Adrienne Basso by Bride of a Scottish Warrior

Author:Bride of a Scottish Warrior [Warrior, Bride of a Scottish]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Zebra
Published: 2014-07-01T04:00:00+00:00

The courtyard was empty when Ewan and his men rode through the open abbey gates. For an instant Ewan feared he had been tricked, that somehow Roderick had circled around and attacked the defenseless convent, but then the chapel door slowly creaked open. The abbess poked her head out, then turned and spoke to whoever else was hiding with her.

The women calmly filed outside, their heads bowed, their hands clasped. A tidy row of brown wrens, along with his own gray dove. He dismounted and looked over at Grace. “Milady?”

She straightened and met his gaze, her chin up, her back stiff, as if she faced an executioner. “Has Roderick gone?”

“Fer now. But I’ve no doubt he’ll return. ’Tis imperative that ye not be here when that happens.”

“I beg yer pardon fer eavesdropping, but I overheard yer request for a priest,” the abbess interjected. “If ye still desire to be wed, Father Mark is glad to oblige.”

“I must speak with Sir Ewan privately,” Grace insisted, her voice high and tight with agitation.

The abbess looked to him for approval and Ewan nodded. At her signal, everyone melted away.

“One of my men is riding hard to reach the Westland Keep, as it is the closest fortress,” Ewan said. “The Wallace Clan will guard the abbey and speak with the other clans to ensure it is protected.”

“What will ye tell them?”

“That Roderick bears an unfounded grudge against my bride and has threatened the nuns.”

“’Tis a lie.” She took a step closer to him and he immediately noticed the sadness in her eyes. “I am not innocent.”

Ewan sighed. “The past is over, Grace. I care naught for it.”

His words seemed to snap her composure. She let out a sharp shriek. “Are ye truly that desperate fer my dowry that ye’ll turn a blind eye to the reality of my past? Merciful heavens, ye cannae simply ignore the truth because it doesn’t suit ye, Ewan.”

She paced back and forth as she spoke, flaying her arms in distress. Ewan grasped one. Turning it palm up, he gazed at the soft, delicate center and long, tapered fingers. By all the saints, this could not be the hand of a cold, bloody murderess.

“How did it happen, Grace? Did ye run him through with a dirk? Smother him with a pillow? Pay another to accomplish the deed?”

Grace froze. Her eyes widened in horror and he regretted causing her this pain, but he realized she was right. The past could not be laid to rest until they confronted it. Together.

“Alastair died by my hand,” she whispered. “I, and I alone bear the guilt.”

Ewan felt a rising tide of panic. Truth could be ugly and unforgiving. Was he truly prepared to hear it?

“Tell me what happened,” he said gently.

She shook her head violently. “Nay, there’s no point.”

“Tell me.”

She took a deep breath, then folded her arms. Foot tapping, she stared at him with hard eyes, but he refused to be denied. Finally, she sighed and lowered her chin.

“Alastair was gored by a wild boar while hunting,” Grace said quietly.

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