Page 14 of The Highlander’s Dangerous Desire

And something he would have to think about as they traveled together, if he wished to avoid upsetting or hurting her further.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Traveling with Ewan through the wilds of Scottish lands was an entirely new experience for Grace. As the days passed, the riding grew easier and the terrain more rugged. They passed through villages and larger towns, and regular farmlands. As they rode, Ewan began to point out different landscape features, introducing her to both the lands of his people, and the terms Scottish Highlanders used for them.

The words were strange, rolling off the tongue oddly. Lakes became ‘lochs’. Meadows became ‘moors’. What she had always thought of as simply ‘grass’ became heather. For the first time, she saw a peat bog, and wild moorland ponies. Ewan introduced her to cliffs, and the difference between rivers, streams, rills, and cascades.

Somewhat to her surprise, Ewan was also versed in reading and writing, though he admitted that neither were things he found particularly interesting. “A laird’s son needs tae be able tae read, write and keep tally. Otherwise, how could he tak’ proper care o’ his people?”

“I had not thought of such matters.”

Ewan offered her his increasingly familiar half-smile, green eyes warm with easy amusement at his own expense. “Och, most dinnae. But ‘tis common practice fer a laird’s sons tae be taught such things. And our stewards as well, when we can. Alistair is more inclined tae it than I, but neither o’ us holds a candle tae our cousin, Catriona.”

“Catriona?”

“The healer for Clan MacDuff.” Ewan gestured. “She could tell ye the name o’ every flower on the moors, and where tae find almost any herb. She’s fair passionate about collecting herbals.”

“I have some fondness for herbals, though I’ve read many things.” Grace admitted. “I have little else to do besides read and practice my embroidery.”

Ewan made a soft noise that might have been a snort, or a scoffing sound. “Embroidery. Most lasses in the Highlands only practice fancy stitchwork for weddings or festivals like Samhain.”

Grace blinked. “Samhain? I am not familiar with such a festival.”

“Ye will be. Samhain is what we call the turnin’ o’ the year, ‘tis about a half-season after the Harvest Fest, midway between that day and Yule.”

“Yule… the year’s longest night. We do celebrate that.” Grace nodded. “Niamh mentioned that there were festivals celebrated in various parts of the Highlands that her father did not regularly observe.”

“Samhain’s night ‘tis like tae be one o’ them. ‘Tis true that Lowland clanfolk dinnae always celebrate the same things Highlanders dae.” Ewan shrugged, eyes scanning from side to side as they entered a small wooded area. “Niamh found some o’ the customs strange too, but she adjusted well enough.”

“Did she celebrate Samhain?” Grace edged her horse closer, curious about the life of her best friend since she’d left Clan Cameron.

“Aye. However…” A branch cracked. Ewan went silent at once, shoulder’s tensing and one hand falling to his sword.

“Wh…”

“Quiet. Dinnae speak.” Ewan’s hand clenched around his sword hilt. His eyes flicked from one side of the track they followed to the other. “Ride for the open field, and ride fast. There’s someone else in the woods here.”

“Wh…”

“Bandits. Ride!” The last word was a sharp command, and Grace obeyed without thinking. She kicked her horse into a fast canter. Ewan was right behind her.

From the woods off to the left, she heard a snarled curse in a hoarse voice, using a language that sounded foreign to her ears. The two of them broke into open country just as half a dozen men came from the trees and converged on them, weapons drawn.

The path wound up toward a rocky area, and Ewan swore sharply as several more men charged them. “Follow me tae the rocks!”

He kicked his horse hard, setting it into a gallop that put him ahead of her for a brief moment, just as the bandits trying to cut them off converged. Grace gasped as Ewan’s sword cleared its sheath and cleaved deep into a bandit’s arm, all in one smooth motion. The bandit fell with a scream, blood gushing from his wound.

Ewan slashed out again, just as his horse kicked out and hit another bandit in the ribs with an awful crunching sound. Then they were at the rocks. Ewan swung down off his horse and flung the reins to her. “Keep the horses here!”

Grace grabbed the reins, too startled to do otherwise as Ewan spun and launched himself at the oncoming bandits. She watched, wide-eyed, as the men attacked, enclosing him in a storm of steel and violence.

Ewan was fast and strong, but he was outnumbered. Grace saw him stagger from what looked like a glancing blow from one brigand’s knife. He returned the blow a moment later, a long knife in his left hand sliding between the man’s ribs and sending him to the ground, but there were still so many more…

There were rocks all around her. Grace acted without thinking. She grabbed a rock and flung it. The rock fell short, but the clatter distracted one or two of the men. Grace didn’t hesitate. She grabbed a second rock, slightly smaller, and threw it as well.

That rock was more successful. It crashed into a brigand’s skull and made him stagger.

One moment he was on the verge of being overwhelmed, outnumbered six to one. The next, two of the bandits turned, startled by the clatter of a rock nearby. Ewan blocked a chipped axe, slashed another man across one hand, and turned his head, just in time to see Grace throw another stone that hit one of his attackers on the temple. The man staggered, then went down with blood sliding down his face. Ewan helped him to the ground with a boot to the temple, then turned to engage another man.