The Scot's Spy (Highland Swords Book 2)

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Epilogue

  Dear Reader

  Other Novels By Keira

  About Keira

  Chapter One

  February 1307, the Highlands of Scotland

  “I’m done,” Elshander Grant bellowed to his cousins. “Do not ask me to brandish my sword again!”

  While he wished to toss his weapon to Alick or Dyna, both of whom were standing in front of him, he wasn’t a fool. He was going outside the gates, and none knew when the English would become emboldened enough to attack in the Highlands. He didn’t dare leave it behind.

  Even if he wasn’t sure he could bring himself to use it.

  He vaulted across the lists to the stables, shouting to the stable lad, “My horse. Saddle up Thunder.”

  While the lad hurried to take care of Elshander’s beloved horse, Els took two swigs from the skin full of ale hanging on the wall. The horses snorted and jostled for his attention, or perhaps they wished to run in the other direction. Any good horse could easily sense its rider’s mood, and he was in a particularly foul one. Every bit of him longed to get far away from his cousins, even though they’d made no move to follow him.

  If only his secret shame would stay behind, too.

  The lad led his horse out of the stables and held the reins for Els while he mounted. He mumbled a quick, “My thanks,” then headed out of the gates.

  “We’re closing the gates behind you, Els,” yelled the guard at the top of the curtain wall.

  “Do you not think I know that by now?” How he hated the damn English and the fear and uncertainty they’d brought to Scotland. While they hadn’t come this far north yet, no one trusted King Edward, even though reports suggested he was near death. One never went out in the forests alone or unprepared.

  He sent Thunder into a brisk gallop, then allowed the beast to take his own gait. The horse loved to run free as much as his rider did, and he often took Els too far from the gates. It was nearly dark, so they would not be able to stay out long today. He just needed a little time alone.

  The thought had no sooner crossed his mind than he caught sight of something in the distance. A lone horse had been headed his way, but it had briskly changed direction, as if the rider was attempting to hide.

  “You there! Halt!”

  Although he hadn’t caught a good look at the rider, the man wasn’t wearing a plaid. Which meant the person was either a Scot trying to hide his affiliation or an Englishman. That, paired with the attempt to run, indicated the bastard had no good reason for being so close to Grant land.

  Els sent his beast in fast pursuit, and Thunder obliged, hooves pounding the ground as he chased the intruder into the forest. From the way the beast’s nostrils quivered, Els could tell he’d caught the scent of the other horse, something that would send him into an even faster gallop. Crashing through bushes and occasional branches across the path, they continued the chase, gaining on the horse ahead.

  “Stop!” he hollered, but the intruder ignored him.

  They broke out of the forest and moved into a clearing, the other rider not even turning around to check on his progress. The clearing was just what Els needed. He brought Thunder up next to the intruder’s horse, a beautiful chestnut, and launched himself at the intruder, knocking him off the horse and rolling across the ground with him.

  Except it wasn’t a him.

  The body in his arms, stiff as they rolled over and over before stopping, was unmistakably that of a woman. A pair of bound breasts pushed against him as soon as they stopped rolling, Els landing on top of his quarry.

  The rider had a scarf pulled up around her face, but the lovely eyes staring up at him, the lashes surrounding them as red as they were brown, were familiar.

  He knew her.

  Yanking the scarf down, he couldn’t help but stare at her full, pouty lips—lips that curved at the ends as soon as she took a good look at him. It was a face he’d never forgotten.

  “Joya?”

  ***

  Joya hadn’t seen Elshander Grant for three years, but the man had lingered on her mind for a quite a while since their last meeting in Berwick.

  This journey had gone awry in almost every way possible. She had left an area south of Perth with several men loyal to the Bruce, searching for him so they could be of assistance, but they hadn’t found him. They’d made the decision to head farther south again, hoping he would land there if he was, indeed, in the Western Isles as the wagging tongues had told them, but events had conspired to draw her away from her companions, and a couple of Englishmen had captured her. She’d kept her wits about her and gotten them both deep in their cups, allowing her the time to escape.

  Except she hadn’t been able to find her companions. Alone, surrounded by Englishmen, she headed in the one direction she was guaranteed not to find many of the enemy: north. She trusted the Grants and knew them to be true Scots. Surely they were working for the war effort in their own way.

  Now that Els had found her, she was glad for her decision. Gripping his forearm, she said, “Els, ’tis me. I know it has been a while, but I need your help.”

  He still didn’t move, so she did something she’d wished to do many years ago.

  She kissed him. Tugging his face down to hers, she took a nip on his lower lip, forcing his mouth open so she could sweep her tongue inside. She’d wanted to kiss this man in Berwick, but the manner of their meeting had made it nearly impossible. She’d been spying for the Bruce, and it wouldn’t have served her cause to be seen with a Scot, especially one as conspicuous as Elshander Grant. He had tawny golden locks that fell to his shoulders, rarely tethered, and the lovely bronze skin of an outdoorsman. He and his cousins were also the largest men she’d ever seen, as if they’d all been birthed by a Norsewoman who fought with a dagger between her teeth.

  Els could fill her body with fire with just a look, but what she found most enticing about him was the fact that he was honorable. He was the kind of man who would ask to kiss her. Which was exactly why she’d taken the initiative.

  And she was glad she had. The tunic he wore stretched tight across his chest, the muscles rippling with his every move. She ran her arms across his rock-hard torso before reaching up to grip his upper arms to see if they were as big as they appeared.

  They were, indeed, which forced her to wonder about the size of his other body parts.

  Exactly the type of thought that her brother would chastise her for having, but she was capable of sins of the flesh.

  Because they were often so wickedly pleasing to her.

  After everything she’d been through, it felt good to take what she wanted, and it was clear from Els’s reaction that he wanted it, too. He groaned as soon as their tongues met and he wrapped his arms around her, rolling over until she was on top of him. Needing him closer, she wound her hands through his blond locks to pull him to her, and rocked her pelvis against him. The man was hard as a rutting bull beneath her, and if it weren’t for their location or the situation, she might have encouraged him to finish, but she didn’t wish for a bairn out of this meeting.

  That thought brought he
r to a cold stop and she pushed back from him, rolling until she could sit up. He didn’t move, instead staring at the treetops over his head before he pushed himself up to a sitting position next to her. “Hellfire, lass. I knew we’d fit each other well when we last met, but I had no idea it would be like that.” He grinned, his face flushed from the heat of their encounter. “But now be serious. Are you out of your mind traveling alone out here?”

  He stood and offered her his hand. Once she was on her feet, he went for his horse. His big black beast had turned into a simpering fool next to the chestnut mare dipping her head next to him.

  “Thunder,” he yelled, but his horse snorted at him.

  Joya was glad for the distraction. Although she’d have to share the story with him eventually, she wasn’t ready. Els didn’t push her. He merely reached for her waist, his hands strong and large, and helped her onto her horse. Before she knew it, they were riding back through the clearing and the forest, his horse leading the way.

  “What happens next, Els?” She was so utterly exhausted and weak that she would do whatever he suggested. Her limbs were trembling again, just as they’d done before he found her.

  Food. Water. Sleep. That’s what she needed and in that order. Then perhaps she could think further than the present.

  Els checked the area before he spoke to her again. “I’m taking you back to the keep before someone finds us. You can tell me all about your trip from a chair in front of the hearth. You’re freezing.”

  Nearly giddy with the promise of protection and warmth, she giggled and said, “But you gave me the heat I needed.”

  “Nay,” he said, as serious as could be, “you need true heat. And based on how thin you look, I think you need some food.”

  Sudden fatigue made her sway on her horse, as if her inner strength had kept her going for as long as necessary, and now it knew it could finally relax its persistence. She grabbed the reins to right herself, but not quickly enough to keep herself from falling. Except an arm snaked around her waist, and she felt herself launching into the air. She landed in Els’s lap with a squeal.

  “Hell, lass. You’re about to fall over. Do not say another word. Save your strength until I can get some food and strong ale in you.”

  Although she was used to solving every problem for herself, it felt good to let someone else take care of her. She positioned herself sideways in his lap, resting her head on his shoulder.

  Right now, solace sounded wonderful.

  ***

  Els glanced back, pleased to see her mare was following them. He hadn’t worried, knowing Thunder would be able to find her if she strayed, but he didn’t wish to leave Joya’s side.

  She sighed and clung to him, something he quite liked.

  Els and his cousins Alasdair, Alick, and Dyna had gone on a mission to Berwick three years ago to help free Emmalin, now Alasdair’s wife, and Joya had helped them. The gorgeous spy had made a mark on him, and he’d attempted to find her before leaving the city. She’d disappeared.

  How odd that she should show up here alone.

  He headed toward the gates, not surprised to see Alick and Dyna riding toward him. They’d given him a moment alone, but they’d pursued him as dusk approached. Once they were close enough to be heard, Alick said, “What the hell? Where’d you find a lass?”

  “’Tis Joya from Berwick. I found her out riding.”

  Dyna took one look at her, then turned her horse around. “She needs a healer. We must get her back to the keep.”

  Els snorted. “She’d not doing that poorly. She was quite alert when I pulled her off her horse.” And had kissed him like he’d never been kissed before.

  Alick rode ahead and ordered the gates to be opened. He led the way to the stables, but Dyna shook her head. “Straight to the keep,” she shouted. “Els, we’ll see to Thunder while you take her inside.”

  They followed her unquestioningly—Dyna had a sometimes infuriating habit of being right—and when they arrived, Els handed her down to Dyna. Joya was alert, but only just so, and when he took her from Dyna, she had trouble staying on her feet. He scooped her into his arms and carried her inside.

  Dyna hurried to open the door to the great hall, and Els carried Joya over to the fire, sitting down and settling her on his lap. “Joya,” he said softly, knowing she likely couldn’t hear him, “what happened to you? Why were you traveling alone?”

  She sat up straight, as if she’d been sleeping and he’d thrown a bucketful of cold water on her, and slugged him in the cheek with her fist. “Leave me be, you churlish bastard.”

  She pulled back to hit him again, but Els grabbed her wrists. “Stop hitting me. It’s Els. I just told you. You’re safe here on Grant land.”

  A look of guilt appeared in her eyes. Guilt and terrible sadness. He’d always known Joya to be confident and cheerful. What had happened to her?

  A booming voice carried to him from the nearest trestle table. “Els. Don’t say another word.”

  Joya jerked her head up at the sound of his grandfather’s voice. Alexander Grant used his cane to stand and made his way over to the hearth, his pace slow but his gray eyes as keen as ever. Aunt Kyla walked beside him, as if ready to rush forward should he need her.

  As Grandsire approached the hearth, he tilted his head to address Joya, his tone gentler than Els had ever heard it. “Lass, whoever hurt you is gone.”

  “They didn’t hurt me. I’m stronger than they are,” she said, lifting her chin toward him.

  “Then what bothers you? I see something has upset you terribly,” Grandsire said.

  Everyone in the great hall stopped what they were doing to watch what was unraveling in front of them. Aunt Kyla pointed to a group of bairns nearby and said, “Elizabeth, get the wee ones away.” Her sister rushed to do her bidding.

  Els’s mother and father came down from the tower room, probably concerned by the change in noise. But when they caught sight of Alex, they stood back. Everyone trusted the wisdom of the eldest member of the clan.

  Once he was close enough, Grandsire positioned a chair next to Els so he could look Joya in the eye as he spoke to her. “Lass, no one will hurt you here, nor will we judge you. You’re in the Grant keep, and the English will not…”

  Joya cut him off. “You think I fear the English?” she asked, her tone dark. “I care naught about the hedgeborn lymmers.” Els was surprised to see tears on her lashes. “The other one. He’s the one who hurt me without touching me, and I hate him for it.”

  Els took her hand. “Joya, who do you hate?”

  But she didn’t answer. She just sat there, staring at the flames, her gaze far off.

  “Are you hungry?” Grandsire asked softly. “We’ll find you some bread.”

  She nodded, and tears slid down her cheeks as she said, “Please. And something to drink.”

  Grandsire turned to Aunt Kyla, who was still hovering close to him as one of the sisters oft did. “Bread, warm goat’s milk, a tub bath, then find her a strong dose of our water of life. She needs sleep.” Aunt Kyla nodded, her mouth pressed into a concerned line, and then headed to the kitchens.

  “Joya, what happened?” Els pressed.

  “For now, we must let her rest,” Grandsire said. “We have no idea what she’s been through, and there’s no need for us to know at the moment.”

  Els’s mother, Gracie, approached them. “Joya, I’m going to fix a warm bath for you. I’ll help you. Kyla is fetching you some food, so you have some bread and ale while we ready it. Does that please you?”

  Joya nodded. Els felt a surge of gratitude for his mother and her soothing ways. “Els, carry her abovestairs, and Kyla and I will help her.”

  But when he stood up to do her bidding, Joya fell against him, grabbing his forearm and saying, “Do no’ leave me, Els. Please do no’ leave me. You must help me go back. I’ll sleep for one night, but then I must find him.”

  Him. Him, who? Was she speaking of the person who’d hurt her? The
sudden need to hurt any bastard who’d hurt Joya consumed him. He’d find out who it was.

  “Joya, Grandsire’s right. You can tell me what happened later. Now you must rest. You’ll not be left alone. This is my mother, Gracie, and my aunt Kyla just slipped away to the kitchen. They’ll help you in the bath. Won’t the warm water feel nice?”

  Her grip eased and she nodded, a whimper escaping her lips. Hell, but he’d like to find the man who’d hurt her and make him pay.

  He carried her up the stairs and into the guest chamber. His father was already in there banking the fire, having slipped away to help prepare the room, and Els’s mother and aunt followed them in, Aunt Kyla with a small tray of food. Then came the servants with their buckets of steaming water. Els set her down on a chair. His father tipped his head sideways to indicate it was time to go, but Joya noticed and tightened her grip on him.

  He lowered his face until it was level with hers and whispered, “I’ll leave you with my mother. I’ll be back to check on you. I promise to help you find him on the morrow.”

  Even if he was more inclined to hurt the bastard than help him.

  His mother reached for Joya’s mantle, whispering to her in that soothing healer’s tone everyone loved so, and Joya noticeably relaxed. Els sought out her eyes, gave her one last encouraging smile, and followed his father out the door and down the stairs, and they entered the solar together, where they found Grandsire, Alick, Dyna, and Uncle Connor—Dyna’s father—already situated and chatting.

  Once they were all inside, his father said, “Fill us in. You all know her, I could tell,” he said. His gaze landed on Els first, then panned to his two cousins.

  It struck Els that little had changed in three years. They were still fighting the English, just as they’d been doing for over a decade now, and neither side would give up. Some days it all felt so hopeless.

  “Els,” Da pressed. “How do you know her?”

  Dyna motioned to him that she’d speak first. While they’d met Joya on the same mission, Dyna and Alasdair had been the first to make her acquaintance, so he waved his hand for her to continue.

  “We met her in Berwick,” Dyna said. “She followed Alasdair and me through the market. At one point, she pretended to heave and knocked into Alasdair. Once we pulled her aside, she confessed that she’d figured out we were Grants because she’d gone through Alasdair’s satchel on his horse.”