“I find the gloaming, especially the twilight of early morn, fills me with the inner peace I seek.” She cast a glance over at Graham’s state of dress. “Not a wrinkle in your kilt. Did sleep escape you, sir?”
Graham clasped his hands to the small of his back and walked closer to the edge of the short cliff upon which they’d camped. “I dinna lay down and sleep whilst in England. ’Tis no’ healthy.”
Graham’s leeriness gave her pause. Mercy joined him at the edge, very much aware of his silent strength as she stood beside him. Perhaps Graham was wise to be so cautious. King William trusted very few. Both her father and the rumors said His Majesty hated Scotland. Some said he even feared it. She glanced at Graham again. ’Twas little wonder the king felt such concern if the Highlands were filled with men like Graham. A calm knowing overcame her, coupled with a mildly disturbing growing affection for the man beside her. Graham could be trusted. He was a good man. She would never fear him.
“I would hope your health is quite safe among my camp. You must have sleep. Not all of us are bloody Sassenachs,” she said in her best imitation of a Highland brogue. “We’re a great deal alike—you’d discover that if you’d but take the time to get to know us.”
Graham studied her a long while, long enough to make the simple act of drawing breath a chore. When she feared she could bear his scrutiny no longer, he shifted his gaze back to the vista below. “If England were filled with such as yourself, m’lady, I would consider an opportunity to visit the land and get to know her people a blessing. And I would sleep.” He took a deep breath and shuffled his feet. “But such is no’ the case. Tell me…” He turned and nodded toward her precious mount. “Why do ye call him your dragon?”
“It fits his spirit,” Mercy said, allowing Graham to shift to a safer subject. Perhaps, ’twas best. She stretched out her hand to the horse, but he snubbed her with a toss of his head. “And it’s also the meaning of his name. Ryū is Japanese for dragon.”
“Japan,” Graham repeated with a thoughtful nod. “Isolated country. Closed to foreigners.” He gifted her with a gentle smile that encouraged her to keep talking. “Your ancestry, I presume?”
“Yes.” Mercy struggled not to grow defensive, but a lifetime of rejection was difficult to overcome. “My mother…of course.”
“Of course,” Graham said in a quiet, respectful tone, seeming to sense her discomfort.
“And what of your ancestry?” She’d rather not speak to him about Mama. Not just yet.
Graham grew thoughtful, frowning at the land, eyes narrowing as he studied the skyline. “Before Alexander married into Clan Neal and they took our name and made him chieftain, there werena many of us MacCoinnichs left.” He gave a shrug as though his words didn’t matter. “The clan died out, fell to illness. Only four of us brothers, two cousins, and half a dozen more I havena seen in years survived. We lost the ones we loved.” He shook his head. “It took so many from us. Morbid sore throat, it was. Didna leave enough of us to even give the dead proper burials.”
“I am sorry,” Mercy whispered, wishing she could offer him some sort of comfort. She understood the agony of losing everyone you had ever loved. “So, you became a mercenary?” Her heart ached for all Graham had suffered.
“Aye.” Graham nodded. “My brothers and two cousins. We lost our lands, so we banded together and left. Included one of our friends as well. Magnus de Gray. We consider him blood, and the seven of us traveled the world together.”
“Lost your lands? How?” Had Graham and his brothers gambled away everything like her father had? Mercy retrieved Ryū from foraging too close to the cliff’s edge and led him to a safer distance from the precipice. Surely, that wasn’t the case. Not a man like Graham.
“Political games, m’lady,” Graham said. “Campbells claimed our lands with the king’s blessing. He didna feel enough MacCoinnichs were left to give a damn.”
The hatred and revulsion in Graham’s voice were unmistakable, and Mercy didn’t blame him. It was bad enough to lose one’s entire family, but to be stripped of ancestral lands at the same time? Unforgivable. Without thinking, she reached out, took his hand, and squeezed. “Again, I am very sorry.”
Graham looked down at her hand and covered it with his own. “Ye’re a kind woman, m’lady. I thank ye.” He looked up at her then, tilting his head and studying her before unleashing the smile that always touched her heart and deepened the one dimple in his cheek. “Ye should always wear your hair loose. I like it. If possible, it makes ye even lovelier.”
The compliment rendered her speechless and sent a flush of heat to her cheeks. Mercy ducked her head and whispered, “Thank you.” She turned away and busied herself with offering her horse another carrot. “Here, sweet boy. This is the last for today.”
The gentlest sensation against her hair caused her to freeze. Just the wind. But she knew better. Without turning, she knew Graham had lightly riffled his fingers across her hair. The touch was innocent enough but more intimate than any she’d ever experienced. Mercy swallowed hard as she tucked a loose strand behind one ear.
Graham stood so close behind her, she brushed against him as she turned and peered up into his eyes. So dark blue. Vivid and full of…something, some fiery hunger she dared not imagine. The longer she gazed into his eyes, the more she felt as though she tumbled into an endless night, spinning through the stars.
Without realizing what she did, she pressed a hand to his chest. His strong, steady heartbeat pounded against the center of her palm, filling her with a yearning, an urgency she feared to address. She was at a loss. Mama had told her to avoid these situations. “A true lady must never lose control.”
“Master MacCoinnich,” Mercy whispered.
“Graham,” he corrected in a rumbling tone that stroked her senses as expertly as if he’d reached out and caressed her. He didn’t move closer or make an effort to touch her in any way, but he didn’t retreat and put a proper space between them either.
“Yes. Graham,” she struggled to find words, beguiled by those eyes of his and the way the loose strands of his dark hair fluttered along the side of his strong jawline. His hair was as black as hers. They made a perfect pair. She hitched in a gasp at such a shocking thought. She had to regain control, had to maintain a calm demeanor. “I-I am sorry. I appear to have lost our train of conversation. Please, forgive me.”
“There’s nothing to forgive, m’lady.” His mouth crooked again into that one-sided smile that deepened the dimple in his cheek, but his eyes—something in them said so much more. He leaned closer. The heat of him, the aura of his soul swirled around her like an intoxicating perfume, daring her to succumb.
He wished to kiss her. She felt it as surely as she felt the nervous churning in her middle. What should she do? They’d nearly kissed once before, and she’d been so disappointed when they’d been interrupted. But she shouldn’t have been. She was headed for the abbey, headed to safety, and if she dared allow herself the pleasure of drowning in his gaze and losing all control—what then?
A mild sense of panic battled with the aching emptiness within her, the loneliness she’d borne for so very long. The need to be needed. She’d become so lonely in this unfair world. To be cared for. To be cherished. What a wondrous gift. She stared into his eyes, then reached up and cupped his jaw. The stubble of his beard bristled against her fingers. The sensation startled her back to reality. She couldn’t endanger this man. If she kissed him, if he happened to grow fond of her, what then? She’d sworn she would never play into her father’s hands and do as he’d asked.
She allowed her hand to drop away from his face, easing back a step with an apologetic smile, praying he’d understand. “I should be getting back to my tent. Janie will rise soon to tie up all this unruly hair and help me into my riding clothes.”
Graham pulled in a deep breath and slowly blew it out. “Aye, lass. Perhaps it would be best.” His gaze shifted to a spot behind her, just over her left shoulder. “Besides
, the camp is astir. I believe our opportunity has passed.”
Bitter disappointment and loss filled her. A sense of allowing the world to once again dictate her actions threatened to smother her. Mercy tensed against the familiar unpleasantness of having little to no control over what she could or couldn’t do because of society’s opinion. It wasn’t fair. Graham MacCoinnich wasn’t trying to take advantage of her. He seemed a genuine admirer. She’d never had such before. Not really. Not one so kind and…real.
“I like you, Graham.” The words spilled out before she thought. She caught her lip between her teeth, fearing she’d rudely overstepped her bounds.
Graham gave her a wide smile and rumbled out a low, pleased laugh. “I like ye, too, m’lady.” He lowered his voice and glanced around as he continued, “A damn sight more than I should. But dinna fear, I would never endanger ye or put ye at risk of public scorn. I understand the constraints of your status.” Then his tone changed, and the look in his eyes tampered with her ability to draw breath. “But by all the saints in heaven, I’d love to show ye things a great more enjoyable than status—if ye’d so allow it,” he added in a husky whisper.
“You are scandalous.”
“Aye,” Graham chuckled. “That I am.” He offered his arm with the gallantry of a perfect gentleman. “Shall I escort ye to your tent, m’lady? Your fine beast seems well enough where he is, and I’ll watch him for ye whilst ye dress.”
Mercy took his arm, sighing with an aching wistfulness. If only their private morning visit could last a bit longer. But, alas, such was not the case. Pots and pans banged and clanked from the direction of Cook’s wagon, and the smell of wood smoke from a refreshed fire filled the air. The peaceful glade no longer belonged to only Mercy, Graham, and Ryū. The camp stirred with the others of the group.
“There you are, m’lady.” Janie rounded the tent, coming up short when she saw that Mercy wasn’t alone. “Beg pardon,” she said with a quick curtsy and a hurried lowering of her gaze. “I was worried about you. Especially when I saw your coat gone.”
Janie had never understood why Mercy wished to rise before dawn to ponder life alone. Mercy patted Graham’s arm with a reluctance that made her sigh, then pulled her arm out of his. “I’m fine, Janie.” She turned to Graham. “Thank you, Graham. I very much enjoyed our visit this morning.”
“And I as well, m’lady.” Graham gave a polite bow, looked as though he might say something, then clamped his mouth shut as though he thought better of it. He motioned toward the rest of the camp. “I’d like us to be traveling within two hours. Please bear that in mind.” With a curt nod, he turned and hurried away.
“I’m not so sure I trust that man, m’lady,” Janie said in a gruff whisper as she hurried Mercy into her tent. “Mrs. Frances says Scots are nothing more than brutes and savages. You best take care around that one.”
“What did I tell you about talking…?”
Shouts shattered the peace of the glen. The enraged squealing of a horse and a loud crash followed.
“Ryū!” Mercy recognized her stallion’s scream as though he were her child. She rushed from the tent.
Wills and Robbie surrounded the horse, waving sticks and shouting at the enraged animal.
“Stop! The both of ye!” Graham strode forward, shoving Wills back and giving Robbie a look that should have turned him to a pile of ash.
The angry stallion reared up and shook the woods with another angry shriek, pawed at the air, then came down hard with a pounding stomp.
“Easy now, lad,” Graham crooned as he edged forward, hands held low with palms up. “They’re young fools, Ryū, and deserve a good stomping, but ’twould upset your mistress. Come now, lad. Calm down and let me take ye to her.”
Mercy came to a halt. What would her dear friend do? Her beloved horse’s reaction would greatly influence her already high opinion of Graham. If Ryū fully trusted the man, then she would, too.
The horse snorted and tossed his head but stopped pawing the air. He danced from side to side, grumbling and snorting, then charged Graham, only to skid to a halt right before he hit him.
Graham didn’t flinch. Just stood with hands extended, talking to the beast in calm, soothing tones.
Ryū pranced back a few paces, cut the ground with a stomping gallop, and charged Graham again, once more stopping as soon as he reached him.
Graham smiled and stood still, his attention fully focused on the animal.
The stallion paused, glaring at Graham for the span of two huffing snorts, then lowered his head and butted into Graham hard, square in the chest, bouncing him back several steps.
Mercy held her breath. Ryū was testing Graham to see what he would do. The horse had done the same to Akio upon their first meeting.
“Ye’re a stout lad, I’ll gi’ ye that.” Graham laughed and held out a hand. “Come now, lad, enough foolishness. Ye ken ye can trust me. I see it in your eyes.”
The horse nickered and flipped his tail, sounding pleased with himself. He pranced forward and buried his nose in Graham’s right hand, nuzzling and grumbling as Graham rubbed and patted his neck.
Ryū trusted Graham. Hurrying forward, she reached for his reins. “Thank you, Graham.”
Graham nodded and handed her the reins, then turned to scowl at Wills and Robbie. “Take your friend here and tie him outside your tent whilst your maid helps ye dress. Ye dinna need to hear what I’m about to say to these two fools.”
Mercy wound the reins around one hand. “I wish to speak to them first, if you don’t mind.” She didn’t wait for Graham’s response.
Leading her much calmer mount, she marched over to the two young men. “If I ever witness you raising a stick or any other weapon to threaten my horse again, I will use whatever weapon you threatened him with and whip you myself. Do you understand me?”
The two lads dropped their gazes to the ground and gave disrespectful shrugs. “Yes, m’lady,” they said in unison, both in sullen tones that lacked sincerity. “We were only trying to corral the wicked beast.”
They didn’t believe her. They thought her a helpless woman. She glared at them both. Her father had insisted these two come along on the trip. At the time, she’d been unable to fathom why, but their insolence couldn’t possibly be any clearer. These two came to cause trouble. How much trouble, only time would tell.
Ryū whickered in her ear and stomped. He was ready to attack, only waiting for permission to do so.
She turned him aside and drew closer to Graham. “I don’t trust those two. Do with them what you will. You’ll get no argument from me.”
Graham gave her an understanding nod. “I agree, they need watching.” He motioned toward her tent. “Get ye dressed, m’lady.” He paused and glanced back at the two lads. “And take your time. There’s a lesson in respect to be taught and it willna be quick, nor will it be pleasant.”
Chapter Six
’Twould take them a month to reach the high peak, Ben Nevis. Longer at this rate, depending on how many times Lady Mercy insisted on stopping to draw in her wee book. Saint’s beards, they weren’t even in Scotland yet. Graham shifted in the saddle, doing his best to hold his tongue and not rush the determined woman. After all, the point of this trip was about stops such as these.
He studied her, wishing she’d abandon that damn hat and wear her hair loose like she did during her early morning walks. It was a shame to hide such beauty with a hat that would serve a far better purpose as a basket for gathering herbs. He clenched his teeth against a strained groan and did his best to think of other things. Lady Mercy was a lady. Of course she’d wear her hair pinned up and protect the creaminess of her skin with a hat. He shifted in the saddle, thinking of how she looked with her hair down and her face upturned to the wind. Aye. He liked her better that way. Very much so.
Blinking away the memory, he forced himself back to the matter at hand. They needed to be on their way—and soon. He cleared his throat for the umpteenth time and glared
at her, willing her to rise and return to her horse. Lady Mercy ignored him. Instead, she remained perched on an outcropping of stones overlooking a verdant valley, writing and sketching in the large, leather-bound book she kept in a bag lashed to her saddle.
Graham released another impatient whistling under his breath and glanced up at the wisps of white clouds fluttering across the bright blue sky. At least the rains had ceased for a bit. Seven days of the accursed wetness was enough. Hopefully, today’s sunshine would dry them all out and make their route easier. Graham relented to his impatience and dismounted. It was obvious they’d be here for a while. Her ladyship had paused in her writing to sharpen her wood-encased stick of graphite with the wee knife she kept tucked in the inside pocket of the journal. The current view must have inspired the woman to use an inexplicable amount of her precious writing tool. A wee nudge was most definitely in order. They’d never make it to Scotland at this rate—sunny days or not.
“Ye ken this is still England, aye?” He scanned the area as he joined her on the stone ledge. It was a fine enough view, he reckoned. Peaceful hills covered in a tapestry of spring’s palette: greens, yellows, blues. Open countryside bereft of stinking, overcrowded masses of buildings, but still England just the same.
The lady didn’t look away from her book nor slow in her shading of the hillside she’d outlined on the paper, just humored him with a distracted smile and a nod. “I am well aware this is not Scotland, Graham.”
At least she seemed to have finally grown accustomed to calling him by his given name rather than Master MacCoinnich. She rarely reverted back to the formal address anymore, and that pleased him more than he cared to admit.
She glanced up from the book, pushing the brim of her hat up and out of the way as she looked out across the grassy valley. “I thought it a good way to begin the book. Mama so loved the greening of spring and the yellow blooms of the cowslip.” She pointed her pencil at the rest of the caravan, keeping her attention focused on the view in front of her. “Besides, it seemed an opportune time to sketch a few pages while we wait for Lieutenant St. Johns and Duncan to return from the village.”
The Guardian (Highland Heroes Book 1) Page 6