Page 22 of The Highlander’s Dangerous Desire

“Och, Highlander! What brings ye tae our lands? Did ye finally realize what fools yer folk are?”

Ewan refused to respond, and concentrated on spooning up the soup from his bowl, then mopping up the remains with his bread.

“Oi! Have ye nae manners? Dae yer kin nae use utensils like proper civilized folk? Or have wit tae answer when they’re spoken tae?”

He was tempted - he was very tempted - to answer, but he knew it would only end in a fight. He had no interest in brawling with Lowlanders who had likely never held a weapon in their lives. Likewise, he’d no interest in drawing the attention of their laird, who would want to know why the brother of Laird MacDuff - and the potential Laird MacTavish - was getting into fights on his lands.

He heard the rustle of cloth - one or more of the men was moving away from the bar. “Highlander… I’m talkin tae ye…”

“And he has the good sense not to speak to you.” Grace rose abruptly from her seat, her chin held high as she faced the men.

“Grace…” Ewan got no further than that before she stalked past him.

“Do you think my companion does not know that you are trying to bait him into a fight, that you might cause trouble for him and his kinfolk, and all for your foolish dislike?” She folded her arms and glared at the three men. “At least he has the wit to avoid a fight, rather than provoke one!”

“We… we didnae…”

“You did not care to pay enough attention to see that he is clearly my guard and escort. Of course, as a proper gentleman, he would not engage in such folly when he has my safety to see to. And I am most gratified that he has the restraint you louts so clearly seem to lack.” Grace’s tone was cold, her manner haughty, and her bearing was every inch that of a proud, well-born lady.

The villagers visibly cowed. After a moment, the men turned back to the bar, muttering what could have been apologies or insults under their breath. Ewan took the chance to reach out and tug Grace gently back to her chair. “What are ye thinking?”

“They were being rude. I did not appreciate their disparaging you, especially when they had no cause to do so.” Grace stared at him for a moment, utterly certain of herself, then went back to finishing her stew.

Ewan nursed his mug of ale. Under normal circumstances, he might have gone back to the bar for a second mug, but the men were still there, and he had no desire to risk another altercation, especially after Grace had defended his honor and implied that he’d do no such thing.

Of all the things he’d expected to happen, Grace protecting him was not one of them. He’d intended to endure the taunts, then leave as soon as possible. He’d thought, if Grace did anything, she would be content to stay at the table and watch. After all, why should she intervene in a fight between Scotsmen?

She owed him nothing, and she’d demonstrated several times that she thought little of Scots in general, whether they were Highlanders or Lowlanders. And yet, she’d defended him and kept him from being insulted - or getting into an unfortunate altercation.

Her changing moods confused Ewan to no end. And yet, he found himself admiring her for all of it - even her temper and the occasional sharp edge of her tongue. The fact that she’d used both to come to his rescue made him feel oddly warm inside. The closest he could come to the feeling was how he’d felt as a child when Alistair stood up to older, stronger boys in the castle for him.

Grace Lancaster was not the woman he’d expected to be escorting across the Lowlands and the Highlands. She was… kinder. More stubborn, and yet at the same time more practical when she was shown the necessity of it. Sharp-tongued and sharp-tempered, and yet she used both in defense of family and friends.

She’d scolded him for calling her ‘his lady’, but she’d slept nestled against him the night before, and let him brush and braid her hair that morning. They’d argued the previous day, and now she was defending him.

By the time they finished their food and resumed their journey, Ewan had determined all of two things: he owed Grace some gratitude and tolerance. And, against all odds and his own inclination, he was beginning to like Grace Lancaster far more than he had ever expected to.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

The meal at the inn refreshed Grace. The looks she caught Ewan giving her as they rode made her feel… she wasn’t sure. Ewan confused her. The way they’d argued last night had been upsetting, but the gentleness he’d shown her earlier that morning had been soothing, even comforting. And the expression on his face when she’d defended him to the farmers had been… he looked at her like it was the first time he was seeing her.

Admiring. Confused. The look on his face had mirrored the feelings she was beginning to have for him.

Ewan was strong, courageous, stubborn and occasionally temperamental. He was also patient when teaching her how to ride, and gentle when helping her with things like combing her hair. The more she found out about him, the more Ewan MacDuff defied easy description, and the less she found herself disliking him.

He was a Scotsman, a Highlander. His clan might not be the one who had killed her parents, but there was also no certainty that they weren’t allies. And yet, as she learned more about him, it seemed to matter less and less.

They rode from the tavern in companionable silence, knee and knee so Ewan could watch over her in case something startled the horses. The weather was crisp, just warm enough to take the chillout of the air as they traveled, and Grace took the opportunity to enjoy the scent of heather - something she’d never had the opportunity to experience before this journey.

A thought occurred to her, and she turned to Ewan. “How much further to your lands? We’ve been riding for almost a full seven-day.”

“An’ we’ll ride fer at least five days more, by me reckoning. An that’s if there are nay storms tae delay us, like the one yesterday.” Ewan shrugged. “’Tis common Highland weather.”

“Such a long journey…” Grace sighed. “I had no idea it was such a distance.” A rueful smile curved her mouth. “In truth, I had no idea that the Scottish lands were so… vast…”

“Large enough. Though, in truth, ‘tis the terrain that makes the journey slow. An’ the extra horses. A messenger ridin’ alone can ride the distance in seven tae ten days, sometimes less with a fast horse an’ good weather.”

Ewan gestured to the stony ground that surrounded the road. “’Tis good, strong land, but hard. Needs tae be treated with respect, and traveled the same way.”