New home.
Grace swallowed the abrupt fear that punctured her excitement. “Aye. ‘Tis massive. Will ye tell me the name finally?”
Duncan laughed. “Impatient lass. Ye will ken soon.” He’d been laughing a lot since her accident. After she had awoken, Grace wondered if she’d made a grave mistake by running. If she’d stayed, Harris would be safe. Something told her they would hurt him.
“Go!” Duncan told his horse, urging it on with a gentle kick. The horse galloped down the hill, effectively ridding Grace of her brooding.
They approached the intimidating massive gates. Maybe the warriors had to present themselves to the laird before they were allowed to return to their homes.
Escaping from there would be a death wish, Grace noted. Even next to the gates were tall walls that stretched to the heavens. The structure itself was loaded with weapons. Long, thick arrows, that would release through some mechanism inside. Warriors dressed in blazing white shirts and clean, pleated kilts surveyed each passage with broadswords hanging from their waists.
As the thundering of the horses’ hooves became apparent, a shout went up from the people gathered down there. The warriors drew their weapons and raised them in salute, their faces beaming with unbridled pleasure.
A powerful song rose from the crowd. Grace could not understand the words fully but it was heroic, and with each word, they stamped their feet, creating a vibrating rhythm. As they neared the gates, they were thrown open.
Without slowing, Duncan drew his sword, saluting the warriors and hailing the people. Grace’s laughter temporarily dissolved her worries even more. The song followed them in, Bryce and Craig running circles around Duncan, who sat with his sword raised, echoing the music. The courtyard was filling fast.
Sitting in the center of this courtyard, had to be the biggest edifice Grace had ever seen. Yet, it was not the size that immediately grabbed her attention. While the men stampeded and rejoiced, she stared at the elegance, the strokes of creative beauty etched into every stone that was part of the castle.
It soared toward the sky, with the clan’s flags hoisted in strategic places. It was a red material, with a roaring lion’s head, sewn in bright golden fabric. The edges were cut triangularly and flapped in the wind. The entrance was a massive double door, in a daunting black like the gates.
Grace could not wait to be granted entrance so she could explore the insides.
While she pondered, the massive doors creaked open. Two women ran out, ginger hair flying, both grinning from ear to ear. Catching sight of them, Duncan alighted and helped her. She’d long since ceased telling him that she’d been riding for years and could climb down on her own.
She trailed behind him as the women threw themselves into his arms. There was a flurry of words and wet eyes. It was a miracle that her jaw was not already on the floor, for the women were gorgeous. In her well-worn attire, Grace felt lower than a serving girl.
Only years of studied arrogance kept her standing there. She watched the older woman stand on her tiptoe and place kisses all over her son’s face. Their resemblance was almost uncanny. Duncan had completely taken after his mother. That offered an explanation as to why his lips were alluring and feminine and could kiss her breathless.
Grace pulled her mind from the gutters, hoping they would attribute the blood flooding her face to the weather. But her name was not mentioned. The three headed to the main entrance. Duncan glanced at her and motioned for her to follow with a helpless expression. Grace admired the smooth silk gowns the women wore. They were cut a little low on the neckline, but flowed out in a full skirt behind them.
As they went, the younger woman turned and glued her eyes glued to the man beside Grace, Bryce. Grace felt the heat in the looks passing between the pair.
Cool air greeted her lungs from the threshold of the main hall. The sides were lined with sculptures of ferocious warriors. Grace’s feet dragged to a brief stop as she gazed at Duncan. She had known him to be the laird’s son. However, she’d not expected such opulence for his home.
They marched on, on gleaming floors, cleaned so well she could almost see her face reflected in them. Tilting her head, Grace was greeted by an arrestingly high ceiling. Stained glass above washed multicolored light across the hall. The windows were high, wide, with edges round and smooth.
All the warriors had filed into the hall and yet, they took up no more than a quarter of the space. Ahead, Grace caught the eyes of a girl seated meekly by a pale, sickly man. She stumbled once and righted herself.
She was Bryce, if Bryce had been a female and beautiful. Icily pretty. Long strands of curly golden tresses fell gracefully down her shoulders. She simply sparkled in the emerald green gown she wore. Grace appreciated her aquiline neck and the pouting lips that appeared to be on the verge of a smile. Then she realized where those magnetic blue eyes were trained.
The woman could not tear her gaze from Duncan’s form, only occasionally acknowledging greetings with a stately nod of her head. She approached, her steps slow and regal. This was a woman used to luxury and male attention and knew how to wield it.
Cold fingers wrapped around Grace’s heart and refused to release her. She held her fingers behind her back, out of view to hide their trembling. The palpitations increased as the woman finally forced her gaze from Duncan and deigned her with a scathing glance. Grace was taken aback with the bitterness in that single look.
Because she was resilient, she tossed her hair and put on her most arrogant expression. She looked away, about to reach for Duncan, when the man held his fist up. The singing and stomping stopped. He unsheathed his sword and marched to the head of the hall.
A frail, pale man sat atop a throne that almost swallowed his wilting form. As Duncan reached him, his ashy lips trembled up to a welcoming smile. He stood and held out his arms. Duncan lowered his form and allowed his father to pat his back. He laid the sword at the man’s feet.
“Welcome,” the laird’s voice boomed. Despite his sickly form, he retained that. But it held a shaky quality to it. As if those few movements exhausted him, he fell back on the chair.
“Thank ye, laird!” The warriors called back.
“A feast tonight,” Duncan announced. “Go back tae yer families and return fer the merriments.”
There was a general shout of joy as the men started to traipse outside. A second man, rotund and full of zest rushed in from adoor, tightening his kilt. He seemed to have been interrupted in the midst of something. His gaze swept the hall.
“Faither!” Bryce shouted. He ran toward the man and into his full embrace. He was clapped on the back.
