The Warrior's Queen (Border Series Book 6)

by Cecelia Mecca

  When Clan Kerr took Bristol Manor, the Waryns’ holding, the two families had become bitter enemies, even more so because the Waryns’ parents had been killed in the raid. But Bryce Waryn had since married the clan chief’s sister.

  “May I ask—” Nay. She should not have said anything.

  But Emma’s open expression encouraged her, as did her words. “Of course you may. Ask.”

  “Well . . .” Gillian’s curiosity would surely be her downfall. Why had she opened her mouth at all? “It’s just . . . Sara says you and your siblings truly harbor no ill feelings toward the Kerrs. But . . .”

  Oh, Gillian, what have you started?

  “’Tis fine.” Emma stopped just before the huge oak door that marked the keep’s entrance. “I suppose it does seem curious that we could befriend the very clan responsible for our parents’ death.”

  “And the loss of your home.”

  Gillian!

  “Aye, and that. But”—Emma shrugged—“we are family now. And neither Toren nor Alex Kerr is responsible for what happened. They’d been ordered to take Bristol by their king. If you knew them, you would more easily understand. Aye, I hated them once. But not anymore. Nothing good can come from hate.”

  That answer made her like Emma even more. If only the men who perpetually sought battle along the border felt the same way.

  “I hope I would be as forgiving.”

  Emma looked as if she wanted to ask her something, but the words didn’t come. Though she could very well let it lie, Gillian had been blunt with her new friend—she owed her the opportunity to do the same.

  “If you’re thinking of my father, there is nothing to forgive. He is not forcing me.” They both knew she spoke of her marriage to Covington.

  “But certainly you could not want to marry such a man.”

  “Want? Heavens, no. But it is my duty.”

  Emma opened her mouth and then promptly closed it. And when she offered no more discussion on the topic, Gillian was glad for it.

  “Pardon me saying so, my lord. But you are really tall.”

  “So I’ve been told.” Right now, Graeme just wanted a meal. Unfortunately, though he’d ridden straight through the day, he’d missed the opening festivities and, more importantly, dinner.

  The serving boy, who seemed to finally remember his duties, ushered him into the entranceway, where he was greeted by Kenshire’s steward. He’d met Peter on his last visit, to see her. “My lord, we’re so glad you could make it. Would you care to join the others in the hall, or shall I have you shown to your chamber?”

  Though he couldn’t see the great hall from where he stood, the sound of voices and laughter, along with the gentle lilt of a harp, made its way to them. If he could avoid Emma for the night, he’d gladly take the opportunity.

  “It’s been a long day. My chamber, if you please.”

  “And I will of course have a meal sent to you.”

  Thank Saint Andrew for that. “Will you please share my greetings with the host and convey—”

  “You may convey them yourself.”

  Graeme turned at the sound of the familiar voice. He bowed. “My lord.”

  Geoffrey Waryn, Earl of Kenshire, extended his hand. “There’ll be no formalities between us, de Sowlis. An ally of Garrick’s is one of mine.”

  He shook the earl’s hand before turning to greet the man’s companion. The Earl of Clave. Emma’s new husband. He’d detected their feelings for each other on their brief visit to Highgate before they were wed. Ignoring the thoughts, he nodded and said, “Garrick.”

  “Graeme.”

  These two men, the Earl of Kenshire and the Earl of Clave, were in a position to help him improve the conditions along the border. He would do best to set aside old grudges in favor of their shared cause. Which meant he ought to do the neighborly thing and ask after their wives. Both of them.

  “How fares Lady Emma?”

  Though he asked her husband, Geoffrey answered, likely still protective of his younger sister. “Very well. Though I do miss her scheming ways every day. Luckily, Clave is but a day’s ride from here.”

  “And Lady Sara?”

  Geoffrey smiled, his fondness for his wife no less apparent now than it had been on Graeme’s visit five months earlier.

  “Both she and my son are well. This celebration . . . I’ll admit, when Sara first approached me with the idea, I thought it appalling. With an increase in raids . . . so much strife. But of course, she was right. This is exactly what we need.”

  He wouldn’t ruin the evening with talk of politics, but those raids were the reason he was here. “Perhaps you can spare a moment tomorrow to discuss such issues?”

  Geoffrey looked at Clave and then glanced back into the hall. “Of course. Will you come with us—”

  “He’s asked for a meal to be sent.” Peter, who stood off to the side waiting, saved him.

  “I rode through the night and day,” he explained, not wanting to offend.

  Geoffrey’s eyes darkened. “Has something happened?”

  Graeme should have realized he would make the connection. No one would go to such trouble for a mere celebration. “Nothing that cannot wait until morning. Go, enjoy your evening.”

  The earl was astute. He paused, looked him in the eye, and only then nodded. “Please try to do the same.”

  Just as Geoffrey and Clave walked away, a serving girl bounded from the hall and stopped in front of him. The look she gave him, all wide eyes and parted lips, was an invitation. She lowered the tankard in her hands and thrust her chest out, giving him a tantalizing peek at her offerings. She was pretty—as pretty as any of the others—and clearly willing.

  Mayhap he should enjoy his evening.

  As he walked by, following the steward, who was either oblivious or exceptionally good at his job, Graeme leaned toward her. “Where?”

  She didn’t hesitate. “Later. There’s a garden out back, my lord.”

  He winked and walked away, following Peter through so many corridors it would be a wonder if he could indeed find the exit, and the garden, later.

  Though Gillian had been coming to Kenshire since she was a child, its splendor continued to delight her, even as an adult. Five years earlier, when she was but ten and eight, she’d been allowed to visit during the annual May Day celebration again. So much had changed since then. The border had become more dangerous, Sara’s father had passed away, and her own family, unbeknownst to most, was now on the brink of destitution.

  “Gillian?”

  She stood between Sara and Emma as they watched the dancers from the side of the hall. The meal and trestle tables had been cleared, and the first night was proving to be a resounding success. More than one hundred and fifty men and women crowded the hall, which could easily fit a hundred more—which reminded her of one that was missing.

  “Neill will not be joining us?” Gillian asked Emma. She’d not yet met the lady’s twin brother, but she’d heard plenty about him of late.

  Emma sighed. “Nay. He’s lucky to still be alive, praise every saint who will listen to my pleas.”

  “My brother-in-law is indeed making quite a name for himself,” Sara said.

  Neither Emma nor Sara seemed pleased by the prospect.

  “Everyone is so happy to tell me of his success. ‘Lady Emma, your brother was crowned the tournament champion,’ or ‘Lady Emma, have you heard? Your brother bested last year’s champion.’” She scrunched her nose. “I understand he hones his skills. I’ve been told many, many times the importance of that type of training. But does he need to enter every bloody tournament in England?”

  Sara chuckled. “To answer your question,” she said to Gillian, “Neill is doing quite well, though we do miss him.”

  As they spoke, Gillian’s father and her sister, Allie, appeared at the opposite end of the hall. He swept the room with his gaze, looking for her, no doubt. She’d tried to get Allie’s attention but failed.

  “What
is it?” Sara followed Gillian’s gaze and then immediately turned to her sister-in-law. “Emma, will you excuse us? If Lord Lyndwood inquires after his daughter, tell him she is with me, that I needed a private word.”

  “Of course,” Emma responded as Sara tugged Gillian away.

  “Where are we going?”

  “To have a private word.”

  But as they made their way through the hall, that feat seemed nearly impossible. People surrounded them on all sides.

  “Come,” Sara said, guiding her through a side door. She pulled her into a corridor and then out another door and into the warm night air.

  “It seems your celebration did indeed bring spring along with it.” While the morning had been chilly, tonight was everything an evening in May should be. Inhaling the not-so-distant sea air, Gillian followed her friend, grateful for the respite that would not last much longer.

  Sara meant to know what was going on, and this time she’d not be waylaid.

  They walked to the edge of the small garden just behind the keep. A much larger garden provided Kenshire with herbs for their meals, but this was the one Sara had always favored. Filled with flowers that had just begun to bloom, it was one of two private places in Kenshire where it was possible to hold a private meeting during festivities such as this one. The other was down by the water.

  “Out with it.”

  They sat on a stone bench just at the edge of the tall trellis, which hid the inner garden.

  “Sara, this is your celebration. A time for—”

  “Rubbish.”

  “I really did not intend to trouble you—”

  “Gillian.”

  Her shoulders sank. When Sara used that tone, she was in trouble. There was no help for it—she would need to tell her part of the truth.

  “He needs the funds desperately,” she blurted.

  “Your father?”

  “Aye. And, of course, the Earl of Covington has them.”

  “But he’s not the only—”

  “He has been asking for my hand in marriage for years. Since his first wife died. It will be good for Covington . . . and Lyndwood,” she said.

  “Nay,” Sara countered. “It will be good for your father. You know Covington’s history. The men he chooses to ally with. I cannot, will not, see you with such a man.”

  Gillian sighed. “Sara, ’tis as I told you. I have no choice. My father wills it.”

  “But—”

  “I’m not like you,” she blurted.

  Though she could elaborate, there was no need. Her friend had defied a distant cousin’s claim to Kenshire while wearing boys’ breeches. She’d ended her betrothal to marry a reformed reiver. She did what she wanted. Fought for her people so fearlessly that sometimes Gillian thought she must not be human.

  But she was not like that, however much she might wish otherwise. She’d been raised to fall in line. “My parents’ marriage was arranged.”

  “And are they so happy?”

  “Of sorts.”

  “Was your father an old man when they wed?”

  “Nay, but—” Gillian sighed.

  “If you do this, you’ll never know the love and passion that you deserve. I know your father is a strong and powerful man. You’ve been taught, as I was, to obey your parents in all things. But will you please just consider that you can, by rights, say no?”

  Knowing her friend would accept no other answer, she nodded. “Aye. I will consider it.”

  Sara didn’t appear convinced. But she finally stood and attempted to pull Gillian up with her. “I must be getting back.”

  “Go,” she said. “I will be right along.”

  Sara glanced back to the keep. “You’re certain?”

  “Aye. ’Tis a beautiful night, and if you don’t mind—”

  “Stay as long as you’d like. And don’t worry about your father. I will take care of him. And will keep Allie company.”

  Though it had been some time since she’d seen her friend, so much remained the same. Sara knew she kept her little sister close, protected her at all costs. Although . . . she was not so little anymore.

  “I know you will. Thank you, Sara.”

  With a smile, her dearest friend walked away. Gillian sagged back against the bench, drained by the thought of what was to come, but a noise behind her caused her to freeze. Should she call Sara back? Was there an intruder?

  Nay, once her heart stopped racing, she realized there was no threat. It was a sound of pleasure, not pursuit—lovers meeting in the garden. As she stood up, intent on leaving, a moan reached her ears.

  She should return to the hall.

  Instead, she moved closer and peered around the edge of the trellis.

  She barely managed to contain a gasp.

  A blond girl in a servant’s dress had her back to Gillian. She couldn’t see the man yet, but the couple shifted a moment later, and moonlight shone on his face, making the features she could see plainly visible. High cheekbones and hair somewhere between blond and brown.

  And it was short. At least on the sides.

  But it was what he was doing to the woman that made her feet feel as if they were molded to the ground. When she tossed her head back, he ravished her neck with open-mouthed kisses. Supporting her with his hands, the man, a nobleman to be sure, turned his head just slightly and . . .

  He saw her!

  Gillian backed away and froze, unsure of what to do. Would he alert the girl to her presence? Would he come after her?

  It seemed he’d do neither, for the sounds resumed. And Gillian took the opportunity to run away from the lovers. She only stopped when she arrived at the same door they’d emerged from earlier.

  Leaning against it, Gillian closed her eyes and imagined the couple again. He’d been so tall and handsome, and yet there’d been something gentle about him. And the serving girl had clearly liked what he was doing to her.

  Gillian had never so much as kissed a man under the watchful eyes of her father. She’d been courted, aye, but never left alone with a suitor.

  And now it seemed she never would kiss a man. Well, with the exception of her future husband, but that thought was not a thought she wished to dwell upon. Better to go back inside, find Sara, and act like she’d never witnessed that embrace.

  And try to pretend she didn’t want that for herself.

  3

  “An unlikely place for a meeting. But since you’re here—” Geoffrey stood next to him, crossing his arms and looking at the spectacle before them.

  “I’d say this is the perfect place,” Graeme answered.

  The midday sun shone down on a courtyard filled with people . . . and flowers. Lots and lots of flowers.

  “What will we do with all of these wreaths?” the earl said, shaking his head.

  Graeme looked at the pile that was becoming larger every moment. Though he’d been to a May Day celebration before and was as glad for spring as anyone, he couldn’t answer Geoffrey’s question. It did seem like an overabundance of floral wreaths. “You English do have strange customs.”

  But Geoffrey wasn’t listening. Graeme followed his gaze and spied Lady Sara on her knees, laughing over a pile of orchids.

  “Everyone deserves this,” the earl said.

  “This?”

  Geoffrey spread his arms to indicate the courtyard. “The security we enjoy here.”

  He was about to answer—it seemed the perfect segue to a conversation about the border—when he saw her.

  Lady Emma ran up to Sara, knelt down beside her, and joined her in laughter. He’d avoided her thus far, but it seemed the fates would not be kind to him today. She was even lovelier than she’d been at their last meeting. And the reason for it stood behind her. The Earl of Clave knelt down to give her something. She took it and beamed up at him as he stood and walked away.

  Seeing her reminded him of the other woman he’d almost married . . . “Where is Catrina? And Bryce? I’m surprised to not see them here.”
<
br />   “She is with child,” Geoffrey answered. “And unable to travel.”

  He looked at his host, considering Geoffrey’s casual reference that Catrina was with babe. Eventually, Graeme turned to watch Sara and Emma once again.

  “Congratulations to your family,” he said. “Brigid has been kind to them.”

  “Damara here in England,” Geoffrey said. “Though I doubt either goddess is responsible. My brother and his wife—” He cut himself off abruptly. “My apologies. I’d forgotten for a moment.”

  “As I said when I courted your sister, Catrina and I were promised to each other as children. We loved . . . love . . . each other as brother and sister. I’m glad that she’s found love, and happiness, with Bryce. She deserves no less.” He mostly meant it.

  Geoffrey looked at him. “Catrina. Emma. You’ve not had much luck with the women in our family.” Blunter than most men would be, but Graeme appreciated him more for it.

  “I’ve not had much luck with women.”

  Geoffrey laughed, loud enough to cause notice. “That, my friend, is simply untrue. Every maid here is either looking at you now or has done so already.”

  And he enjoyed looking back at them.

  “I should have said, ‘with marriageable women.’” He turned to the earl. “Though I came to talk of war, not women.”

  The men moved to the side, allowing a group of young girls to pass.

  “Tell me.”

  “An ally of ours was attacked by English reivers.”

  Geoffrey ran his hand through his hair. “Not so unusual. You have many allies, and attacks occur every day.”

  “This was different.” He tried to explain. “In the last year, there have been many such attacks. But the reivers grow bolder. Their unwritten code, not to kill unnecessarily, no longer seems to matter. In the last month alone, I’ve been called to three separate incidents. A young girl was almost killed at this last one.”

  “What does Douglas say?”

  “As Lord Warden of Scotland, he’s been to every Day of Truce for ten years. And he agrees. These attacks we’ve seen lately are different. We both believe they’ll continue to get worse if something isn’t done.”