“I could teach them the meaning o’ honor,” she’d responded, slanting a meaningful glance at Duncan. She could have sworn his mouth twitched before he swigged his drink, concealing half his face.
“Ye faither must’ve been a fine man,” Craig said. “Ne’er mind yer maither who let him teach ye.”
Grace’s throat constricted. Feeling their eyes on her, she shook her head. “She died when I was a bairn.”
An awkward silence descended until Craig cleared his throat. “Well, ye’re a fine lass, nonetheless.”
“Drink tae them?” Bryce said.
And they did. When she raised her head, Duncan was giving her an odd look. He looked away when she caught him. Grace ate the meat and porridge they’d set out for her. When she could not keep her eyes open anymore, she bid them good night. Grace expected Duncan to follow with his rope, but he remained seated.
When Grace lay down, she tossed and turned for a while before falling into a disturbed sleep.
When they headed out again, both her hands were tied and she was in front of Duncan on his horse. Apparently, he’d changed his mind regarding her honor.
Bryce rode beside them, and they were in deep conversation. Something about the war and the losses they’d incurred. Duncan cussed the English for the death of someone called Caelan. Apparently, they’d been a trio. Hearing the bitterness in his tone, Grace’s heart twinged though it shouldn’t have. But she was helpless against it. It was a loss and she understood it.
This war ripped from both sides and left nothing to show. She wanted to console him but then, his dirty trick flashed into her mind. That and he was a Highlander. A fact she had to constantly remind herself about.
The previous night, she’d dreamt of home. Of the joy following her father’s returns. Of Mary’s constant care. Of the warm comfort of her bed. She dreamt of Harris and Mr. Williams. OfEthan and his horrible friend Owen. She wondered what Harris had done in the aftermath of her escape. He’d threatened to follow, had he?
Ethan had surely given up the marriage venture? There was a horde of women who could not wait to have him. Including married ones. In time, he would see that Grace was not good for him. Once more, Harris’ worried expression filled her mind’s eye. He was the brother she had never had. On the day he and his father had moved into the manor, he’d found her with a stick in the yard poking at a wriggling earthworm.
The child Harris had taken one glance at her task and had given a horrified gasp, calling Grace’s attention and beyond him, where Mr. Willams stood watching them. Immediately, she’d dropped the stick and brought her hands behind her. Her governess would scold her again. She’d been warned to conduct herself properly and now the new teacher was here and she was playing in the mud.
“Why are you killing them?!” he’d exclaimed. “What did they do to you?”
Grace’s head snapped to him. He was a pale looking child with blue eyes. As he squatted, disentangling the curled worm, she’d cast a glance at the teacher, but he hadn’t commented on their game. In fact, he dusted off his heels and walked in the opposite direction after waving at her with a smile.
Grace swooped down and beat at the kid’s meddling fingers.
“Not killing, saving. They were tangled in the sand.”
“Dummy, they live in the sand,” Harris had corrected. No one had ever called her that. She stared at him, he returned it and before either knew it, they smiled first then grinned. After that, they became inseparable. Her chest ached now, thinking about him. Worrying that he’d be out of his mind. She should have left a note, signaling her safety, Grace thought belatedly.
Yet, everything happened so fast. One second, she was mourning her father. Another, she was running from a marriage of convenience and on a revenge mission.
How was she to return, when the house would always be vacant? Deprived of his endless love. However, he’d never coddled her as an only child, firm and lovingly showing her the ways of the world. Maybe if he had, then he might have lived longer to protect her from all the dangers he feared. Grace was given her first dagger at eight. At five, her father had taken her down to the stables and showed her a pony.
“Yours, my Gracie. Would ye like to learn to ride?”
Grace still remembered the ear-splitting squeal she’d given while throwing her little arms around her father’s neck. He always smelled of tobacco and soap and she loved to burrow into his arms. It was her earliest memory. Even when she fell off the pony, he would not let her give up. He would calmly pick her up and put her back into the saddle. Maybe it was his pride and belief in her that cheered her on.
“Don’t be afraid of falling, Gracie. It is just a chance tae try again.”
“I scraped my knee, I’m tired today. Let’s come back tomorrow, Papa.”
“Just one more time. Come on, get back on. You’ll see, it’ gets easier.”
She’d cried, but he’d returned her aching bottom to the pony. In a month, despite her little size, she’d become proficient. In five more years, she had learned to ride better than most men.
Grace’s chest twisted in an irreconcilable guilty knot. That would not be her last memory of him. Nor would it be the last look he’d given her. She would cling to the good memories as though her life was dependent on them.
Out in this wild, it was.
A shrilling scream pierced the night, startling Grace from her darkness. She shook and was caught by Duncan’s hand. It was a child’s voice and it came again and again, trembling in terror.
“Help!”
