by Sakwa, Kim
And it was worth everything she had to give up.
She missed Sara, but she had her bracelet, the gift that Sara had made for her. She missed Mr. MacGreggor, too, but she knew that he’d be loved and cared for. She missed alligator clips, blue jeans, and tacos. Well, she missed a lot of things. But they weren’t things that she needed. Honestly, she had everything she needed. Except for Greylen.
He was constantly on her mind, especially when she sat behind the keep. The view from atop the cliffs became one of her favorites, and she stayed there in the afternoons. There were benches and flower gardens, and she loved discovering her way through the endless passages within.
Isabelle remained by her side most of the time and left only to join her tutor, who came in the afternoons to see to her studies and lessons on the harpsichord. Gavin could always be found in Greylen’s study before supper, and she would join him, poring through the volumes of Greylen’s books while she sat on the settee.
One afternoon she was elated to find empty journals along one of the shelves and asked Gavin if she might use one. He showed her how to dip the quill in ink, his surprise obvious when she’d used her left hand.
“I know, Gavin, he’s a lefty too. I could tell from the letter he wrote to me.”
“Would you like to sit at the desk, my lady?”
“Nay, Gavin, I’ll use the window seat instead.” They exchanged a look when she answered, but she didn’t correct her words. She was becoming more like them every day.
In fact, it was the window seat in the study where she sat on the eighth day after Greylen’s departure when riders approached the holding. It was just before their evening meal and she watched as Gavin went to greet them in the bailey. By the time he stood before them, Duncan, Kevin, and Hugh were already at his side. One of the riders dismounted while the other six remained. After what seemed an eternity, Gavin finally turned, calling orders to the men as he strode back to the keep. Gwen hurried from the study and nearly bumped into Isabelle. They waited in the hallway, and Isabelle took Gwen’s hand as they looked worriedly to Gavin when he entered the foyer.
“’Tis a missive from Greylen,” he explained. “He calls for two hundred men.”
“I don’t understand,” Gwen said. She was shaking and felt Isabelle do the same.
“Greylen was called to witness a trial. The accused attempted to take the life of our sovereign. During its course, the weak man crumbled and implicated another.” Gavin spat the words, clearly disgusted by the cowardly act.
“Do you ride as well?” Isabelle asked calmly. But Gwen knew it was an act. She’d already lost the feeling in her hand from Isabelle’s grasp.
“Nay, your brother orders that I remain. Duncan will ride with our troops and the king’s men who brought the missive. Greylen awaits their arrival, satisfied to have three men-at-arms and the king’s men as well. He’s confident their charge will be swift and only calls so many to make his point. The game is over.” Gavin began walking toward the study, then turned after a few steps. “Lady Gwendolyn, I’ll see you now. Alone.”
Isabelle and Gwen shared a worrisome look before Gwen squeezed her hand and followed him. It was only when he closed the door that she noticed the package in his hand. It was wrapped in a plain cloth, the size of an overly large book.
He held it out to her. “’Tis from Greylen. Would you like some privacy?”
“Nay, Gavin, stay.” Gwen sat in her favorite spot atop the settee and slowly unwrapped the cloth. She was surprised to find a beautiful rose-colored velvet bag beneath, further hiding the contents.
“He’d not want anyone to know for whom it was intended and covered it plainly,” Gavin explained. “Only his missive informed me ’twas a gift for you.”
Gwen untied the gold braided cord and held her breath as she looked inside. It was a carved wooden box inlaid with large, colorful jewels. She carefully pulled it out and ran her fingers across the top. The stones were set deep within the lid, and the craftsmanship was outstanding. She slowly opened the top and smiled at Gavin. There was a letter inside, sealed with his crest. The infamous dragon.
Gavin watched as she held the missive to her lips, obviously happy to see the delight it brought his “mistress” as he always referred to her. As if affording her some privacy, he walked quietly to the window behind the desk.
Gwen broke the seal and held the parchment with both hands.
My dearest Gwendolyn,
I seek your grace once again. My journey has been delayed, though I should return by month’s end. You must make Seagrave your home, Gwendolyn. I pray you forgive me once more.
Yours,
Greylen Allister MacGreggor
“Gavin, may I write back to him?”
“Aye, lady, but you’ve only a minute. Our troops are always ready to travel and will leave shortly.”
Gwen ran to the desk and picked up a quill while Gavin unlocked the drawer to her left and removed Greylen’s initialed seal. “Tell me when you’ve finished. I’ll show you how the letter is sealed.”
Gwen reached for the parchment in the tray at the corner of Greylen’s desk. There was so much she wanted to tell him, so much she wanted to say. She did the best she could to express how she felt. Be careful what you wish for, Greylen.
“Lady Gwendolyn, the men must leave,” Gavin told her only a minute later. He came to her side and removed the glass from the oil lamp. Then he placed a stick of burgundy wax in the flame and instructed her to fold the letter in three. As the hot wax dripped along the seam, he handed her a brass instrument. She saw the initials embossed at the end and smiled as she pressed it into the wax. They couldn’t have been more appropriate.
When Gavin left, she picked up the gift that Greylen had sent to her. She settled in the cushions of the window seat, hugging the letterbox as she stared at the garden.
Days later Gavin was ready to rip out his hair strand by strand. His lady’s current request was outrageous.
“Explain to me your meaning again, Lady Gwendolyn,” he asked through clenched teeth as they sat before the fire. Isabelle had already changed into her bedgown as she did every night before they went to the kitchen. And he swore she did it on purpose, driving him mad to see her as such. His mistress changed as well before these raids, as she referred to them, donning his laird’s shirt and robe.
“I need to exercise, Gavin. I’m going crazy, and my bruises and cuts are completely healed.” As if sensing his discomfort at her request she went on, “But, if I continue to do nothing, I’m going to lose my mind.”
“Ladies don’t exercise, mistress. They take strolls and see to household duties,” he purposely corrected. He was pleased with the response he received as Isabelle covered her mouth with her hands, barely suppressing a laugh.
“Gavin, I need to run, I need to do sit-ups, I need to start boxing again. Please.”
“You cannot think to run, lady, I’ve made myself clear. You will remain here.” God but she had a thick skull.
“You misunderstand, Gavin. I don’t wish to run away. I like to run distances. It helps me think, and I miss the feeling of invigoration it gives me.”
“I thought you preferred Lady Madelyn’s potion or brandy,” he remarked dryly. “Don’t think I’ve not seen you run for the decanter after something’s unsettled you.”
His mistress smiled. “Okay, so I admit I still have a hard time with certain things. Trust me, Gavin, you would too. But it’s not the same as running. And, besides, it’s a much better vice.” She stood a little taller, her eyes gleamed, and her smile lifted but a touch. “Would you give up training?” she asked. “Doesn’t it help you clear your mind and make you feel invincible?”
Damn, she had a point. “Where would you do this running?” he asked. He shook his head, disgusted that he’d even considered it. Greylen would have his hide. But Gavin would kill him first, wi
th his bare hands, for leaving this to him.
“I could run in circles around the castle, or down the path through the cottages. I don’t care, Gavin. I’ll run up and down the steps if that’s all you’ll let me do.” She grabbed his hands and said, “I’m begging. God, this sucks.”
“What of this ‘boxing’ as you call it?” Damn, he did it again. How did she always make him see her way? His stomach turned as her face lit up and a wicked smile crossed her lips.
Double damn!
“Ready for some fun?” she asked mischievously.
“Nay, lady, I’m truly not,” he said, shaking his head.
“Too bad, Gavin, hold your hands up in front of you and I’ll show you what boxing is.” She moved toward him, throwing her robe to Isabelle, who sat watching with obvious glee.
His mistress gave him what she referred to as a “dirty” look as he rolled his eyes and held his hands out. “Nay, not like that,” she said. “Palms out and up, in front of your chest, please.” He complied, begrudgingly. “Thank you, very kind sir.”
Gavin had no time to respond, for his mistress made a perfect fist with each of her hands and began jabbing at him. First with high straight punches, then she swung low from the waist. And he found himself moving his hands, catching her every blow.
From the corner of his eye, he saw Isabelle watch in wonder. The same look he knew he carried himself as Gwendolyn beat relentlessly upon his hands. He hadn’t realized that she was just getting started, until he sensed the excitement and adrenaline coursing through her body. ’Twas a feeling he knew well.
Gavin laughed as she began a routine of punches mixed with sidekicks, astonished as his mistress continued, stronger than before. He moved his arms, now pushing her further as they both became embroiled in the game. ’Twas long minutes later she ended with a reverse kick, bowing to him, her face flushed from exertion. “That was great, Gavin.”
“I’ve not seen anything the likes before,” he admitted with a shake of his head. “Your moves were graceful and quick. You’ve the heart and body of a warrior, Lady Gwendolyn. I commend you,” he praised, returning her bow.
She must’ve been pleased for she reached up and kissed his cheek. “Thank you, Gavin.” Assured she’d made her point, she added, “Can I run in the morning?”
“Aye, lady,” he conceded. “But you must always have your guard. If you’d prefer, you may wait, and I’ll accompany you in the afternoon,” he added, disbelieving that he’d done so.
Anna, too, had to get accustomed to Gwen’s strange habits and requests. The first of which was her use of Greylen’s razor to shave her legs.
The shock on Anna’s face was priceless, and when Isabelle saw what Gwen did, she asked if she could do the same. Gwen gave her that wicked smile that she’d become famous for, the one that sent Gavin, Anna, and Greylen’s men into fits. Isabelle returned the smile and cast aside her dress before jumping into the enormous tub with Gwen. Anna almost fainted, but Gwen and Isabelle only laughed. Then with all seriousness, they went about Isabelle’s new lessons.
Gwen was responsible for Anna’s next mental crisis as well. It occurred when Gwen asked for her clothing back. Though Gwen knew that she tried, Anna didn’t have a good enough reason to refuse her. She went to Greylen’s bureau and removed them from the bottom drawer. Gwen was thrilled to have her running shoes back and hoped that they’d last forever. Anna gave her new laces since the others had been destroyed. Greylen had apparently used his dagger when he removed them from her person.
But Gwen’s next request, Anna flatly refused. “Absolutely not, Lady Gwendolyn, you’ve an entire wardrobe at your disposal. The clothing fashioned for you is beyond compare and known to only the very wealthy.”
“Anna, I love everything you’ve made for me. My dresses, and the robe that matches Greylen’s, even the slippers and sandals. But I can’t exercise in a dress, Anna. And these bloomers are—well, just forget what they are.” Gwen took Anna’s hands, pleading her case. Thankfully, Lady Madelyn entered the chamber. Gwen knew she’d see reason. Greylen’s mother was exceptional and her understanding boundless.
“Lady Madelyn, I’m trying to explain to Anna that I need clothes similar to these so I can exercise.” Gwen held up the clothing in her hands to show Lady Madelyn what she was referring to.
“What exactly do you need, Gwendolyn?” Lady Madelyn asked. “I’m sure it can’t be that unreasonable.” She looked at her perplexed servant. “Anna, she insists on wearing Greylen’s shirt instead of the lovely bedgowns, and I know she never uses the bloomers or undergarments.”
“I need pants similar to these,” Gwen explained. “I’ll only wear them when I run or box.” She held the pants up in front of Anna. They were her tight-fitting capris. “A drawstring waist would be fine, they don’t even have to be as snug, I just need pants, please.”
“Very well, lady,” Anna said with a sigh. “I’ll see to it myself.”
“Anna, I’m not quite done,” Gwen said, biting her lip.
“Oh my.” Anna sat on the trunk at the end of the bed, fanning herself.
Gwen hoped she wouldn’t faint at the forthcoming request. “I need underwear, Anna, not bloomers. And I need a bra. Underwear fits tightly and only covers your bottom and front.” Gwen drew lines with her hands along her body, showing Anna exactly what she was talking about. “And a bra supports your breasts.”
Anna smirked. “You needn’t cover your breasts, child.”
“Anna, if I only wear pants and Greylen’s shirts tied around my waist, my breasts will show clearly through. Everyone will see them.” Gwen pulled the shirt she was wearing tight across her chest to prove her point.
“Oh my.” Anna began to sway.
Gwen rushed to her side. “I don’t mean to cause you discomfort, Anna. Even a band of cloth I can tie behind my back will do, or something similar to a halter.” Gwen drew lines once again to explain what she meant. “If you can’t make underwear, we can fashion thongs instead,” she teased.
“That’s quite enough, child,” Anna admonished, swatting her bottom. “Underwear you shall have. I know your measurements well enough—but you’ll not have that string you speak of. Is that understood?”
“Aye, Anna, thank you.”
As Anna left the room, Greylen’s mother settled herself in one of the chairs in front of the window. “’Tis a beautiful view, Gwendolyn,” she remarked.
“Aye, Lady Madelyn, it is.”
Lady Madelyn smiled so warmly at her that Gwen found herself sitting by her feet, looking up at her.
“You’re a true delight, Gwendolyn. I count myself lucky to gain a daughter such as you.”
“That’s yet to be seen, Lady Madelyn.”
“Do you doubt my son’s intentions, Gwendolyn?”
“Nay, Lady Madelyn.” Gwen sighed. “I doubt life itself.”
“Oh, Gwendolyn, you mustn’t worry so. Whatever happened before you came to us was meant to be. Just as is your being with us now.”
Gwen rested her head on Lady Madelyn’s lap, feeling a mother’s love for the first time as Lady Madelyn stroked her head and hummed to her softly.
After a while, Lady Madelyn spoke again. “When Greylen returns, you’ll be mistress of this castle, Gwendolyn, and I think you shall have an idyllic life. Though there is the matter of your strong wills.” She laughed softly. “I fear you’ll come to blows many times over.”
After her short time with Greylen, Gwen worried that Lady Madelyn’s words couldn’t have been truer.
Greylen stood with Ian and Connell as his soldiers advanced in the distance. He’d left Stirling Castle two days after his missive had been dispatched to Seagrave. Then rode three more to the area where they made their camp. Though he’d wanted nothing more than to return home himself, he had matters to discuss with his king and knew if he stayed to see to them now, his p
resence wouldn’t be required until at least summer’s end. That is, barring any situations such as the one they now found themselves in.
By the time the men were settled and had finished discussing their plans, ’twas well past midnight. Twelve days had passed since he’d left Seagrave and Greylen was anxious to hear what had taken place in his absence. More than anxious. He waited patiently for the men to bed down, then saw personally to the placement of guards around their encampment.
At last able to speak to his men-at-arms, Greylen walked with them to the lake at the base of their camp. The moon’s reflection shone brightly atop the water casting a glow as they stood beneath a canopy of trees. They formed a close circle, Ian and Connell by his side and Duncan in front of him.
“I will have details, Duncan. Now,” Greylen ordered, crossing his arms over his chest.
“All’s well at Seagrave,” Duncan said quickly. “I’d have informed you earlier otherwise.”
“Those are not details, Duncan. You’ll tell me how Gwendolyn fares,” he demanded.
“Lady Gwendolyn fares well. Though, at times, she does make a run for the brandy.”
Greylen raised a brow. “Think you she has a problem?”
“With spirits, nay.” Duncan scoffed. “A small shot she calls it.” Then he smiled. “’Tis enchanting.”
“Explain, Duncan,” Greylen bit out, irritated by Duncan’s enchantment with his lady.
“Well, first, your lady becomes unsettled. ’Tis the only time she reaches for it.”
“And what, pray tell, unsettles my lady?” Greylen asked through clenched teeth. He was ready to throttle the man.
“Well…” Duncan shrugged. “There was the time she helped your mother tend one of the children who’d fallen ill. It seems she’s quite the practiced healer, and her way with the boy was amazing. When we left the cottage, however, she cursed her way back to the keep, muttering something about not being able to help as she should. Then there was the time she happened upon the butcher.” Duncan laughed, a hearty belly laugh. “I think she’s not seen how meat goes from pasture to table. But…” He smiled looking pointedly at Greylen. “Your lady becomes most upset when your fighting skills are bandied about. Nothing sends her to the decanter with more speed than a tale of you in battle. The transformation’s astounding,” he exclaimed before quipping the order in which it occurred. “Unsettling news, muttering curses, brisk walk to the brandy, her hand held in gesture to be left for a moment’s peace. Then, finally, she turns with the most serene of smiles upon her face.”