Page 68 of The Highlander’s Dangerous Desire

“Ye choose. Ye can give up yer claim tae the lairdship, an’ I’ll let ye tak’ yer lass away and return tae lickin’ yer braither’s heels. Or, ye can try tae maintain yer claim, and I’ll kill the lass, then we’ll fight fer the right tae hold the lairdship.”

“Ewan do not…”

“Grace.” Ewan barely hesitated a moment. He knew what his choice would be the minute Gael voiced it. There was no other choice he could make. “If the choice is the lairdship or Grace, then me choice is Grace.”

Grace listened in growing shock as Ewan gave up the lairdship for her, without hesitation. “Ewan, you cannot…”

“Shut up, wench. Overseer MacDuff has made his choice.” Gael was gloating, his expression ugly with triumph and disgust. “I kent he was too soft tae be the laird.”

Ewan snarled. “Ye have me choice. Release Grace.”

“Nae likely. Ye might have proved that yer tae spineless tae be a laird, but ye helped yer brother kill the previous laird, and I’ll nae give ye the chance tae dae the same tae me.”

With nothing more than that, Gael withdrew the knife from her throat and lunged at Ewan. Ewan dodged, drawing his own dirk as he did so. The two clashed in a flurry of steel. Grace watched, her heart in her throat and pounding out a frantic drumbeat.

Ewan was strong and skilled, but Gael was faster, and he fought with a feral cunning that matched his wolf-like appearance. Ewan narrowly dodged one blow, and took a glancing cut across the shoulder as he avoided another vicious stab.

He struck back, and Gael hissed in fury as Ewan scored a deeper cut across his chest. His attacks redoubled in ferocity, but Ewan absorbed attacks with calm precision. He drew a second blade and countered Gael’s attacks.

Then the door crashed open and Devlin entered, with Malcolm and a man Grace recognized from the Council right behind him. Devlin charged forward and slammed into Gael before he could turn to engage the new threat. The attack bore Gael back into the wall with enough force to drive the air from his gut.

Seconds later, Gael had been disarmed. The Council member stepped forward and clapped chains around Gael’s wrists. “Gael MacTavish, ye are now a prisoner o’ Clan MacTavish.”

Gael snarled and fought against the restraints, but Malcolm and Devlin together had him firmly in hand. “What are ye doing? I am yer future laird…”

“Ye confessed tae attacking our current Overseer without proper challenge. And tae attacking the clan, and the keep. Master Devlin asked us tae assist him.” The man gestured, and another member of the Council appeared, this time one of the Elders. “We heard what ye said tae Overseer MacDuff.”

The Elder nodded. “Ye have proven yerself unfit for consideration as the new laird o’ Clan MacTavish. Indeed, ye have proven that the only place ye deserve tae be is languishing in our king’s dungeon.”

“Ye cannae dae this. Ye have nae authority as the laird.”

“We have authority as the leading Council until a new laird is appointed. But if ye wish tae demand authority, then we can ask fer judgment from the current Overseer… and the man who will be the new laird.” The Council Elder bowed slightly in Ewan’s direction. “Laird Ewan MacTavish-MacDuff.”

Ewan blinked. He looked as startled as Grace felt. Then he turned, and cut the ropes binding Grace to the chair. Once she was free, he helped her up, then turned back to the council members. “I didnae think the decision was yet made.”

The Elder smiled. “We had tae hear the words o’ Gael MacTavish. ‘Twas proper, and ‘twas custom. However, now that he has been proven his unsuitability, we can tell ye freely, that we were nae considering him seriously as a laird.”

Ewan swallowed hard. “Ye werenae?”

“Nay. Ye’ve proven yer mettle in battle, and in leadership. Ye saw us through winter and the beginnin’ o’ planting season - nae easy seasons tae be a new laird in. And ye handled yerself well when challenged. In all aspects, ye’ve proven yerself a capable and skilled laird, who puts the interests o’ the clan foremost. As far as we’re concerned, it only requires the formal recognition o’ the King or Highland Gathering tae grant ye the title permanently.”

Ewan took a deep breath. “I see. An’ me marriage prospects… would me decision tae wed Grace Lancaster within the month influence yer decision?”

The Elder smiled. “Och, only tae confirm that ye’re the laird our clan needs.”

“Then I would like tae tak’ me betrothed tae rest.” Ewan’s strong arm wrapped around her shoulders, and Grace leaned into his grasp with a sigh of relief. Her fear and anxiety were fading, and the tension she’d felt before was entirely gone.

The Elder nodded. “Steward Malcolm and Master Devlin can help us handle this lout.”

Grace was only too happy to leave the room, but before Ewan could guide her down the stairs, a thought struck her. She turned to Ewan. “MacTavish’s wife and son. Offer them sanctuary. They do not need to be stained with his evil any more than they already have been.”

Ewan frowned a moment, then nodded. “Aye. ‘Tis only just.”

“I’ll see tae it, m’laird.” Malcolm spoke up. Gael snarled and started to speak, but Malcolm shook the chains roughly. “Nary a word from ye, ye bastard.”

With that taken care of, the last of Grace’s concerns faded, leaving her feeling weak and worn. Ewan noticed, and led her gently away.

Grace didn’t protest as Ewan half led, half carried her to his room and poured them both a stiff drink. Her hands were shaking slightly with the aftermath of her experience. Ewan seemed in no hurry to let her leave, either. Not that Grace had any intention of leaving. Her head was still spinning with the words Ewan had spoken before. “You were willing to surrender the lairdship for me.”