The Age of Knights and Highlanders: A Series Starter Collection

by Kathryn Le Veque

  Lieutenant St. Johns jutted his chin upward. “You are under the king’s protection. I do not apologize for my actions.”

  Mercy turned away before she said more than she should, lifting her face to the cool spring breeze and taking in great calming gulps of the sweet air. She must not overplay this game. The stakes were far too high. She stomped a few feet away from the circle of wagons surrounding the camp, the weight of the task set before her feeling even heavier than before. She chanced a glance back at Graham.

  The ceaseless wind pulled at his dark, long hair and whipped at the tail of his kilt as he waited beside his horse. Graham watched her, he stood as a man who cared not what others thought. Such a great, bear-of-a-man, tall and proud. Wide shoulders, defensive stance, commanding—he was breathtaking. The oppressive despair she’d felt since the loss of both mother and brother, the burden she carried that snuffed out all possible hope and joy, lessened. At least she had one ally. One true friend. Thank Almighty God for Graham. She swallowed hard and clutched the parchment between her hands tighter. “Help me save us both from Father and the king,” she said in silent prayer.

  Unfolding the letter and studying the contents, an uneasy pounding gained strength and thrummed at her temples. She blinked hard and read the words again, disbelief and dismay fighting for possession of her soul. One sentence, written in a delicate flowery scrawl, crept across the center of the page.

  “God bless you and keep you in perfect peace, my child. My prayers are with you.”

  Mercy stared at the words inked across the creaminess of the parchment. They stood out in blue-black starkness like a damning brand. This wasn’t a welcome or the assurance and direction she’d hoped to receive. Had Mother Julienne rescinded the offer she’d originally made in the letter she’d sent offering condolences and prayers after the loss of Mercy’s family? The sentence sounded like a blessing meant for one headed to the gallows.

  She cast an alarmed glance across the way to Graham.

  Her trusted partner in this treacherous game hastened to her side. “What is it, lass?”

  The fact he read her so easily brought some small comfort. She held out the letter. “I don’t understand what she’s telling me.”

  Graham took the page, scowled down at the script, then lifted his gaze to hers. “I thought ye said she expected ye, had invited ye even?” He turned the paper and studied the seal, then flipped it back and studied it again. “She’s as much as dismissed ye.”

  “She felt a kindness for my mother. Expressed sincere regret when Mama and Akio died. Told me to come to her with anything I might need.” Mercy wrung her hands. An uncontrollable shivering took hold of her. The early evening air suddenly felt much colder. “Did she just mean to come to her in prayer?”

  “Akio?” Graham interrupted, repeating the name carefully.

  Mercy turned away. How could she have so easily uttered her brother’s Japanese name that only she and Mama had known and used? Because that was who he was to her, who he would always be. She once again faced Graham, forced herself to regain control, then continued, “Akio, known to everyone else as Lord Andrew Phillip Charles was my brother. Akio was his…” she paused. The name stirred such fond memories. Akio, older by five years, had been her devoted friend and champion. “Akio was his pet name.” She couldn’t bear to say more or dwell on the memories long. She’d be reduced to tears if she did so.

  Graham studied her as he refolded the letter. “I need to know how your mother and brother died.”

  A nauseating chill shot through Mercy, making her take hold of the lapels of her riding coat and draw it closer about her. “A carriage accident.” She looked out across the horizon, noting the clouds skittering across the delicate pinking of the sky as it blushed with the vibrant colors from the retreating sun. The wind rippled across the grasses of the hillside. In the distance, a small flock of sheep meandered through the undulating sea of green. “I was spared any further details.”

  “I see.”

  “What do you see? Tell me.” She knew in her heart the accident had not been an accident at all, but she’d never found proof or anyone brave enough to discuss the matter in detail.

  “I see that ye’re in more danger than I first thought, m’lady.” He gave her a sad smile as he returned the letter to her, then held out his hand. “Come. Let us see what Cook has prepared for our supper. There is little we can do from here.”

  She took his hand and allowed him to tuck it into the crook of his arm as they made their way to the fire on the other side of the wagons. Wood smoke and the mouthwatering-scent of meat roasting, its fat sizzling and dripping into the coals, filled the air. Percy, Doughal, Robbie, and Wills had already erected the tents. Her private shelter off to itself, feet away from the tent for the men. Janie slept in a small, partitioned-off space inside Mercy’s tent and, as declared at the onset of their journey, Cook slept in the floor of her wagon. Although, Janie had recently informed her that Cook had managed to rearrange enough of her supplies to fit herself back into her bunk.

  Before they neared the others, Graham stopped and drew her closer. With a cautious glance about, he pressed a hand atop hers where it rested on his arm. He gave her fingers a reassuring squeeze. “Ye must convince the spies that ye mean to seduce me. Ye must be believed, ye ken?” The look he gave her fueled a more frantic fluttering in her middle. “We can wait no longer in taking control of this game. I fear your survival depends on it, lass.”

  Mercy swallowed hard, struggling to speak in spite of the erratic pounding of her heart. “I’m…I fear I…” The intense blue of Graham’s eyes mesmerized her, making the simple act of forming words almost impossible. “I don’t know how,” she whispered.

  She’d never seduced a man before. Mama would have been shocked and ashamed at such behavior. Mercy remembered the severe scolding she’d received over a simple flirtation when she’d been little more than sixteen years old. Mama had come close to boxing her ears, swearing that Mercy would never suffer the same fate she’d endured. You are a lady and will always behave as such.

  Graham smiled, and the blue of his eyes darkened, once again reminding Mercy of a midnight sky filled with lightning. “Act as though ye like me, lass, and wish to know me better. Simple as that.”

  He made it sound easy enough—and if she was honest, it was the truth. She did like Graham and would like to know him better. “I can do that.” She peered over at those gathered around the fire.

  Cook was busy resettling the iron pans deeper into the coals, lifting lids, and scowling down at the steaming contents. Janie stood with a tray held between her hands, waiting for Mercy’s share of the choicest parts of supper to finish cooking.

  Taking a deep breath, Mercy forged ahead. She would do as Graham advised and do it well. “Janie—rather than eating off my tray beside the fire, please set the table in my tent. For two, please.” She cast a smile back at Graham, then turned to the surprised faces around the fire. “Could you help her move the chairs, Robbie?”

  “Yes, m’lady.” Robbie tossed the armload of firewood down beside the fire, then dipped his chin as he brushed off his hands on his dark, worn trews. “Right away.”

  Janie stared at her, her shock apparent. “Uhm, yes, m’lady,” she uttered as she tucked the tray under one arm and hurried toward Mercy’s private tent.

  “You will join me, won’t you? I know you don’t like formalities, but surely a quiet little visit while we eat isn’t too proper?” Mercy took Graham’s arm, sliding her hand up through the crook of his elbow and hugging it close. The feel of him pressed to her in such an intimate manner stole her breath. She thought for certain she’d choke on the pressure of her heartbeat pounding in her throat. She forced a smile, struggling to maintain control.

  “Easy now, lass,” Graham said under his breath as he gazed down at her. He stroked her arm with the touch of a man laying claim to what he desired and intent on making it known. “I’d be most honored to join ye.” He glance
d up at the sky ablaze with the setting sun. “’Tis a lovely night for a dinner for two,” he said loud enough so all could hear. “But no’ as lovely as yourself, m’lady.”

  Judging by their heat, her cheeks had to be flaming. How in the world could she make everyone believe she was a seductress when she couldn’t even handle a simple compliment from the man intended as her prey? She lowered her gaze and fluttered her lashes as she’d seen her mother do a thousand times when attempting to placate her father and turn his anger aside. “You are too kind, sir, too kind, indeed.”

  “Wills!” Cook clanged her spoon against the lid of one of the iron pots hanging over the fire. “Fetch me that other rabbit. Sounds like there’ll be two meat pies needed this evening.” She bobbed a quick curtsy in Mercy’s direction without looking up from the makeshift table at her side where she added another handful of flour to the ball of dough in front of her. “No problem at all, m’lady, no problem at all.” Her gruff tone hinted otherwise.

  “Thank you, Cook.” Mercy took a deep breath to settle her nerves, then stepped forward, pulling Graham with her. “I sense you’re flustered. I do apologize that I gave you so little notice on this evening’s arrangements.”

  Cook shook her head with a defensive jerk, looking aside as she busied herself with the rolling out of the dough. “You must do as you see fit.”

  Mercy smiled up at Graham, leaning against his shoulder as she did so. “You wouldn’t mind sharing my table every evening, would you?” She fluttered a hand along the edge of his coat lapel, then brazenly pressed it to the center of his broad, hard chest. “You tell the most delightful stories, and I so enjoy your company. Please say yes. It would assist Cook’s planning in the future.”

  Graham looked down at her with a lazy, seductive smile that threatened to buckle her knees. “I’d cherish such company, m’lady. Every night. For as long as ye’ll have me in your tent.”

  A light cough escaped her as she almost choked. She managed an even brighter smile and tightened her grip on Graham’s muscular arm to keep from melting down to the ground. Such suggestive words. Graham played this game far better than she. With a graceful wave toward her tent, she gave him a coy look. “Shall we wait in my tent while Cook finishes our supper?” She needed to sit. Badly. Before she fell to her knees in the first swoon of her life. A drink would not be amiss either.

  “As ye wish, m’lady,” Graham said in the same evocative tone that rumbled through her every fiber in quite the delicious fashion.

  Forcing herself to appear a great deal calmer than she felt, Mercy allowed Graham to lead her to the tent. Janie stood waiting beside the pinned back flaps creating the door.

  “All is ready, m’lady.” The color high on her cheeks and her white bonnet askew, Janie stood with her hands fisted in front of her apron. “Robbie and I took the liberty of blocking off your sleeping area so it wouldn’t disturb your meal,” she said with a pointed look. She made a flipping motion toward both sides of the tent opening. “And we fastened back both flaps so you can enjoy some fresh air whilst you dine.”

  “Thank you, Janie.” Mercy struggled not to laugh or act as if she gave a whit that Janie did not approve of her private dinner with Master MacCoinnich.

  “Be sure and bring us an extra bottle of wine, ye ken?” Graham said in a dismissive tone as he helped Mercy into her chair.

  “Yes, Master MacCoinnich.” Janie made a perfunctory curtsy and hurried away.

  Seating himself on the other side of the small, round table, Graham chuckled at the trio of flickering candles illuminating the canvas walls and flooring of the tent with a bright golden glow. “Me thinks your maid disapproves.”

  “Janie’s very protective.” Mercy smoothed her hand back and forth across the fine weave of the tablecloth. “And sometimes oversteps her bounds because she’s so close to me.”

  “Can she be trusted?”

  The question caught Mercy off guard. “Of…of course,” she stammered without a thought. “Janie’s been with me for almost two years.”

  “Aye, but can she be trusted?” Graham repeated in a hushed tone as he glanced out the opened flaps of the tent.

  “Most certainly.” His insistence put her on edge, making her second guess everything. She picked up the handbell waiting beside the base of the candelabra and rang it. “We need wine. I can’t believe she hasn’t already returned with it.”

  Janie appeared almost immediately. She gave Graham a borderline sneer. “Your extra wine, sir.”

  “Thank you, Janie. Tha’ll do.” Graham opened one of the bottles and filled both glasses on the table. He paused and turned to Janie waiting at the door. “Was there something else?”

  “M’lady?” Janie ignored Graham with a rude shifting of her gaze to Mercy.

  “Yes?”

  “I’ll bring your supper soon as ’tis ready, but I shall be close until then, so you just ring that bell if you have need of anything at all, yes?” Janie lowered her chin, pinning Mercy with a fierce glare. “Anything at all,” she repeated.

  “Thank you, Janie.” Mercy did her best to calm the girl with a reassuring smile. “I shall keep the bell close.”

  Janie turned and walked away after one last scowling look at Graham.

  “There. You see? She’s doing her best to protect me.” Mercy took a fortifying sip of the sweet wine that had always been her favorite.

  “Just be careful,” Graham said as he peered down at his own glass of wine shimmering in the candlelight. “Mind your words with everyone.” He reached across the table, scooped up her hand, and pressed a slow kiss across her knuckles.

  She could feel the heat of his breath stroking her skin, his lips tickled the backs of her fingers as he spoke. “When someone entrusts themselves to my care, I dinna take their trust lightly.” He kissed her hand again, then gifted her with a seductive smile. “And I always protect what I claim as mine.”

  Mercy’s breath caught as she found herself ensnared in his gaze. Dark. Brooding. Fierce. Danger flashed in his eyes like lightning reflecting across a stormy sea. She allowed her thumb to stroke against the roughness of his hand. Calloused. Experienced. Strong. What wonders could such a man teach her? Did he truly mean to claim her, or was this just a part of their agreed upon guise?

  A rustling outside the tent caught her attention. A faint shadow danced along the wall of the shelter, the silhouette of a person outlined on the canvas by the campfire in the distance. Mercy’s heart fell. What a fool she was. Graham was but playing to the crowd as he’d advised her to do. How stupid she was to think his attentions were genuine. It was all an act to protect them both. Fine. She could do the same and accomplish the task as well as him.

  She leaned across the table, clasped his hand between both of hers, and turned it so she might examine his palm. Keeping her voice loud enough to be heard by any who might be near but low enough to be considered private, she locked her gaze with Graham’s as she tickled a fingertip down the center of his palm. “Our hands hold our life’s story. Did you know that?”

  “T-truly?” Graham’s control slipped a bit. “And what might my hand tell ye?” he asked, then cleared his throat.

  She rested her four fingertips atop the callouses at the base of Graham’s fingers, taking some small satisfaction in the fact that Graham’s palm had grown damp and he appeared unsettled. “Yours are the hands of a warrior,” she said, then stroked the lines mapping his skin, noting with satisfaction that he jerked every time she moved her fingers. “A ticklish warrior.” She bubbled out a flirtatious laugh, then pressed a kiss to the center of his open hand, tasting his skin with her tongue.

  “God Almighty.” A pained groan escaped him as he shifted in his seat. He yanked his hand away and scrubbed it back and forth atop his kilt-covered thigh.

  “A problem, dear sir?” Mercy assumed as innocent a look as she could muster.

  “I thought ye said ye’d never done this before?” Graham said from between clenched teeth.


  “I haven’t.” Mercy glanced out the entryway and leaned across the table. “Am I doing it right?”

  “Aye, lass.” Graham emptied his glass, refilled it, then emptied it again. “If ye do any better, I’ll be in dire need of one of two things.”

  “And what might those things be?” Mercy lifted her glass in a proud toast to herself. She’d managed it. Gotten under his skin.

  Graham thumped down his glass, then stood. He studied her. His massive chest shifted with a deep intake of breath, then he strode around the table, and pulled her up into his arms. One hand at the small of her back and the other to the back of her head. He held her close, gazing down into her eyes. “I’ll either need a swim in an icy loch or your embrace, m’lady. And since we’ve no loch nearby…”

  Before she could respond, Graham silenced her with a kiss.

  Mercy shuddered in his arms, reveling in the array of sensations he sent coursing through her. Such strength. Such fierce hunger. The hard length of his body pressed against hers triggered an almost unbearable urgency of her own. He tasted of wine and endless possibilities. She grew bolder, clutching him tighter as she opened to the kiss and flicked her tongue in a wanton swipe against his. He pulled her harder against him, and she was thankful. If not for the strength of his hold, she surely would have collapsed by now.

  A throat cleared at the entrance to the tent, shattering the spell. “Your supper is ready, m’lady.”

  Mercy couldn’t contain the sigh of regret that escaped her when she sank away from Graham’s embrace. Holding to the back of her chair for support, she turned and faced the intrusion to what had definitely been the most wondrous thing she’d experienced up to this point in her life. She blinked and struggled to regain the ability to speak. Lowering herself into her chair, she politely motioned for Graham to do the same. “Thank you, Janie. We’re quite famished. Are we not, Graham?”