Chapter Eight

The Present ~ 1475

Rough Bounds, Scotland

Grace awoke with a start and a gasp. Darkness enveloped her and something lay warm and heavy across her abdomen. Something equally warm and unyielding pressed against both of her outer thighs. She stiffened, confused for a moment about where she was. When she realized it was an arm around her waist—a heavily muscled one—and equally muscled thighs holding her captive, she opened her mouth to scream, but a single calloused finger pressed gently over her lips.

"Ye've been asleep, lass," a deep male voice said. "I saved ye, remember?"

The memories of the day flooded back at once, and she relaxed instantly, recalling that she was on a horse with Brus. But then she stiffened once more, realizing just how firmly her backside was pressed against his manly parts.

She started to scoot forward, but the hand around her waist held her firm in place. "We're almost to Grayline, lass, so ye dunnae have long to stand being so near me, but I must insist on keeping ye in my caim in case I have to ride quick. I'll nae risk ye falling off the horse."

She pushed his finger from her lips. "I dunnae ken whether I should be offended ye think I'd fall off a horse or grateful ye are thinking of my welfare."

He chuckled, and the sound rumbled from his chest, deep and pleasant, and he shook against her for a moment in a way that sent little shocks of pleasure up her spine. Her eyes widened in surprise at that, and she was awfully glad he could not see her face.

She blinked at the darkness, trying to make her eyes adjust as they trotted along. The stars above lit the sky enough that she could make out that they were riding through a forest—a very thick forest, at that.

"Where's my sister?" she asked, trying to turn around, but once again, Brus stilled her movement. This time it was a very large hand that splayed across her belly, taking up nearly all the space. His touch made her stomach flip. Her mother had told her and her sister many times of the day she'd met their father and how his touch had made her belly tighten, but Grace had never experienced anything like that until now. Why this man, this stranger, affected her thusly but Errol never had, she couldn't say, but her mother had always told them that matters of the heart had nothing to do with logic and everything to do with one's gut.

"Yer sister is behind us, riding apace with Conall. She's perfectly safe."

His sure words made her feel better, but then she recalled Errol. He'd almost been hanged, and he'd been hit in the face with a great deal of force, though he had seemed recovered, given that he'd pierced Brus's chest with his blade. "Where is Errol?"

"Riding in the back again, much to his irritation."

"Again?" she asked, tilting her head to look up at the stars. On her mother's deathbed, she had vowed that if Grace ever looked up when she needed guidance and found the brightest star, that would be her mama shining down upon her. Grace certainly felt a bit lost now.

"Aye, we stopped a ways back to water the horses."

She frowned. "I kinnae believe I did nae wake up."

"Ye did nae. All ye did was snore."

She gasped. "I dunnae snore!"

"How do ye ken?" he asked, the amusement even stronger in his tone now. "Did yer betrothed tell ye as much?"

She twisted around in the saddle to glare at him, and she half thought he'd stop her, but he didn't. When she met his smirk, she knew he'd let her look at him, because he'd been goading her. Surprisingly, it made her want to laugh, but she bit the inside of her cheek to hold in her mirth. "I told ye he's nae my betrothed, and if he were, I'd certainly nae have slept with him yet," she said, turning back around to face forward.

"He says he will be," Brus replied, and she could hear the challenge in his tone.

"Well, men are often incorrect in their thinking, in my experience," she replied, grinning to herself.

"I'd have to agree with that," he said, surprising her by not challenging her opinion.

"Are ye counting yerself amongst those men?" she prodded, curious to know the answer.

"Nae usually, but I imagine there are lasses who would tell ye different."

"Ones that ken ye snore?" Her eyes popped wide when she realized what she'd said. "I—I beg yer pardon," she stammered.

"Och, ye dunnae need to beg my pardon for asking a blunt question. I have nae slept through the night with a lass."

The statement fascinated her, and she found herself glancing over her shoulder to catch a look at his face to see if he was teasing her once again, but his expression was serious. She faced forward once more and absently stroked the horse's mane. "Ye mean to tell me ye take a woman to yer bed, but ye will nae allow her to stay?" she asked.

"I did nae mean to tell ye anything, but the words seem to be flowing from my mouth of their own accord," he replied. The self-disgust in his tone was obvious and had the odd effect of making her want to laugh.

She found herself in much the same predicament, in that she was saying things she'd not intended, and it pleased her that he did as well. "So," she said, wishing to hear the answer to his question. "Why do ye nae allow a lass to stay with ye if ye take her to yer bed?"

"I did nae say I'd taken a lass to my bed," he replied.

Her mouth fell open, and she glanced over her shoulder once more. He still wore the serious expression he'd been wearing a moment before, but now his lips curved up ever so slightly. "Ye're an innocent?" she asked, astonished. He looked like a Viking of old, and she could not imagine he'd had trouble finding lasses to be with him. She'd overheard her father's warriors and men who visited him talk of women when they didn't know she was listening, and as far as she could tell, men were not very discriminating with whom they bedded.

"'Tis nae a disease, Grace."

The way he said her name, slow like the slide of the finest silken material across her bare skin, made her toes curl. "But I'm nae an innocent," he continued. "I dunnae have a private bed to take a lass to. Most men of the Northern Watch sleep in one large hall."

"Ah, I see. So ye have been in many women's beds."

"A few," he said, and then added, "Yer opinion of men is nae verra high, is it?"

"My opinion of my da is the highest," she replied, which was true. Her father had been very loyal to her mother, and he'd loved her dearly. He had listened to her opinions and allowed her to rule beside him, and not stand in his shadow. Grace wanted no less for herself, and that started with respect, her mother had always said. Errol craved her, but he would never see her as an equal. However, if she was truthful, she had to admit that even if she thought Errol could come to see her as an equal, she did not think she could come to love him in any way other than friendship. She was not drawn to him. Her mother had said it was like there was an invisible string pulling her to Grace's father when she'd met him, and Grace wanted that, too.

"And what of yer opinion of other men?" Brus asked.

She pondered what to say to this virtual stranger, but for some reason, she felt like confiding in him. Perhaps it was that they had shared a moment when he'd taken retribution against her attacker for her. Perhaps it was that he had held her hair back when she'd been ill. She hadn't thanked him for that yet, and she needed to do so. But first, she would answer him. "I have found men with wives oft forget they have them, and I dunnae care for that."

"Nay," he said, the word flat and hard. "A man's word and his vows to others are what make him a good man."

"I could nae agree more."

"What else have ye come across that makes ye nae care for men?"

"Men oft seem to treat women as if they are nae as smart and as if they are possessions. I dunnae care for that, either."

"I would think nae," he said. "Ye're nae a dog to be ordered about and petted when one feels inclined."

She nibbled on her lip, wanting to continue the conversation about the lasses he'd been with. She tried to fight the question, bubbling up in her throat. She swallowed, she niggled her lip more, she even bit it hard, but her lips parted on their own accord, and she heard herself blurt, "So, ye have been in a few lasses' beds, but ye dunnae stay the night. Why is that?" Her eyes popped wide, then she slapped her hand over her traitorous mouth and sent a prayer up that he'd somehow not heard her.

A barked laugh resounded behind her, telling her God was not in the mood to answer foolish lasses' prayers today. "Ye enjoy asking blunt questions, dunnae ye?"

She peeled her hand away from her mouth. "I dunnae ken what's come over me."

"'Tis the blood fever."

She frowned. "The what?"

"The period of time after ye have faced death with someone, or seen it, in which ye feel especially close to them because ye survived something together. It's almost as if ye're in a fever state."

"Ah, that makes sense!" she exclaimed, feeling slightly delirious, as if she did indeed have a fever.

"If I ever meet a lass I see a future with, I'll stay the night."

"Och!" she said, disgusted. "Ye are just like other men. Tumbling women in the hay. Using them for pleasure but nae wishing to tie yerself to one woman when there are so many to choose from!"

"I did nae say that. Ye've twisted my words."

"Then untwist them," she grumbled.

"To see a future with someone, ye must trust them with what's in yer chest—"

"Yer heart?"

"Aye. That thing," he said. His voice was suddenly congested with so much discomfort that she smiled to herself.

"I've nae met a lass I trust with the thing in my chest."

"Ye ken it takes time to trust someone," she said, unable to keep her astonishment from her voice.

"I'm nae a clot-heid, Grace, I ken it."

"Did ye nae ken the women long whose beds ye tumbled in?"

"I did nae say that," he replied, and now his tone was closed off, as if the discussion was over.

"We're here," he said abruptly.

She glanced ahead and sucked in a sharp breath. Grayline Stronghold was cold and foreboding, and it seemed to reach to the sky. "It looks to be floating on air!" she exclaimed.

He laughed, a rich, hearty sound. "Nay. But 'tis at the top of the mountain so that we may see any who approach the loch, and guard the land and the waters."

"I supposed we're done talking about ye and the lasses?" she asked.

"Aye," he replied, the one word telling her the subject was most definitely closed.

She pressed her lips together so as not to release a disgruntled sigh. "Fine," she finally said. "But can I ask ye something else?"

"Ye can ask, but that dunnae mean I'll answer."

Men were so stubborn at times. Though, to be fair, she had asked very delicate, personal questions. "Why are ye here?"

"Because MacLaren needs tending," he answered immediately, amusement in his words.

"Ye ken verra well that's nae what I'm asking."

"Aye," he replied, "I do, but I told ye, to give my story, I have to trust ye."

"And ye dunnae trust me?"

"Do ye trust me?" he asked instead of answering.

"I trust ye would give yer life to save me," she answered, surprising herself, and apparently him, because he stiffened behind her.

"Aye, 'tis my duty."

"Nay," she responded. "Many men with duties dunnae see them through. 'Tis, I'm wagering, because ye have a deep sense of honor."

"My da instilled it in me," he said. "And I thank ye for saying such a thing, especially given ye really dunnae ken me."

"Well, ye already showed ye would give yer life to save me."

"My life was nae in danger from the Wolf Warriors, lass," he said, his voice, teasing.

Embarrassment flooded her. "Oh, I—"

"But I would give my life to save ye."

She grinned; glad he could not see how much his answer pleased her. "This," she said, "is called getting to ken someone, and that's how ye start to trust a lass."

"I'm aware how to get to ken a lass," he said, "and I have gotten familiar with lasses, and that's usually when it's revealed I kinnae trust them."

"Maybe ye're getting familiar with the wrong lasses."

"Mayhap," he said with a chuckle.

"Was yer da sad when ye came to the Watch?"

"I did nae ‘come' to the Watch. And my da is here."

She frowned. "Yer da is here?"

"Aye," he said, nodding.

"Ye were born and raised here?"

"Nay. Nigel, the man I call my da, is nae mine by blood, only feeling. He stumbled across my mama in the woods when he was coming home from a mission for the Northern Watch. He told me later, when I was older, because I could nae remember her or how I got here, that she had been abandoning me when he encountered her. She told him she did nae want me because she'd nae been wed when she'd had me, and it caused her all kind of trouble."

Her heart twisted at his words. It was no wonder he hadn't met a woman he trusted yet. "I'm so sorry."

"Dunnae be. Nigel brought me to Grayline because he did nae ken what to do, and they ended up just keeping me here. Nigel has a soft heart, and I think he always wanted a son, but being on the Watch, they kinnae be wed, so..."

"So none of the men have children?"

"Some do," Brus answered, "but they're bastards like me, and Nigel has too much honor to bring a child into the world and saddle him with the problems that accompany being a bastard."

"Are there many of them?" she asked, wanting him to share with her.

"A fare few," he answered in a tight tone that told her the topic was not up for discussion.

"Did ye nae have to take a life oath to be on the Watch, then?" she asked, realizing she was holding her breath, hoping he was not on the Watch. She had begun to think mayhap she was simply never going to encounter a man she was pulled to as her mother had been pulled to her father, but then today had happened. In all its horror something hopeful, something possibly magical had come from it. Dare she hope something could develop between them given time? Or was it foolish to have such a hope for a man she'd only just met?

"All men on the Watch have to take a life oath, Grace."

"Oh," she replied, utterly disappointed.

A long paused ensued, and she wondered if he was going to speak or if the conversation was over.

"I have nae taken the oath yet," he said, his tone low and full of a mixture of regret and pain. "I—God's blood!" he cursed. Confusion hit her when his hand that had held her steady left her. Something cold and slimy brushed her face, and then her leg.

Looking down, she saw a snake sliding across her lap, then suddenly another fell from the branches that canopied the forest. She screamed and began to flail her arms as she attempted to scramble, in utter panic, off the horse. The horse reared just as she reached his neck, and she went falling sideways toward the steep drop-off toward the loch far, far below.