At the scrape of wood, Rois turned from her seat beside the bed. Caught within the candlelight, Griffin’s half-shadowed outline filled the entry. Stunned and thrilled, she scrambled to her feet.
“Griffin!” Desperation filled her voice, but she didn’t care. Until this moment she’d nae realized how much she’d missed him, had yearned for him to be at her side.
Hazel eyes hard with anger met hers, then scanned the room. At her father, they stilled. Amidst the anger on his face flashed relief. “Where is Sir Lochlann?”
Rois stilled. She’d expected Griffin’s anger, had struggled with the decision of bringing her father here. “Moving Da was for the best.”
Griffin strode over. “Was it? Can you not see that moving Angus has worsened his condition?”
“It has,” Rois agreed, “but Lochlann explained however much the move weakened my father’s condition, the effects will be temporary. That the warmth of a hearth and cover of the crofter’s hut will quickly nurture him back to health.”
“And you believed him?”
“Never would Lochlann do anything to hurt Da.”
“A fact however convinced you are, I disbelieve.” His eyes narrowed. “Where is he?”
“Here, English.”
Nerves wrapping around her throat like a hand squeezed, Rois turned. Lochlann stood at the entry, the gentleness of his expression earlier transformed into pure hatred.
“Quiet, the both of you,” Rois said, determined to diffuse the situation. “Da needs quiet to rest.”
Griffin’s furious gaze held Lochlann’s. “He needs a healer.”
“One is en route,” Rois rushed. “Lochlann sent for a healer when we departed the camp.”
Griffin snorted. “Had he sent for a healer, think you he or she should not have already arrived?”
Lochlann’s face shuttered to a mottled red. He stepped forward, his blade drawn. “Dare you call me a liar?”
Rois stepped between the two men, her entire body shaking. After their last brawl, this time Griffin would nae walk away and leave Lochlann alive. “Enough!”
“’Twas foolhardy to move Lord Brom,” Griffin said, his words ice, “more so to a pitiful crofter’s hut when Lochshire Castle is but leagues away.”
Stunned, Rois faced Lochlann, nae wanting to believe it true, but against his mask of outrage, she saw a wisp of guilt. Disbelief swarmed her, crumbled against the mountain of hurt. So caught up in her worry, she’d lost her bearings, had trusted her friend to ensure her father received the best care.
“You knew Lochshire Castle was near?” she whispered.
Guilt again flickered on Lochlann’s face.
Hurt couldn’t describe the pain inside her. “Why did we nae go there?”
Lochlann stepped toward her.
“Do not come near my wife ever again,” Griffin said as he stepped to her side.
Face drawn with anguish, Lochlann shook his head, his gaze never leaving hers. “Coming here ’twas for the best. With your father feverish and already too weak, traveling farther to Lochshire Castle might have invited death.”
“Why did you not ride to Lord Grey’s castle for a healer?” Griffin demanded.
Sir Lochlann rounded on him, the loathing in his gaze answer enough. “A healer was sent for.”
Griffin held the Scot’s glare, his own outrage burning hot. “Were they? I see no one.”
“Bloody Sassenach!” The Scot lunged forward.
Griffin caught the hand wielding the blade as his other fisted, connecting solidly against the Scot’s jaw. The dagger clattered to the floor, and Sir Lochlann stumbled back, fell to the floor.
“Go,” Griffin ordered. “Your presence is no longer wanted.”
The Scot’s hand edged toward his dagger.
“Draw your weapon,” Griffin warned, “and I will kill you.”
Sir Lochlann’s hand relaxed. With a glance toward Rois, he wiped his chin, and satisfaction filled Griffin as the Scot’s hand came away with the smear of blood. Hatred burned in Lochlann’s eyes.
Griffin nodded toward the entry. “I will not tell you to leave again.” As much as he wished to end it now, Lord Brom’s needs were most important. Once Angus was safe, the writ delivered, and his tasks complete, he would return to confront the Scot, alone.
For a long moment Sir Lochlann eyed him. As if he understood they would finish this in the future, he stepped back, his gaze softening as they settled on Rois. “I leave for Lord Brom’s sake and yours.”
Rois nodded, her face pale, her eyes unsure.
Good, Griffin wanted her to doubt the Scot. She believed him her friend, but she was wrong. He was a bastard on every level.
With one last glare at Griffin, Sir Lochlann strode into the night. The whinny of a horse sounded, then the thrum of hooves. Moments later, quiet echoed in the forest, broken by the errant hoot of an owl.
Griffin walked to the door and shoved it closed, shutting out the cold air pouring into the room, as bitter as the man who’d departed. He turned to find Rois watching him, her expression confused and hurt. Bloody hell, what a mess.
“Rois, I—”
A dull cough sounded from the bed.
On a gasp, Rois whirled. “Da.” She hurried across the worn floor.
Griffin walked to her side and knelt beside Lord Brom. Against the flicker of flames, Angus’s face lay pale, his cheeks hollow. ’Twas amazing he still lived.
“How fare thee?” Griffin asked.
Rois laid her palm on her father’s brow, turned toward Griffin. “He has done naught but ramble since we began to travel.”
Griffin silently cursed. “I wish not to move him, but given his failing condition, we must bring him to Lochshire Castle this night.”
Fear flashed in her eyes, but she nodded.
He laid his hand atop hers, gave a gentle squeeze. “I will return once the horses are readied.”
“The litter is outside.”
Her bravery touched him deeply. She was terrified, afraid, but pushed on. “Leave it. I will carry him.”
On a shaky exhale, Rois nodded.
Griffin leaned forward, pressed a kiss upon her brow. “Know this, Rois. I will do my best to ensure your father recovers.” Wishing for time, aware that each moment was critical, he made preparations for them to leave.
With the full moon illuminating the cloudless sky, Griffin’s breath misted in the icy air. He held Angus close, the blanket wrapped around his friend like a prayer, each league traveled passing with aching slowness.
He prayed God would allow Lord Brom to live. Or, at least spare Rois the hell of living a life of guilt, of wondering if she’d made another decision, her father may have lived. Well he knew of the crush of guilt for being responsible for your parent’s death.
Heart heavy, Griffin guided his mount through the thick stand of trees, the rich scent of earth and pine far from a balm against the troubles cascading his mind.
Thank God Angus still breathed. With a fever riding him, another day in the crofter’s hut without proper attention and he would have died. A fact the Scot had kept from Rois, his purpose easy to discern. With Lord Brom dead, and Rois free once the annulment became final, Sir Lochlann would court her with false words, his sole purpose to claim her father’s title.
At Rois’s gasp, Griffin looked around, drew his horse to a halt. Below them, the land curved in a wide arc to expose a huge lake surrounded by weathered hills. Beneath the silvery crush of moonlight, from a peninsula extending from the southern curve, a majestic fortress rose without excuse.
“Amazing,” Rois whispered, as if to speak out loud would break a spell.
“’Tis,” Griffin agreed, remembering his awe the first time he’d seen this immense fortress. Even years later he found himself moved. He noted the standard flying atop the tower; Lord Grey was in residence. “Welcome, my lady, to Lochshire Castle.”
“Lochshire Castle,” she breathed. “Built by the Normans and passed down through t
he MacGruders ever since.”
“It is indeed.” As a Scottish noble’s daughter, she would be aware of the castle’s heritage. Nor could they linger.
He nudged his mount forward, the steep bank demanding all his attention. Rocks clattered as they loosened beneath their mounts’ hooves. With each slide and jolt, he worked to ensure Angus remained as still as possible in his arms.
As the land flattened out to field, where the roll of hills led to the causeway, he breathed a sigh of relief. He guided his steed toward the rutted tracks leading to the castle.
“How fares Da?”
At the waver in her voice, Griffin glanced over at her; the pale sheen of moonlight lent her face a fragile look. “The same.”
She nodded.
Somber, Griffin focused on the castle arching toward the sky. Embraced within the silvery cast, the hewn stone fortress seemed insurmountable, yet, at the same time magical.
Magical?
God’s teeth, ’twas naught but a thought conjured by the days of hard travel and by the worry overwhelming him.
“You know Lord Grey?”
He nodded. “I have visited here many times.”
Rois lifted a surprised brow. “You have?”
“Indeed, my sister lives within.”
“Your sister is married to Lord Grey?” she gasped.
A smile tugged at his mouth at the shock in her voice. “No, she is wed to Alexander MacGruder, Seathan’s younger brother.”
“You said the Scot she married abducted her for ransom. You meant Alexander MacGruder?” Disbelief filled her voice.
“Indeed.” And until he’d rescued her, he’d been frantic for a sister he’d believed lost all because of a dangerous tale he’d contrived to cover his actions as Wulfe. “In the end, Alexander and Nichola fell in love and married.”
“I have briefly met them and understand why the MacGruder brothers are well known as fierce warriors. ’Tis an incredible tale.”
“Incredible, but true.”
The halved gemstone at his neck shifted, and Griffin grimaced, well aware of the stories crafted about its powers by the MacGruder brothers. Regardless whether the gemstone held the ability to identify the woman meant for the man who wore the halved stone ’twas truth or fable, Rois had no reason to visit the grandmother’s chamber, which allowed no opportunity for her to see his halved stone inside, resting in the bowl.
Or remove it.
God’s teeth, his mind rambled with the thoughts of a lad off-kilter. He focused on the steady clop of hooves upon the causeway echoing around them, the rush of wind cold against his skin.
“There are four brothers,” Griffin said, refusing to ponder further the stone and the magic believed to exist in the grandmother’s chamber. “Seathan is the eldest and lord of the castle and married to a Scottish noblewoman named Linet. Alexander is married to my sister, Nichola. Patrik, a brother adopted, is married to an Englishwoman named Emma. The youngest is Duncan, who is married to a Scottish lass, Isabel.”
“Two of the MacGruder brothers are married to Englishwomen?”
“Yes.”
“And,” she asked with disbelief, “they accept you?”
He smiled. “Being a Sassenach who has given his fealty to King Edward, you mean?”
She hesitated. “Aye.”
“With Alexander married to my sister,” he said with a smile, “I doubt there would be any way around me being otherwise.”
She studied him a long moment. “You could join the Scots.”
The hope in her voice touched him. Again he wished he could explain his secret life as Wulfe, and admit that his loyalties lay not with King Edward, but with the Scots—and had since his youth.
An ache built in his chest as he focused on the stone-cluttered road, the shadows and moonlight exposing a timeworn trail, one that offered a sturdy defense, one that bridged the land to a castle where men lived, dreamed, and had found love.
Love?
Bloody hell.
“The castle is imposing,” Rois said with awe.
With a frown, he scoured the sturdy walls where torchlight battered the weathered stone with intangible delight.
“Riders coming!” a guard’s voice rang out.
Muffled shouts rang out from the wall walk. Armed men moved atop. Griffin focused on the reality of this moment, of saving Lord Brom, not thoughts conjured by needs, desires he must ignore.
“Who goes there?” a deep male voice boomed.
Griffin halted with Rois before the gatehouse. “The Baron of Monceaux. Pass word to Lord Grey I ride with Lord Brom and his daughter. Lord Brom is ill, and needs a healer. ’Tis urgent!”
“Aye, my lord,” the guard replied.
Moments later, the creak of wood and rattle of chains sounded as the drawbridge was lowered, and then the iron gate raised. Guards with torches stood beneath the gatehouse, their faces illuminated by the wavering yellowed light.
“Enter,” a guard called from above.
Griffin gave Rois a tender smile. “All will be well.”
“I pray so,” she replied, her gaze upon her father in Griffin’s arms, her worry building with her every breath. She nudged her mount forward, into the shadows of night interwoven with flames.
As they rode into the bailey, a tall, well-muscled man walked toward them. Black, shoulder-length hair framed his face, his stride that of a man of authority, that of a warrior, that of a man confident in his decisions. Even if they’d never met, from descriptions she’d overheard, she would have recognized Seathan MacGruder, Earl of Grey.
Lord Grey halted before them, his gaze riveted on her father, his brow deep with concern, then shifted to Griffin. “A healer awaits him. Guards, take Lord Brom to the readied chamber.”
Two knights hurried forward and helped Griffin lower her father into their arms.
With a weary exhale, Griffin swung down. He helped Rois dismount, clasped her hand in his, and followed the guards toward the keep.
Tears burned her eyes as she hurried at his side. At their approach, the keep doors opened wide, the burst of candlelight like a promise of hope.
The murmurs of the women who cleaned the great room whispered around her as she moved through the large expanse. Within the wash of light her father appeared frail, his face ashen. Please, Da, do nae die.
A curve of steps led them to the second floor. Down a corridor, they entered a chamber on the right. A fire burned bright in the hearth, and a wizened old woman, her face sagged with age, stood near the bed, a basket of herbs by her side.
With a somber nod, she gestured toward the bed. “Set him there. Gently now.”
As the guards lowered Lord Brom to the awaiting crush of linens, her father began to ramble.
“Da,” Rois whispered, and her body began to shake.
Griffin drew her against him, and pressed a kiss upon her brow. “He is with a healer now, ’tis calm he needs.”
It was, but how did one keep at bay the terror slicing her heart?
“Griffin, Lady Rois,” Lord Grey said, his voice rough with concern, “let us wait in the corridor.
Fears for her father’s health left her trembling. “Do nae ask me to leave him.”
The earl’s piercing green eyes held hers, then softened. He nodded. “I ask you to wait outside the room only while your father is made comfortable and is tended to.”
She nodded.
“I am remaining with her as well,” Griffin said.
Lord Grey arched a curious brow, then nodded. “Once Lord Brom is settled, I will have food brought up for you both.”
Rois fought to control the fear for her father’s life. “My thanks, Lord Grey.”
The hard face of the earl softened. “Seathan, please. You are my second cousin, after all.”
Chapter Sixteen
“S-second cousin?” Stunned, Rois scrambled to absorb the implication, the conviction in Lord Grey’s words assuring her the powerful lord of Lochshire Castle had spoken truth.
“Surely you jest, my lord.”
With a frown, Seathan glanced at her father sprawled on the bed, before focusing back on her. He waved her and Griffin to follow. “Come, we will discuss this outside Lord Brom’s chamber.” He walked to the doorway.
“Cousins?” she repeated to Griffin.
He shook his head. “Unbelievable.”
To say the least. At her da’s groan, a shudder swept Rois. She looked at her father while the healer cleansed his battle wounds, his sallow complexion and weak breaths at odds with his sturdy frame. Trembling, she met Griffin’s gaze.
Worried eyes held hers. “’Tis difficult, I know, but your father is receiving the finest care.” He took her hand. “Let the healer work.” Griffin took her elbow and guided her from the chamber.
“Do you need anything, Rois?” Seathan asked as they stepped into the corridor.
With a glance at her father, she shook her head. “Naught but my father to regain his health.”
“As I,” Lord Grey replied, his voice somber. A long second passed as he studied her. “You were never told of our family relation?”
“Nay,” she replied, overwhelmed by the revelation, and struggling from fear for her father’s health. Praying her father would recover, she focused on Lord Grey. “Da never spoke of any family connection to the MacGruders. Nor my grandda.” She frowned. “Which makes nae a whit of sense. I saw you on occasion at Kincardan Castle. Twice you came with your brothers.” She paused. “Now that I think of it, never did you or your brothers linger.”
“With your father’s refusal to acknowledge our blood tie,” Seathan said, “we had no reason.”
“Did you ever ask your father about Seathan or his brother’s presence?” Griffin asked Rois.
She nodded. “Once, when after a meeting, Da seemed tense. He dismissed their attendance to aid in the rebel cause. Never did he mention our relation. ’Tis sad to have lost the years between us.”
“It is,” Seathan agreed.
“But,” Rois said as she studied him, “you are nae as surprised to learn I am ignorant of our family tie, are you?”
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