The Guardian (Highland Heroes Book 1)

by Maeve Greyson

  The splashing of the water stopped. “What did you say?”

  “Ye heard me, lass.” Graham braced himself for the worst. He felt the storm of Mercy’s stubborn determination coming.

  “I will be coming downstairs to face whatever is about to happen. Now you can either wait and escort me down, or I shall find the way myself. The choice is yours.”

  Graham scrubbed a hand across his face, clenching his teeth and forcing himself to wait a moment before responding so he wouldn’t raise his voice. Leave it to him to marry a woman with a will as strong as his own. “I would have my wife safe,” he stated carefully. “And I would have her do as I ask.”

  “Then you have the wrong wife,” Mercy said as she emerged from behind the screen, fully clothed, with shoes and stockings in hand. “Our marriage will not be one where I cower behind my husband.” She perched on the arm of the chair by the hearth, pulled on her stockings, and secured them in place with a ribbon tied snug above each knee. Pinning him with a determined look as she slipped on her shoes, she added, “I shall fight at your side until I no longer draw breath.”

  The thought of endangering her, of losing her, threatened to make him roar at her until she understood and bent to his will. “Ye begged me to no’ die first because ye feared being alone. Think ye I wish to be abandoned because of your stubborn unwillingness to allow yourself to be protected?”

  The guard tower horn sounded again, longer and louder this time. Graham pointed a finger at the window. “Do ye hear the horn? ’Tis an alarm to the clan. Wait here until I send for ye. Do this for me, Mercy, I beg ye. I swear I’ll send one of the maids to let ye know what’s about and if it’s safe to come down.” He strode across the room and took hold of her, staring into her eyes for the span of a heartbeat before kissing her long and hard. Tearing himself away, he lifted his head and set her away but still held tight to her shoulders. “Swear ye will wait here, aye?”

  Mercy reached up and touched his face, her emotions clearly at war with his. The coolness of her palm pressed against his cheek threatened to weaken him. Brow furrowed and mouth clamped into a tight frown, her delicate nostrils flared as she huffed out a hard, ladylike snort. “I shall wait here for a time.” She pointed to the half-spent candle burning on the table. “’Til the flame reaches the bottom of the candle. I can bear no longer.” She turned away and moved to stand by the window. With frustrated jerking motions, she replaced the spent candles in the candelabra and lit the new ones. “This danger is because of me, Graham. You must allow my help in diffusing it.” She looked back at him, the glow of the freshly lit candles revealing a sudden weariness in her expression. “This is my battle. It’s been going on far longer than you have known me.”

  Her pain and frustration reached out to him, took hold of his heart, and twisted. Woman or no’, Mercy was a warrior, and Graham knew well enough the raw, choking rage it was to be set aside and not allowed to wade into the thick of things, especially when the battle was your own. He reached down and pulled his sgian dhu from his boot, strode across the room to her, and before she could react, he slid the knife down between her breasts, tucking it snug behind the rigid stomacher at the front of her corset. “If ye get yourself killed, I swear to God Almighty that I’ll cross over right behind ye and tan your arse. Do ye understand me, wife?”

  Mercy lowered her gaze, but Graham could tell damned good and well that she only did it to hide her joy at wearing him down and getting her own way. “I understand, husband.”

  He took her hand and led her to the doorway, pausing as he took hold of the latch. What in Hell’s name was he doing endangering her so? He was a damned fool not to hold fast and make her stay where he knew her safe at least for a little while.

  “It will be all right, Graham,” she said quietly, with a squeeze of his shoulder. “I can face anything as long I’m at your side.”

  “Ye shouldna have to face anything, love.” Graham brushed a tender kiss to her hand and hugged it to his chest. “Not while I live and breathe. ’Tis my duty to face it for ye.”

  Mercy’s eyes shimmered with unshed tears. Her head tilted to one side and her lower lip quivered as she studied him. With a sudden hard dip of her chin, she released his hand, took a step back, then withdrew his dagger from its concealed spot between her breasts. She held it out. “I shall wait until you call for me. I shouldn’t have treated your wishes so lightly.”

  Graham stared at the sgian dhu, warring with his emotions. She understood. He shook his head and pressed it back to her. “Put it back where I placed it, lass. In case ye need it.”

  With an obedient nod, Mercy tucked the knife back in place. As Graham pulled the door open and moved to step out into the hall, she caught hold of his arm. “If you get yourself killed, I swear to God Almighty that I shall cross over after you and tan your arse. And my brother and mother will be there to help me. Understood?”

  An even deeper appreciation for this rare woman flooded through him, nearly taking him to his knees. Graham chuckled. “Aye, m’love. Understood.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Mercy bolted the door behind Graham, then hurried to the bench in front of the window. Hiking her skirted pantalettes up to her knees, she crawled up onto the window ledge and perched in one of the casings. With a tight hold to the iron supports surrounding the panes of glass, she leaned out as far as she could. If only their chamber was at the front of the keep rather than located in the rear wing of the stronghold overlooking the mountains. And it was full on nighttime by now. Granted, the sliver of moon shone bright, and not a cloud hid the stars, but she still couldn’t see a blasted thing. She strained to pick up on any noise that might give her more information.

  No shouting. No metal on metal. No gunfire. That gave her some comfort. She slid back down to the window seat and fisted her hands in her lap. She had half a mind to sneak down and spy from the staircase, but she couldn’t. Not in good conscience. She had told Graham she would wait for him here. So, wait for him she would.

  “I am a fool for saying such,” she said to the room in general.

  She jumped up from the seat, poured herself a glass of honeyed wine, and downed it. Smacking her lips, she eyed the bottle of port. Better not. It took very little port to make her head reel.

  Depending on what developed downstairs, she most certainly needed to keep her wits about her. She poured another glass of wine and took to pacing. As she walked back and forth across the room, she smiled at the awareness of a subtle soreness with every step. She was a true wife now. A moment of happiness thrilled through her. Perhaps they’d even seeded a child already. Her cheeks heated. Their love had peaked many times. She’d never imagined such sensations, such feelings.

  The door rattled, startling her out of her musings. She froze in place, holding her breath, hand pressed to her chest to draw the dagger.

  “’Tis me, lass. Open the door.”

  A noisy exhale escaped her. Graham. Thank God. She rushed to undo the latch and open the door. “You’ve returned so soon! Good news, I pray?”

  Graham’s dark look dashed her excitement.

  “Tell me,” she said, taking hold of both his hands. “Are we under attack?”

  “Not yet.” He motioned her toward the hall and extended his arm for her to take. “But we soon will be if we dinna piss out this wee flame threatening to blow into a bonfire.”

  They rushed down the hallway. Energy surged through her, making it difficult to breathe. As they hurried down the staircase, Mercy steadied herself by sliding her hand along the rough surface of the stone wall. Her heart pounded into her throat. She swallowed hard to keep it from strangling her. What threatened them now? Had father sent more men? Had he unleashed the Campbells? “What flame, Graham? Are the Campbells about to attack?”

  “They have reported ye as kidnapped.” They reached the first level of the keep and Graham picked up the pace, turning them toward the great hall. “His Majesty’s guard as well as Campbell’s regiment have
been dispatched to recover ye and they’ve been informed to give no quarter.”

  Mercy stopped in her tracks. “Kill any and all in their path?” She closed her eyes, pulled in deep breaths, and struggled not to sob out her fury. “How could they?”

  Graham steadied her, holding her close. “Dinna give up hope, lass. Soldiers from Fort William are here to investigate. ’Tis the Earl of Crestshire’s regiment. He is friend to us. Fostered with the MacCoinnichs for several years before my clan fell ill. He and Alexander are like brothers.”

  The faintest hope flickered within her, easing the panic. “So, His Majesty suspects the report of kidnapping to be a ruse?”

  “It is our hope.” Graham halted as they reached the last stone archway, the entrance to the great hall. “We will get through this, love,” he reassured with a kiss to her temple.

  She buried her face in the crook of his neck, wrapping her arms around him and squeezing with all her might. His warmth, his strength, the steady beating of his heart against her lips, steadied her. “I love you,” she whispered.

  His arms tightened around her even more. “I love ye, too, m’dear sweet lass. Love ye more than ye’ll ever ken.”

  Mercy eased out of Graham’s embrace, smoothed her clothes, and lifted her chin. “I am ready.”

  Mercy assumed the pleasant demeanor Mama had taught her. One must never appear vulnerable. If the enemy senses it, your weakness will grow, and you will be conquered. Mama had survived so much. Mercy would honor her memory by surviving. They entered the great hall and alarm pulsed through her.

  “Janie,” she said from between clenched teeth in a voice for Graham alone.

  Janie, wide-eyed, and red-cheeked, stood slightly behind the tall, broad-shouldered commander. Janie’s hands twisted into trembling fists in front of her waist. With her red hair mussed and clothing smudged and torn, the maid looked worse for her alliance with those who would see Mercy fall.

  The commander, immaculate not only in his uniform but with perfect blonde hair and sharp blue eyes, stepped forward and bowed. “Lord Crestshire at your service, Lady Claxton. It is my upmost pleasure to meet you.”

  “Actually, Lord Crestshire, my name is now MacCoinnich, but you may address me as Lady Mercy.” She gave a slight curtsy along with a reserved smile. Graham had named the man as friend, but she’d decide for herself whether he warranted that designation.

  Crestshire gave a curt nod, and his military stance appeared to relax. He gave Graham a genuine smile and then shared it with her. “Congratulations to you both, Lady Mercy. May God bless you with a long, happy life together.”

  “My husband tells me I have been reported kidnapped.” She riveted her stern glare on Janie. “Who filed such a report?”

  Janie jerked, then lowered her gaze to the floor. “Not me, mistress. I’ve done nothing but try to prove to you I would never wrong you. I swear it.” The girl’s voice trembled. “I’m here to help you any way I can.”

  Graham squeezed Mercy’s arm. “The lass speaks the truth. We judged her poorly. Hear what Crestshire has to say.”

  Crestshire motioned toward Janie. “Miss Hughson came to the garrison and refused to leave until I granted her a meeting.” He stepped back, took hold of Janie’s arm, and walked her forward until she stood in front of Mercy. “She reported all that had happened during your trip through the Highlands, including the attack by the miscreants hired by Lord Edsbury. Your husband confirmed everything she said.” He looked first at Graham, then at Duncan who had taken a stance to Mercy’s right. “She also attested to the protection given by these two MacCoinnichs.” Amusement softened his stern demeanor. “But she failed to tell me you had married one of them.”

  “I didn’t know she married him. I only knew she loved Master MacCoinnich.” Janie gave a dismissive shrug. “I knew she wasn’t pretending like her father told her to.”

  Mercy had treated her so badly. Misjudging poor Janie.

  Mercy held out both hands. “Can you ever forgive me?”

  Janie slid her hands into hers. “I understand why you acted as you did. Especially after everyone turned on you.” She squeezed Mercy’s hands. “I hope you know I’d never betray you, m’lady. Never.”

  Mercy pulled Janie into a tight hug. “I am very sorry, Janie.” She blinked hard against the threat of tears as she took hold of Janie’s shoulders and squeezed. “But you’re here now, and here you will stay—if you wish it.”

  “Oh yes, m’lady.” The frazzled weariness fell away from Janie, replaced by a vibrant, joyous glow. “I was hoping you’d ask me to stay. I’ve nowhere else to go.”

  Catriona stepped forward. After a nod and smile toward Mercy, she waved one of the kitchen maids forward to stand beside Janie. “Jenny, this is Janie Hughson. Help her get cleaned up and settled in, so she can serve her mistress properly.”

  “Yes, m’lady.” Jenny bobbed in place, then took Janie by the arm and led her away.

  “I feel so badly about the way I treated her.” Mercy watched her maid hurry away at Jenny’s side, both girls already chatting as though they were fast friends.

  “Ye had no way of knowing,” Catriona said. “Not after the way the rest of them betrayed ye.” She turned aside. “A curse on every one of them.”

  “They’re doomed for certain now.” Alexander took hold of his wife’s arm and hugged her to his side. He grinned at Mercy and the rest of those gathered.

  Catriona smiled. “Cook said supper’s ready. Sit and eat whilst ye plan your battle.”

  Battle. The word sent a chill clear to the marrow of Mercy’s bones.

  “Easy, lass,” Graham said, his deep, calming tone soothing her. “We have the beginnings of a plan.” He led her to her seat, then took the chair beside her.

  “That we do,” Lord Crestshire agreed. “This very evening, I shall send an urgent missive notifying His Majesty of your happiness, your willingness, and your obvious consent to be Graham’s wife.” Crestshire folded his hands above his plate, casually observing as a servant reached in between him and Duncan to fill his wine glass. “But I have concerns. I fear it will not be enough for the king to call off his guards or the Campbells.” He shifted with a deep inhale. “King William does not like to be made to look the fool, even when he is wrong.”

  Mercy agreed. Memories of her family’s dealings with the king, both personal and public, validated Lord Crestshire’s observations. “Lord Crestshire is right. King William never admits when he’s wrong.”

  “Ye could go to France,” Catriona suggested. “Surely, he’d leave ye be there. He’s too busy warring with the French and doesna have money to spare. He’d no’ have the time to send Campbell chasing after ye.”

  “But he could send Campbell here,” Mercy replied, looking to Alexander at the head of the table as she did so. She could tell by his expression that he’d thought the same thing but just hadn’t said it aloud. “I have to find a way to convince King William to accept my marriage and call Campbell off.”

  “You shall be hard pressed to do that, m’lady,” Captain Marsden said from farther down the table. “There is the matter of the betrothal His Highness arranged for you. He is sure to be most displeased when he discovers his plans will not come to fruition and will have to notify all concerned that the betrothal is off.”

  Mercy bowed her head and massaged her temples, willing it all to go away and leave her to the happiness of her new life. A dismal, sickening realization came to her. “I have to go back,” she whispered without lifting her head.

  “What?” Graham leaned in close, took her hand, and squeezed. “Go back where?”

  “To court.” Mercy took a deep breath and stared at the center of the table. It was the only way. “I shall seek a private audience with the king.” She turned to Graham, wishing she could stay here forever. “He’s never denied me any requests in the past.”

  Graham raked a hand through his hair, still loose about his shoulders. He looked a wild, untamable warrior, and she
loved him for it. “I dinna like that at all. What about your father?”

  “If King William listens to me and calls off Campbell, that should silence my father as well.” She gave Graham a sad smile and brushed a finger along the day’s growth of stubble along his jaw. He’d been clean shaven when he’d taken her to their marriage bed. “Few will listen to a penniless duke banned from court and His Majesty’s presence.” She almost added that her father might finally understand all that she, her mother, and her brother had endured, but she knew better.

  “Would ye accompany us, Edward?” Alexander asked, his calm focus sliding over to Lord Crestshire.

  “What?” Mercy interrupted before Lord Crestshire could answer. “This is not your concern, Chieftain MacCoinnich. In fact, if I could find a way to do so, Graham would stay here and I would go alone.”

  “Ye no longer bear the burden of being one in this world, m’love. We are one together, ye ken?” Graham said.

  “Well said, brother. And let us make something else clear whilst we’re about it.” Alexander leaned forward, his scrutiny pinned on Mercy. “I’m no’ Chieftain MacCoinnich to ye, good sister. I’m your brother, Alexander, ye ken?” He waited for Mercy to acknowledge his words. “And I’ll also add that a MacCoinnich never fights alone. Your battle is our battle as well.”

  “If I could come along, I would,” Catriona said. “But I willna take my babies into such dangers, nor will I leave them to the nursemaid as yet.” Catriona smiled. “But dinna doubt for a moment if Willa and William were older, I’d no’ hesitate to travel at your side.”

  “Will ye come with us then, Edward?” Graham asked. “I dinna care overmuch for the pomp and foolery of court. An Englishman at my side might help.”

  “I doubt that,” Lord Crestshire said with a snort. “But I will go and do my best to keep you from getting into trouble.”