Page 37 of The Highlander’s Dangerous Desire

Grace. She’d been assisting… someone. And fire in the keep…

Ewan stumbled into the Great Hall. The smell of smoke made him cough, but he ignored it, his eyes searching for the slim, blond-haired form of Grace Lancaster. He didn’t see her.

Perhaps she’d become frightened, or perhaps the rumor had been false, and she was in the study where he’d left her, or her rooms where she might feel safer. Ewan spun and dashed from the hall, then up the stairs toward his study.

Her room was closer, and he threw open the door, his heart sinking when he found it empty. He raced to the study, but the fire in there was barely glowing embers, and the room held no sign of Grace.

Fear had him in its grip, like a fox in an eagle’s talons. Ewan turned and staggered back toward the Great Hall, nearly tripping down the stairs in his haste. “Grace! Grace!”

No blond head turned in his direction. No blue eyes met his. There was no sign of the English lass. “Grace…”

She couldn’t be wounded. He’d ordered her to stay safe. But then, he’d also ordered her to stay in the study. Ewan’s head swam. “Grace…”

“Beg pardon, me laird, but she wasnae well, so I took her tae one o’ the small antechambers tae the side. ‘Tis the one across the hall an’ one door down, me laird.” One of the maids spoke up.

His heart rose, to know that Grace was safe. Then it fell just as fast. “She’s unwell?”

“A bit wearied an…”

Ewan didn’t stay to hear the rest. He made his way to the door proper door and threw it open.

Light from the corridor fell across the room, and the lone occupant, and Ewan sighed with relief to see blond hair and blue eyes, as well as Grace’s startled expression. Then she rose, her eyes wide with concern. “Ewan…”

“Ye’re safe.” It was the only thought in his head. “Ye’re safe.”

It seemed the most natural thing in the world to take her in his arms, to pull her close. Ewan exhaled in relief and held her tight, his heart thudding against his chest. “I thought… they said ye were helpin’... but ye’re safe.”

“Ewan… I…”

He kissed her. He couldn’t do anything else. Her mouth tasted of smoke and sweet elderberry water. Her lips were soft against his, and in his arms Grace softened as well, clinging to him as he clung to her.

Grace was safe. Alive and safe and there, in his arms. There was nothing else that could possibly be more important, or more right.

The world swayed, gray flickering at the edges. Ewan pulled back, dazed by the kiss and the spots clouding his vision. He blinked and tried to force them away.

Then the world went black.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Grace stared, too stunned to move, as Ewan crumpled to the ground at her feet.

He’d kissed her. She’d been startled when he came through the door, looking like a madman, all covered in blood and soot. He’d been saying her name, and then…

He’d kissed her. Her hand touched her lips, her mouth still tingling with the feel of his rough lips on hers, the taste of smoke and iron lingering on her tongue.

Then she saw the blood, beginning to form a small puddle on the stones, and her mind snapped back into focus. “Ewan!”

Her cry brought Devlin and Malcolm to the door. Both men looked as battle wearied as their laird did, but they moved quickly enough. Within moments, Devlin was crouched across Ewan’s fallen figure, his hands careful as he turned Ewan onto his back to examine his wounds. “Fair folk curse the fools who…” He bit off the exclamation and turned to his fellow Scotsman. “He’s bleedin’ too much, an’ he’s out colder than a man after a cask o’ ale. We’ll need tae carry him tae the healer.”

Malcolm nodded, and the two men bent to lift their wounded laird into their arms. Grace hurried after them, her own weariness and weakness forgotten in the wake of Ewan’s peril.

They reached the healer’s hut within moments, men stepping aside with a haste that would have been comical at any other time as they crossed the courtyard. The door was open, and Devlin shoved his way inside, his voice rising as he did. “Megan! Megan!”

The inside of the healer’s hut was filled with men, and the stench of mingled blood, fire, and medicinal herbs. The woman who came toward them was only a few years older than Grace, but she was calm, and collected, her eyes flickering over the group with a practiced ease that only experience could bring. “Put him on the cot in the back room… ye there! Help the man out o’ that bed an’ tip him intae his own. Some brandy tae ease the ache o’ his head an’ a poultice tae help with the rest. I’ll see tae him further taemorrow.”

The bed was quickly vacated, two men helping a third stagger out the door, and Devlin and Malcolm eased Ewan into it. The healer, Megan, began to remove his clothing with brisk and almost ruthless efficiency, muttering as she went. “Head wound… bleeds freely… an’ a stab tae the side… what the devil?”

She lifted her head. “When was m’laird wounded afore? An’ where?”