Page 66 of The Highlander’s Dangerous Desire

The men outside the door were not anyone she knew. Two grim-faced warriors stood there. Grace felt a flash of alarm sear through her, her earlier trepidation coming back to her tenfold.

She tried to slam the door shut, but it was too late. The brutes forced it open. She tried to run, tried to call out, but it was too late for that too. One man caught her and slapped a hand over her mouth before she could scream. She tried to bite at him, but the other was behind her before she could escape.

Something hard thudded into the back of her head, and stars exploded in her vision. Grace fought to maintain her awareness, but she couldn’t draw a proper breath, and the pain was excruciating.

Her last awareness, before darkness overwhelmed her completely, was a single, terrified thought.

Ewan!

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Ewan scowled and rolled his neck to stretch the stiff muscles as he walked down the corridor toward Grace’s room. The after-dinner conversation had been long and tiring, and he wanted nothing more than to spend some time with his betrothed. The rest of the night, preferably, and longer if he could get away with it.

His betrothed. Thinking those words still filled him with wonder. Grace was his betrothed in truth. She had chosen him, even with the fate of potential exile from her home as a consequence. He could scarcely believe it.

He wanted to hold her in his arms, kiss her and take her to bed, to remind himself that it was real, and not some dream his mind had conjured from weariness or desire. He wanted to make love to her, and show her how much he adored her, how overjoyed he was to have her by his side and in his bed.

He knew he was likely smiling foolishly, but he didn’t care as he reached her door and knocked on it. “Grace.”

There was no answer. Ewan frowned, then knocked again, louder this time. “Grace.”

Still no answer. Ewan’s brow creased in thought. She’d had a headache earlier; he’d seen her rubbing her brow when she thought he wasn’t watching. Perhaps she’d taken a headache remedy and gone to bed?

If that was the case, then he had no wish to disturb her. But she’d also said she wanted to see him, before he retired to his own chambers. He didn’t want to disappoint her.

If she was asleep, he could leave a note and then let her sleep. It was easy enough, and then she’d know that he hadn’t forgotten her. Under the circumstances, it seemed the best course of action.

He opened the door cautiously. “Grace?”

The front room of her chambers was empty, a fire glowing sullenly in the hearth but not yet banked. Ewan crossed the room with soft strides and knocked lightly on the bedroom door. When there was no answer, he pushed it open and stepped inside.

There was no sign of Grace, and though her robe and slippers were both missing, her bed showed no sign of being slept in. There was, however, a vial on the small side table. Ewan picked it up and sniffed, grimacing as the all-too-familiar scent of one of Megan’s headache remedies assaulted his nostrils. He stoppered the vial quickly and looked around the room again.

Grace had returned to the room. She’d clearly prepared for bed, or at least to stay in her chambers for the remainder of the evening. But where had she gone? The headache remedy was here, so she hadn’t gone to retrieve one from the healer. After a feast such as the one they’d had, she was unlikely to be hungry, and there was a water pitcher already filled and waiting if she was thirsty.

And even had she needed something, Ewan knew full well she’d employed one of the castle servants to be her personal maid. Malcolm had told him as much when he’d approved the lass’s change in duties. Grace could have sent the maid to get anything she required.

Perhaps she’d gone out to the gardens. The Hall had been warmer than usual - she might have wished to take some fresh air before she retired. There was little reason she could not have done so at her window, but then, he knew little of the minds of women.

Ewan sighed and left the room, intent on checking the gardens. He was halfway across the front room when he spotted the note, perched beneath a goblet, set in the middle of the table by the fire. It was folded, but not sealed, and it bore his name written in rough, hurried script across the front.

Ewan picked it up, his stomach churning with fresh doubts. He had seen examples of Grace’s writing, and the name inscribed on the paper wasn’t in her penmanship. He couldn’t imagine her writing being so jagged or untidy… unless she was upset.

She could have received word her uncle is comin’ fer her. Or that Niamh is havin’ the babe early. Or mayhap she changed her mind about stayin’ with me…

Nay. There’s nay sign she left in a hurry. And there’s been nay messenger, or Malcolm or Devlin would have told me o’ it. And Grace isnae coward enough tae leave me without tellin’ me she didnae wish tae remain.

But if that be the case, then what…?

Mind twisting with anxiety, Ewan unfolded the note.

Ewan MacDuff,

I have yer betrothed. If ye would see Grace Lancaster again while she is still among the living, then ye will follow me instructions.

Come tae the North Tower o’ MacTavish Keep, tae the room second from the uppermost. Come alone and tell nay one o’ yer errand. If I hear the warning bells or any guards, yer lass will die, as slowly and painfully as I can manage.

Come as soon as ye receive this letter, and dinnae make me wait too long. Otherwise, I will assume treachery on yer part, or that ye dinnae care about the life o’ yer betrothed. In that case, I will return her tae ye in pieces.