Page 53 of The Highlander’s Dangerous Desire

Grace watched her. Sorcha was mysterious, but there was an undercurrent to her actions, and a sense of loneliness. Grace was certain, though she could not have said at all why she knew it to be true, that Sorcha could easily have met them closer to her home, reassured Niamh that all was well, and sent them back in less time than it took for all of them to dismount. And yet, she’d come to meet them, and set up a blanket with tea and small, sweet biscuits, as if arranging a picnic.

She was lonely. Seeking company, in much the same way that Grace herself had sought the escape of festivals at the border, and Niamh’s company. She might live in solitude by choice, but being alone was a source of sorrow for her, though Sorcha masked it well. The unexpected feeling of kinship washed away the last of Grace’s trepidation, and she relaxed. Fae-touched, Gifted, or magical, Sorcha MacBeth was, at heart, simply another young woman like the rest of them.

Sorcha blinked. Blue eyes met hers, slightly bemused, as if she were puzzled by something. Then her gaze warmed and softened, and in it, Grace thought there was the tiniest hint of gratitude in the witch’s face.

Sorcha and Catriona soon settled into a discussion about healing herbs and techniques, particularly in regards to Niamh’s advancing condition and the upcoming childbirth. With Niamh listening and sipping her tea in evident enjoyment, Grace was left to listen with half an ear while she pondered Sorcha’s earlier words.

If Sorcha was to be believed, then she might have unique gifts of her own. She wondered if that was something she might explore while she was in the Highlands. But, as Sorcha advised, there was something else for her to consider.

What is the destiny that my heart brought me to? And what does it mean for me to embrace love where I once feared it, and where I fear none can bloom?

Where had her heart led her? The best response she could think of was that her friendship with Niamh had led her to Scotland. Therefore, Scotland might hold her destiny, according to Sorcha. The thought made sense of the second part of Sorcha’s pronouncement too - she had once feared almost everyone who hailed from the Scottish clans.

The memory of Ewan, laughing in the doorway of the bathing chamber that morning, came to mind. Grace’s mouth went dry as she recalled the sparkle of humor in his eyes, the way his amused smile quirked his mouth, and how the sweat had looked as it glimmered like dew on his skin.

Ewan - whose silence made her heart ache, and whose laughter made her smile in turn. A man she had once feared and felt somewhat disdainful toward, but now…

Oh. Ewan. I…

Am I falling in love with Ewan MacDuff?

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Ewan was relieved when the cart with the three women rolled into the courtyard in the late afternoon, with all three of its occupants unharmed and, as much as he could tell, happy. He’d never thought that Sorcha would hurt them physically, but she had the power to make anyone uneasy if she chose.

He’d never gotten over his worry regarding the witch woman who had cursed his elder brother, and he hadn’t known how she would react to Grace’s English heritage. He didn’t think Sorcha would hold a grudge on the matter - personal experience told him her grudges were always far more personal - but he hadn’t been sure what she thought of the English in general, and if she shared many Highlander’s casual dislike of English folk.

Grace appeared slightly pensive, and she scarcely met his eyes when he went to help Niamh down from the cart, but she didn’t seem to be unduly distressed. Instead, she seemed… thoughtful, if he was reading her mood aright. He wondered what Sorcha might have told her, to put her in such a frame of mind, then dismissed the thought with a shake of his head.

Grace’s concerns were none of his own. They’d recovered something of their previous amiability that morning, but that only meant that they were friends. Nothing more, no matter how he might have fantasized, there in the steaming bath after she’d gone away.

She’d made her preference and her feelings clear, and he would honor that.

Supper that evening was held in the same room as the night before, and Ewan found himself sitting next to Grace once more. She smiled softly at him but made no attempt at conversation. Ewan served them both bowls of the thick, hearty stew that was the main component of dinner before he made his own effort at speaking. “How was yer visit with the witch?”

“Sorcha.” Grace corrected him. Ewan blinked, surprised. He hadn’t thought she would be on familiar terms with the woman so easily, or so quickly. “And it went well, I believe. She is very… insightful.” She offered him another small smile. “She told us Niamh’s babe is well, healthy and strong and eager to come into the world.”

“That’s good.” Ewan paused to scoop up some of his stew. “An’ nay fuss nor fighting between the two o’ ye?”

“No. She was very kind to me. She gave me some advice, which I am still considering.” Ewan waited, but Grace didn’t seem inclined to say anything more on the matter.

He was still trying to think of something else to say when Alistair cleared his throat and addressed him. “Ewan, I’ve been thinkin’ on yer situation… an’ if yer serious about lookin’ fer a bride, mayhap we can find a lass fer ye.”

Beside him, Grace went still as a statue. Ewan swallowed hard. “Aye? What were ye thinkin’? I dinnae have a lot o’ time fer courting, ye ken.”

“Nay. But… Catriona, dae ye ken any who might suit Ewan? Ye ken a lot of people around these lands.”

“Surely, if there was a young woman who suited yer braither within the nearby population, he would already have found and wooed her.” The voice was so cold and sharp it took Ewan a moment to recognize it as Grace’s.

He blinked at her in surprise. She was focused on Alistair, however, and didn’t seem to notice the looks she was getting from Ewan, or from the other diners. Alistair, to his credit, only frowned slightly, as if in thought. Then he nodded. “Aye. Ye might have the right o’ it. In that case, we’ll need tae seek further afield.” He glanced in Ewan’s direction again. “Ye’ll nae complain if I dae some readin’, see if there are any lairds in neighborin’ clans with eligible daughters or nieces?”

“As long as ye dinnae send them proposal letters without speakin’ tae me,” Ewan nodded. He was relieved, actually. Alistair had been associating with the neighboring lairds for far longer than he had - he knew their families and their personalities better.

“I’m surprised you wouldn’t wish to do your own research.” Grace’s tone was sharp, and Ewan frowned. One outburst he could ignore, but two… something was wrong, but he’d no idea what. “You do have some definite opinions about the women you prefer.”

“I do. But Alistair kens much o’ what I’d need tae consider, personal preference aside.” Ewan’s brow furrowed. “If there’s somethin’ on yer mind…”

“There is nothing.” Grace then set her fork down and rose from her seat. “If you’ll excuse me, I find I am more fatigued than I thought. I believe I shall retire early.”