Chapter Fourteen

The Present ~ 1475

Rough Bounds, Scotland

"Grace, dunnae do this."

The pain in Errol's voice was like a dagger in her heart, but she had to be truthful with him. It was worse for them both to allow this to linger. She squeezed his hand, which she'd been holding since he'd awoken from his sleep. Bright sunshine streamed through the window of the healing room and filtered over his sickbed. The poultice Arabeth had put on Errol's head wound reeked terribly. Grace wanted to pull away from him, just to have distance from the smell, but she would not do that to him. She loved him... just not in the way he wanted her to.

"I kinnae wed ye," she said again and tried to instill greater firmness in her words. "I love ye, as I said, but nae as a wife loves a husband. I dunnae—" She bit her lip, embarrassment heating her cheeks, but she forced herself to press on. "I dunnae desire ye."

"Desire could grow," he said, his voice becoming desperate and his grip so tight her fingers throbbed.

She tugged her hand out of his, as he was now holding hers instead of the other way around. She held his gaze, though she wanted to look away from the pain she was causing him. "I dunnae mean just need of the body," she whispered. "I dunnae feel incomplete without ye. My heart does nae expand to near bursting when ye are near." His forlorn look nearly killed her, but she forced herself to go on. "I dunnae think upon what waking up beside ye every day would feel like nor going to sleep with yer arms wrapped about me every night." But she had spent last night thinking about exactly those things with Brus. Her heart wanted him. Her heart recognized something in him for her, that she had never recognized in another before. That was the beginnings of the love needed between a man and a wife. She didn't seem to have any control over what her heart wanted, and currently, her heart wanted a man whom she would likely never see again. Why was life so unfair? She wished her mother were here to give her advice, but she suspected her mother would tell her not to wed a man she knew, deep in her gut, she did not love as she ought to. Her mother had wed for love, and she had wanted that for Grace and Arya as well.

"Grace, I have loved ye all my life."

"I ken," she said, wanting to cry at the torment in his voice. "And I am grateful, and I wish—" She swallowed, her throat feeling as if it were closing. "I wish I could love ye back in the way ye deserve, but I kinnae."

"How do ye ken how ye should feel? Ye have nae ever been in love."

"Nay, I have nae." That was true. "But I ken it here," she said, touching her heart. She could touch other places that had told her what desire felt like, but she wouldn't do such a thing. This was about more than physical longing, this was about a deeper need in her heart.

"This is a silly woman's whim."

She narrowed her eyes upon him, his words lessening her sympathy and that sharp prick of guilt at her inability to love him as he wanted. He had long made comments here and there about her woman's mind, her silly whims, her impulsive nature. His inability to see her as an equal was, she suspected, one of the main reasons romantic love had never grown. She could never wed a man who wanted her to walk behind him and not beside him.

She stood and stepped away from him as he reached for her. She didn't want to be harsh, but it might possibly be the only way to make him understand and accept her decision. "Arya and I are riding out today to go to Da."

"Grace, nay!" Errol said, scrambling out of the bed. "One kiss," he pleaded, capturing her hand. He did not tug her to him but stood, eyes beseeching in a way that twisted her heart. "Allow me one kiss, and then if ye're still certain ye dunnae wish to wed me, I'll accept yer decision."

"One kiss will nae change anything," she replied.

"How do ye ken?" he demanded. "We have nae ever kissed. Please, Grace, please. Ye owe me this much."

It was on the tip of her tongue to deny him, but mayhap if she allowed him to kiss her, and then she told him what her heart still knew, he'd finally accept it. "One kiss," she said, and he was drawing her to him before the last word was finished.

His hand slid up her back, to her neck, and his fingers delved into her hair. Her breath caught, waiting for an uptick in her heart rate, or her heat level, or a funny tightening or tingling of her chest and insides as she got whenever she was simply near Brus, but nothing happened. When his lips touched hers, there was no spark, no whirling of emotions, no tilting of the ground beneath her. His scent did not swirl around her, nor did she want to open her lips for him when his tongue ran the crease of her mouth. She wanted to push him away, and she raised her hands to do so when a voice came from behind her.

"Are felicitations in order, then?" Brus demanded behind her.

Grace's heart dropped, and she drew back from Errol even as she gently pushed him away. Embarrassment singed her cheeks as the turned to face Brus. She met his hard glare, and a thrill coursed through her. He was jealous! But then the reality of the moment crushed the happiness. She had to break Errol's heart, and what must Brus think of her?

"Nay," she said, shaking her head.

"Well, then, mayhap ye'd be interested to ken that yer sister, Conall, and the other guards are assembled in the courtyard waiting on ye. They are ready to depart for yer uncle's."

"I did nae ken. Thank ye for coming to tell me."

He gave a perfunctory nod. "I'll see ye in the courtyard," he said, his tone so unfriendly that she stiffened.

"Ye can go back to whatever it was ye were doing. I can find the courtyard on my own," she replied, determined to leave him with the memory of her at least having a smidge of pride.

"I will see ye in the courtyard. I am accompanying ye to yer uncle's."

His words left her momentarily stunned. "I see," she finally said, so pleased she had to work not to grin, but in the two words, she could hear her own happiness.

"Grace," came Errol from behind her.

"I'll leave ye two lovers to it, then," Brus said, turned on his heel, and stalked out the door.

Grace instinctively moved to go after him, to try to explain, but Errol spoke again. "Is it him, then?" he demanded.

She swung toward him to deny it but realized she couldn't. "Aye, and nay. 'Tis nae simply him. I told ye, I dunnae feel for ye as I should."

"Ye would, if nae for him," Errol said, his tone angry.

She signed. "Nay, Errol. There has been plenty of time afore him for me to feel more, and I just dunnae. I am sorry."

"Yer da will nae ever agree to a match between the two of ye."

"I did nae say anything about a match between me and Brus," she replied, irritated. First, she'd have to get the man to actually trust her. "I hope... Well, I hope ye will still be my friend."

"I love ye too much to be yer friend, Grace." He collapsed back against the bed. "Please go."

She stood there for a moment, not wishing to leave things so strained between them, but he closed his eyes and turned his head away from her, so she left, hoping to catch Brus to speak to him before he reached the courtyard. She found herself walking fast and then running down the passageway that led to the main passage and out to the courtyard. She turned the next corner and ran smack into him. It was like hitting a stone wall. The impact knocked the air from her lungs, and she rocked back on her heels, losing her balance.

He grabbed her by the elbow, steadied her, and then released her as if she had the plague. "Ye need to slow down," he growled.

"I was trying to catch up with ye."

"Why?" he demanded, the word as harsh as the look he leveled upon her. He was jealous! She was certain of it, and it made her want to throw all caution to the wind to try to reach him.

"I wanted to explain what ye saw."

"I ken well enough what ye were doing," he retorted.

"He beseeched me to allow him to kiss me to see if mayhap I had feelings for him and I simply did nae realize it because we had nae ever kissed." She paused, hoping he'd say something, but his burning gaze stayed steady, unforgiving as it bore into her. He was offering no quarter, but she'd not back down. "I did nae feel anything," she said, "but the wish that it was yer lips on mine, yer hands in my hair, yer body pressed to mine, and—"

His mouth slanted over hers, devastating in the taste, the sensations, the desperate desire each pull of her lips with his conveyed. His hands splayed across her back, to her neck, and into her hair. Her head tilted back, her mouth opened, and his tongue plunged inside, exploring her, touching hers, engaging in a dance only two people who yearned for each other could share. Her body reeled with each suckle of her lips, each growl he released. She pressed closer to him, her breasts growing full and heavy, her loins tightening, and then she raised on her tiptoes, wound her arms around his neck, and raked her hands into his hair.

Every inch of him hardened down the length of her body, and it was the headiest, most hedonistic thing she'd ever felt. She wanted to melt into him and lose herself, but then she was being shoved away, his mouth leaving hers, and out of the shadows came a tall, rotund man dressed in priest's garbs. Grace frowned as he directed his dark gaze upon her. "Ye want this man as yer man."

It was not a question, but a statement. Confusion battled with embarrassment in her. She looked to Brus to clear her confusion or even give her guidance, but he didn't just look confused, he looked tormented. His hands were shoved into his dark curling hair, and he was shaking his head.

She swallowed. She did want him, but she certainly did not want to admit it aloud, and yet she most definitely could not lie to a man of God. "Aye, father, I—"

"State yer name," the man demanded.

"Nay," Brus said, before she could answer. "Nay. I kinnae do it," he said, looking at the priest. "Go."

"But—" the priest began.

"Nay." The word was as uncompromising as death. "There will be another way. I said go. I dunnae have a need of ye now."

The man looked as if he wanted to protest, but he clamped his lips in a hard white line, nodded stiffly, turned on his heel and left. Grace looked to Brus and the gaze he settled on her was accusing and angry. "Dunnae approach me again. Dunnae tell me of yer desires, yer yearnings. I dunnae care. I kinnae care. There is naught in our future but certain betrayal of each other. Keep yer distance from me for ye and for me." He did not wait for a reply. He turned on his heel and strode away as if she were a hellhound and he her prey.