Drake’s Honor

by Martin, Madeline

  “I’m no’ the one who needs to be helped.” She gazed at him with glassy eyes, her cheeks flushed.

  How had he not noticed it until now?

  “I need to help Mac, and I need to help…” Her voice caught. “I need to help ye, Drake, so ye’ll be free from any punishment.” She wavered. “I need…”

  He reached for her and enfolded her burning body against him, supporting her. “Ye need help, lass.”

  She shook her head, but even as she did so, her lashes dipped over her cheeks. He lifted her into his arms.

  “Nay,” she whispered. But her protest was feebly given, and by the time they returned to the cart, her head slumped against his chest.

  “Greer.” Mac straightened as they approached. “What’s happened?”

  “She requires a healer,” Drake said. “Ye both do. Beathan, stay here, aye? I’ll be back.”

  The nearby village had a healer, a middle-aged woman with a hut on the outskirts nestled into the woods as if she were used to attending people who did not wish to be found. She did not ask questions and took the pouch of coins he offered with quiet gratitude.

  The woman needed only a bit of time with Greer before coming out to speak to Drake and handing him a pouch. “If ye keep the wound clean with garlic and honey, the poison will leech from it. The willow bark tea will help bring her fever down. The lad’s too.” She nodded to where Mac stood anxiously by the door to the cottage.

  “Her wound?” Drake asked.

  “Aye.” The woman traced a line on her side. “Here. A slice from something. Mayhap a dagger.”

  The dagger Lord Calver had thrown. It had hit Greer, and she had never told him, focusing instead on her brother even as her wound began to fester. Something ice-cold spread over Drake. Fear.

  He had seen men who died from insignificant injuries that swiftly reddened with contagion.

  “Will she recover?” Drake asked, a tight band squeezing at him.

  The healer hesitated. “Just as ye canna guarantee a soldier will survive a battle, I canna guarantee her fever will break. God willing, she will, but I dinna have His divine gift. Only some herbs and the sense to put them to proper use.”

  Drake nodded in understanding. It was as good an answer as he’d get.

  Greer was lying on the table when he entered the one-room cottage. A fire crackled in the middle of the clean space with a pot hung over its center, releasing the damp, earthy scent of herbs into the air. The healer nodded, indicating he was fine to take Greer.

  Still, he hesitated. Greer was so still where she lay, her face pale. When he’d fought Lord Calver at Lochmaben, he had presumed she had left and was on her way to safety with Mac; that he would undoubtedly never see her again.

  But now that he had her back with him, he was in danger of losing her once more. Forever.

  An ache split in his chest. He picked her up as gently as possible and carried her the entire way back to the cart, with Mac anxiously fluttering about by his side.

  They didn’t have the time to spare for her to get the rest she needed, it was true, but he managed to find a cave set deep in the woods. They would have to give her time to heal, at least until her fever broke. Mayhap a day. Possibly two.

  He only hoped it would be enough. While he would have preferred an inn with a warm, comfortable bed, he knew she would not want to risk Mac being caught.

  Nor him.

  Drake stayed up through the night, watching over her the way she had watched over Mac and prayed that her skin would cool, that he would not lose her.

  * * *

  The snapping pops of a fire roused Greer from her sleep. Sweat poured from her body, leaving her kirtle clinging to her legs. She shoved at the heavy blanket covering her, writhing to escape the overwhelming heat.

  “Ye’re fever is breaking.” The voice was masculine and soothing.

  A damp cloth pressed to Greer’s brow, and she immediately relaxed, relishing the coolness.

  Something nagged at the back of her mind—anxiety, a fear of some kind.

  Her eyes flew open. “Mac.”

  Drake put a hand to her shoulder. “He’s here.” He nodded toward two bundles on the other side of the fire. “Sleeping next to Beathan,” he added quietly.

  “Is he well?” Greer asked, her throat raspy with dryness.

  “Verra well.” He chuckled.

  “Mac is recovered?” Panic rose in her chest, and she recalled how ill he had still been when last she saw him.

  “Aye. He and Beathan were playing so loudly earlier that I feared they might give away our location.”

  Their location?

  Only then did Greer pay attention to her surroundings. The stone walls, the dirt floor, the cart tucked in front of them like a barrier and Drake’s horse barely visible near the mouth of the cave just beyond.

  She rose onto her elbows. “Where are we?”

  “A cave somewhere in the woods on the outskirts of a village so small, I dinna think it has a name.” He ran the back of his fingers over her cheek.

  She caught Drake’s hand and held it. “How long have we been here?”

  “Two days. This is our third night. There was a point…” He paused and gazed at her with a pained expression. “I dinna think yer fever would ever break.”

  “Three nights?” she gasped. “We canna afford three nights.”

  Her illness had doubled the time of the journey. Lord Calver’s guards would arrive at Dunfermline Palace first. The king would hear a plea on behalf of Lord and Lady Calver before any other explanation could be given.

  “Nor can we afford to lose ye,” Drake said gently.

  She shook her head. “Nay. Saving Mac, keeping him safe, proving his innocence and yers. That is what matters.”

  Drake lightly squeezed her hand. “Saving ye mattered to us all too.”

  She continued to shake her head. She wasn’t important. There was nothing to her but the constant struggle to survive, one with endless days of wet laundry, where stealing sometimes was all that got them by. The time spent on her recovery was too precious and pointlessly wasted.

  “We need to leave now.” She pulled her hand from his. “Tonight.”

  A band around her ribs tightened as she flexed her abdomen to rise. It was then she realized she wore an overlarge tunic over her torso with the top of her kirtle pushed down around her waist. She glanced up at Drake.

  He shrugged. “It was easier to change yer dressing, which we will need to do now anyway.” He hesitated. “If I may.”

  “There’s no time,” she hissed.

  “We’ll leave in the morning.” His tone brokered no room for argument.

  But she was never one who abided being told what to do. “Now.”

  Drake glanced over his shoulder to the sleeping boys. “They need rest. As do I. Another few hours will make a difference to all of us. But it willna make a difference…”

  His words tapered off.

  “To those who await us,” she finished for him.

  Drake’s mouth thinned in response, and he guided a mug into her hands. “All will be well.”

  Fear and doubt pressed in on her with certainty as she stared at the murky liquid within. “It willna be well. It never is for those who are no’ born into nobility.”

  “It will.” A muscle worked in his jaw. “Let me change yer bandage, aye?” He motioned for her to drink.

  She did, swallowing down the musty concoction before handing the mug back and lying down for him to see to her wound. He turned his gaze away in apparent consideration of her modesty as she eased up the tunic. She gave a little chuckle. “Ye’ve seen it all anyway.” Even still, her cheeks went hot with a fierce blush.

  Slowly, his stare returned to her, and he set to work. His large hands were tender as he worked, the same as they were when he loved her. And though his efforts were not sensual in nature, her body reacted as if they were.

  His fingertips whispered over her skin and left a ripple of goosefles
h tingling over her body. Heat gathered between her thighs and made her nipples tighten into hard peaks beneath the thin tunic.

  He felt it too. At one point, he glanced back at the sleeping lads with a hint of disappointment at their presence.

  It was thrilling to be touched so. At least until he smeared an awful-smelling, sticky substance on the wound that made it sting.

  “Garlic and honey to draw the poison of yer wound out.” He said it with the practiced air of a healer, no doubt repeating what he had been told.

  His obvious attempt to reassure her brought an endearing smile to her lips for this man who had cared for her as no other had ever bothered to do. She sat up as he wound fresh linen about her ribs, and their eyes locked as he did so.

  “I meant what I said to ye, back at Lochmaben.” He tucked the linen against itself, secured into place by the light tension.

  His eyes were inky pools of darkness, and she drank them in, letting herself sink so deeply, she fancied she brushed his soul. “Ye said a lot of things at Lochmaben,” she murmured.

  The corner of his lip lifted in a boyish grin that made her want to kiss him again and again until the need to cradle his body between her thighs overwhelmed her.

  “I did.” He leaned over her, and her pulse ticked faster in anticipation.

  But he didn’t kiss her. Instead, he swept her hair back and delicately cradled her jaw. The caress was so pleasant that she closed her eyes against it.

  Weariness swept over her and made her not want to open her eyes again. Her body grew lax, and her lids were suddenly very heavy.

  “I love ye.” His thumb brushed over her cheek. “Ye’ve made my heart whole again.”

  Warm tears prickled in her eyes, for he made her heart whole too. And that was saying something when she had spent the better part of her life with it in tattered shreds.

  She wanted to tell him what he meant to her as well, but her tongue felt thick in her mouth, and her eyelids seemed to weigh far too much to lift them. He drew her into the embrace of his arms.

  “Sleep, my love.” His voice was like black velvet, gliding over her and pulling her into the quiet heat of slumber.

  But before she finally succumbed, she could not help but wonder what the next day might bring. And what awaited them at Dunfermline Palace.

  21

  The next morning, Drake awoke by first light. The lads still slumbered, which was fortunate, as it kept them from seeing how Drake had held Greer in his arms as they slept.

  But he would not have let her go for anything. With her skin against his, at least he would be able to discern if her fever returned. Thankfully, she had remained cool all night, her breath soft and even where it fanned against his chest.

  He withdrew his arms from around her, and she blinked her eyes open.

  “How are ye feeling?” he asked.

  Her brow furrowed. “Concerned.” She reached up for his face, touching her palm to his cheek in a caress he savored. “We shouldna have wasted so much time.”

  “Greer?” A sleepy voice asked.

  Drake regretfully pulled away, not wanting the lads to see them together.

  “Greer,” Mac exclaimed as he bounded from his makeshift bed and ran over to her. “Are ye well?”

  “Aye.” She laughed and shared a grin with Drake over her brother’s enthusiasm.

  “We were worried about ye, but Drake said ye’d be fine,” Bean said.

  “It takes more than a fever to keep me down.” Greer rose from her bedroll and tousled Bean’s hair.

  Drake noticed she no longer favored her right side as she had before. She truly was feeling better. He breathed a sigh of relief. But it was short-lived as her words came back to him. She was concerned about their arrival into Dunfermline.

  And she had every right to be.

  Drake was concerned himself.

  The worry did not abate as they broke their fast and prepared the cart for their journey. There were many ways their arrival into Dunfermline could be received, but most likely, it would not be with a welcome reception.

  Likewise, there were many ways the king might react. But after inadvertently killing one of the crown’s most lucrative supporters, Drake anticipated his future to be bleak.

  Prison, if he were lucky, but most likely, he would hang.

  Certainly, any dreams of becoming a knight would never be realized. He’d be fortunate to escape with his life.

  His gaze followed Greer as she moved about the cave, helping to pack their meager belongings. Though she smiled and jested with the lads, her concern was evident in the tension around her lips and the slight crease across her forehead.

  Suddenly, a chilling thought jarred him.

  They had coupled together. He had taken her maidenhead. A woman without experience would not know how to keep a babe from her womb. If he were to die, he would leave her with a bairn and no support.

  She jostled him as she passed by. “Dinna look so serious.” Though she said it playfully, he could see the warning in her eyes to keep the blatant unease from his face for the sake of the younger two.

  “Let me set up a pallet for ye in the cart.” Drake took the bedding from her.

  “Ach, I couldna possibly lay down any longer.” She waved him off. “I’d like to sit on the bench for a while if that’s fine with ye.”

  “Aye, I’d enjoy the company.” His heartbeat quickened. This would be the perfect opportunity to talk to her and convince her that they would have to marry before they arrived in Dunfermline.

  For her sake. For the possibility of a bairn.

  And because he loved her.

  She gave him a genuine smile. “There’s something I want to speak with ye on.”

  “I have something to say as well,” he replied.

  Within minutes, the cart was secured to Drake’s destrier, and the boys settled in the back. They chattered like magpies and tossed hay at one another amid shared laughter. In truth, it was good to see them without thought to what lay in wait at the palace.

  “Before we enter Dunfermline, we need to make a stop and assume disguises.” Greer nodded to herself, having already agreed in her mind to this ploy.

  “Disguises?” Drake asked.

  “Aye, so we can sneak into the palace and gain an audience with the king before ye can be arrested.”

  Drake shook his head. “That is for ye and the lads to do, but no’ me.”

  “Drake.” She gazed up at him, her eyes wide with fear. “They’ll capture ye.”

  “I’m a warrior, Greer.” He squared his shoulders with the finality of his decision. “I’ll no’ run or hide.”

  Those lovely green eyes filled with tears. “They could kill ye.”

  “And that is what I wished to speak with ye about.” He looked away, unable to witness the terror and hurt in her stare. “If I am to die…” he glanced behind them to ensure the lads were not listening and lowered his voice. “What if ye are with child, Greer?”

  She scoffed. “I dinna think I am.”

  “But if ye are. And if I’m gone.” Pain resonated through him at the very thought. “I want to ensure ye’ll be cared for. I want to give ye my name so that whatever wealth not taken by the king will go to ye, and so that our child wouldna be born a bastard. Ye could go to Skye—”

  “Ye’re no’ going to die.”

  Drake turned his focus back to her and found her jaw locked tight.

  “Dinna even say it,” she warned.

  “I was serious when I told ye I wanted to marry ye.” He put his hand over hers. “No’ because of the possibility of a bairn, but because I love ye. I hope to God the king sees fit to allow me to live so that we might continue in life together. But if I am to die—”

  “Dinna say that again.” She stared down at their hands in her lap. “I’m no’ worthy of ye, Drake. I’m a peasant, a thief. A no one.”

  He gently caressed the back of her hand with his thumb. “Ye were a mother when there was none for yer bro
ther. Ye’re a savior, no’ only of Mac, but me too.”

  “Ye’re an honorable man.” Her voice trembled.

  “I’ve no’ always been and may well die a criminal.” He drew in a deep breath at the reality looming over him. “But even if things were different—if I were receiving my knighthood and no’ being judged—ye are the only one I’d want by my side. A lass as bonny as she is honorable.”

  She gave a short laugh. “Ye’d be the only person to describe me as such.”

  “Ye’ve only stolen to put food in yer bellies and to save Mac. That doesna make ye a criminal. It makes ye noble.” He ran his thumb down her palm where the chapped skin had healed, leaving her skin pink. “When given a choice, ye worked hard for yer living and would have continued to do so were ye no’ at the mercy of yer circumstances.” He lifted his hand and gently tilted her face up at him. “’Tis for that reason and so many more that I love ye and that I want ye to be my wife.”

  She pulled in a soft breath but said nothing.

  “Will ye?” he asked. “Be my wife?”

  * * *

  Greer could scarcely breathe around the knot in her throat, let alone reply. She stared up at Drake, amazed at how he saw better of her than she deserved.

  “Aye,” she said, finally able to speak again. “Aye, I’ll marry ye.”

  “Ye’re going to be married?” Mac squealed excitedly from behind them.

  A laugh erupted from Greer, free and giddy with immeasurable joy.

  “When?” Bean asked as he scooted closer to them.

  “Tonight,” Drake said. “And we’ll stay at an inn to celebrate.”

  An icy chill of fear gripped Greer. “’Tis no’ safe.”

  Drake shrugged. “They’re already at Dunfermline Palace if they’re anywhere. One night.” His warm hand atop hers squeezed lightly.

  One night together. Most likely, their last.

  Greer nodded and managed to keep the catch from her voice as she agreed, “Tonight.”

  They rode on through the afternoon and arrived at a small kirk outside a village as dusk began to mute the brilliance of the sun. Drake pulled the cart to a stop, and Greer’s heart tripped over itself.