The Warrior's Queen (Border Series Book 6)

by Cecelia Mecca

  “You would marry your daughter to an old man, one with a more than questionable reputation, and yet I am scum?”

  If her father was furious before, he was downright livid now.

  “Graeme,” Geoffrey warned. And then he said to her father, “I am going to let you go, and you will not”—he emphasized the last few words—“lay another hand on a guest in our home.”

  Her father’s grunt was the only answer he’d give, but he did remain still when the earl took his hands from him.

  Geoffrey turned toward the garden’s entrance.

  “Go,” he said, presumably to the Kenshire guards gathered there. Gillian didn’t dare move—she barely dared to breathe. She caught Sara’s wide eyes, and quickly looked away.

  “I’m sorry, Father,” she finally whispered. “Mother.”

  She bowed her head, unable to look at them. She had never disobeyed them before, in anything, and it felt exactly as shameful as she’d imagined it might. Gillian wished she could walk deeper in the garden and escape all of it. But of course, this was her doing—there’d be no escaping from it.

  What Allie must think of her.

  “How could you?” her father asked. “You’ve jeopardized everything.”

  She could not bring herself to look at him.

  “I will marry her, of course.”

  Gillian did look up then. She’d feared it would come to this. And while her heart thumped painfully in her chest at the thought of marrying this tall, strapping man rather than her betrothed, she knew there could be only one answer.

  “Nay, my lord.”

  His eyes narrowed as he looked from her to her father.

  “’Tis not necessary. As you know, we but shared a kiss—”

  “More than a kiss,” he countered, “which was witnessed by half the castle’s inhabitants. I would say it is a concern.”

  “Concern?” Her father didn’t move, but she could tell by his stance he wanted to throttle Graeme. It would be a miracle if he didn’t charge the clan chief again. “You call ruining my daughter’s reputation a ‘concern’?”

  “Her reputation would not be at issue had fewer people witnessed the incident,” Sara cut in. “Why is everyone here? Did you also receive a message?” Sara’s last comment was addressed to Gillian’s parents.

  Gillian’s mother, who’d stood by her father’s side saying nothing, as usual, finally spoke up. “We did. A young girl said to come quickly, that Gillian was in trouble.”

  Sara was already nodding her head. “The same message we received. But why would she do that?”

  Without intending to, Gillian shifted her gaze to Graeme. He did not appear at all pleased. “No matter how it happened. We are here, and the situation must be resolved,” said Sara.

  Gillian knew that tone. And something told her she’d not like what was coming next.

  “My lord,” Sara addressed Gillian’s father. “Although it is deeply regrettable, it seems your daughter has been wronged by one of our guests, which makes this as much my problem as yours. Luckily”—Sara looked at Graeme—“I know Graeme de Sowlis to be a man of integrity and honor. And he has offered to do the honorable thing and marry your daughter. So it seems our May Day celebration will include a wedding.”

  Everyone spoke at once.

  Her father protested as only a man poised to lose everything could. Geoffrey tried to console him, and Graeme shouted over both of them, insisting there was nothing else that could be done. Only Allie remained silent.

  Gillian let the men argue and caught Sara’s eyes over the fray. Her friend winked, and well she should—Sara thought she was doing her a favor. But she didn’t know everything. She didn’t know why Gillian had to marry Covington. As overlord to the man who’d attempted to ruin her father, he would be the only one who could truly ensure Lyndwood remained in the family.

  “That’s enough,” she yelled.

  They all stopped and looked at her. Gillian had never before raised her voice to her father, but she had to put an end to this. Immediately.

  “Thank you,” she said to Graeme, trying not to remember the feelings he stirred in her. Trying to extinguish the small spark of hope in her heart. “For doing the honorable thing. But I cannot accept your proposal. I am betrothed to—”

  “Nay,” Sara stopped her. “You are not betrothed yet.”

  “But she will be,” her father said, the desperation in his voice evident.

  “Nay, she will not,” Gillian’s mother said, breaking her silence again in a most unexpected manner.

  “Mother?”

  “You know as well as I do that everyone will be talking about this by the time we return to the castle.”

  “Which means,” Sara finished, “Gillian will be ruined.”

  “Nay,” her father protested. “The earl will understand. He—”

  “Will not have her. And you know it as well as anyone here, Lyndwood.”

  “But this is not his first marriage,” Gillian tried to reason. “Mayhap you would be right, if he’d not been wed before. But he’s a widower. Surely—”

  “’Twas not a chaste kiss, daughter,” her mother insisted. “Too many witnessed it.” Desperate to be heard, her voice carried through the garden as Gillian had never heard it before. What was her mother doing? She knew what was at stake, and still she took their side. Had she gone mad? Or did she know exactly what she was doing?

  This could not be happening to her. Nay, it could not.

  “Lyndwood.” Geoffrey crossed his arms. “You would allow your daughter to be so disgraced? If she does not marry de Sowlis, and quickly, you know what people will say.”

  They didn’t understand! Gillian tried to plead with Sara, but her friend avoided eye contact. So she looked at her would-be husband instead, but she’d get no quarter there. His mind had been made up as well.

  Of course she’d chosen to dally with the most honorable man in two countries. ’Twas just her luck.

  “If so many hadn’t seen it with their own eyes . . .” her mother said, trailing off. Could it be true? Would Covington no longer have her?

  Oh God, Father. Mother. Allie. I am so sorry. She pleaded with her eyes for him to understand. To forgive her. But instead, he looked to the man who’d just ruined their lives, however unintentionally, and said the words that sealed her fate.

  “I accept your proposal,” he said. And then much too quickly, “But I will demand a bride price.”

  Graeme did not hesitate. “Of course.”

  “And you will wed her immediately. She will not return to your country in shame.”

  Gillian didn’t know what to think. Could her father get enough money from the chief to pay off his debts? Is that why he’d agreed? It hardly seemed possible.

  She could refuse.

  Aye, they could not force her to say the words that would bind her together with this man forever. And yet . . .

  Gillian, do you really wish to be with the crusty Earl of Covington rather than in the arms of this man who made you feel those things? What is wrong with you?

  Wrong with me? Our family will be ruined.

  “I will speak to her,” Sara declared boldly.

  Gillian’s mother looked as if she wanted to say something, but instead she closed her mouth and nodded, allowing Sara to take Gillian by the arm and pull her deeper into the garden.

  Gillian followed, unsure of what else to do, baffled by the speed with which her life had changed.

  Sara finally turned to face her, the grin on her face as wide as the chapel doors on a Sunday morning. “Gill, you don’t have to marry him. That horrid old man.” She shuddered. “To think of you with him. This worked out splendidly, don’t you think? Better than any of my plans to free you.”

  “Splendidly?” she repeated. “This is the worst—”

  She stopped.

  The thought of pretending she wanted to marry Covington over Graeme de Sowlis was absurd, even to her. The Scots chief was gorgeous. And he’d
defend her even though he didn’t know her. If her only concern had been to avoid a match with Covington, she’d be thrilled as well.

  But she still did not wish to tell Sara the fullness of her family’s problems . . . and now there’d be little point. So she snapped her mouth shut.

  “The worst?”

  She sighed. “The worst night of my life. I’ve never been more mortified. And I am so, so sorry. To have ruined your—”

  “Stop. Don’t you dare utter another word.” Sara took her hands and squeezed them, her eyes lively and delighted. “’Tis anything but ruined. In fact, this is the best May Day Kenshire has ever seen!”

  “The best?” She’d embarrassed herself, her family, and her friend. How it could be called the best of anything, she wasn’t sure.

  “Of course, silly. This will be the very first time we’ve ever had a wedding. If only you didn’t have to wait until tomorrow. Your gown is simply perfect for it. And you do seem most anxious for a wedding night. But alas—”

  “Sara!”

  Her friend turned serious. “I am sorry it happened like this. But I cannot lie and say I’m sorry it happened.”

  Gillian couldn’t blame her for that, not when she didn’t know the whole truth, but she couldn’t rejoice that she’d ruined her family because of her cursed curiosity. And she certainly couldn’t be proud of the teeny, tiny part of her that was happy—no, overjoyed—that she would not have to marry Covington. She was a terrible daughter. When one wedding could ensure they would keep Lyndwood, ensure her sister would be free to marry whomever she liked.

  What had she done?

  7

  The festive mood from the previous day did not extend to this particular feast.

  While some seemed quite content with the arrangements—Sara, Emma, and, oddly enough, Gillian’s mother—Gillian herself could not relax. Not when her father and her new husband looked apt to kill each other. Not when she couldn’t forget what her change in circumstances might cost her family.

  Worse, her father’s men and Graeme’s men were staring at one another with open distrust, or worse.

  Sara had insisted they stay for the midday meal—a wedding feast, she’d said. And while the remaining guests enjoyed Cook’s cherry tarts and custard, Gillian had spent the past few hours trying to reconcile the vast changes in her future.

  She had barely even spoken to her parents or Allie alone. Her mother had helped her into her wedding gown earlier, the same one she’d worn for the May Day celebration, but she’d said precious little.

  When the maids finally left them alone together, there was but a moment for Gillian to question her mother’s odd behavior. To which her mother replied, “God is a mystery to us.” And then promptly kissed her on the cheek and left. Her sister was acting just as unusual and seemed to be avoiding her.

  The wedding itself had gone by in a blur. Sara’s excitement had infected her briefly, especially since her husband looked handsome when they wed, but the scowls exchanged between him and her father had quickly dampened her mood. This was no way to begin a new life, albeit one with a man who made her forget how to walk straight. And yet, after Kenshire’s priest announced them as husband and wife—imagine!—and he leaned down to kiss her, Gillian was reminded of their exchange in the garden. Of the passion she’d felt for him.

  That push-pull between excitement and devastation had tugged at her all day.

  “You’ve hardly eaten anything.”

  They sat, as honored guests, on the raised dais next to the lord and lady of Kenshire. Gillian had tried to remember that fact each time she looked out at the crowd. She’d not have her wedding day remembered as the one where the wife and groom appeared as if they wanted to kill each other.

  “I’m not hungry, my lord.”

  “Graeme . . . if it pleases you, my queen.”

  “The last time you called me that, we were strangers.”

  He picked a cherry out of the tart in front of them and popped it into his mouth.

  “And we’re strangers still,” he said with a grin.

  “Indeed, we are. After we go back for my belongings, I—”

  “Go back?” He appeared genuinely confused. “Lady Gillian, we will be leaving for Highgate End immediately after the meal.”

  “Leaving for . . . but my belongings? Surely you cannot believe—”

  “I do apologize,” he said. “But urgent matters require that we return immediately. Your parents have assured me your belongings will be sent to you. And Highgate End is but a few miles north of the border. We can visit as often as you’d like. But we must—”

  What had made her think she’d have any choice in the matter? From father to husband. Perhaps she’d merely exchanged one man’s rule for another.

  “I believe you will like it there.”

  She looked at the clan chief who had been nothing but kind to her. How was it possible that they were now married? How could she help her family?

  “I’m sure I will . . . Graeme.” She finally put a cherry from the dessert into her own mouth, sucking in the sweet, tart taste.

  Though he’d given her leave to call him by his given name, it sounded much too intimate to her own ears.

  Intimate. They would share the intimacies of husband and wife. Tonight.

  Several things happened at once. Her heart beat faster, a wave of heat washed over her, and she began to choke on the cherry.

  “Are you unwell, my lady?”

  “Gillian,” she said, waving off his concern.

  “Are you unwell, Lady Gillian?”

  He’d deliberately misunderstood. So her husband had a sense of humor.

  “Nay, it’s just that . . .”

  He leaned forward. “That what?”

  Gillian could hardly be honest with him. That particular topic had gotten them into this mess.

  “That I’m married,” she blurted.

  Graeme turned away, spoke to Sara briefly, and stood. The next moment, he extended a hand to her and she took it. He must have asked for permission to leave before the meal was over. Normally, the bride and groom leaving their first shared meal would be cause for celebration. But this was not an ordinary wedding. The feast . . . the music . . . they had been arranged to herald a new season, not a new union.

  Before they slipped from the hall, Gillian caught her father’s eye. Well, at least she had her answer. He was, indeed, still furious with her.

  She followed Graeme into the corridor and up to a small alcove that overlooked the very place they’d gotten into trouble. When they sat, she still had to look up, though not quite as far, to meet his eyes.

  Her husband’s eyes. They were kind eyes. She’d not noticed that before.

  “I am sorry for this,” he said. And it appeared that he meant it.

  “I am as much to blame as you,” she said.

  “Are you scared?”

  What an odd question. “Nay,” she said. But then thought better of it. In fact, she was scared, but not for herself.

  “Good,” he said. “There may be some in my clan who will question your—”

  “That I am English?”

  He seemed to regret his words. “Aye. But most feel as I do.”

  “Which is?”

  The set of his jaw changed, and suddenly it was the clan chief she sat with, and not the man. “To live this close to the border, peace can only be achieved by forging alliances on both sides. To ignore our shared land, and history, is to ignore our future.”

  “My father . . .” She’d meant to tell him that her father thought much the same. She’d always admired his steadfast faithfulness to the borderlands. To peace. But some of the men he’d allied with recently were questionable. Instead, she spoke for herself.

  “I believe that as well,” she said.

  “You were going to say something about your father?”

  Her father who now hated her. Her father whose future she’d put in jeopardy . . .

  “I need to speak
to him.” She stood so fast her foot nearly caught in the hem of her gown. “Pardon me, my lord.”

  And without a backward glance, Gillian left her husband to have the conversation she’d dreaded all morning. Though she barely dared to hope, perhaps it would dispel the nagging suspicion that had plagued her.

  That her father would never forgive her.

  His wife.

  Graeme sat back, watching her leave, trying to imagine what Aidan and the rest of his clan would say. They would accept her or find another clan. Most agreed with him about the English, but some of the elders had been pressuring him to strengthen their existing alliances through his choice of a wife. They would be less than pleased about this development. His brother harbored no hatred for their English neighbors, but he’d be surprised by the new development nonetheless. Graeme had confided in him that he no longer planned to marry. Not after Catrina . . . and then Emma.

  Graeme did not regret the decision, for there had been none other to make. He’d dallied with the wrong woman, knowing it could get him into trouble, and now he’d pay for his weakness.

  So be it.

  But that didn’t mean he enjoyed being fleeced for the most outrageous bride price anyone had likely ever paid. Had Gillian’s father not been such an unabashed opportunist, he would have been happy for the alliance to the powerful border lord. As it was, he couldn’t wait to get as far away from Lord Lyndwood as possible.

  “Most men aren’t quite so forlorn on their wedding day.”

  He hadn’t noticed Emma’s approach.

  “May I?” She gestured to the seat beside him.

  “Of course,” he said, watching her.

  She was a beautiful woman—always had been—but he was surprised to discover she no longer had the same hold on him. In fact, he found himself thinking longingly of Gillian’s faint freckles as he looked at Emma’s clear complexion.

  “So it seems you’ve joined our ranks in married bliss,” she teased.

  “Bliss?” He tried not to sound bitter. “I’m not sure I’d call a forced wedding ‘blissful,’ but you have the right of it. I am, indeed, a married man.”

  “Is it true you were deceived?”