The Age of Knights and Highlanders: A Series Starter Collection

by Kathryn Le Veque

  Gretna had told her she’d packed Mercy’s nostrils with linen and straightened it as best she could while Mercy was in deep sleep. Mercy wiggled her nose as she walked, remembering the day Gretna had removed the cloth. She would ask Gretna if she looked the same when they returned to their tiresome speaking lessons.

  Her toe bumped into something hard. Mercy tapped it with her staff, tracing the large perimeters of the boulder. Leaning forward, she touched the stone, patting along its jagged surface. This would be a pleasant place to sit.

  “Mercy.”

  So, it was Graham shepherding her this time. Surprising. She’d thought for certain he’d be busy setting up camp. With all the men they’d gained and the wagons, their traveling time had slowed to a snail’s pace. It had taken them well over a week to reach Hadrian’s Wall. She turned toward his voice. “Yes?”

  Graham looped an arm through hers. “We’re in England now but still nearly a solid fortnight or so from Kensington.”

  “I…know.” Mercy’s staff thumped against the smooth river rocks as they strolled along beside the water. “Gretna and I work hard on speaking.”

  Graham patted her arm, leaned in close, and pecked her cheek. “Ye’re doing a braw job, lass. I ken ye’ll overcome this in short order.”

  Mercy huffed out an angry snort. Graham had no idea of what he spoke. “Do not humor me.” That was another irritating facet of this new existence. Everyone treated her like a child.

  “Forgive me, lass.” Graham slowed down, took hold of both her arms, and led her to a seat on what felt to be a felled tree. “Sit down, m’lady. Let us enjoy the peace of this place for a while.”

  “R-ryū.” She’d left him by the stream.

  “I can see him from here. Duncan just brought the lad a carrot, and your beast is verra pleased with him. I’m sure he’ll lead him back to the other horses.”

  That knowledge settled her somewhat. She brushed a hand across her forehead, pushing back tendrils of tickling hair. She must look a mess. Gretna had said she’d done a good job with tying up her hair, but she had to have failed in securing it somehow because she hadn’t ridden hard enough to loosen it this bad. “Messy.”

  Graham smoothed her hair away from her face. “Ye’re lovely as ever. No’ a mess at all.” She could tell by the shifting of the tree and the movement of Graham’s shadow he’d risen from his seat and moved to stand behind her. “I’ve done well by a braid or two in my time. Shall I have a go at it?”

  Her husband braiding her hair. Mercy couldn’t decide if it was laughable or an embarrassment. What would the others think? Were they watching? Did they pity her? Or worse yet, did they pity Graham? They had to. The only time Graham touched her anymore was to guide her or give her a loving peck on the cheek like a cherished pet. Every night, he kept his pallet settled an arm’s length away from hers, stating he feared jostling her or causing her discomfort whilst they slept. She’d been a fool to worry about children. At this rate, there was no danger of them ever having any.

  Enough. Such mindset was poisonous. She flitted an impatient wave in his direction. “Fix it.”

  A few gentle tugs of her hair and Graham’s fingers fluffed her tresses out across her shoulders. “I ken it’s too warm to leave it down, but I do love it like this.”

  Mercy closed her eyes, pulled in a deep breath, and gave herself to the sensation of Graham raking his fingers through her hair, over and over. Combing it out. Tender and gentle, taking care to work around the parts of her scalp that were still sensitive. She’d healed well but certain spots along her hairline still had a strange tingling numbness that turned to a burning when touched abruptly. At least he was touching her.

  “Describe where we are.”

  “We’re off to ourselves here. Sheltered from the camp by this great oak that must ha’ uprooted during the spring rains.” Graham’s fingers worked through her hair and massaged her scalp. Gentle, rhythmic tugs told her he’d set to braiding. His ministrations paired with his low, deep voice entranced her, eased the tension of the day out of her aching shoulders. “The burn runs to our right, and there’s a thick green patch of sedge off to our left, snuggled up into the curving of the tree.”

  A patch of sedge. Off to ourselves. A rush of warmth flushed through her. She slid to her feet, one hand balanced against the log and one holding her staff.

  “Wait, love. I’ve no’ bound the end of the braid yet.” Scrambling sounds and Graham’s blurred shadow seeming to float over the tree as he climbed across it to reach her.

  Mercy paused, the certainty of what she was about to do strengthening with every breath. It was time she and Graham returned to behaving as husband and wife.

  A final tug and Graham patted her shoulders. “There, love. Feel better?”

  “Yes.” Her fingers trailing across the rough bark of the fallen tree, Mercy extended her staff and skimmed it across the ground in front of her as she walked. The rocky, hard-packed earth beneath her feet changed to the tangled softness of the grassy area Graham had described. “How large…a patch?”

  “Good sized.” Graham’s tone sounded thoughtful. Strained.

  Mercy suppressed a smile. Good. He needed relief as much as she but feared to take that first step. All she needed to do was put his mind at ease. She turned and faced him, holding out a hand. “Large enough…private enough for two?”

  Graham took her hand, his strong grip sending a thrill through her. He moved closer, close enough that his warmth embraced her, welcomed her, and took her in. “Are ye certain, m’love?”

  “It has been too long, husband.” She lifted her face to him. “I need you.”

  Her staff clattered against the trunk of the tree as Graham swept her up into his arms, cradling her against his chest as he moved forward, then lowered her to the ground. Hovering above her, he whispered, “Ye’re certain?”

  The sun at his back, Mercy swore she could almost see the contours of her beloved’s face. The sight brought tears to her eyes. She reached out to him, opening her embrace. “Never more certain in my life.”

  Graham closed in, covering her mouth with his, kissing her the way a husband should kiss a wife. A hungry husband filled with need. She tangled her fingers in his hair and kissed him back in such a way as to leave no doubt as to what she wanted. She arched against him, thrilling at the rock-hard neediness that greeted her.

  It was still daylight, and they were close to camp. With all her strength, she pushed against Graham’s chest, hanging on tight as he rolled to his back. Running his hands up her skirts, he squeezed her buttocks, groaning as she yanked his kilt up and out of the way and slid down on him.

  “Yes,” she said in a whispering groan, grinding atop him to seat herself to the hilt. She’d so needed this. The union. The wondrous joining. This made her whole again. The sensations spun her into oblivion, ripped a joyous cry from her throat.

  With a growling groan, Graham bucked beneath her, joining her ecstasy as he spasmed inside her, spilling his seed. “God Almighty!” he shouted. He jerked a few more times, then pulled her down atop his heaving chest, locking his arms around her. “I needed ye something fierce, Mercy.”

  A glowing peacefulness filled her, the first real happiness she’d felt in a long while. Mercy pushed aside the opened neckline of Graham’s tunic and kissed his sweat-drenched chest. “I needed this, too. You will return to my bed for good now?”

  “Aye, lass. Most definitely.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  “Shall Marsden return or meet us at the edge of the city?”

  Graham pondered his brother’s question and wished like hell Duncan had asked it before they’d sent the captain on his way to secure a meeting with the king. “I dinna ken. My primary concern was ensuring we didna get shot as we approached Kensington.”

  “Is King William even there? Rumor amongst the troops has the man in Ireland.”

  “Why do ye ask me such a thing? How would I know?” Duncan had always had a talent fo
r riding his last raw nerve. He’d done it since he was a wee bairn learning to talk. Graham shifted in the saddle and glared at him. “If ye’ve nothing useful to say, shut your maw and stop your yammering, ye ken?”

  “Your husband has a case of the red arse today, m’lady. I’d advise ye tread lightly,” Duncan warned with a snide laugh as he edged his mount to one side and ahead to permit Ryū and Mercy to take their place beside Graham.

  “Stop chiding the bear, Duncan,” Mercy said with a smile, aiming it in Duncan’s direction. “He has much on his mind.”

  With every passing day, Mercy’s speech improved measurably thanks to Gretna’s tireless tactic of forcing her to chatter on about absolutely nothing. Graham made a mental note to mention to Alexander just how much the MacCoinnichs owed Gretna. He would never live long enough to repay the woman for all she’d done.

  He cast a glance over at Mercy, sitting tall in the saddle, proud and in complete control even though she couldn’t see. This was the fearless woman he’d married. The rare woman he loved more than life itself. “If Marsden is successful, this could all be ended within days, m’love.”

  Mercy nodded but her forehead creased with a frown. She smoothed a hand down her braid draped to the front of her shoulder. “We must be presentable before we see the king.” She brushed her hand along the layers of her skirts, ragged and dusty from the trials of the trip. “His Majesty will be so distressed by the filth, he will not see the truth.”

  Mercy made a fair point. Court ran on pomp and circumstance. If they showed up at the palace looking like beggars, they’d be treated poorly.

  “I’m sure he expects little from a Scot but…” Graham’s observation trailed off.

  “He will expect much from me.”

  Graham held up a hand and brought the caravan to a halt. They had to resolve this now. With her father dead by her husband’s hand, Mercy could not show up on the doorstep of her former residence in London and expect to be welcomed. They would have to find an inn and secure appropriate attire before meeting with the king. He motioned for Duncan to fall back and rejoin them. “Ride on and secure reputable lodging. Two rooms. A good place providing baths and meals. Close to the shops, ye ken?”

  “Two rooms?” Duncan leaned forward in the saddle, obviously relishing the chance to ride alone.

  “Aye.” Graham looked back at the first wagon. Reins clenched in her hands, Gretna stretched forward to hear their words. “One for Mercy and m’self and another for Gretna. I’ll need ye to camp with the men at Gray’s Inn Fields. Keep them in line.” He turned to Crestshire. “I assume Marsden and yourself will make use of military lodging, aye?”

  Crestshire nodded. “Yes. We shall accompany you to meet with the king, but it would be best if all those wearing His Majesty’s colors abided by military protocol whilst in the city.” He gave a judicious shrug. “Such behavior would lend more substance to our words when we speak on your behalf.”

  “Fifteen for ye to control,” Graham said, directing his words at Duncan. “Once ye’ve made the arrangements for us, meet us at the west edge of Gray’s Inn Field to take lead of the men, aye?”

  “’Twill be done, brother.” With a curt nod, Duncan thundered away.

  Drawing closer to Mercy’s mount, Graham reached over and touched her arm. “Can ye and Gretna manage the shops?”

  Mercy’s eyes narrowed as though struggling to suppress a flinch. Her chin lifted and her jaw hardened. “I will send a message to my seamstress, Madame Zhou. She was the only shop keeper in London who treated me with respect.”

  “I will see to it that ye’re always treated proper, love. I swear it.”

  “Their acceptance doesn’t matter anymore.” Mercy smiled. “The shallow people of London will never be as happy as I am.” She turned toward Graham, her gaze fixed upon him. “I have you. My heart is full now.”

  Graham scooped up her hand and kissed it. “As I said before, ye’re a rare woman, Mercy. I thank God for bringing ye to me.”

  He motioned to Crestshire as he spurred his mount forward. “Ride ahead of us, aye?”

  Mercy trusted her devoted beast, but Graham feared the horse would decide to bolt. With one of them beside her and one to her front, they could correct that if it happened. The dark stallion was made for racing. It was true the steed loved his mistress, but Graham didn’t know if the horse loved Mercy more than he loved speed.

  “Can you see the city yet?” Mercy asked.

  Graham studied the surrounding land. Rolling hills tamed into farmland dotted with sheep and the occasional cow. Thatch-roofed houses with walls of stone, surrounded by stone fences. Gardens were littered with chickens, geese, and children. Graham felt it in his bones. They no longer rode through open country. “I canna see the main city yet, lass, but we’re close. Listen. Do ye hear the sounds of farming around ye?”

  Mercy tilted her head and smiled. “I hear the laughter of children.”

  “We’ll reach the city by sunset.” Graham studied her, pondering whether he should speak his thoughts aloud. Aye. He’d risk it. “Ye’re speaking is almost back to normal. Ye’ve worked hard, and I’ll have ye know I admire your strength and dedication.”

  Her cheeks turned a lovely shade of red. “I…thank you.”

  Crestshire halted in front of them, holding up a hand as he cast a warning look back at Graham. “Riders approaching.”

  Graham reached across and squeezed Mercy’s arm. “Stay here, ye ken?”

  Thankfully, Mercy nodded, clenching the reins in her lap.

  Graham squinted to bring the riders into focus. “Is that Marsden?” The portly captain had an odd way of sitting a horse that made his identity easy to discern.

  “Yes.” Crestshire scrubbed a hand across his mouth. “And those men with him are wearing the uniform of the palace guards.”

  Graham’s gut knotted, causing him to rest a hand on his pistol.

  “Take care, Graham,” Crestshire warned. “To win this game, do not engage the palace guard.”

  The group of three thundered toward them with alarming momentum.

  Graham rushed back to Mercy, dismounted, and hurried to her side. Taking hold of her arm, he pulled. “Come, lass. I’d rather ye sit with Gretna. I’ll tie Ryū to the wagon.”

  “Who approaches?” Mercy complied, patting the side of her saddle in search of her staff holstered at its side. She slid it free and thumped the tip of it hard against the road.

  “Marsden and two palace guards. Hurry. We’ve no’ much time.” Grasping her by the elbow, he rushed her to Gretna’s wagon and lifted her up to the seat. He pulled both his pistols from his belt and held them out to Gretna. “Just in case.”

  Gretna nodded and took them without a word. Her grim expression said it all.

  Hurrying back to her mount, Graham tied off the horse to Mercy’s side of the wagon. “He’s right here beside ye, love.”

  Mercy held out a trembling hand, waiting for him to take it. “Heed Marsden and Crestshire. They will protect us.”

  Graham squeezed her hand, then kissed it. “Bossy woman. I’ll do me best.”

  Her quivering smile spurred him onward.

  Graham saddled up and rode to Crestshire’s side just as Marsden and the two palace guards reached them.

  Wary. That was the first word that came to mind when Graham saw Marsden’s face. The man looked ill at ease. Graham half expected him to fall from the saddle in an attack of apoplexy. “Marsden.”

  The captain gave him a slow nod, spared a glance at the two stoic-faced palace guards, then swiped a hand across his forehead. “His Majesty—in all his generous wisdom—has not only granted a private audience with yourself and Lady Mercy, but has also ordered that you be accommodated to the palace and given a private suite at Kensington until such time as your business with court is concluded.”

  Crestshire reacted with a sudden clearing of his throat, increasing Graham’s alarm all the more.

  “Stay at the palace?” Gra
ham glanced around the area, searching for soldiers hiding to ambush them whilst they were in shock at such an announcement.

  Marsden held up a hand at the two palace guards, giving them each a stern look. He urged his mount forward until they stood nose to nose with Graham and Crestshire’s horses. After stealing a glance back at the king’s men, he tucked his chin and lowered his voice. “I apprised His Majesty of every detail.” He paused and darted a look at Lady Mercy. “Every detail.”

  An odd combination of irritation and relief swept across Graham. “That’s why we wished to meet with the man. To tell him our story ourselves.”

  “The king does not appreciate surprises,” Marsden warned. “Trust me. It was far better that he learned all the details from me before he meets with you.”

  Graham wished they could return to Scotland “How did he react?”

  “His Majesty does not react.” Marsden shook his head. “His thoughts are known only to him until he so wishes to share them.”

  Graham clenched his reins so tight his knuckles popped. Never in a thousand years had he dreamed he’d ever face such a situation. He turned and looked back at Mercy, locking his gaze on her. Emotions churned within him. Love. Protectiveness. Sorrow. Guilt.

  He turned back to Marsden and nodded. “Lead on.”

  “I don’t like you leaving the palace grounds without Marsden.” With a light exploring patting of the table in front of her, Mercy located the small, handle-free cup of the heated drink beside her breakfast plate of toasted bread. She lifted it to her mouth, and sipped, closing her eyes and savoring the milky, sweet flavor. Tea. Imported from the east. Very good. This should help settle her nerves nicely.

  Graham’s shadowy form, sitting opposite her at the small table on the garden balcony, shifted from side to side in the way Mercy had come to recognize as a signal that he was frustrated. He didn’t possess a talent for being idle. She’d lost the benefit of seeing his expressions but gained a sensitivity to his mannerisms that aided her just the same. “I must see to Duncan and the men. Tell them of our meeting with the king the day after next.”