Chapter Two
Ailsa could feel Ewan’s gaze boring into her like a knife at her back.
It was absurd. Really, in the greater scheme of things, she should not be worrying about Ewan.
Her parents were dead. If the blood dripping from their mouths hadn’t made it clear enough that this was due to some kind of treachery, their pursuers had reinforced that message very pointedly.
For hours—hours—the four of them had raced for their lives, barely keeping far enough ahead that their pursuers only risked the occasional arrow.
Ailsa had ensured that she was at the back, for all the paltry protection her body provided. It was all she could do, though—that and pray. Pray that their horses would make it, that none of them would stumble or fall, that the Buchanans wouldn’t send them away.
And it had worked. It had worked. They were here. They were safe.
Yes, she was so exhausted that it took a concentrated effort to stay upright.
Eilidh was barely moving under her own power; the guard’s support was doing nearly all the work of keeping her upright in her saddle.
Laird Buchanan had insisted Eilidh and Davina ride double with two of his guards, their horses on leads at their side.
It was a testament to the girls’ exhaustion that they hadn’t put up so much as a token protest.
All that, and Ailsa was still worrying over Ewan Buchanan.
It was indefensible, really, that she was thinking about him at all, but it had been years. And the last time she’d seen him, she’d been fifteen, Ewan nineteen. She’d thought him grown, at the time.
As the group crossed through the enormous gate that marked the boundary of Buchanan Keep, the Donaghey sisters found themselves the subject of many curious faces.
It had been like that, she recalled in a flash, when she’d arrived nine years prior with her parents.
She’d tried to be so stoic then, determined to show the people that she would be a good lady of the estate, that they could rely on her.
That had not come to pass, but some things apparently didn’t change because here she was, again aiming for stoicism.
Actually, she observed, gazing around, a lot of things hadn’t changed. She had been certain that she’d never see this place again, but now, looking at the women gossipping over by a garden, watching the adolescent boys shove one another playfully, it felt familiar.
That was absurd, though, of course it was. It could only be the effects of her long day, or the way her true home had been made so alien to her by the knowledge that murderers lurked in its halls.
It had nothing to do with that glare of Ewan’s.
When they reached the Buchanan stables, Vaila dismounted as nimbly as if she’d been riding for mere minutes, not hours.
Ailsa was forced to accept the hand of one of the guards to help her down, which was a touch humiliating, especially after her sister’s elegance. But it was less humiliating than falling flat on her rear, and she feared that might be the only alternative.
She reached out a hand and began to murmur her thanks—then froze because it was Ewan’s hand in hers. She hadn’t grabbed gloves in her haste to flee Castle Dubh-Gheal, and her hands were lined with dirt from the hours spent clutching the reins.
She wasn’t completely churlish, though, so she let him guide her down.
She snatched away her hand as soon as she could. She could still feel the grip of his leather gloves against her skin even after she’d let go.
“You are a remarkable horsewoman, Miss Donaghey,” Laird Buchanan said to Vaila. “I take it ye are Vaila, then? Yer father told me ye were quite the warrioress, and now I can see it well. He would be well proud of ye. ‘Twas a masterful throw, that bit with the dirk.”
Vaila lit up with pleasure at this praise, her dark hair rippling as it cascaded over her shoulders. She did, indeed, Ailsa thought, look like a warrior maiden from a legend.
“Indeed so.” The fond, paternal smile faded, his expression growing somber. “I must say, the news of his passing—and your mother’s, too—is terrible to hear. But I am glad that yer father directed ye to come to us. We shall, of course, honor the bargain that has long stood between our families.”
The Laird was looking at Ailsa now, and she returned his gaze evenly. She was prepared for this. And even if she wasn’t prepared, she would pretend she was until it became truth.
“I am prepared to do whatever needs to be done,” she said.
That was honest enough. She had been raised to this responsibility, and she would bear it now that the time had come. Whatever price she had to pay to protect her sisters—she would pay it.
Ewan watched his father watch Ailsa. The Laird wore that look that not even his son had learned to parse.
“Let’s continue inside,” he said after a long, assessing moment. “There is much to discuss, but now is not the time.”
If Ailsa considered this an inadequate response to her declaration, she didn’t show it.
“Of course, your lairdship,” she said politely. “My sisters and I would greatly appreciate the opportunity to bathe and rest after the journey, if it isn’t too great a trouble.”
Ewan watched her carefully. She might have brushed away his hand, but he hadn’t gone far.
He didn’t plan to, either. Not until he had a better sense of this situation.
“No trouble at all, my dear,” his father assured her.
The group continued toward the hall at the center of the Keep, the soldiers antsy in the aftermath of the brief skirmish, the gathered clansfolk openly gawking.
“Get everyone movin’,” he said quietly to James. “They dinnae need the staring.”
Ewan spared a brief moment of sympathy for the younger lads, who no doubt would find their next hours spent training with James—a notorious taskmaster when it came to drilling potential warriors.
His attention quickly snapped back to Ailsa, though, and just in time; as they walked down the path to the door, they came to the loose cobblestone, the one that everyone in the clan instinctively stepped over.
Ailsa didn’t. She stepped directly on it, wobbled, and would have pitched forward if Ewan hadn’t quickly snagged her about the waist, tugging her toward him to stop her from falling.
It was ungentlemanly of him, but, well, he was not a gentleman and therefore could not help but notice that in the intervening years since he’d seen Ailsa, she’d filled out nicely, developed a woman’s form instead of a girl’s. That form felt mighty good pressed against him.
Her cheeks flamed briefly before she got herself under control, and he had to suppress his grin. She wouldn’t thank him for it.
“I am steady now,” she said, trying to tug free. “I’ll thank you to release me.”
“Nay, lass,” he said smoothly. He’d changed somewhat, too, in the years they’d been parted. He was no longer a bumbling lad. He knew how to tease and flirt.
And who better to hone his skills than bonny Ailsa Donaghey?
“‘Tis my duty as a host to see ye escorted inside safely,” he told her, tightening his grip on her. “Ye’ll nae deny me the honor.”
To his utter shock, she did not try to deny him the honor. Instead, she sighed as though making a great concession, but leaned her weight upon him a little more heavily.
Astonishing. Who would have thought there would come a time when headstrong Ailsa Donaghey would accept his help?
She glanced up at him, just the once, but he saw a hint of desperation in her eyes. It unnerved him, seeing that. In his memories of her, Ailsa had never looked at him with anything but courage and determination.
He released her reluctantly. This wasn’t the time to tease.
“Thank you,” she murmured, and he didn’t know whether it was for the help or for letting her free.
Somehow, he had forgotten this part of knowing Ailsa—or, more likely, he’d shoved it down until he didn’t have to think of it anymore. The lass was as blasted confusing as any he’d ever known.
They’d reached the main house by then, and half a dozen women fluttered forward, ready to fuss over the weary sisters. Ewan’s father waved them on with an offhanded gesture.
“Go,” he told the sisters. “We’ve much to discuss, but it will keep until you’ve rested.”
Only Ailsa and Vaila had the presence of mind to curtsey. The third sister, Davina, he learned was her name, followed suit belatedly. Ewan was glad that the youngest didn’t even try. She looked as though she would topple from the effort.
The four traipsed upstairs in the direction of the guest chambers. Ewan watched them go, noting how they seemed to reach instinctively for one another, as if seeking succor and comfort.
He approached to stand beside his father, who was also watching the girls go.
“I fear this is reckless, Father,” Ewan said. “They were chased for a reason. Are we bringing trouble onto our own doorstep by harboring them here?”
Phileas gave his son an assessing look. “I would think so, but what would ye suggest, me boy? Neglectin’ my promise to a lost friend? Consignin’ those girls to the wilds, to whatever ill fate may befall them at the hands of their pursuers?”
He and his father both knew that neither of them would ever consider it as an option.
Even without the promise to Laird Donaghey—the now late Laird Donaghey—Ewan would never turn away a helpless woman in need.
That was the way of blackguards and wastrels.
He might not be a gentleman, precisely, but he was nae a villain, either.
“No,” his father agreed. “We’ve an old debt that must be paid. We made a promise, and we shall abide it.”
The press of his father’s mouth was somber. “Aye. Come what may.”