The Age of Knights and Highlanders: A Series Starter Collection

by Kathryn Le Veque

  The compliment rendered her speechless and sent a flush of heat to her cheeks. Mercy ducked her head and whispered, “Thank you.” She turned away and busied herself with offering her horse another carrot. “Here, sweet boy. This is the last for today.”

  The gentlest sensation against her hair caused her to freeze. Just the wind. But she knew better. Without turning, she knew Graham had lightly riffled his fingers across her hair. The touch was innocent enough but more intimate than any she’d ever experienced. Mercy swallowed hard as she tucked a loose strand behind one ear.

  Graham stood so close behind her, she brushed against him as she turned and peered up into his eyes. So dark blue. Vivid and full of…something, some fiery hunger she dared not imagine. The longer she gazed into his eyes, the more she felt as though she tumbled into an endless night, spinning through the stars.

  Without realizing what she did, she pressed a hand to his chest. His strong, steady heartbeat pounded against the center of her palm, filling her with a yearning, an urgency she feared to address. She was at a loss. Mama had told her to avoid these situations. “A true lady must never lose control.”

  “Master MacCoinnich,” Mercy whispered.

  “Graham,” he corrected in a rumbling tone that stroked her senses as expertly as if he’d reached out and caressed her. He didn’t move closer or make an effort to touch her in any way, but he didn’t retreat and put a proper space between them either.

  “Yes. Graham,” she struggled to find words, beguiled by those eyes of his and the way the loose strands of his dark hair fluttered along the side of his strong jawline. His hair was as black as hers. They made a perfect pair. She hitched in a gasp at such a shocking thought. She had to regain control, had to maintain a calm demeanor. “I-I am sorry. I appear to have lost our train of conversation. Please, forgive me.”

  “There’s nothing to forgive, m’lady.” His mouth crooked again into that one-sided smile that deepened the dimple in his cheek, but his eyes—something in them said so much more. He leaned closer. The heat of him, the aura of his soul swirled around her like an intoxicating perfume, daring her to succumb.

  He wished to kiss her. She felt it as surely as she felt the nervous churning in her middle. What should she do? They’d nearly kissed once before, and she’d been so disappointed when they’d been interrupted. But she shouldn’t have been. She was headed for the abbey, headed to safety, and if she dared allow herself the pleasure of drowning in his gaze and losing all control—what then?

  A mild sense of panic battled with the aching emptiness within her, the loneliness she’d borne for so very long. The need to be needed. She’d become so lonely in this unfair world. To be cared for. To be cherished. What a wondrous gift. She stared into his eyes, then reached up and cupped his jaw. The stubble of his beard bristled against her fingers. The sensation startled her back to reality. She couldn’t endanger this man. If she kissed him, if he happened to grow fond of her, what then? She’d sworn she would never play into her father’s hands and do as he’d asked.

  She allowed her hand to drop away from his face, easing back a step with an apologetic smile, praying he’d understand. “I should be getting back to my tent. Janie will rise soon to tie up all this unruly hair and help me into my riding clothes.”

  Graham pulled in a deep breath and slowly blew it out. “Aye, lass. Perhaps it would be best.” His gaze shifted to a spot behind her, just over her left shoulder. “Besides, the camp is astir. I believe our opportunity has passed.”

  Bitter disappointment and loss filled her. A sense of allowing the world to once again dictate her actions threatened to smother her. Mercy tensed against the familiar unpleasantness of having little to no control over what she could or couldn’t do because of society’s opinion. It wasn’t fair. Graham MacCoinnich wasn’t trying to take advantage of her. He seemed a genuine admirer. She’d never had such before. Not really. Not one so kind and…real.

  “I like you, Graham.” The words spilled out before she thought. She caught her lip between her teeth, fearing she’d rudely overstepped her bounds.

  Graham gave her a wide smile and rumbled out a low, pleased laugh. “I like ye, too, m’lady.” He lowered his voice and glanced around as he continued, “A damn sight more than I should. But dinna fear, I would never endanger ye or put ye at risk of public scorn. I understand the constraints of your status.” Then his tone changed, and the look in his eyes tampered with her ability to draw breath. “But by all the saints in heaven, I’d love to show ye things a great more enjoyable than status—if ye’d so allow it,” he added in a husky whisper.

  “You are scandalous.”

  “Aye,” Graham chuckled. “That I am.” He offered his arm with the gallantry of a perfect gentleman. “Shall I escort ye to your tent, m’lady? Your fine beast seems well enough where he is, and I’ll watch him for ye whilst ye dress.”

  Mercy took his arm, sighing with an aching wistfulness. If only their private morning visit could last a bit longer. But, alas, such was not the case. Pots and pans banged and clanked from the direction of Cook’s wagon, and the smell of wood smoke from a refreshed fire filled the air. The peaceful glade no longer belonged to only Mercy, Graham, and Ryū. The camp stirred with the others of the group.

  “There you are, m’lady.” Janie rounded the tent, coming up short when she saw that Mercy wasn’t alone. “Beg pardon,” she said with a quick curtsy and a hurried lowering of her gaze. “I was worried about you. Especially when I saw your coat gone.”

  Janie had never understood why Mercy wished to rise before dawn to ponder life alone. Mercy patted Graham’s arm with a reluctance that made her sigh, then pulled her arm out of his. “I’m fine, Janie.” She turned to Graham. “Thank you, Graham. I very much enjoyed our visit this morning.”

  “And I as well, m’lady.” Graham gave a polite bow, looked as though he might say something, then clamped his mouth shut as though he thought better of it. He motioned toward the rest of the camp. “I’d like us to be traveling within two hours. Please bear that in mind.” With a curt nod, he turned and hurried away.

  “I’m not so sure I trust that man, m’lady,” Janie said in a gruff whisper as she hurried Mercy into her tent. “Mrs. Frances says Scots are nothing more than brutes and savages. You best take care around that one.”

  “What did I tell you about talking…?”

  Shouts shattered the peace of the glen. The enraged squealing of a horse and a loud crash followed.

  “Ryū!” Mercy recognized her stallion’s scream as though he were her child. She rushed from the tent.

  Wills and Robbie surrounded the horse, waving sticks and shouting at the enraged animal.

  “Stop! The both of ye!” Graham strode forward, shoving Wills back and giving Robbie a look that should have turned him to a pile of ash.

  The angry stallion reared up and shook the woods with another angry shriek, pawed at the air, then came down hard with a pounding stomp.

  “Easy now, lad,” Graham crooned as he edged forward, hands held low with palms up. “They’re young fools, Ryū, and deserve a good stomping, but ’twould upset your mistress. Come now, lad. Calm down and let me take ye to her.”

  Mercy came to a halt. What would her dear friend do? Her beloved horse’s reaction would greatly influence her already high opinion of Graham. If Ryū fully trusted the man, then she would, too.

  The horse snorted and tossed his head but stopped pawing the air. He danced from side to side, grumbling and snorting, then charged Graham, only to skid to a halt right before he hit him.

  Graham didn’t flinch. Just stood with hands extended, talking to the beast in calm, soothing tones.

  Ryū pranced back a few paces, cut the ground with a stomping gallop, and charged Graham again, once more stopping as soon as he reached him.

  Graham smiled and stood still, his attention fully focused on the animal.

  The stallion paused, glaring at Graham for the span of two huffing snorts,
then lowered his head and butted into Graham hard, square in the chest, bouncing him back several steps.

  Mercy held her breath. Ryū was testing Graham to see what he would do. The horse had done the same to Akio upon their first meeting.

  “Ye’re a stout lad, I’ll gi’ ye that.” Graham laughed and held out a hand. “Come now, lad, enough foolishness. Ye ken ye can trust me. I see it in your eyes.”

  The horse nickered and flipped his tail, sounding pleased with himself. He pranced forward and buried his nose in Graham’s right hand, nuzzling and grumbling as Graham rubbed and patted his neck.

  Ryū trusted Graham. Hurrying forward, she reached for his reins. “Thank you, Graham.”

  Graham nodded and handed her the reins, then turned to scowl at Wills and Robbie. “Take your friend here and tie him outside your tent whilst your maid helps ye dress. Ye dinna need to hear what I’m about to say to these two fools.”

  Mercy wound the reins around one hand. “I wish to speak to them first, if you don’t mind.” She didn’t wait for Graham’s response.

  Leading her much calmer mount, she marched over to the two young men. “If I ever witness you raising a stick or any other weapon to threaten my horse again, I will use whatever weapon you threatened him with and whip you myself. Do you understand me?”

  The two lads dropped their gazes to the ground and gave disrespectful shrugs. “Yes, m’lady,” they said in unison, both in sullen tones that lacked sincerity. “We were only trying to corral the wicked beast.”

  They didn’t believe her. They thought her a helpless woman. She glared at them both. Her father had insisted these two come along on the trip. At the time, she’d been unable to fathom why, but their insolence couldn’t possibly be any clearer. These two came to cause trouble. How much trouble, only time would tell.

  Ryū whickered in her ear and stomped. He was ready to attack, only waiting for permission to do so.

  She turned him aside and drew closer to Graham. “I don’t trust those two. Do with them what you will. You’ll get no argument from me.”

  Graham gave her an understanding nod. “I agree, they need watching.” He motioned toward her tent. “Get ye dressed, m’lady.” He paused and glanced back at the two lads. “And take your time. There’s a lesson in respect to be taught and it willna be quick, nor will it be pleasant.”

  Chapter Six

  ’Twould take them a month to reach the high peak, Ben Nevis. Longer at this rate, depending on how many times Lady Mercy insisted on stopping to draw in her wee book. Saint’s beards, they weren’t even in Scotland yet. Graham shifted in the saddle, doing his best to hold his tongue and not rush the determined woman. After all, the point of this trip was about stops such as these.

  He studied her, wishing she’d abandon that damn hat and wear her hair loose like she did during her early morning walks. It was a shame to hide such beauty with a hat that would serve a far better purpose as a basket for gathering herbs. He clenched his teeth against a strained groan and did his best to think of other things. Lady Mercy was a lady. Of course she’d wear her hair pinned up and protect the creaminess of her skin with a hat. He shifted in the saddle, thinking of how she looked with her hair down and her face upturned to the wind. Aye. He liked her better that way. Very much so.

  Blinking away the memory, he forced himself back to the matter at hand. They needed to be on their way—and soon. He cleared his throat for the umpteenth time and glared at her, willing her to rise and return to her horse. Lady Mercy ignored him. Instead, she remained perched on an outcropping of stones overlooking a verdant valley, writing and sketching in the large, leather-bound book she kept in a bag lashed to her saddle.

  Graham released another impatient whistling under his breath and glanced up at the wisps of white clouds fluttering across the bright blue sky. At least the rains had ceased for a bit. Seven days of the accursed wetness was enough. Hopefully, today’s sunshine would dry them all out and make their route easier. Graham relented to his impatience and dismounted. It was obvious they’d be here for a while. Her ladyship had paused in her writing to sharpen her wood-encased stick of graphite with the wee knife she kept tucked in the inside pocket of the journal. The current view must have inspired the woman to use an inexplicable amount of her precious writing tool. A wee nudge was most definitely in order. They’d never make it to Scotland at this rate—sunny days or not.

  “Ye ken this is still England, aye?” He scanned the area as he joined her on the stone ledge. It was a fine enough view, he reckoned. Peaceful hills covered in a tapestry of spring’s palette: greens, yellows, blues. Open countryside bereft of stinking, overcrowded masses of buildings, but still England just the same.

  The lady didn’t look away from her book nor slow in her shading of the hillside she’d outlined on the paper, just humored him with a distracted smile and a nod. “I am well aware this is not Scotland, Graham.”

  At least she seemed to have finally grown accustomed to calling him by his given name rather than Master MacCoinnich. She rarely reverted back to the formal address anymore, and that pleased him more than he cared to admit.

  She glanced up from the book, pushing the brim of her hat up and out of the way as she looked out across the grassy valley. “I thought it a good way to begin the book. Mama so loved the greening of spring and the yellow blooms of the cowslip.” She pointed her pencil at the rest of the caravan, keeping her attention focused on the view in front of her. “Besides, it seemed an opportune time to sketch a few pages while we wait for Lieutenant St. Johns and Duncan to return from the village.”

  And that was another thing. How ill-planned was this journey if they already had to stop in a village? Cook’s wagon and one of the flatbeds bulged with supplies, the other was filled with tents and tools. What could they possibly lack?

  England made him feel cross and ill-at-ease—even more so since the incident with Robbie and Wills. Their behavior nettled him. Openly disrespectful, an underlying current of hostility and treachery surrounded them. Hostility not only directed toward himself and Duncan but also at Lady Mercy. Those two were trouble incarnate.

  They needed to hasten to the Highlands. He’d decided at the onset of the trip to head to Tor Ruadh. Alexander would provide reinforcements; men Graham could trust to continue the lady’s safe passage through the remainder of the Highlands.

  “What exactly did ye send for from the village?” He’d sent Duncan along with St. Johns because he didn’t trust the man as far as he could toss him. “We’ve barely begun the trip. Did ye forget something?” Agitation crept into his voice, but he couldn’t help it. They should be marking time in this fair weather, not sitting on the side of the road. He eyed their surroundings, half expecting an attack at any moment. Ill-tidings rode the wind. He felt it.

  Graham waited. Lady Mercy didn’t answer right away, just kept sketching. Guilt filled him. He shouldn’t have spoken to her so. He’d sounded cross. “Forgive me for sounding worrisome, m’lady. It’s just…” he struggled to find the words to make her understand. “We need to get to Scotland so ye can enjoy the rare beauty of the Highlands rather than see just another English field of weeds abloom.” There. That sounded some better.

  Lady Mercy shrugged. “I understand your reasoning, but it is my hope a very important correspondence I’m expecting will have reached the village.” She glanced up at him then, those warm eyes of hers filled with a subtle plea for patience. “I sent St. Johns to check if it has caught up with us there. It’s crucial to me, Graham.”

  “An important correspondence?” A warning uneasiness prickled through the hairs on the back of Graham’s neck. He scrubbed a hand across his nape to erase the ominous tickle. “How would they know where to send it to reach ye?”

  “I sent the information on ahead. A map of sorts. Remember? Janie had Wills post it for me when we passed close to Wembley.”

  The lass had been quite stubborn about his showing her the route he’d planned to take throug
h the Highlands. Even double-checked the notes she’d taken by showing him the simple map she’d drawn from what he’d told her. To whom had she sent the map? Her father? The king? Why would they care? They’d ordered him to take her through the Highlands. They hadn’t expressed an interest in how he accomplished it. “Who needed the map, m’lady?”

  “Beg pardon?” Mercy peered hard at the vista before her, scowling as she made careful strokes with her pencil, then measured the marks on the page for accuracy.

  Graham reached down and stilled her sketching with a touch to her shoulder. “Who needed the map of our planned journey?”

  She was hiding something. He knew it as sure as he knew his own name. Enticing as she was, she was still a noble with strong ties to the king. Such an alliance could be lethal—especially to a Scot. He’d done his best to temper his behavior around her—as difficult as that had been—and warned Duncan to do the same. But the more time he spent with the lass, the less he gave a damn about any possible risks. He found the woman intriguing and wished to know her better—befriend her even. Friend. He huffed out a snort. Well…perhaps friend was not the best word to describe his inclinations when it came to Lady Mercy, but he did wish to get closer to her all the same. It troubled him to admit he liked her. She was braw, fearless, and tempting. He felt an innate need to protect her, even if it meant protecting her from herself.

  “Who did ye send it to, lass?”

  Lady Mercy placed her pencil in the inner pocket of her journal, closed the book, then hugged it to her chest. She stared ahead, a mournful look pulling at her delicate features. “Mother Julienne.”

  Graham lowered himself to sit beside Lady Mercy. “I assume Mother Julienne is at a priory somewhere along our route?”