Ethan cleared his voice once more, waving a hand at the sword while Williams rose to stand by her side. She had requested to see it, yet she could not force herself from the chair to touch it.
“This is asgian dubh, a Scottish adaga.We found it next to him. I saw your dad at the clearing with another Scottish warrior and I called for reinforcements, but it was too late.”
Grace feels like her breathing stopped for a second. Ethan spoke again.
“However, we recognize the man that was closest to him at the time. He dressed in the colors of clan Hay and the weapon has a lion symbol. During battle, he was the one commanding the Scots and, since we heard that the Laird of the clan himself has been sick for a while now, the man is probably his son.”
Grace clenched her fists in her lap, thinking of that man. The vile person who’d deprived her of her father.
“You should remember that it is war,” Williams said, noticing her clenched fists. Grace disagreed. It was her father, and the person who murdered him did not deserve to share the air with her.
“I found him… we found him… just before…” Ethan paused, closed his eyes and inhaled, in a show to gather his feelings. “Anyway, even in his last moment, he was thinking about you.”
Grace allowed a trembling smile as a single tear slid past her defenses. “Thank you.”
Ethan smiled at her, and Grace could sense that his mood was improving.
“I have another thing to tell you Grace. Good news that will hopefully make you feel better. Of course, I was preparing something more romantic but, due to the circumstances, I believe it is best to let you know. Last time I came to visit your father here before the battle, I asked for your hand and… and he said yes.” her eyes flew to his face.
“What?!” Grace blurted, foregoing all of her training. “That is impossible.” Ethan shrank back as though he’d been slapped. He never thought he would receive such a fervent rejection. She glanced at Williams, wanting to hear that it was a lie. Williams placed a hand on her shoulder for a moment.
“He speaks the truth,” he said quietly.
Grace gripped the arms of the chair, waves of shock rippling through her. “No. My father would never make such arrangements without telling me. He…” She knew he must have had a will, every soldier did. But she knew nothing of its content.
“He would have told you, eventually. While he had his will prepared, Commander was an incredible soldier, so his death was a shock to us.” Owen spoke quickly, his words falling over each other.
“I’ve had enough of this, gentlemen.” Grace said, attempting to get out of her seat.
“Ethan please,” Owen said. “Caution your fiancée before she does something regrettable. You know how women are”
Fiancée? Was it already decided?
Grace had the mind to damn them all to eternity. Only the face of her father helped curb her annoyance. She should have known one of these men would swoop in to take her inheritance. The fact that it was Ethan, however, was beyond disappointing. Shehad expected more from the man who fought by her father’s side.
She leveled Owen with an icy gaze. “Mr. Owen. I am not a horse to be cautioned by a man. You will speak to me with the decorum I deserve.”
He turned red. In the midst of his tantrum, the serving girl arrived with the drinks. Her eyes flared on seeing the sword. Wordlessly, she placed the tray beside it and walked out. At her departure, Ethan unfolded a piece of paper from his coat pocket.
“This is a document signed by your father, the day I asked for your hand. In it, he declares that it would be a perfect arrangement to have you as my wife. But I want you to know, Miss Dankworth, even without these stipulations, I will make it my priority to see that you are happy and without a single worry.”
Grace made a sudden grab for the paper, “Let me see that.”
Owen slapped down Ethan’s hand, narrowly missing hers, before she could collect it. “Ethan would not lie to you. Have you not known him long enough?”
Grace opened her mouth to rebuke strongly, etiquette be damned. This was her future in discourse. However, it seemed Ethan noted her escalating temper and signaled his lackey to wait outside. Grumbling, Owen grabbed a glass of whisky and did as he was asked. Calmer now, Ethan walked to her and passed the paper.
There it was. Her father’s sloped handwriting and his crescent moon seal. This was not a horrible nightmare she dreamed up in her despair. She looked from one man to the other, her chest rising and falling fast. Whenever she had thought about marriage, she had imagined it to be with a man who made her heart race. Someone whose presence alone wrought a smile from her lips. Someone who she would care deeply for, and who would feel the same. She wanted love, in its purest form and this arrangement robbed her of that privilege.
Ethan, who was almost twice her age, was not in that category. Although he had always had great conduct, both with her father and with her. She had no doubt that he would make some woman happy. But not her.
“It has just been a few days since my father’s burial. I cannot marry you nor do I have the strength to discuss the implications.”
“I understand, Grace, if I may use your name. However, you are aware of the perilous times. I am only allowed a handful of days to mourn the Commander before I am called back to the station. I am afraid we have to proceed quickly. As you know, soldiers cannot predict the length of their lives.”
Grace’s vision swam. “How many days?” her voice came out quieter than the storm clashing in her head.
“Two days.”
