Chapter Nineteen
“When the well is dry, they know the worth of water.”
“She must be mad, Cy,” Grace said as she hugged him. “You’re the handsomest, most clever, strongest unmarried man on Skye. Why else wouldn’t she marry you?”
“I didn’t actually ask her to wed.” The tightness in her brother’s words showed his pain, which then tightened her own defenses.
Grace concentrated on relaxing the muscles in her face.
No need to cause premature wrinkles. She stood tall with the direct bearing she prided herself on and smiled at her brother.
They stood along the dock where his men lowered their few satchels into a rowboat that would take them out to their moored ship.
Poseidon’s Fist, named by their war-loving father, sat in the deepwater harbor with a minimal crew.
She assumed Cyrus would be renaming the galleon as soon as their father was in the ground.
Should I go with him to see Father? But I just wed, and Iain needs me. Each day she learned something new about her husband. He still had nightmares about his twin brother falling to his death. He’d woken last night sobbing and asking for his old nursemaid, Penny.
“The proposal was implied,” Grace said.
“I’ve heard that the asking is very important to lasses.”
Grace’s smile turned authentic as she thought about Iain’s grand proposal, which had involved trumpets and his entrance into Dun Haakon’s bailey with at least one hundred well-dressed warriors behind him.
He’d won her over immediately. Even if he hadn’t been the most handsome man in the world, his grand gesture would have made up for it.
But he was the most handsome, at least when he was happy.
She’d only seen his ugliness a few times, like some taint that needed to be bled out from him.
She knew she was just the woman to help him.
She shrugged, pushing her mild trepidation aside.
“The woman is still mad for leaving in the middle of the night. You’re the best unmarried man on Skye, offering to take her to a magnificent castle where she would be the lady.
Instead, she’s choosing to live in the forest, rolling around in the dirt and eating whatever she can steal. ”
Cyrus looked pained at her words.
Good Lord. She hadn’t meant to hurt him more. She rubbed his arm. “Truly, Brother, ye are the best of men, so she must be mad.”
“I think ye’re biased, Sister.” The haunted pain in his eyes remained, and it made her hate Laria, despite her being part of her new family.
She squeezed his arm. “You deserve better, someone who will help the alliances grow across Skye. Someone who realizes what a good man you are.”
He studied her, as if he were trying to read her mind. “And ye feel that Iain is a good man, Grace?”
Her eyes narrowed. “Of course I do. He’s given me no indication that he’s not the kind, generous, clever chief he’s always been.
” True, he called all the maids Penny, after his nursemaid who’d been more a mother to him than his own.
But he didn’t have time to learn all their names.
Tuath Tower was large and required many servants.
“Ye don’t believe Laria’s claims at all?” he asked, his gaze moving along the dock and the village beyond.
Grace knew he was looking for the woman.
Damn her for making her brother weak. She caught his chin like she used to do when they were younger, making him meet her gaze.
“I do not. She’s either mad, or she’s been fooled by Jasper Whitt.
Either way, she’s not for you.” Cyrus had shown her the brief letter Laria had left him.
Heated anger bloomed higher in her chest at the memory.
The fact that Laria had sneaked out of the castle without rejecting him face-to-face was infuriating, and there hadn’t even been an apology in it.
“Go back to Dun Haakon,” Grace said, “and become the chief of the largest clan on Skye. I will journey there by Christmastide to see how Mother fares.”
He kissed her forehead. “If ye feel unsafe at any time, send for me. I will be here as fast as the wind fills my sails.” He touched her cheek. “And Laria can protect ye if ye must flee before I come.”
She patted his chest and forced a smile. “I highly doubt I will need to flee, because I am well and happy, Big Brother. Go home and find your own happiness.”
Grace watched him walk to the rowboat. He’d opted to stay the night on board Poseidon’s Fist so they could leave at first light, when the tides would be right. Iain shook his hand, saying something as he patted Cyrus on his shoulder.
Her husband glanced her way with a smile, and she felt that lightness flutter in her stomach.
He was good to her, even if he was short with his staff.
The pressure of this whole horrid affair with Laria and his missing grandmother was making him anger easily, but Grace could calm him like she’d calmed her father all these years.
As Cyrus lowered himself into the rowboat to sit before a set of oars, Iain walked to her and took her arm. “Let us return to yer tower, milady.”
“You were right about your cousin,” Grace said. “She is utterly daft not to wed my brother.”
They walked back up to the tower where Iain kissed her, pulling her in close. “I wish to search for Jasper Whitt a bit longer before nightfall. If he’s done wrong, he must be held accountable for it. The least being stealing my mother’s ring.”
“Would she have gifted it to him? The nuns may not have liked her to wear any type of jewelry there.”
He smiled, his brows rising. “That is a very bright thought. Perhaps she did in her generosity, and Jasper has just gone hunting.” He kissed her hand. “Ye are very clever, my love.”
Grace felt triumphant at his words, just like she did when her father praised her. “Laria probably devised the whole story of your mother’s death to draw attention to herself and trick your dear grandmother into leaving Tuath Tower.”
“Ye’re right.” Iain kissed her quickly on the lips. His words trickled down through her, warming her. “Now I must ride.” He turned away, striding toward the barns where his chestnut gelding was being saddled.
As she watched him speak to the groom, she wondered if he called all the men in his service the same name. Peter to match the name Penny? Grace sniffed a little laugh. Should she take the time to learn their real names or just do what Iain did?
She walked inside, feeling tired from the emotions of the day but also light from Iain’s praise. I am clever.
The maid who had attended Laria—Hazel was her real name—dabbed at her eyes. Was she mourning the running-off of her mistress? Foolish girl.
“Penny,” Grace said, “I will be taking a nap before the evening meal. See that I’m woken an hour before so you can help me prepare.
” Her voice wasn’t kind, but it wasn’t cruel, either.
There was a balance she must find with the servants.
Her mother had talked at length with her about it. They must respect her but not fear her.
“Yes, milady.”
Grace grabbed her skirts and made her way up the stairs to the large bedchamber reserved for the lord and lady of the tower.
She smiled as she ran a hand over the smooth plastered walls of the corridor.
Tuath Tower was small but snugger than Dun Haakon.
She had plans for the gardens, which had been overtaken by weeds after Iain’s grandmother grew too old to care what happened to them.
She entered their bedchamber and felt a small draft. She walked to the windows, pulling the open one shut.
Click.
Grace turned at the noise behind her. Her eyesight might be hazy from afar, but her ears worked better than most. Her gaze moved directly to the hearth, where the escape door was hidden. Striding over, she realized it was also cracked open.
“Hmmm…” Why was it open? The bottom was locked from the inside so that no one could come in that way. She opened the door, blinking at the darkness, and listened.
Something scratched below. “Iain?”
Muffled words came jumbled from the thick darkness. The voice was higher pitched, like a woman’s.
“Who’s down there?” Grace grabbed the lantern next to the hearth, lit it, and flooded the upper part of the stairs with light. They were empty. “I have a weapon,” she said, thinking of the sgian dubh Cyrus had taught her always to wear beneath her petticoats.
More garbled words came up the narrow shaft of stairs. The hairs on the back of Grace’s neck stood on end as she recognized the sound of someone gagged. It was a woman, for sure, and she sounded frantic.
Should she run and send word for Iain to return, or to Cyrus on his ship in the harbor? But the desperation in the muted screams below made her descend alone. I am a fool. But she couldn’t leave a helpless woman.
Drawing her dagger, she held it in the same hand she was using to steady her on the steep descent.
With the other, she brandished the lantern to light her way.
Who would be down in the bottom of the escape stairway?
One of the many Pennys of the tower? Could she have found the tunnel and fallen? She couldn’t gag herself.
Heart pounding, Grace descended the last turn. She raised her lantern high, casting light over the space at the bottom, before the door cut into the stone wall. “Good Mother Mary,” she said and rushed forward. “Laria? What the bloody hell?”
Iain’s cousin was tied and gagged, lying on the cold floor, but she wasn’t crumpled from a fall.
Her large eyes blinked against the brightness of the lantern, and her face was tight with fear.
Of Grace? Of some other monster? Grace gasped and turned around quickly to make certain no one was standing behind her, ready to tie and gag her, too, but the staircase was empty.
She set the lantern down and hurried to Laria. Even if the woman was mad, she didn’t deserve to be tied, gagged, and thrown down into a dark hole.
Grace worked the cloth down Laria’s chin.
“Cyrus?” Laria asked.