchens, and she lives at this stronghold. She's the illegitimate child of a fallen guard, and she made her way here when she had nowhere else to go."

"And do she and Brus have a relationship?" Grace asked, surprised at the tightening of jealously in her belly.

"They did, but 'twas doomed from the beginning, and that, lass, is why he pursued her. He knew it would nae go anywhere, and that's what he liked about it. I've nae worked out why he keeps courting lasses he kens will nae suit, but he does."

"Why were he and Esme doomed from the beginning?"

Conall's attention came to rest on her. "Ye'll need to ask him that. I've already said more than I ought to."

"Then at least tell me why ye ken I should ask him to dance. He will likely say nay, and I'm leaving tomorrow."

"He'll nae say nay."

"How do ye ken?"

"I have nae ever seen Brus be as careful with a lass as he was with ye right after he met ye. He'll nae say nay. If I'm wrong, may lightning strike me."

She worried her lip. "One dance would nae mean he'd change his mind."

Conall threw up his hands. "Then dunnae ask him. Let him go his separate way and ye go yers, and ye can wed that clot-heid MacLaren."

"He's nae a clot-heid."

"So ye wish to wed him?"

"Ye should nae ask such private questions," she said, well aware that she was being hypocrite after asking Brus such private questions at supper.

"I'll remind ye that I did nae have a mama around to teach me fine manners," he said with a grin so wide she had to laugh.

"A verra convenient excuse."

He nodded. "Aye, it is."

"Why are ye doing this, truly? Why are ye trying to aid us?"

Conall's expression turned very serious. "For what I must do. I would hope that ye and yer sister would ken I'm nae all bad."

She sucked in a sharp breath at his ominous words. "What is to come, Conall?"

"Only what is deserved," he said simply. Then, without another word, he turned from her and walked away.

She suspected he was referring to what had happened to his sister and the role he believed her father had played in it. Even if she had not wanted to dance with Brus, which she did, after what Conall had just said about the future, she needed to speak to him. She feared what Conall might try to do to get vengeance against her father. She was not fearful for her father but rather for Conall. Her da was a great laird surrounded by hundreds of seasoned, well-trained warriors. Conall was but one man who believed her father had lied to protect her uncle Niall.

And that was the other thing she felt she should confess to Brus. She was not so certain her uncle Niall had not tried to ravish Conall's sister. She thought back to the argument she and Arya had overheard last year around Christmastide when Uncle Niall had been visiting. He and her father had gotten in a terrible quarrel, and their yelling had drawn Grace and Arya to listen at their da's door. They'd only heard snippets of the argument, but it was enough to know one of the kitchen lasses had begged their father to keep Uncle Niall away from her. The kitchen lass had disappeared, and when Grace had asked her da about it, he'd said he couldn't remember who she was. When she'd gone to ask the other kitchen lasses, no one would talk to her about it.

Grace took a breath for courage, turned on her heel, and strode across the supper hall to where Brus was standing with the lass Esme. They looked to be in a serious conversation, and as Grace's courage faltered, so did her step. Just then, Brus turned and their gazes clashed, sending sparks of yearning through her. She'd never felt a pull like this before, and she wanted the chance to see if it led to something as wonderful as her mother and father had once had, so she gathered her courage around her once more, walked up to them, smiled at Esme, who glared in return, and then curtsied to Brus. "I was wondering if ye'd like to dance?" Her skin flushed hot, but she kept her eyes steady on him.

His eyes widened with surprise, and for one moment, he said nothing. She was certain he'd decline, but then he offered his hand, palm up, as if he had been taught manners by a lady of a great stronghold. She slipped her hand into his large one, and when he curled his fingers around hers securely, heat rippled under her skin and raced through her veins. This was how the beginning of something wonderful felt. She was certain of it. This was what she never experienced with Errol, and she knew deep in her gut that the lightning scorching through her body was what her mother had been referring to when she spoke of how Grace's father had made her feel.

"Grace, this is Esme," Brus said, tilting his head toward the lass who was glaring daggers at Grace. She could hardly blame the lass. She obviously liked Brus, and Grace supposed they had been entangled and he had found fault, as Conall had said, and he'd likely ended the entanglement.

"Pleased to meet ye," Grace said.

"I wish I could say the same," Esme replied.

"Esme!" The way Brus said her name sounded both admonishing and sympathetic at once.

It was clear the woman did not want his sympathy. Her shoulders went back in a rigid manner, her eyes narrowed, and she notched her chin up. "If ye think he'll nae find fault in ye just because ye're a fancy laird's daughter, he will," the woman snarled.

Grace felt her mouth part in surprise.

"Esme, it's nae like that," Brus responded. "Grace and I dunnae even ken each other. We only met this day, and—"

"It's like that," the woman interrupted. "Ye just dunnae realize it yet. But I do, because I see it when ye look at her." She pointed at Grace. "He'll find fault in ye and discard ye like he did me. Mark my words." Longing pierced the woman's eyes as she stared at Brus, and then she promptly turned on her heel and fled, leaving Grace and Brus standing there alone.

"Esme is the woman ye took out the Wolf Warriors to rescue, aye?" Grace asked.

"Aye," he said, looking in the direction of where the woman had gone.

"If ye went after her, ye must care for her," she said.

One breath passed, then two, then three, and Grace started to wonder if perhaps he was not going to answer, but then he looked at her. There was such an intensity in the gaze that her heart jolted. "I do care for her, but nae the way she wants me to. We dunnae suit."

"Because ye kinnae trust her completely?" Grace guessed.

He scrubbed a hand across his face. "I ken what ye are thinking."

"Do ye?"

"Aye. That it takes time to build trust, and that I did nae give her—us—enough time."

"Ye recall my words," she said, surprised.

"Aye." he nodded. "I recall everything ye've said to me since I met ye."

His statement made her heart flip in her chest. "So, is it as she said, then? That ye find fault with all the lasses ye are entangled with?"

"Mayhap," he admitted, his hand going to the back of his neck.

She was glad he could be honest enough to admit that. "Do ye ken why?"

"If I kenned why, Grace, mayhap I'd nae do it."

It wasn't said in a snippy way but a matter-of-fact one. "What is Esme's fault?"

"She wished to stay here, and I wish to go."

"And she'd nae leave with ye?" The woman could hardly claim to love him if she'd not leave with him.

"Nay," he said, his gaze unwavering. "She offered to leave, but I told her she'd grow to begrudge me having made her leave the one place she felt she belonged."

Grace frowned, trying to understand. "So her fault is her willingness to sacrifice what she wanted for love?"

"Nay!" he said, the word sharp. He looked around, as if to see if anyone had taken note, but they were standing well away from anyone else. "'Tis nae of her doing," he said, sounding exasperated. "I just dunnae want her to sacrifice that for me. I dunnae want her to change what she wants for me. She should find a man who wants the same as her."

"Because ye fear if she did, she would one day simply leave to come back here?" Grace guessed, thinking of his mother who'd abandoned him.

"Nay," he said, sharper than the last time, and he jerked as if she'd hit him.

She pressed her lips together instead pointing out the obvious, because it was also obvious that he was not ready to accept it. She thought she understood something about him: He was looking for someone he could trust completely because he had a deep-rooted fear of being abandoned or betrayed. He probably had found fault with other women, and when he could not find a specific one with Esme, he'd latched on to the fact that she had originally wanted to stay here. But maybe he'd done that because the pull to Esme, to the other women, wasn't strong enough. Mayhap, if he met a woman the pull was strong enough to, and she was patient and showed him she would not betray him, he would believe it. Grace knew she was likely being foolish, putting hope in what-ifs, but the hope was there.

"Dance with me," she said.

He tugged his hand through his hair, revealing his indecision, but his face showed his desire. "Grace, I have told ye—"

"Aye, aye," she said, waving a hand at him. "My da is a great laird, and ye are but a lowly bastard."

His gaze widened at that, but he chuckled.

His reaction emboldened her further. "And ye think we will likely be on opposing sides of a battle between the king and my da." He opened his mouth to speak, but she pressed a finger to his lips, pleased when he let her. "But tonight, I want to be just Grace and ye be just Brus, because tomorrow we will part ways and ye dunnae have to fash yerself about trusting me or nae."

His eyes traveled over her face and searched her eyes. His mouth curved into an unconscious smile, and then he drew her to him and slid a hand to her back. "I like the idea of nae fashing about tomorrow."

"I like it, too," she said, her heart fluttering in her chest.

Without another word, he guided her in the direction of the warriors and women who were forming a circle for the next dance. She was acutely aware of the warmth of his palm on her back and the smell of smoke and woods that came from him, as well as his towering height. Her head came only to his shoulders, but she didn't feel the least bit daunted by his strength. She felt secure.

"I saw ye dancing," she said as they made their way toward the group.

"I ken," he replied, his voice pitching low. "I was watching ye watch me."

Heat warmed her neck, but it was a good heat. He trusted her enough to reveal he'd been watching her as well. "Ye dance verra fine." He paused, turned to her, and gave a mock bow, but it was executed as well as any courtier she'd encountered at the king's stronghold. "Did yer da teach ye to dance?"

Brus barked out a laugh. "Hardly. He dunnae ken his left foot from his right."

"Brus!" a warrior bellowed from the circle. "We're starting with or without ye!"

Brus took her hand, his long, thick fingers entwining with hers, and his touch unleashed a flood of shocking hot desire. They strolled to the other dancers, and he released one of her hands so they could each take the hand of the person opposite them, and as soon as they did, a man with a bagpipe and another holding a drum began to play a slow tune. The circle moved to the left in accordance with the beat, everyone kicking their legs to the left as they went. Then they moved back to the right, doing the same motions, but she realized the tempo had picked up. Every time they changed directions, the musicians played faster until everyone was laughing and scrambling to keep up with the clipped pace.

Tears of amusement filled Grace's eyes and made her vision blurry. She did not notice when the man beside her slipped, but he careened into her, and she fell against Brus, who lost his balance, grabbed her by the hand, and dragged them both to the ground. He hit the floor, scattering rushes and dust, and she landed on top of the full length of his body, chest to chest, her groin pressed into his and the hardness of his muscles, of what made him a man, against every inch of her. Desire leaped from deep within her loins to send blood to all her limbs and her chest, making her breasts feel instantly heavy and her nipples hard. She didn't have to wonder what he felt because his arousal stirred beneath her.

Their gazes locked, and everything faded for her but the two of them. There was no noise. No other people. Just a warrior and a lass who were undeniably and completely drawn to each other. The beat of her heart galloped with the thrill of it, and his thumped a furious rhythm in unison with hers. A slow, sensual smile turned up the corners of his mouth, transforming him from fearsome warrior to temptation incarnate. A lock of her hair slid in front of her face to partially obscure her vision. She did not realize he'd reached toward her until his fingers grazed her cheek.

He pushed back the lock of hair and tucked it behind her ear. "I love yer eyes. Yer nose. Yer lips. Yer whole beautiful face." His voice was a seductive rumble from deep within his chest, and his mouth was so close that when he spoke, his warm breath washed over her skin and she could see hints of gold in the dark stubble around his lips. His words made her cheeks heat and a smile pull at her lips.

"Ye make me ache, too," she blurted, and then she found herself leaning forward until her lips touched his. A low growl came from him, and then above her, Errol said, "I'm going to kill ye."

Before she could even process what was happening, Brus rolled her off him to his side just a breath before the tip of Errol's sword met Brus's chest. She didn't know exactly what happened next, but Errol ended up on his back. The force of his fall was so great that his head hit the ground, and with a grunt, his eyes immediately closed.

Grace's heart plunged to her feet as she scrambled to Errol, who lay unmoving. "Errol!" she cried, giving him a shake, but he did not respond.

"I told that fool man nae to leave the healing room," came a light, feminine voice. Grace glanced up to find a woman with long fair hair standing there. This had to be the healer, Arabeth. She kneeled beside Errol and Grace, set a finger under Errol's nose, and gave a satisfied nod. "He's still breathing, but he'll nae be traveling to yer uncle's stronghold on the morrow. Between his earlier injury and this, he'll need a sennight to recover, if I judge correctly."

Grace nodded, even as her mind turned. The missive to her father from the king could not wait a sennight. "He'll stay here to recover, if that's acceptable," she said and looked up at Brus.

"Aye, of course. I'm sorry, lass. I just reacted."

"Nay, 'tis nae yer fault," she replied, setting her hand on Errol's chest, over his heart. She should have talked to him already and made clear she could never be his wife. "'Tis mine." She looked to the healer. "How long do ye think it will be until he awakens?"

"Hopefully soon. Do ye want to wait with him in the healing room?"

"Aye," she said. "I'll be leaving on the morrow to go to my uncle's."

"Without MacLaren?" Brus asked, astonishment on his face.

"Aye," she replied as she stood. Arabeth was directing Conall and the guard Arik to pick up Errol. "The missive from the king kinnae wait another sennight to reach my da. I'll go on with Conall and Arya."

"We'll leave at dawn," Conall said, "if that's fine with ye?" he asked Grace while he helped to hoist up Errol.

"'Tis fine," she replied, hoping Errol would be awake, so she could speak to him and rest easy that he was going to be fine. The men and her sister all turned to walk with Arabeth, who was leading the party to the healing room.

Grace looked to Brus. "I supposed this is goodbye," she said, overwhelmed with wistfulness that she'd had more time to possibly convince him to take the journey with them.

He frowned. "I dunnae like the thought of ye traveling without MacLaren."

"Why?" she asked. "Conall and a half dozen of the Watch will be with us, as he said. Besides, ye did nae seem to think so highly of Errol's skills afore."

"He's rash, which makes him foolish, but he would die for ye, and that makes up for his rashness."

"Well, ye're the only other man I ken who has claimed they'd die for me, and ye're nae traveling with us, so I'll bid ye farewell." And because she saw indecision flickering on his face, she made a decision. She raised on tiptoes and right there in the middle of the supper hall, surrounded by onlookers, she pressed her lips to his.

The contact of his mouth on hers sent a surge of warmth through her. She wanted to part her mouth for him, taste him, and let him explore the recesses of her mouth as she did his, especially when he growled and his hand came to her back to press her toward him, but she broke the kiss and stepped away. She'd never tried to tempt a man before, but now she was doing her best to tempt Brus to come with her, to buy her time to show him he could trust her and give them time to further learn one another.

"I'm verra sorry we did nae get our night where I was just Grace, ye were just Brus, and there was nae any possibility of a looming divide between us." With that, she turned on her heel and forced herself to walk away from him.

He did not call her back, but she'd not expected it. All she hoped for was that he would lie awake that night and consider coming. And if they were meant for more, as her heart told her they were, he'd be in the courtyard on the morrow, ready to accompany her when she was to depart.