“I want this night with ye,” she admitted softly. “I’m glad we are stopping at an inn.” She slid her hand into his. “To be alone.”
Drake swallowed. “Yer side…”
She shook her head to allay his fears, and together they made their way into the stone building. The priest within agreed to marry them, so as the moon took the place of the sun, Greer and Drake were wed with Bean and Mac as witnesses.
She wished she’d had more than a homespun cloth kirtle to wear, or had thought to pick a few flowers for her hair. But at the end of it all, what she cared about most was the man she was marrying and having her brother and Bean there with them.
Drake watched her through the ceremony with pride shining in his dark eyes, and when he was given permission to kiss his new wife, he leaned forward and gifted her with the sweetest, tenderest kiss any soul had ever tasted.
They located an inn within the town and secured two rooms, one for the lads and one for themselves, for a last night alone together.
Drake led her immediately upstairs and drew her into his arms as soon as the door closed behind them. Their mouths found each other, their tongues stroking. This time it was Drake who untied the leather knot of her kirtle, unthreading the lacing, and pulling her clothing from her body.
She was not at all shy to be in front of him now as she was before, knowing only desire and the need to be as close to him as possible for as long as she could. They didn’t rush any part of their joining, taking the time to enjoy one another, teasing with tongues, nipping with gentle teeth, kissing, and loving in every way they could.
When at last they came together, their hands were interlocked, their gazes fixed on one another as Drake’s hardness pressed into her. She curled her legs around his waist to lock him against her, undulating with his measured pace.
They watched the pleasure play out over one another’s faces as they cherished the slow, sensual connection of their bodies, hearts, and souls. As a flush warmed over Drake’s cheeks, Greer felt her own need intensify, pushing them together faster with friction that built in that now-familiar place at her core.
Drake’s hands tightened over Greer’s as they joined as one with panting breath and sighing moans until, at last, he gave one great, final thrust that sealed them completely. As her release shuddered through her, the telltale swell of him within her let her know he had climaxed at the same time.
The sensation of it was beautiful and wonderful. They clung to one another as their bodies rode over the lapping waves of bliss together until, at last, they drifted back to the awareness of the small bed at the inn, which they lay upon.
There they continued to embrace, each one reluctant to let go. Finally, he withdrew from her and lay at her side, one finger stroking up and down her arm
“I dinna want ye to go tomorrow.” Greer lifted her head. “We could slip away tonight with the lads. Go to another part of Scotland where no one need know where we are. Who we are.”
His brows flexed as though he was in pain at the very thought. “I canna do that.”
“Yer mum and yer sisters,” Greer said in chastisement of herself for having selfishly not thought of them.
Drake cupped her face and kissed her. “Forgive me, my love.”
“I dinna want tomorrow to come.” Her voice broke as she tried to hold back her tears.
He pulled her against him and wrapped his arms around her. Cocooned by his strength, she allowed herself to break. The tears began to fall then, for the love they had only begun to realize and the time together that had been too ephemeral and for the very real possibility that they would be forever wrenched apart.
She cried until her tears ran dry, and then she stayed in his arms longer still, enjoying those precious moments with him. At some point, she finally gave way to the fatigue of her still-healing body, the wonderful relaxation remaining after their shared climax, and the exhaustion of her released emotions.
She fell into a deep sleep in the comfort of his arms and awoke to the light of a new day spilling into the small, rented room. Immediately unease churned in her stomach. She turned to Drake and found him still sleeping, his face relaxed in slumber.
In that quiet, peaceful moment, she studied his face and memorized every detail. How his dark lashes feathered over his high cheekbones, how the slight creases showed at the corners of his eyes even when he wasn’t smiling, the way the warm, masculine smell of him made her heart expand in her chest.
As much as she had not wanted the morning to arrive, it had, and the events would be faced together, side by side. She steeled herself for the battle she knew was coming and, for the first time in her life, wondered if she would be strong enough.
22
Drake wished they could flee to somewhere else in Scotland as Greer had suggested. But he couldn’t do that to his mother and sisters, not when the king would upend their lives to locate Drake. And then there was his honor that he’d spent his entire life establishing, to become a man his da could be proud of.
It was foolish to put such stock in one’s pride, but he had assigned such an incredible weight to his morality and the choices he made that they could not be so easily cast aside. Every decision he had made led him to this point. He would now face the consequences.
The ride from the inn to Dunfermline Palace was silent beneath a blanket of tension. Even Mac and Bean quieted as the cart crawled closer to their destination. Drake held the reins with one hand, while the other hand held tightly to Greer, reluctant to let her go. Now or ever.
They were all aware he might be marching to his death. For most of his life, he had lived for the present—a day at a time to put food on the table, to keep a roof over his family’s heads, to survive one more day so he could wake up and do it all over again.
Only recently had he put an eye toward the future, with the potentially realized hope of becoming a knight. And then dashing that all away for the woman who had become his wife, a woman he longed to grow old with. He wanted that future back, to spend with Greer, to raise their children as his sisters did now with theirs, in a secure home where he could keep them all safe.
The castle came into view, and Drake’s heart slammed against his ribs. Greer tightened her grip on his hand as if she intended to never let go either.
The lads hopped out of the cart and walked slowly alongside, their backs straight and proud. Drake turned back and looked to Bean, hoping the lad would recall the conversation they’d had earlier that morning. Drake had told the lad to disassociate with him, to swear he had tried to convince Drake not to try to rescue Mac from the dungeon. But Bean had refused the offer, saying he had never met a man more honorable than Drake and that, had he known, he would have encouraged Drake’s decision.
Now Bean met Drake’s gaze directly and gave a single, definitive shake of his head. Still refusing to save himself if he was implicated.
Drake would plead the lad’s case for him later with the king.
One of the king’s soldiers attached himself to their slow-moving procession toward the castle. Another one did likewise. Within several minutes, as they neared the yawning archway leading to the castle, at least twenty guards were walking alongside the cart as though escorting Drake and his party to the king.
Drake paid them no mind as the cart’s wooden wheels clattered over the cobblestones. He stopped in front of the stables, squeezed Greer’s hand, and stepped down from the bench, pausing to help his lovely wife down as well.
She caught his eyes, her gaze so wounded in that instant that it cut him to the quick. Leaving her would be his biggest regret. His mother and sisters were safe now, well off with others to help protect them.
But Greer…he would not be there for her any longer. Not when he received his judgment, for the more he mulled over the facts of it all, the more he realized there would likely be no pardon. He had killed an earl. It was an offense that couldn’t be forgiven. Even if the king believed Mac’s story.
Drake ran his finge
rs over the back of Greer’s hand before letting it go. Her gaze flicked around to the surrounding soldiers, and the emotion in her eyes went as hard as emeralds. The mask he knew she would put up was in place, his bonny, brave lass.
“Beathan,” Drake called as though the soldiers were not all standing about him. “See my horse to the stable.”
Before Bean could approach the horse, a man with a pale complexion and hair as dark as peat strode toward Drake with an authoritative posture.
Greer stiffened at Drake’s side.
The man stopped in front of him. “Master Fletcher, by order of the king, ye are to be taken prisoner for the death of the Earl of Calver. I should hope ye’ll do this peacefully.”
Drake met the man’s small eyes without flinching. “Aye, I will.”
A slight relaxing of the man’s shoulders reflected his relief that he would not have to use force.
“The lad as well,” the man said.
“Nay.” Drake stepped forward, encroaching the man’s personal space and forcing him to look up, for Drake stood an easy hand-width taller. “The lad took no part in what I did.”
“The king—”
“I said, the lad took no part in what I did,” Drake repeated, this time in a low, quiet voice.
The guard swallowed and nodded. “I’ll speak with the king but be prepared in case we come back for ye.” He shot a warning glance at Bean, who nodded solemnly.
“Drake.” Greer’s soft cry pulled Drake’s attention back to her. “My husband.”
The guard looked between them. “If she is indeed yer wife, ye may speak to her for a swift moment.”
As much as Drake had disliked the shorter man who wielded his authority with limp confidence, he was now grateful for this precious gift.
Though they had said farewell that morning in anticipation of not having this moment, and though Drake ought to decline to ensure he remained strong, he could not turn down this final opportunity to hold his wife one last time.
“Greer.” Her name came out in a ragged exhale as emotion choked in his throat. He pulled her into his arms.
She exhaled a shuddering breath against his chest, warm and sweet and reminiscent of the intimacies they had shared the previous night. “I’ll talk to the king with Mac,” she whispered in a frantic rush. “We’ll get ye free.”
He knew the likelihood was nearly impossible but also knew she said it more for herself. For hope. For such times truly did require what little one could salvage.
Drake too had hopes for the woman he loved.
“Live a good life,” he said. “Go to Skye where I told ye. With my mum—” His voice caught.
“I’ll go to Skye with ye,” Greer said vehemently, her eyes welling with tears.
She would go alone, and Drake well knew it.
“I love ye.” He pressed his mouth to hers before she could offer any further protest. “I will always love ye.” He drew away, knowing if he stayed even a moment more, he would never be able to leave.
“Drake.” She reached for him. “Wait—”
He shook his head, unable to speak a word more around the growing ache in the back of his throat. He would face his judgment like a man.
But as the guards led him into the keep, he heard her cry out behind him. “I love ye.”
It was so raw and so filled with the same emotion burning his chest and digging into his raw, tender heart that he could not stop the moisture from welling in his eyes.
He was truly thankful he was able to bid her farewell and ensure she would indeed live a good life. It was the best gift a man could have before facing his death.
Greer’s heart went with Drake as he passed into the shadowed alcove of the castle and disappeared amid a swarm of soldiers. He would give them no trouble, but of course, they didn’t know that. They had no idea of his true sense of honor.
Never had a man existed like Drake Fletcher.
But she was not a woman to stand by and weep at the world’s injustices. If she were that type of lass, she wouldn’t have made it past ten summers. Nay, she was a woman of grit and determination, one who would survive no matter the cost and protect those she loved.
And she would do everything to ensure Drake was freed. That, and guarantee none of Lord Calver’s men came for Mac again. Until he had divulged what he knew to the king, her brother would be in danger of those who wished to see him forever silenced.
She took Mac’s hand in hers and marched up to the guards who had closed the space after Drake had left. “I’m Mistress Fletcher, and I demand to see the king.”
The guards flicked their gaze over her worn dress, and she knew their answer before they gave it.
“The king doesna see the wives of prisoners,” one said with bored disinterest.
She was not so easily dissuaded, though she wouldn’t let them know that.
“Verra well,” she sighed and turned away from the entrance.
“Greer?” Mac said, confused by how swiftly she’d given up.
“Do ye see Bean?” she asked, skimming the surrounding area.
“There.” Mac nodded to a shadowed wall of the castle where Bean leaned against the stone, his expression sullen.
She approached Bean as a plan formed. “I need yer help.”
“Anything.” The lad straightened. “I’ll do whatever it takes to help Drake.”
“I was hoping ye’d say that.” She exhaled with relief. “Will ye take Mac to yer lodgings in the castle and keep him safe until ye’re both summoned by the king?”
“Aye, I can do that.” The lads grinned at one another, their fast friendship evident as the two ran off together.
Once they were gone, she found a quiet alcove to slip into and used a bit of linen to bind up her hair like a laundress. If she’d played it successfully at Lochmaben Castle, surely, she could do so again now.
This time, she didn’t bother to stop and speak with the guards on her way inside the castle. Instead, she acted as though she knew exactly where she was going as if she belonged there.
As expected, they paid her no mind.
The laundering area of a castle was always located in the depths, where the steam and lye fumes wouldn’t cause any unpleasantries to the noble residents upstairs. That familiar sharp odor was an easy one to follow, and within minutes, she strode into the laundry room, which operated in a flurry of activity.
As expected, there was a pile of kirtles nearby, waiting to be brushed out as the accompanying linens were being washed. Greer lifted an elegant green brocade that would become her, one that thankfully laced up at the front and not at the back, as that would be difficult to manage on her own. Next, she took the brush in hand and swept it over the garment to ensure any debris had been removed. After all, such cloth was far too fine to douse with harsh soaps.
Once it was clean, she stood up with a huff. “The mistress said she needs this immediately.” She spoke to no one in particular as she quickly strode from the room with the expediency of a servant on an important task. No one bothered to question her.
It was equally as easy to hide in an empty room, one filled with baskets of linens and other various household items. She dressed in the gown and secreted her dusty kirtle in one of the many baskets. The green brocade was a near-perfect fit, save for being slightly too long, but it would do. Falling back on her memory, she braided her hair back in an intricate pattern she’d used to appear more mature when she was younger and slipped from the room with a haughty step.
She was finally ready.
Just as the laundry room had been simple to find, so too was the Great Hall, as it occupied most of the castle's main floor. She stepped through the massive doors, and the room went silent upon her entry. Eyes fixed on her as she crossed the rush-covered floor to where the dais sat to the far right.
“What a lovely lass,” someone to her right whispered.
“I have a kirtle nearly exactly like that,” came a feminine voice.
Greer quickened
her step lest the woman looked too closely and realized it likely was her kirtle. The people she passed were not the only ones who stared. So too did the king.
The queen was not at his side, and for that, Greer found herself thankful. Men could be easily manipulated by a skilled woman, especially when they felt another was not watching them.
The guards standing before him followed Greer with their eyes. She stopped before them and offered a confident smile. “I’d like to speak with the king.”
One opened his mouth, then closed it, then opened it again.
“Let her through,” the king said.
She hesitated by the guard and fluttered her lashes at him. “Would ye be so kind as to summon Beathan?”
The man frowned.
“I believe ye call him Bean,” she added as if his informal name were foreign on her tongue.
The man nodded. “Aye, my lady.”
Greer let her victorious smile show as she sauntered up to the king and curtseyed the way ladies did. “Yer Majesty.”
He was younger than she had expected. Barely above adolescence with a beard upon his chin as though he were trying to add years with its appearance. He grinned at her with a youth’s interest when it came to a bonny lass.
“I’m Mistress Fletcher,” she said. “Wife of Drake Fletcher, who yer men recently took prisoner.”
The king’s welcoming demeanor shifted to wariness. “Yer husband killed an earl.”
“Lord Calver attacked him.” She breathed in and slowly let the air out to steady her racing heart. “I wish to testify against Lord Calver.”
“Testify in what manner?” The king lifted a brow, though she didn’t know if he was intrigued or merely placating her.
“He was skimming the taxes he owed ye, and he killed Lady Eileen when she threatened to unveil his perfidy.”
“What did ye say?” a voice said from somewhere behind Greer.
She glanced over her shoulder to find an older man striding toward her, his face strained. “About Lady Eileen.” The guards parted for him, and when he approached, she could see such pain in his eyes that she knew without a shadow of a doubt he must be the dead woman’s father.
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