To her relief, Anna noticed that her Munro and Ross guards were all still standing, whereas their attackers’ numbers were beginning to thin.
“What the bloody hell are ye doing, MacKay?” Jerome shouted, his dark eyes blazing with fury.
“I’m getting her out of here—to safety!” Graeme barked back.
With no further hesitation, she felt Graeme’s legs squeeze into the horse’s flanks. He slapped the reins with one hand, still brandishing his sword in case any of the bandits attacked them as they fled.
The bay surged forward, eager to escape the noise and turmoil of the skirmish.
Anna clung tightly to the pommel as the night-darkened forest blurred around them and they sped onward. Her heart hammered in time with the horse’s pounding hooves, but as they drew farther from the melee, her fear drained away. Graeme was warm and solid behind her. She knew in her very bones that he would never let any harm befall her.
Time seemed to bend as the horse galloped on through the shadowed woods. She had no idea how long they’d been riding, but it must have been a long while, for when Graeme reined in the bay, the animal’s flanks rose and fell rapidly with his hard breathing.
Anna realized with a start that sometime during their wild flight, the fierce summer storm had ebbed. Only a light misting drizzle lingered in the air.
With a grunt of pain, Graeme dismounted behind her. He wiped his bloodied blade on the rain-dampened moss and re-sheathed it at last.
“I think we lost them,” he said. His voice sounded unnaturally loud in the quiet forest, whose only sounds were the horse’s breathing and the muted whisper of the soft rain in the trees.
“Wh-who were those men?” Anna asked.
“Bandits, most likely,” Graeme replied. “They wore no clan colors, and if they had succeeded with their surprise attack, they probably would have happily gutted us all and taken aught of value they could.” Graeme’s gaze scanned the forest around them. “In these times of war, men grow desperate—and overconfident. Some seek to capitalize on the chaos that war brings by attacking supply convoys or even soldiers who are equipped by the King.”
“Why?” Anna asked, shaking her head in confusion. “We are all Scots, arenae we? Why would those bandits seek to harm and steal from their own?”
Graeme’s gaze lifted to hers. “Aye, we are all Scots, but that hasnae stopped us from unending in-fighting. Just look at our clans. The MacKays and Rosses have no true quarrel, but our alliances and feuds with other clans means that we cannae—”
He cut off sharply, and Anna wondered what his next words would have been. Was he only thinking of the fact that their clans couldn’t seem to get along, or that the two of them couldn’t be together?
Graeme cleared his throat. “A few desperate or greedy men will always try to prey on others. Thank God we were no’ all asleep when they struck, else we may no’ have made it out alive.”
Anna swallowed. “Aye. From what I saw just before we fled, it looked as though the Rosses and Munros had the upper hand.”
Graeme nodded, then moved beside the horse to mount once more. “I saw that too. We’d best make our way back to them. Jerome will have my hide for riding off with ye, but I could think of no other way to keep ye safe.”
He paused, his right foot in the stirrup and his left supporting all his weight. His hand dropped to his right thigh and massaged it for a moment. “Damned cursed leg,” he muttered.
Sadness and shame washed through Anna—sadness for all that Graeme had been through, and shame that he assumed she would love him any less over an injury he’d earned serving their King. There was so much more to explain. Her heart ached with the need to reassure him that his wound meant naught to her.
“Stop,” she said just before he boosted himself into the saddle.
He froze, looking up at her, his eyes dark and unreadable in the moonless night.
Without waiting for his assistance, she lifted her leg over the bay’s neck and slid to the ground with a little grunt.
“What are ye—”
“I need to finish what I started to say,” she replied. “Just before the bandits attacked, I told ye I wrote back to ye.”
Graeme stilled, his eyes flickering with sadness. “Ye neednae go on, lass. I ken that ye cannae change things now—neither of us can. As I said before, mayhap yer father was right—mayhap it is best to let this die once and for all.”
She stared up at him, her throat growing tight. “It matters to me,” she managed at last. “If naught else, I need ye to ken the truth of things. It breaks my heart to imagine what ye must have thought, what ye must have been through in the Bruce’s camp as ye waited to receive an answer from me.”
Graeme let out a long, slow breath. At last, he nodded reluctantly. “Verra well, then.”
Taking the horse’s reins in one hand and Anna’s elbow in the other, he guided them toward two large trees that would provide shelter from the drizzle.
As Graeme tethered the horse under one of the trees, Anna found a dry patch of old pine needles beneath the boughs. The two trees’ branches overlapped and wound together like embracing arms, forming a dense bower overhead that completely blocked the rain.
Graeme lowered himself beside her, extending his stiff right leg as he did.
In the misty dimness, her eyes found his and warmth swept through her veins. Her heart hitched, thumping against her ribs. She shouldn’t let herself feel so much for him, for her life was not her own anymore. Yet her body responded of its own volition to his nearness.
“Ye cannae know how much yer missive meant to me,” she began, her voice barely more than a whisper. “I read it over and over. If the touch of my eyes on the parchment were the same as the touch of a hand, the ink would have been rubbed away by now and the parchment turned to dust. Thank God it was no’.”
Anna slid her hand inside her cloak and placed it over her heart. Blessedly, the stout wool had kept the bodice of her gown dry. She pulled Graeme’s missive from beneath her shift and began unfolding it.
“Ye…ye kept it?” Graeme murmured, his gaze widening on the square of parchment.
“Aye. I hid it against my heart all this time,” she said, the missive trembling in her fingers. “I dinnae even need to read it anymore, for the words are emblazoned on my heart.”
Still, she finished unfolding it and extended it toward him to prove her words.
“I wept tears of sorrow to read what ye had been through with yer leg,” she said, “and tears of joy when ye laid yer heart bare and asked me to be yer wife.”
Slowly, he took the missive from her and scanned it. He let out a ragged breath.
“It feels like a lifetime ago that I wrote these words,” he said. He lowered the missive, staring out into the darkened trees. “I was a fool.”
The words were softly spoken, but Anna did not miss the bitter edge they held.
“Nay, Graeme, ye werenae.”
“Aye, I was. I was a fool to think that love could overcome our clans’ dislike of each other, and the fact that yer father wanted the Munro Laird for ye, and…and this.”
He cast his hand over his extended right leg, his sandy brows lowered and his mouth pinched into a frown.
She caught his wrist before he’d finished the gesture. “Listen to me, Graeme MacKay, and listen well. I dinnae care a lick what state yer leg is in—or whether ye have legs at all.”
His startled gaze met hers. He blinked, then opened his mouth to respond, but she went on before he could form some other reason against her loving him.
“The news of yer injury had naught to do with my engagement to Laird Munro, or the fact that ye never received a missive from me. As I told ye, my father made the arrangements with Laird Munro and forbade me from writing to ye. But that doesnae mean that I didnae try. Or that I loved ye any less because of yer wounded leg—and I can prove it.”
She reached into her bodice once more and removed the second missive she kept there.
He took it with a wary glance at her, then unfolded it and smoothed it out on top of his missive to her.
His eyes scanned the words she knew by heart. She’d told him how frightened she’d been at the thought of losing him—not just to the injury, but to anything that threatened to separate them. That feeling of certainty that she never wanted them to be parted, she’d written, made her love him even more deeply. And it was because of that certainty that she could say without hesitation that…
“…Ye accept my proposal to be wed,” he said out loud.
“Aye,” she replied, her throat tight with emotion. “I accepted ye. There is yer proof that I didnae stop loving ye once I learned of yer injury, or set ye aside unfeelingly when my father arranged for me to wed Laird Munro instead.”
Graeme’s eyes captured hers, and she saw pain war with love in their green depths.
“Damn it all,” he murmured a heartbeat before his arm snaked around her waist and pulled her against his chest.
He dropped his head, and suddenly he was kissing her.
Chapter Eight
Anna’s heart leapt wildly as Graeme’s mouth claimed hers.
This was not the sweet, playful brush of lips that he used when he was trying to coax a shy smile from her. Nor was it the sad, slow kiss they shared whenever they knew they were saying goodbye for an indefinite number of sennights or months.
Nay, this kiss was like naught Anna had ever experienced before. It was edged with urgency and laced with lust. Judging from the taut rigidness of Graeme’s body, he was barely managing to hold his raw power in check as his tongue swept inside her mouth. She yielded to him—to this moment—completely, unable to fight the wave of longing that flooded her.
His hand fisted in the material at the back of her dress, holding her flush against the hard wall of his chest. The scruff on his chin rasped along her skin, but the scrape only heightened her spiraling senses. Through the blood roaring in her ears, she heard him groan desperately. An echoing moan rose in her throat.
Graeme. It had always been Graeme, and it would always be Graeme, no matter who or what came after him. What they shared was too powerful to be ignored, snuffed out, overridden, or forgotten. It was their hearts’ destiny to remain locked in this embrace forever.
Graeme pulled back, his breath ragged and his eyes clouded with need as he stared down at her.
But then his blond brows dropped sharply, and his gaze drifted to the forest floor off to the side.
“Ye said, when yer father arranged…” he murmured, repeating her words.
He jerked the two missives, which he still held in one hand, up in front of his gaze, flipping between the two.
“I wrote this missive on the tenth of May, when my fever finally broke and the putrescence had been removed from the flesh surrounding the wound,” he said. He pointed to the date scrawled in the corner of the parchment. “I made sure to note the date, for it felt like a second birth to have survived.”
She nodded, but felt her brow furrow in uncertainty. “Aye. I received it on the sixteenth. The Bruce’s messenger told me he’d traveled with all haste, for he said ye were considered a hero around the Bruce’s camp after Berwick,” she replied. “He wanted to make sure that yer missive was delivered promptly and directly into my hands.”
“And yer missive is dated the seventeenth,” Graeme went on, flipping back to the other sheet of parchment. “The verra next day.”
“Aye,” Anna said again, her confusion deepening. “I wrote it as soon as I could see through my tears. My father informed me the same day yer missive arrived that he would speak to Laird Munro about a marriage alliance.”
He reached out and clasped her hand in his, holding her gaze. His eyes were filled with a sudden urgency that made her pulse quicken. “This is verra important, Anna, so I would ask ye to consider before ye speak and be certain of yer answer.”
She nodded. “What is it?”
“Had yer father already contacted Laird Munro about a marriage alliance before the seventeenth of May?”
As he requested, she thought carefully, but she knew the answer without a doubt. “Nay.”
“How can ye be sure?” he prodded, still holding her hand tight. “Mayhap he sent word by way of the King’s messenger on the sixteenth when ye received my missive.”
“Nay,” she repeated, shaking her head firmly. “He didnae. I watched the King’s messenger leave empty-handed that day. My father then came to tell me that he would seek an arranged marriage for me with Laird Munro, hoping that I might find the match agreeable. When I burst into tears at the idea, he asked what was wrong, and I told him of yer proposal. That was when he said I shouldnae respond to ye, for it would only draw out the anguish for both of us.”
Anna dragged in a deep breath against the painful memories. “I went against his wishes, though. I wrote to ye the next morning. I learned that my father’s own personal messenger was preparing to leave for Munro land to deliver a missive opening negotiations for my marriage to the Laird. I tried to slip my response to ye in with my father’s missive, but the messenger informed me that he’d been ordered no’ to deliver any letters from me to ye.”
“So ye kept yer missive,” Graeme finished. “And the messenger departed, no doubt delivering the proposal to Laird Munro a day or two later.”
“Aye,” Anna said. “But what is this all about? Why does any of it matter?” It pained her to ask, but she couldn’t deny reality. She was engaged to Laird Munro now, and her love for Graeme didn’t change that.
“Dinnae ye see, lass?” Graeme said, his eyes lighting with green fire. “I asked ye to marry me, and ye accepted. We have the dates to prove it right here.” He held up the two missives.
“What are ye saying?” Anna asked slowly.
“That these missives attest to the fact that ye were already engaged when yer father sought to arrange a union with Laird Munro.”
He squeezed her hand, an awed smile widening his mouth. “Ye cannae enter into a new engagement when a previous one still stands. Which means ye willnae marry Laird Munro.”
Graeme stood suddenly, his leg hardly slowing him down. He pulled her to her feet, holding her gaze. “Ye willnae marry him,” he repeated, his voice growing stronger. “For we will be married instead.”
Anna felt her mouth fall open. Her heart sang in her chest. Was it true? Was it possible?
Aye, she’d agreed to marry Graeme before the arrangements had been made with Laird Munro. In the eyes of the church, she could not be engaged to two different men at the same time, and the first of the two engagements always took precedence—which meant that the second was void.
Though she hadn’t been able to say aye to Graeme in person, it now appeared to be far better that they had their pledges to each other in writing—with dates—for it wouldn’t just be their word against her father’s or Laird Munro’s. They had proof.
“Wh-what…what do we do now?” she gasped, staring at Graeme.
His brows drew together in anxious concentration. “We need to get to a priest before any of this can be undone,” he said, his eyes scanning the forest floor in thought as he ruffled the missives gently.
Then he lifted his gaze, locking it with hers. “And then we’ll wed before anyone can stop us.”
Chapter Nine
Anna shifted in Graeme’s lap, and this time he had to clamp his teeth against a groan of pain. Even with her perfect form pressed against him, he could not ignore the ache in his thigh.
He’d pushed them both hard for two long, grueling days—far harder than he would have liked, given Anna’s discomfort with riding and his own bad leg.
He didn’t dare slow down their pace though. In his mind, obstacles lurked everywhere, waiting to thwart this mad scheme of his.
No doubt Jerome and the others had realized after they’d dispatched the last of the bandits that Graeme and Anna weren’t comi
ng back. Though bull-headed, Jerome was also smart and sharp. He’d known right from the beginning not to fully trust Graeme in Anna’s presence. The fact that Graeme was now whisking Anna away to marry her was proof enough that Jerome had his wits about him.
They’d had at least a few hours’ head start on Jerome and the other guards, but knowing Jerome, he would push the men ruthlessly until he caught up with Graeme.
“Are we almost there?” Anna said, shifting once again in the saddle.
Graeme cursed himself for setting such a punishing pace, but he hoped he would be proven justified.
“Aye,” he said, checking their surroundings once more. The forest had begun to look familiar. He knew they weren’t far outside of Lochmaben now.
They’d managed to turn a three-day’s ride into two in their flight from Jerome, but worse than the man at their heels was what lay ahead of them. When Graeme and Anna had fled from the bandits, they’d ridden hard south. Hoping not to lose any of that time, Graeme had decided that it was best they continue southward, even though it meant heading farther into the Lowlands.
Though Graeme had spent some time in the Lowlands with the Bruce’s army, he was unfamiliar with the location of towns and villages—besides Lochmaben. As the Bruce’s long-standing headquarters of operation, it was the only place with which Graeme had passing familiarity.
Hoping to lose Jerome from their trail, Graeme had kept them away from the roads in favor of the forest.
The problem was, Graeme had no idea where to find the nearest priest and was too cautious to leave the shelter of the forest to seek out a village and ask, fearing that it would slow them down and give Jerome a chance to catch up.
So he’d made the risky decision to go to the only church he knew in the Lowlands—Sweetheart Abbey, the very place Anna was meant to wed Laird Munro a day from now.
It was perilous, aye, but Graeme didn’t know what else to do besides push them toward the abbey as fast as the bay would take them.
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