Page 61 of The Highlander’s Dangerous Desire

That was well thought of. Ewan considered what else might be needed. “Have we any musicians? This short o’ notice, I wouldnae expect a bard or troubadour tae be in the keep, but the village musicians will do well enough.”

“We’ve a good selection o’ players, all o’ whom have been offered coppers an’ a meal fer their efforts.” Malcolm’s smile widened. “An’ ye’ll be pleased tae ken, half o’ them are from the families whose homes were destroyed, so ye’ll be giving more aid tae those who need it, as well as the folk o’ the village.”

Ewan huffed out a relieved laugh. “Och, I dinnae ken what I’d dae without ye, Malcolm.”

“Ye’d manage, m’laird. Ye an’ young Devlin.” Malcolm hesitated, then stepped closer. “A steward hears many things, m’laird, and while I willnae say more than I ought, I will say this much tae ye: what I heard in the Council chambers while servin’ ale was more in yer favor than Master MacTavish’s.”

Relief swept through Ewan like a clean spring breeze. Beside him, Grace’s hand clenched on his arm, her eyes bright with the same emotion he felt. Ewan took a deep breath, then nodded. “’Tis good tae ken. Fer now though, if ye’re confident ye have the arrangements all in hand, ‘tis best Lady Lancaster and I go tae ready ourselves fer the feasting.”

Malcolm bowed and left. Ewan turned to Grace. “Ye an’ I both need tae go and dress. Wear something…”

“I know what sort of clothing to wear for a feast, welcoming or otherwise.” Grace raised an eyebrow. “I sat through enough of them in my uncle’s home.”

Ewan sighed. “I ken. I’m only…”

“You are fighting for your position. Your reactions are understandable.” Grace smiled at him and caressed his cheek. “Go. Wash. Dress. Then, if you wish, I shall meet you in your study, so that we may go to the feast together.”

Ewan smiled, reassured by her calm manner and easy approach to the whole ordeal. “I’d like that. Very well.” He took her hand, then bent his head and kissed her fingers. “I’ll be awatin’ ye.”

Grace gave him a last smile, then turned and hurried away, toward her rooms. Ewan watched her go, then made his way to his own quarters. Doubtless, Malcolm would have sent servants to fill a tub for the hot bath he desperately needed.

The first engagement was out of the way, and he had done well. He only needed to continue as he had begun. And with Grace at his side, he had no doubt he could weather whatever Gael MacTavish chose to attempt.

With Grace at his side… Ewan frowned as he entered his rooms, where the expected bath awaited.

Grace. For now, she was posing as his betrothed. But all too soon, the facade would have to change, one way or another. He knew how he wished it would change - he’d had plenty of time to consider it after talking with Alistair before leaving MacDuff Castle. However, he had no idea how Grace felt on the matter. She might care for his company and for his skills in bed, but that was a far cry from wishing to be his betrothed in truth.

Besides, there were consequences, if she agreed to betroth him, or to wed him. He had no idea how such an action would affect her relationship with her English kin, but he could not imagine they’d look favorably on the union. Grace spoke of her uncle with evident dislike, but dislike was far different from being willing to risk banishment from her home and her remaining kin - and risk it she would, if they were wed.

It would be easiest to simply ask Grace what she thought, and what she felt, on the matter, but he had no idea how to even broach the conversation. What was he to say? How was he to ask?

Ewan sighed, then turned his attention to his bath. He had a feast to prepare for. Once he was ready for that, then he could go back to considering the matter of Grace.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Grace arrived in her rooms to find Anne waiting with a fresh bath drawn, hot and steaming by the fire. She sighed in relief. “Och, bless ye.”

“Steward Malcolm said ye might be needing it.” Anne smiled as she helped Grace undo the laces on her dress. “A hot bath an’ a dress fit fer a feast. I had tae guess at the latter, an if ye dinnae mind me sayin’ so, I made a few adjustments, seein’ as yer m’laird’s lady.”

Grace went to take a closer look at the dress. It was one of the two nicer gowns she owned, and Anne had added ribbons and a slim sash-belt of MacTavish colors, though not the clan tartan. “It looks perfect.”

She returned to the bath and washed up, reveling in the hot water and the comfort of the roaring fire in the hearth. And while she bathed, she thought about the situation, about Gael MacTavish, and about Ewan.

Playing the lady of the household and Ewan’s support was more satisfying than she’d ever expected it to be. She’d spent so long pretending to be inept, it was an interesting and pleasant change to properly play the role she’d been born and bred to fill. And to do so for a man like Ewan.

She only wished she were his lady, his betrothed, in truth. Grace sighed and set that thought aside. Ewan had spoken the truth in Council - he needed to be able to marry someone who could provide an ally or other advantage. It would have to serve as cold comfort that he considered her the standard by which he would measure his future wife, but she couldn’t dwell on it, or jealousy would drive her mad.

Instead, she turned her thoughts to Gael MacTavish. After so long being paraded in front of men her uncle thought were suitable as suitors, she was capable of recognizing all manner of snakes and troublesome characters. Gael MacTavish was a wolf, or a viper, hidden in human skin. Charming on the surface, but sharp and cold under the veneer of civilization. His wife reminded her of young women who had been treated more like prisoners than wives. She would rather have turned her back on a known bandit than a man like Gael MacTavish.

The politics of Clan MacDuff and MacTavish were of little concern to Grace, or at least they should have been. She was only pretending to be a part of Ewan’s life, after all. But even so, she was certain that the fortunes of both clans would suffer if Gael MacTavish became the new Laird MacTavish.

Grace finished washing and dressed, while Anne helped braid her hair into an elegant pattern. The maidservant helped her settle the sash properly across her hips. Once she was properly attired, Grace left and made her way to the door of Ewan’s study.

Ewan was already there when she entered, immaculately attired in white linen shirt, freshly washed and pressed kilt in MacDuff colors, with a soft leather vest and a sash of MacTavish tartan. His hair was tied back in a neat tail, his beard neatly trimmed and brushed. He looked impressively lord-like, and handsome enough to make Grace’s heart skip a beat.

Then he smiled at her, and Grace’s mouth went dry. It took every ounce of composure she had to walk forward and smile in return, then accept the drink he offered her, rather than reach out to claim a kiss as she desperately wanted to do.

Ewan offered her a glass of wine, and Grace took it, to give herself something to occupy her hands. “Thank you.”