Adrienne Basso (33 page)

And then she had cast her eyes at Roderick. It was not the fierce, almost mad intentions reflected in his eyes that frightened her the most, but rather the ghost of a smile that touched his lips when her gaze met his. For in that moment Grace finally understood the depths he was prepared to go.

She felt herself begin to shake at the memory. Legs unsteady, she walked toward Ewan. He pulled her into his arms and held her close, running his hand up and down her back. Though she still felt worried and confused, she was not afraid. She knew she was safe in Ewan’s arms.

“Well, this is a damn fine mess.” Lady Moira stood near, eyeing them both shrewdly. “Though I’ll admit I’m not surprised that Grace has brought such turmoil into our midst.”

“I’m asking ye to keep a civil tongue in yer head, Mother. We’ve enough grief without ye adding kindling to the fire.”

Lady Moira huffed, but held her silence. Grace paid no attention, for there was no time for her to be distressed by her mother-in-law’s brisk disapproval. Not when their very survival hung in the balance.

Arms still entwined, Grace and Ewan made their way to the great hall, with Lady Moira, Alec, and a slew of others following in their wake. A ripple of murmurs circled through the crowd as they passed.

“Do ye think they believe these horrible lies?” Grace whispered.

“Nay,” Ewan swiftly replied. “Though it has only been a short time, ye have proven to them that ye are a good woman, with a kind heart. They willnae forsake ye.”

Encouraging words, yet it was impossible for Grace to miss the steady glances of curiosity and uncertainty that were tossed her way. Alec, too, sensed the tension and he moved to protectively flank her on the other side. Grace smiled wanly at the knight in thanks.

Once in the hall, Ewan gathered a group of his soldiers around him. Expressions solemn, the men listened, then offered opinions and advice.

“Roderick demands we turn my lady wife over to him and that pious pair for judgment, but I shall never release her into their corrupt hands.”

“If ye dinnae do as they ask, they will storm our walls,” Alec said.

“Or lay siege to the keep,” another said. “We willnae last long.”

“The McKenna will come to our aid,” Ewan insisted.

“Aye, we can count on his support,” Alec agreed. “Though it will not come swiftly. Many could die before it arrives.”

Grace forced down the lump in her throat. The thought of so many suffering because of her was unbearable. “I am innocent of this charge,” she said, as all eyes turned in her direction. “I do not fear their examination.”

“Ye should, milady,” Alec said bluntly. “’Tis plain as day that they have already decided ye are guilty.”

“Witches are not simply put to death,” Ewan said grimly. “They are burnt. ’Tis the law and considered the only appropriate punishment for those who practice the black arts.”

The room felt as though it were spinning around Grace. She knew this, of course, but the agony and cruelty of such a death was almost beyond comprehension.

“There is another way,” Alec said.

“Aye, trial by single combat.” Ewan leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. “I will challenge that Grace is innocent of the crimes she is accused and prove it with my sword.”

Grace’s stomach turned, the fear creeping steadily into the back of her throat. She had seen Ewan’s skill on the practice field and knew he was a formidable opponent. But Roderick was equally skilled and had not just arisen from nearly a fortnight in a sickbed.

Feigning a kiss, Grace leaned over and pressed her lips to Ewan’s ear. “Ye are in no condition to fight,” she whispered.

He stroked her arm gently and Grace nearly burst into tears. “Our choices are few, Grace. Of all of them, I believe this one to be the best.”

As much as she longed to protest, Grace knew Ewan was right. She hid her heartbreak by turning toward the fireplace, but there she caught Lady Moira’s eye. The older woman glared at her with undisguised anger. Grace could hardly fault the emotion, for it was one she also felt.

There was a rumble of protests from men seated around him, but Ewan held up his hand and it ceased.

“I shall champion Lady Grace and fight fer her honor,” Alec declared, stepping forward and drawing his sword.

For an instant Grace felt the hope inside her quicken, but one look at Ewan’s scowling face made it sputter and die, like a candle in a brisk wind.

“She is my wife,” Ewan insisted. “’Tis my duty to protect her. We shall send a message to Father Harold, asking him to sit in judgment of the trial. He seems the sort of pompous arse that would relish the task.”

Grace nearly groaned out loud at Ewan’s declaration.
Stubborn, prideful warrior!
The sweating sickness had stolen more than his strength; it has also taken what remained of his good sense. It was near impossible to hold back her distress, yet she bit her lip until she tasted blood, not wanting to shame her husband by publicly challenging his decision.

Alec had no such qualms. His protests rang loud and clear, but they were met with a forceful command to be silent. Clearly frustrated, Alec shot Ewan one final glare before turning his back and stomping from the hall, his booted footsteps echoing on the stone floor.

Lady Moira next approached. Grace saw Ewan’s fierce expression and felt a twinge of pity for her mother-in-law.

“Ewan, ye must see reason,” Lady Moira began. “Ye cannae—”

“Aye, I can and I will!” Ewan slammed his fist on the wooden table so forcefully the tankards rattled. “This is my keep, my wife, my fight! Is that understood?”

The hall went deadly silent. Lady Moira’s jaw firmed and the rest of her features tensed, but she clamped her lips shut. If the situation had not been so dire, Grace might have taken a small bit of pleasure from the moment.

But the truth was, she agreed with her mother-in-law. And that did not bode well at all.

As promised, Ewan issued the challenge to Roderick the next morning. The reply came quickly and the trial was set for the following day. Ewan immediately took to the practice field.

Grace stood and watched him, a silent Lady Moira at her side. At first, it had not been so bad. Ewan moved nimbly and struck with accuracy. But he quickly grew tired and it was evident that his strength was ebbing.

Frustrated with himself, he shouted at his sparring partner to come at him with all his strength, but the man hesitated. With a sinking feeling Grace realized that unless Ewan was able to strike a fatal blow at the start, Roderick would win.

Unable to watch any longer, Grace turned away, then gasped. Lady Moira’s eyes were trained upon her, intense and purposeful. A shiver crossed Grace’s neck. They had come to an understanding while nursing Ewan through his fever, but any hint of that previous pleasantry between them was now gone. Most likely forever, especially if Ewan was killed.

Ewan killed!
The mere thought of it sent a wave of nausea and fear crashing through every pore of Grace’s body.

“He cannae fight,” Lady Moira said flatly. “Roderick will cut him to ribbons.”

“I know.” The fear pressed against Grace’s chest, heavy as a boulder on a mountain. “I have talked to Ewan until I am blue in the face, trying to make him see reason. Begging him to withdraw from the combat, demanding that he delay it fer several days to gain more of his strength, pressing him to allow Alec to fight in his stead. He refuses to listen, refuses to change his mind.” Grace hung her head in despair. “I dinnae know what else to do.”

Shockingly, Lady Moira offered a comforting hand, placing it on Grace’s shoulder. Desperate for solace, she did not immediately pull back from her mother-in-law’s touch.

“I believe that ye care fer my son.” Lady Moira’s voice became deeper and more somber. “Am I right?”

“Aye. I love him. With all my heart.”

“Then ye must save him.”

“How?”

“By leaving here before the trial.”

Chapter Nineteen

That night it rained. A steady onslaught of pelting water that intensified with each hour, soaking the ground, blinding those foolish enough to try and move through it. By early morning the banks of the river had overflowed, flooding a section of Roderick’s camp. Grace smiled broadly when she heard the news, her heart lightening at the sound of the continuing rain beating against the roof of the keep.

Under a banner of white, a messenger from Roderick’s camp was received, verifying what all knew—the combat would have to be postponed.

“Tomorrow,” Ewan agreed.

“Nay, the day after if the weather remains harsh,” Grace boldly insisted, not caring that the messenger stared at her with suspicious eyes.

No doubt Roderick, Father Harold, and the monk were telling their men that she had used sorcery to conjure this storm and thus avoid her fate. Let them believe what they wanted. She would dance naked on the battlements to give Ewan any advantage in this contest.

But alas, fate was a cruel mistress. It teased her with the promise of fairness and then quickly snatched it away. By the afternoon, the rain had ceased, the water had receded back to the river, and the sun shone brightly.

There would be no more delays. The trial by combat would take place the following morning.

All through the long day, Grace pondered the merits of the daring plan Lady Moira had proposed to her, wondering if she had the courage to enact it. Grace fought to conceal her growing distress from Ewan, but he was so preoccupied with preparing for his battle with Roderick that he barely noticed.

She faced the coming of the night with dread. The hours flew too quickly and then suddenly the evening meal had ended and she was alone with Ewan in their bedchamber. Wanting to avoid climbing into the bed as long as possible, Grace turned her back to it and gazed out the window.

It was a moonless night, but the night sky was clear of clouds and sparkling with countless stars. Lost in her troubling thoughts, Grace allowed her mind to drift. A gentle touch on her shoulder brought forth a squeal of surprise.

“’Tis only me, lass,” Ewan said.

Her face went tight, the lines in her forehead deepening. Ewan wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her back against his chest. Her entire body melted into him and she savored the feel of him surrounding her.

Longing pulled at her heart. She loved him so! Grace wiped at her eyes, then felt his lips pressing on her neck.

“Ye need to rest, Ewan. To save yer strength fer the morning.”

He reared back. Grace could feel the emotions roiling in him. Slowly, she turned to face him. Ewan placed his fingers beneath her chin. Then holding her in place, he kissed her fiercely.

He was avoiding the obvious, refusing to discuss what lay ahead. Perhaps that was best. Perhaps the only way to survive the next few hours was to surrender to the most pleasant distraction they could devise.

Grace raised her arms and clasped them around Ewan’s neck and returned his kiss, allowing him to feel the need that was shuddering through her. He pressed her against the wall and the rough stone dug into her back.

Her flesh was hot everywhere he touched. Ewan’s hands moved over her and she wantonly arched forward. He whispered endearments in her ear and she reached down, cradling his arousal. He groaned, kissing her wildly, plunging his tongue deep into her mouth as though he could not get enough of her, as if he desperately needed to be a part of her.

Heart sobbing, Grace lifted her legs, hooking them around Ewan’s calves. He accepted her invitation, placing his hands on her hips and moving her higher against the wall until she was in a most vulnerable position. She rocked forward and he entered her in one brusque movement, filling her, touching her in the deepest recess of her heart.

“Ewan!”

He tightened his hold and she did the same. Clinging together, in love and passion and desperation, they moved their bodies, each holding nothing back, each giving totally and completely of themselves.

They shuddered at the same time as they lost control, crying out in satisfaction. Grace pressed her palm against Ewan’s chest, over his heart, while she felt his body throbbing inside her, his seed spilling against her womb.

“See, my love,” Ewan whispered wickedly in her ear as he slowly lowered her to her feet. “I am no longer as weak as a kitten.”

“Nay, good sir. Ye are as strong as a lion.” Grace looked away, her heart breaking. “And just as arrogant.”

He laughed. “I hope that I’ve given ye a child tonight.”

“Oh, Ewan.”

Grace’s throat tightened. Would either of them even live long enough to see if their lovemaking had indeed produced a babe? The question haunted her.

“If all does not go well tomorrow . . . If Roderick bests me—”

Grace’s breath hitched on a sob and she pressed her fingers against Ewan’s lips. “Dinnae say such a thing.”

“Hush, now.” Ewan rocked her in his arms for a few moments, then pulled back to look into her eyes. “We must both be strong, Grace, and practical. I believe I can win and I pray that I do, but if Roderick somehow emerges victorious, then ye must plead yer belly. It will buy ye some time before they carry out the sentence. Enough time, I pray, fer word to reach yer brother.”

“They willnae care that I might be carrying a child,” she lamented. “Instead, it would bring them joy to kill the devil’s spawn along with the witch.”

A shuttered look came over Ewan’s face. He lifted her once again in his arms and carried her to their bed. He placed her beneath the covers and then climbed in beside her.

Grace clutched her fingers around the blanket, gripping it so hard her hand began to throb. Ewan reached down and drew her fingers into his palm. “Ye must banish these maudlin thoughts fer they will surely muddle our minds,” he declared.

“Aye, and give us nightmares,” Grace retorted with an edge of sarcasm.

Amazingly, he smiled. “Sleep, my dearest. I shall hold ye close and keep the demons away.”

“I love ye, Ewan.”

“And I ye.”

Grace obediently closed her eyes and feigned sleep. The minutes dragged as she waited anxiously to hear the steady rhythm of Ewan’s breaths, telling her that he had fallen asleep. When they came, she slowly opened her eyes.