Chapter Eighteen

It was strange to think of him as anything but Brus, but she rolled the name Ross around in her head as he directed the horse away from where they had slept soundly for the night. Or it was more accurate to say where Arya and Conall had slept soundly. Grace smiled to herself as she recalled sitting silently hand in hand with Ross after their talk and then falling asleep on his shoulder, and her smile widened when she thought of how he must have carried her with great care back to the shelter because she did not awake until a bit ago.

She'd awoken to an empty tent and had found Ross, Arya, and Conall all awake and sitting around the fire. They were huddled almost as if telling secrets, but before she could ask any questions, they all jumped up and everyone was mounted before she could clear the sleep cobwebs from her mind. Arya was acting strange, but mayhap her sister was just as anxious to get to their da as Grace was. Ross most definitely was.

She didn't know if she was making the right decision about Ross, but she did know she was making the only choice her heart would let her make, and that filled her with guilt. But she would not be led by guilt. Blind loyalty, as much as she wanted to give it, would be foolish. If her father had done the things Ross believed he had, she could not ignore it.

Her chest tightened at the thought and the dilemma she faced. Her father had said he'd attacked the Stewart's castle because he'd discovered Ross's father was conspiring to betray the king. If that was not true, and if it was the other way around, then her father had deliberately attacked Ross's father to silence him. And if that was true, her father would be lost to her. But if her father had not been lying, Ross might be lost to her if he would not accept it.

As they rode, she carefully considered everything he had told her and why Bran would lie. That was the problem: she could not see the benefit to Bran of lying to Ross about this. The man had kept Ross's identity from him for years, supposedly because he didn't want him to seek vengeance and lose him. That she could believe. She'd seen the love for Ross in the man's eyes. So, if he'd not told Ross who he was to protect him, the only reason Bran would tell him now was that he knew if he didn't, he'd lose Ross no matter what after being caught in a lie. And if Bran had told Ross the truth of what had really happened so many years ago, then that meant her father had invaded a man's home, killed him, killed his wife, and possibly would have killed his children, all for power, land, and coin.

Bile rose in her throat at the thought, and her stomach cramped. She wanted to dismiss the possibility outright. God above knew she wanted to. But when she recalled the lie her father had told her about the kitchen wench, and knowing what she did now about Conall's accusations, she could not dismiss the possibility that her father had lied about Laird Stewart. Her father had already proven himself a liar.

Tears blurred her vision. She had to blink several times to clear her eyes, but she could not rid herself of the pain in her heart. Her father had always been a caring, loving man. To think that he could have done the horrid things Ross had said ripped at her heart, and yet she knew people were not simple. No one wanted to be the villain in their own story, and she could see her father rationalizing what he'd done. She'd thought him harsh in battles before, but he'd always explained it away, and she'd always willingly allowed him to do so, not wanting to think he might simply be wrong.

A breeze blew suddenly around her and she gave a shiver, only to have Ross immediately drop a plaid around her shoulders. His tenderness and care in that moment had her thoughts going to all the other moments when he'd shown such kindness. If his past was to be believed—that he had a doting mother and a younger sister to look after—it made sense how he acted, which was yet another reason she could not simply turn a blind eye to what had been revealed to her. And as horrid as it was to think her father may not be the man she thought, she could only imagine how bleak it was for Ross not to remember his father or his mother or his siblings at all. Something prodded at her mind right after the thought. It took her a moment, but then she sucked in a sharp breath on the memory she'd been trying to drag out of the shadows.

"Ross."

"Aye?"

"Ye said ye could nae recall anything about yer past, but I dunnae think that's true. I think the dreams ye told me about, when ye were swimming and balancing on a wall, likely had something to do with yer past."

"I had the same thought," he replied. "I've had other dreams—nightmares."

"About what?" she asked as the horse trotted along.

"I was being chased and I was bleeding, or someone with me was bleeding."

"Do ye think it was when Bran escaped with ye and was hit by the tree?" she asked, recalling what he'd told her.

"Aye, I do."

"And Bran has gone to try to find yer sister and brother?"

"Aye, Margaret and Graeme."

She thought of her own sister then, and she could not imagine being unable to remember her, but she had grown up with Arya, and Ross had not be afforded that luxury. "I'm sorry," she said, though the words seemed inadequate, especially if her father had done what Bran had said.

"I'm sorry, too," Ross said.

"What are ye sorry for?"

"The pain I ken this is causing ye."

Her throat constricted at his words, and a wave of tiredness overcame her. She tried to fight it, but as they rode on, the rhythmic clopping of the horse, the warmth provided by Ross's plaid, and his body wrapped around her made her sleepier and sleepier. Several times she started to slump back against him and managed to pull herself back upright because she did know, though he'd held her hand, that he wanted to keep a distance between them. But the fourth time she slumped back into him half-asleep, when she went to pull away, he held her in place.

"Ye can rest on me, lass," he said, his voice a low rumble from his chest. "I've got ye."

He had her for now, but what if her da really had done all those things? Would Ross consider her his enemy? And if he didn't, for a man who had such a problem trusting, could he ever put all his trust in a woman whose father had destroyed his family? She didn't have the answers. All she had was an all-consuming tiredness, so she finally allowed herself to succumb to the sweet bliss of sleep.

"Lass."

Grace frowned at the deep voice in her ear that didn't sound at all like her father's, but she did not open her eyes. She was warm, and her body felt heavy. Too heavy to leave sleep.

"Lass, we're here."

"I dunnae care," she grumbled. Why was her da bothering her?

"Gracie!" her sister exclaimed, her voice sounding excited. "There's Da!"

Grace's eyes flew open at that announcement, and at the realization that she had been in a half-dream state and wasn't with her father at all, but Ross—a man who wanted vengeance against her father. She sat up and blinked at the courtyard around her and the sight of her father approaching with a concerned look upon his face.

"Dunnae forget yer vow!" she hissed at Ross.

"What vow?" Arya demanded from Grace's right, and when Grace glanced toward her sister, she saw that Conall was holding a white strip of cloth attached to the blade of his sword, which indicated to both warring clans that their little party was here in peace.

"Was there fighting as we approached?" she asked no one in particular.

"Nay," Ross said. "It seems the MacLeans lost the last battle, according to a MacLean we passed, so they have drawn back to regroup."

Normally, she would have been ecstatic for her uncle and da, but after everything she'd heard, she could not feel happiness for that.

"Isn't it wonderful, Grace? Da and Uncle are winning!"

"Aye," Grace said automatically, feeling Ross tense behind her. "Wonderful." She expected Conall to make a derogatory comment about her father, but the man stayed silent. Whatever he was feeling was unreadable, his face like a stone rubbed smooth. There was no hint of emotion, and that worried Grace more than the ire he had displayed before. She wished she could see Ross's face to judge if he'd noted the lack of emotion on Conall's face, too.

"What are ye lasses doing here?" her da said, approaching as he looked between Grace and Arya.

"I talked Errol into letting us come with him," Grace answered, staring at the face of her father. Did she even know him? Those were the same kind brown eyes she remembered, but did they hide lies?

"Where is Errol? And why the devil was he coming here?" her father demanded, reaching up to help her dismount, as Ross had brought the horse to a stop.

Once she was standing on the ground, she reached into the bag she'd brought and handed the missive to her father. "This missive arrived for ye from the king," she said. As her father took the missive, she said, "Errol was at the castle visiting when it arrived." She swallowed the knot of worry in her throat. "I asked him to bring it to ye, and I'd been having terrible dreams of yer death so I persuaded him to allow us to come," she said, motioning to Arya, who was dismounting alongside Conall.

"Devil take the fool for being so easily swayed by ye," her father growled, opening up his arms to Arya as she rushed toward him with a joyous smile on her face.

"Da, I missed ye so!" she cried as their father embraced her.

Jealousy rippled through Grace at her sister's blissful ignorance of the man their father might be. But she would not say anything to Arya until she was certain of the truth.

"Where is Errol?" her father asked again, looking now between Arya, Grace, Ross, and finally Conall.

"We were attacked on the way here, and Errol was injured. He's recovering at Grayline Stronghold," Grace said, looking to Ross then. His lips were pressed in a hard, thin line, and his right hand rested on the hilt of his sword, as if any minute he might use it.

"How bad is it?" her father asked.

"He will recover," she said. "The healer says he should rest a sennight, and then he can make his way here."

"Why did ye nae stay with him, lass?" Her father's tight tone told her he thought she should have. It worried her for the news she needed to convey. "Because I deemed it more important to bring the missive to ye from the king, and these men—" she motioned to Ross and Conall "—are part of the Northern Watch and offered to see Arya and me here safely. They are also the ones who saved Arya, Errol, and me when our party was attacked by Wolf Warriors."

"I thank ye greatly," her father said to Ross and Conall, then focused on her once more.

"This is Brus Stone," she said, nodding toward Ross. His nostrils flared, but it was the only hint of his dislike for her father, and her father did not seem to take note. He nodded at Ross. She tensed, thinking about introducing Conall. She wished she could leave off his clan name, but she knew her father would demand it. "And this is Conall Douglas."

He stared, eyes narrowing, then a look of complete surprise settled over his face. "Conall Douglas," he said, his voice holding a low, cold edge of irony.

"That's right," Conall said, stepping away from Arya and closer the Grace. "'Tis funny, is it nae," he said, looking at her father, "that it dunnae matter how deep ye bury yer sins, they have a way of finding ye." Conall's sword swished past Grace, so close that the zing of the blade cutting through the air hissed in her ear. The tip of his sword pointed at her father's chest, but only for a moment. In the next instant, Ross lunged past her, disarmed Conall, by circling his sword under his and up to send the man's weapon flying, and knocked his legs out from under him so that Conall landed on his back with a thud.

"Traitor!" Conall roared at her da, attempting to scramble up, but Ross set the tip of his sword to Conall's chest. "Ye're protecting a liar!" he bellowed, even as her father's guards moved in, and reaching down, grabbed Conall by the arms to haul him to his feet. He struggled something fierce to break free, but it was to no avail. "Yer brother tried to ravish my sister! I was protecting her, and ye lied! Yer brother lied, too!"

"I'm sorry to hear yer years in service to the greater good have nae made ye see the error of yer ways," Grace's father said.

She could not find a hint of caring in his tone or a sliver of compassion, and that put a sinking feeling in her gut that Conall was, in fact, telling the truth.

"I'll kill ye!" Conall spat, still struggling to break free.

"Ye'll nae," her father replied, his tone bland. He flicked his fingers at the guards holding Conall. "Take him to the dungeon whilst I decide what to do with him."

And as they dragged him away, Grace could do no more than watch, mouth agape. Arya suddenly marched past Grace, stopped in front of Ross, and slapped him. The contact of her skin to his resounded through the silence. Grace felt her eyes widen.

"How could ye betray him like that?" she hissed.

Heaven above, Arya cared for Conall. Grace wondered what they had said to each other for her sister to be championing him and not their father.

"Better he's in the dungeon than dead," Ross replied.

"Daughter, the man had a sword at my chest," her da bit out.

"He would nae have harmed ye. He is good and kind. He simply wanted the truth."

"And ye think I have nae given it?" their father demanded.

"I think I dunnae even ken who ye really are!" Arya flung out before rushing away from them all, across the courtyard and through the castle door, which banged shut behind her.

"What the devil is going on?" her da demanded.

Grace shook her head. She honestly didn't know, but she suspected she was playing a part in a plan that had been made without her.