Page 21 of The Highlander’s Dangerous Desire

She searched, but she’d brought only the very basic necessities into the hut. There hadn’t been room for much more.

Ewan was still laughing. “Och, I’ll go find it fer ye. ‘Tis in the smaller case, is it nae?”

Grace nodded, preoccupied with trying futilely to untangle the mess her hair had become. The long strands made it all the more difficult, as did the traces of dirt. Her hair always was a little more troublesome after it had gotten wet. She’d been so irritated last night with Ewan she’d completely forgotten to undo, comb and re-braid her hair.

She was still working to untangle several pieces of straw - she couldn’t see them, and that made it far more difficult - when Ewan came back, holding her brush in his hand. He watched her for a few moments. “Dae ye need some help?”

She wanted to refuse, but with no mirror and no way to see all the straw, she was too afraid that refusing would only end with her looking ridiculous. “I could use some assistance, if you would be so kind.”

Grace forced herself to stand still as Ewan approached her. A second later, however, she yelped. “Ouch! Yer supposed tae brush gently, nae yank!”

Ewan snorted. “Ye act as if I’ve ever brushed a lass’s hair.” His next touch, however, was far more cautious, almost tentative, if such a word could be applied to a man like Ewan MacDuff. “Is this better?”

“Yes, it is.” Grace nodded, then winced as Ewan’s stroke hit a snag. “It generally goes better if you grip the strands near my head… no not like that… here, give me the brush.”

She took it from his hand, and held up a thick lock of hair. “You hold it like this…” she demonstrated, “...and tug the brush through the strands below, so it doesn’t pull so. And for knots and tangles… you ease them apart, a little like this…” She showed him again. “There.”

“Seems simple enough.” Ewan’s voice sounded oddly doubtful. Certainly, his touch was still cautious as he lifted a lock of her hair and began to run the brush through it. For a moment, it seemed to go smoothly. Then…

“Ouch!”

“Apologies, lass. Me hand…” he shifted. “Calluses.”

“Oh, of course.” Grace flushed, chagrined that she hadn’t thought of that. Ewan was no lady’s maid, like the servants she was used to. His hands were strong and rough, meant for swords and guiding horses. “I… it was not really so painful. I was only startled. I would appreciate it if you would continue. It would be difficult to get all the straw from the back without assistance, and I wouldn’t wish to be seen with straw in my hair!”

“Aye. Tis a problem at times.” Ewan nodded. “I’ve had difficulties o’ me own. ‘Tis why Catriona makes all o’ us get our hair cut at least once a season.”

“It seems quite a sensible precaution.”

Ewan actually chuckled. “Aye. Catriona refuses tae cut hers, so she braids it - nae one large braid, but several smaller ones. When she undoes them, ‘tis like a cloud eruptin’ around her head. Startles me every time.”

Grace laughed a little at the mental image. Then she considered the idea of smaller braids. It wasn’t something she’d dare attempt on her own, but it sounded intriguing. “Do you think… is there a chance I might meet her? I would like very much to know if she would teach me.”

“Ye’ll meet her. She’s Niamh’s cousin and the castle healer. Indeed, the trick will be nae getting wearied o’her presence.” Ewan’s voice was wry as he combed through another section of her hair. “She’s a very… persistent lass.”

“So is Niamh.” Grace pointed out. “Did she not persuade you to come for me?”

Ewan laughed. “’Twas me braither, but ye’re right, even so. She did the work o’ persuading him afore he came tae me.”

Another section of her hair was combed through. There was a slight tugging that she guessed came from another callus snagging on the fine strands. Grace kept herself still, refusing to voice the slight discomfort. It really was very minor, after all, and she’d certainly tugged her own hair far worse while combing out tangles.

And despite the trepidation she felt at having Ewan behind her, she found the warmth of his presence to be oddly soothing. Grace allowed herself to relax into the warmth as the two of them worked to set her hair to rights.

Taming Grace’s hair took the better part of a candlemark, and the sun was fully above the horizon before they managed to leave the messenger’s hut. Ewan took care of the horses, while Grace tidied up the hut a little and emptied out the brazier. Ewan left a handful of copper for whoever came to restock the peat for the brazier, as a token of his gratitude.

His wounds were healing well, no sign of festering despite the cold and wet they’d been subjected to, or the condition of the hut they’d stayed in. Grace insisted on checking each one after she’d braided her hair. By mid-morning, they were on their way.

A candle-mark of riding served to warm his body and loosen the muscles stiffened by the day’s ride. Another candle-mark or so served to bring them to a moderately sized village with a tavern that served hot meals. Ewan swung down off his horse, helped Grace off hers, then passed the reins and two copper coins to the young boy who served to watch the horses for travelers. Then he led Grace inside.

The tavern was mostly empty, with the farmers and laborers still at work. They’d not be in until the noon meal. Ewan hoped they’d be gone by then - as a Highlander in Lowlander country, he was only slightly less disliked than the English. The tavern-keeper wouldn’t care so long as he had the coin, but the villagers might not be inclined to ignore his presence. Without the storm to remind the folk of hospitality rules, it was wise to be cautious.

A silver got them two bowls of thick, hearty stew, fresh bread, a mug of ale for him, and watered wine for Grace. He took them back to the table, and settled in to eat. After the cold fare of the past day or so, the warm meal was a welcome change.

He was almost done with his stew when the door opened and three men in the rough tunics and trews of field workers came in. All three of them went straight to the bar and collected a pint. The first drink vanished quickly, to be replaced by a second round, and Ewan felt the hair on the back of his neck rise with apprehension.

A moment later, one of the men spotted him. “Och, and look what we have here! A Highlander, eatin the bread and stew provided by our labor! But what else would ye expect o’ a clan barbarian? Like as nae, ‘tis the only way he could get a decent meal.”

Laughter. Ewan forced himself not to react. No good would come of responding to the taunts. And it wasn’t as if they knew his clan name, so they couldn’t disparage his family. After the past several days, he’d grown used to personal slights.