Ewan’s heart and mind refused to reconcile. Consequently, sleep eluded him.
For ten years he’d adhered steadfastly to his Templar vows. Admittedly, his zealous Highland blood had pushed him to recklessness at times. In contrast, his inherent obstinacy had bolstered his determination to observe the Templar rule. With little deviation, he’d been devout, chaste, and obedient. His courage had never been questioned, nor had his skill with sword and lance. A monk with a warrior’s heart.
It had not always been so.
There had been a time when he’d paid homage to his goblet and found solace in less righteous company. Women had taken his silver in exchange for carnal pleasure. Ewan had earned that silver with a blunt sword, challenging men to bouts of bruising, but generally benign, combat. He’d almost always bested his opponent. Having little care for his own life made him brazen. And fearless.
Then, one dank autumn evening, Ewan’s ability with the sword caught the attention of Gilbert de Mauleon, a seasoned Templar knight and regional Master. The man had dragged Ewan off the streets of Paris, sobered him up, and introduced him to the order of warrior monks. It changed his life. Nay, it saved his life.
He squirmed beneath his blankets and wondered what had become of his old master. Had the man managed to elude arrest?
And with that thought came another.
Does the Order of the Temple even have a future anymore?
The question had him tossing and turning even more. With his sight turned inward, he gazed up at the shadowed ceiling. “I’m no’ sure where my loyalties lie,” he whispered, and then frowned. “Nay, that isnae true. I ken exactly where they lie. I’m just afraid of—”
What? What am I afraid of? Surrendering my allegiance to the Temple? Or accepting my responsibility as laird?
Morag’s observation came back to him. “I dinnae see how you can be both, Ewan, marriage alliance or no’.”
She was right, of course. And in truth, Ewan’s decision had been made for him. He simply needed to commit to it, which was proving to be easier said than done.
Frustrated, he left his bed, dressed warmly, and made his way outside. The ugly weather had cleared, giving way to starlit skies and a bright, full moon. Ewan paused atop the steps and breathed deep, cleansing his lungs with the crisp night air as he fastened his sword belt.
He then took another deep breath and gazed up at the stars. It was indeed a fine night. A bonny night. One that, under different circumstances, might have lifted his burdened spirit.
A sharp northwest breeze, not quite vigorous enough to be called a wind, skipped over the castle walls. To Ewan’s puzzlement, it carried with it the faint sound of voices—a shared conversation between male and female. Curious, he cocked his head to listen, seeking the direction of the sound, frowning when he found it.
The gatehouse?
Ewan uttered a curse, heaved a disappointed sigh, and set out across the courtyard. Niall, the watchman, had never been one to shirk his duty, or even take it lightly. Yet, without doubt, there was a female on the gatehouse roof. A serious breach of the rules.
Such disobedience was unacceptable at any time, but seemed especially irreverent now, so soon after Ruaidri’s demise. It could not—would not—go unpunished. The lass, too, whoever she was, would answer for her indiscretion.
Wishing to keep an element of surprise, Ewan kept his footfalls soft as he climbed the dark, spiral staircase. The sight that greeted him atop the roof stopped him dead.
What, by all things sacred, is she doing here?
“There are hundreds of islands out there, lass,” Niall was saying, as he gazed out over the water with his back to Ewan. “Maybe even thousands. Some of them are little more than rocks, mind, so you couldnae live on them. Over there is Ireland. Down that way is the Isle of Mann. And to the south, of course…” he spat over the wall, “England.”
Some movement must have drawn the lass’s eye. Ewan’s white mantle, maybe, lifted by the breeze. In any case, she caught sight of him and parted with a sharp gasp.
“Shite!” Niall, sword half-drawn, spun around, guilt washing over his face as he realized who stood before him. “I mean, sorry, Laird. You startled me.”
“Only because you were no’ paying attention.” Ewan’s gaze flicked briefly to the MacAulay lass, who looked like she’d been caught in an illicit act. “What are you at, Niall?”
The man fidgeted. “Er… ’tis simply explained, Laird.”
“Then explain it.”
“’Tis not his fault, Laird MacKellar.” The MacAulay lass stepped forward, her face pale in the moonlight. “I asked if I might look at the sea, and he kindly agreed.”
Niall grimaced. “It was only to be for a wee while, Laird. I didnae have the heart to refuse.”
“I didnae mean to cause trouble,” the lass went on. “’Tis just that I’ve never—”
Ewan held up a hand, which silenced her, and glared at Niall. “You’re on duty, lad. You’re aware of the rules.”
The man gave a resigned sigh. “Aye, I ken. Forgive me, Laird. I take full responsibility for the lapse.”
The lass shook her head. “Nay, please! ’Tis entirely my fault, not his.”
Ewan raked his gaze over her. “Do you often wander about at night unescorted, my lady?”
“Um, nay, not usually.” She gave him a hesitant smile. “I couldnae sleep and came out for some air. When I saw how bright the moon was, I thought I might climb up here to take a wee glimpse at the sea. I’d never seen it till today, you understand. I didnae have much time to look at it when we arrived, and since we’ll be leaving in the morning, I’ll no’ have time then, either.” She glanced at Niall. “I never meant for your watchman to get into trouble. I’m sorry, truly.”
Ewan studied the lass. Moonlight cast a silver gilt over her dark hair, strands of which twirled freely in the breeze. They, in turn, created moving shadows across her face. It was a strange, alluring effect that served to accentuate the mystery of who she was. He knew naught but her name, after all, although his first impression had not changed. She seemed pleasant enough. Perhaps, though, not as shy as Alastair had indicated.
The idea of fostering a rapport with her felt like a betrayal of sorts. At the same time, Ewan admitted intrigue, curious to know more about the woman who should have been Ruaidri’s bride. His throat tightened at the thought, though he kept his expression benign.
“I appreciate the explanation, my lady,” he said. “Nevertheless, you shouldnae be up here.”
Perhaps he imagined the touch of colour rising in her cheeks. “I understand, of course,” she replied. “I’ll leave right away.”
“I’ll escort you down.” Ewan nodded at Niall. “As you were, lad. I’ll speak with you later.”
Niall had the wherewithal to look chagrined. “Aye, Laird.”
Ewan gestured to the stairwell. “I’ll go first,” he said. “’Tis beyond dark in there and I didnae bring a flame. I’ll be your shield, should you stumble.”
“Thank you,” she replied. “I’ll try not to trip over my feet. And thank you too, sir, for your kindness.” This last to Niall, who granted her an easy smile that dissolved beneath Ewan’s stern glance.
They descended in silence and without mishap, finally stepping out into the moonlit courtyard.
“Thank you again, Laird MacKellar.” The lass raised her hood and looked up at him. “Please, dinnae be too hard on your watchman. I apologize, again, for any trouble I’ve caused. There’s no need to bother yourself further. I’m sure I’ll be fine now.”
“’Tis nae bother.” Ewan regarded her, wondering why he didn’t quite feel ready to let her go just yet. “I must confess, my lady, I find it odd that you’ve never seen the sea till today. Have you been locked away in Dunraven all your life?”
She looked momentarily unsettled. “Nay, I…um…” Frowning, she glanced down. “’Tis more accurate to say that I’ve never been to the coast. I have seen the sea before, actually, but ’twas from afar and on a misty day, so I couldnae tell where the waves ended and the sky began. I’ve smelled and tasted it on the air many times, too, but till today, I’ve never seen it up close.”
Ewan had no reason to doubt her explanation. It seemed innocent enough. “Are you tired, lass?”
The question appeared to puzzle her. “Tired? Nay… well, maybe a wee bit.”
“Only, I wondered…”
She blinked. “What?”
Ewan nodded toward the western side of the castle. “If you’d like to see the sea up close, there’s a wee postern gate back there that leads out to the cliffs. ’Tis an unobstructed view. I’ll be happy to escort you, if you wish.”
Uncertainty showed in her expression as she glanced to where he’d indicated. “I’m nae sure I should, really.”
“Why? There’s naught to fear.”
She fidgeted on her feet. “I fear only that I’ve inconvenienced you enough already, Laird MacKellar.”
“Not quite.” He leaned in and lowered his voice. “Dinnae fash. I’ll be sure to tell you the moment I find you tiresome.”
The brief look of shock on her face made his mouth twitch, something she apparently noticed a moment later.
“You’re teasing me,” she said, smiling.
Ewan smiled back, tussling with a forbidden urge to offer his arm to the lass. He hadn’t touched a woman in ten years. Well, other than Morag, of course. And even that benign contact, strictly speaking, went against the code. He’d made allowances, though, given the sad circumstances of recent weeks.
He reasoned with himself. This was merely an exercise in graciousness. The lass—his guest—wanted to see the sea. So, he’d show it to her. Then he’d dispatch her back to her chamber, where she could prepare to return whence she came.
“Aye, I’m teasing you,” he said, presenting his elbow. “Come.”
For a fleeting moment, he saw something undefinable flare in her eyes. He sloughed off an odd impression that it had been the same glimmer of fear as when they’d first been introduced. But the lass’s smile didn’t waver as she’d placed her hand in the protective crook of his arm.
Likely a trick of the light, then, or the flicker of a shadow.
Keeping his longer stride in check, he led her to the postern gate, a small portal set flush in the castle wall, where it backed onto the coast. Built from thick oak and reinforced with metal studs, the hefty door could only be opened from within. Ewan pulled back the iron bolts, lifted the latch, and tugged the door open. Beyond, a wide, grassy shelf edged the rugged cliffs that overlooked the shore.
“After you, lass.” Ewan released her and stepped to the side. “Mind your step.”
She moved past him into the clutches of the breeze. It snatched at her hood and threw it back, giving freedom once again to the errant strands of hair that danced and twirled around her face. Ewan pulled the door closed behind them, and watched her.
“Oh!” The lass’s exclamation, softly expressed, yet so full of wonder, spoke of her delight.
From this unobscured viewpoint it seemed as though the world lay at their feet, the burnished sea stretching out to the dark horizon. Moonlight had strewn a wide path across the waves, turning them to polished silver. Urged on by the breeze, the waves tumbled onto the rocky shore and exploded into shards of frosted foam.
“’Tis a fine sight always.” Ewan gazed out across sparkling expanse. “But especially on a night such as this.”
“’Tis beyond splendid,” the lass murmured, as if to herself. “The power of it stirs the soul.”
“Aye, it does.” Drawn by her quiet enthusiasm, Ewan moved to her side. “And its power should never be underestimated.”
“I should very much like to see it in a storm.” She took a tentative step forward. “Do the waves ever reach all the way up here?”
“The spray does at times, aye. Dinnae move too close to the edge, lass. A strong gust of wind will topple a wee thing like yourself.”
“Is there a path somewhere, down to the shore?”
“Aye.”
“Where is it?”
“Over yonder, where the shelf cuts in,” Ewan replied. “But there’ll be no clambering down the cliffs in the dark.”
A sigh escaped her. “I suppose it wouldnae be wise.”
Ewan grunted. “Maybe Alastair will allow you to go there before you leave.”
The lass gave him a dubious look—one that said Alastair would never allow such a thing. “Aye, maybe.”
She turned and continued her contemplation, but Ewan sensed a decline in her enthusiasm and, for some reason, it bothered him. It seemed the lass possessed a natural curiosity. One that had been newly awakened, he suspected, by her escape from whatever sheltered world she had inhabited thus far. It would be a pity not to indulge it a little. The words spilled out before he could stop them.
“I’ll take you there myself, if you wish. Once the sun is up.”
The offer obviously surprised her, for she snapped her head around to look at him, a slight frown on her brow. “That’s very kind of you, Laird MacKellar,” she said after a moment, turning her gaze back to the moonlit waves, “but I doubt we’ll have the time.”
Maybe it was the beauty of the night, shared with a bonny young lass who, for some unfathomable reason, intrigued him. Maybe it was nothing more than simple kindness on his part. Or maybe it was sheer, lunar madness that drove him to speak again.
“If it is what you want, I’ll ensure we have time, my lady.”
The remark garnered the same instant reaction as before, only this time, she appeared startled.
“Thank…” Her fingers went to her throat as she cleared it. “Thank you, Laird.”
She sounded more apprehensive than appreciative. At first, Ewan didn’t quite know what to make of it. Then it occurred to him. Maybe he was not the only one with misgivings about this revised marriage alliance. His thoughts had been presumptuous. And his behaviour contradictory.
The lass had been pledged to Ruaidri, the respected laird of her neighbouring clan. Now, however, she faced the possibility of a union with a battle-scarred Templar knight. A man who hadn’t even tried to hide his disapproval and resentment from the moment she’d arrived. Indeed, he’d all but publicly denied her only hours before. Yet, here he was, exchanging pleasantries with her beneath the full moon, and promising to take her on a dawn excursion to the seashore.
“What am I doing?” he murmured, glancing skyward.
“Laird?”
Grimacing, he drew breath. “I must beg your forgiveness, my lady. I’ve treated you unfairly. Truth is, recent events have left me uncertain about many things, including the marriage agreement that brought you here. You were promised to my brother, after all. A man who has not yet been dead a month, may God rest his soul. Agreeing to take his place as your husband so soon after his demise feels like…”
“A betrayal?” she finished, a softness coming to her eyes. “I do understand, believe me. And I dinnae blame you at all for having reservations. I confess, I have a few myself.”
He felt certain he didn’t need to ask what they were. “I’m nae as frightening as I look, lass,” he said, his subsequent smile meant to reassure.
To his surprise, she appeared mildly affronted. “If the scarring on your face troubles me, Laird MacKellar, ’tis merely because it implies you have suffered unspeakable pain. Otherwise, I dinnae find you frightening in the least, but I confess to having some concerns about the marriage agreement.”
The first part of her declaration, voiced with profound sincerity, touched Ewan’s heart. The latter part should have also agreed with him, for it served to support his own misgivings. So why, then, did he feel a pinch of disappointment?
“Might I ken what they are?”
“Simply that I…” Her eyes searched his face as her mind obviously searched for words. “I fear there are too many obstacles between us.”
Ewan raised a brow. “Go on.”
“You’re a Templar knight. A monk.” She brushed a loose strand of hair from her face. “To marry will mean surrendering your vows.”
He dipped his head. “Aye, it will.”
“And ’tis plain you are reluctant to do so.
“Also true. I confess I’ll nae surrender them with ease. But, as laird, I have little choice, married or no’.”
“Perhaps, but I cannae help but wonder if it might be better for us to wait.”
“Yet your brother doesnae wish to wait, for some reason.”
She wrinkled her nose. “Alastair is…”
“A stubborn arse?”
A smile curved her mouth. “I dinnae think I’d have said it quite that way, but aye, he can be. And I happen to agree with you—’tis a wee bit soon for all this, considering Ruaidri has nae been long gone.”
For some reason, Ewan felt compelled to challenge her remark. “Yet, on the other hand,” he said, “the sun will rise on the morrow, and every day after that till God decides otherwise. Life, in some fashion, will go on.”
She blinked. “What are you saying?”
A good question. What am I saying? That I’m willing to spend the rest of my life with this lass? Eventually, I must take a wife. If not her, then who? And when?
“I’m nae sure.” He shrugged. “Maybe I’m saying there’s little point in waiting. If the agreement still stands, perhaps we should honour it.”
Wide-eyed, she stared at him in silence for a few moments, and then lowered her gaze. “If that is what you’ve decided, then so be it.”
“I have nae decided anything.” Frowning, Ewan tipped her chin up, dismayed to see tears in her eyes. “For sure, I’ll no’ wed a lass who doesnae wish to be wed, if that be the case.”
It was a question, although he had not formed it as one. In the short amount of time they’d spent together, Ewan had felt his stubborn resolve weakening. Quite simply, he liked the lass. She had a nice manner, and seemed possessed of an infectious enthusiasm for life—something that appealed to him. And the way she’d risen to Niall’s defence had impressed him.
Nor was he blind to the allure of her femininity, although he would not allow his mind to dwell on her physical attributes. Lust, unbridled, had a way of steering men onto sinful paths, as he knew to his detriment.
He was still a knight of the Temple. Until such time as he surrendered his mantle and pledged his troth, any thoughts of an intimate nature would be tempered. God knows, he’d had years of practice. Chastity, at first, had proven to be a torment, one alleviated by ardent prayer, plus a fervent commitment to hours of physical training. Eventually, over time, Ewan’s carnal desire had been controlled if not restrained. That was not to say, of course, that it would not be reignited in the marriage bed.
Unless he found himself with a reluctant bride.
Certainly, something about the lass nudged at his instincts. She gave him a vague impression of furtiveness, as if she knew some great secret but was not willing to share it. Perhaps it was nothing more than the shyness Alastair had mentioned. In any case, she seemed to possess a measure of uncertainty. Not unlike his own.
“You’re very kind, Laird MacKellar,” she said. “Dinnae pay me any mind. I’m just a wee bit tired, is all.”
Could that be it? Mere fatigue? Her response, though credible, still left him wondering. He decided not to pursue it. At least, not then and there.
“Understandable,” he replied, tucking her hand into his arm again. “Allow me to escort you back inside, then, so you can rest. We have to walk around to the main gate, where I suppose we’ll find out if Niall is paying attention or not.”
“Please dinnae be hard on him,” she said, as they set off. “Truly, it was not his fault.”
“It was entirely his fault,” Ewan replied. “But dinnae fash. I’ll have words with him, but I’ll no’ bother with a lashing this time.”
“A lashing?” He felt her scrutiny. “You would lash a man for such a thing?”
“Aye.” Ewan’s mouth twitched. “If no’ for your pleading, lass, I’d be giving him a half-dozen strokes.”
Her laughter escaped a few moments later, a sweet sound that made him catch his breath. “You’re teasing me again, Laird MacKellar.”
“Ewan,” he said. “My name is Ewan.”
“Ewan,” she repeated, as if tasting the word.
“May I call you Elspeth?”
Her fingers twitched against his arm. “Aye, if you wish.”
“Chosen by God.”
“Pardon?”
“’Tis the meaning of your name. Chosen by God.” He smiled. “Or so my sister informs me.”
“Ah, I see.” The lass appeared to ponder for a moment. “Alastair hoped to marry her.”
“Aye, I ken.”
“If she’d agreed,” she murmured, “I likely wouldnae be here now.”
Ewan grimaced. “While that is likely true, I’d prefer you didnae mention it to Morag. I fear she blames herself for Ruaidri’s death.”
She released a sharp gasp. “Curse my tongue! It was a careless observation. I didnae mean any harm.”
“A fair observation too, but I would rather it be left unsaid.”
“Of course. May God forgive me. I seem to be causing naught but trouble tonight.” A sigh shuddered from her. “I’m sorry, Laird.”
“Dinnae fash, lass.” He leaned in. “And my name is Ewan.”