She thought she did, but she shook her head anyway.
“Because I desired you. And still do. Everything about you sets my body on fire. I’ve never wanted to be with a woman more than I want you. But Agnes should not be here at Highgate. And while she is still in this castle, I will not touch you. I want you to know my control is greater than any desire, even one this powerful.”
She’d never been more aware of her husband than she was in this moment. The heat from his body . . . the unique scent that was Graeme. And, shamefully, she wanted him to touch her. To make her feel the way he had those other times.
But she also admired his will. And since he’d never been shy about his desire for her, Gillian believed his words. The night before, when he’d kissed her, Gillian had thought he’d break his own vow to wait until they were at Highgate.
“What are you wearing?” she burst out, the thought just now popping into her head.
“The same thing I wear each night to bed.”
In other words, nothing.
She looked up toward the canopy above them, folding her hands in front of her.
Graeme chuckled and lay back down, his weight pulling her toward him.
“I will sleep here?” she asked the canopy.
“Aye.”
“My parents do not sleep in the same bedchamber,” she blurted. “Did yours?” Gillian peeked at him from the corner of her eye. Graeme was watching her.
“Sometimes,” he said. “Most often my mother slept in there.” He indicated the bower from which they’d come.
So why did he want her to share his bedchamber? Graeme had already made it clear theirs was not a love match.
Desire.
He’d said so himself. He desired her.
“She was loved by the people of Highgate,” he said. “As you will be.”
Gillian turned toward him then. “Fiona, perhaps. But the others . . . I’m not so sure.”
“None are more difficult to impress than Fiona. And none have been here as long. I found her after the meal, finally. And do you know what she told me?”
Gillian shook her head.
“She refused to dine in the hall until Agnes was gone.”
Gillian’s eyes widened.
“Exactly.” He reached out, his finger tracing the outline of her face. “You’ve all the allies you need here at Highgate. And will gain more, no doubt.”
Her father was the one who needed allies, but Gillian remained silent. She already felt like enough of a burden. He needn’t know of her family’s troubles just yet.
“Something is troubling you,” he guessed.
“’Tis nothing,” she said, mourning the loss of his hand when he pulled it back.
He knew she lied, but he did not press her. Nor did he turn away from her. He simply closed his eyes and said, “Good night, wife.”
Gillian watched the firelight flicker and listened to her husband’s steady breathing. How could he possibly go to sleep so easily? Was he so accustomed to doing so with another person in his bed? Well, she was not. But it seemed she’d best get used to the feeling as he’d made it clear they would be sleeping together.
Gillian smiled and closed her eyes.
12
Graeme had never had a more miserable night of sleep in his life.
He might prefer the cold, hard earth to lying next to a woman he couldn’t touch, haunted by the memory of her lips on his. The feel of her bosom beneath his—
Stop!
Though it wasn’t yet daybreak, he slipped out of the bed as quietly as possible and dressed in the dark. The shutters were closed on the only window in his chamber, and both wall torches had long since burned out.
What the hell was I thinking?
He’d been mortified to see Agnes here, but his attempt at rectifying the situation had been foolhardy. It had been difficult enough not to make Gillian his wife in truth on their journey here. But to actually have her in his bed . . .
He opened the door a crack, looked back to see her still sleeping peacefully, and strode from the torture chamber. Servants were just waking up, so there was little movement around him as Graeme made his way to the hall.
“Good morning, my lord,” a servant greeted him.
“And to you.” He sat in front of the fire, which had already been lit by one of the servants. He gripped the armrest of the high-backed wooden chair that had belonged to his grandfather and stared into the fire. Trestle tables were moved into place behind him, but he ignored all of it, thinking of Grace. The raid.
And her.
She may not ever love him. But Graeme was determined to unleash his wife’s passion. Despite a stringent upbringing and an unfaithful father whose alliances were questionable at best, Gillian came alive at his touch. It was a trait he found quite endearing.
“This is most unusual.” Aidan sat next to him, a mug of ale already in his hands.
“Brother.”
“I’ve never seen you up this early outside of the training yard.”
His own regime, slightly more stringent than his younger brother’s, was indeed predictable.
But not today.
“I’m waiting for Agnes.”
Aidan’s brows lifted.
“To ensure she understands the meaning of ‘being on her way in the morn.’”
Aidan crossed his legs in front of him. “I’m surprised at your foul mood.”
The implication of why Graeme should be in a better mood hung in the air. He’d not discuss his relationship with Gillian, so he changed the subject instead.
“I worry over recent events,” he said, which was true enough. Light began to peek through the closed shutters just next to the hearth on the outer wall.
“There have been more attacks recently, but none of them have had any fatalities since the attack on Lord Clave and Lady Emma. We know the man’s uncle was responsible.”
“Aye,” Graeme said. Garrick was an earl in both England and Scotland, and his uncle had become covetous of his Scottish earldom.
“Inverglen was punished for his involvement in that attack, proving once again the effectiveness of the current system. The offenders will be punished,” Aidan continued.
“They will,” Graeme said, crossing his arms, “especially since we have Kenshire on our side. “But it makes no sense. For Blackburn to be so careless . . .”
His brother said nothing.
Though Lord Blackburn’s only loyalty was to his own coin, something did not make sense. He had never made such an outrageous raid before.
“Do you think he intends to start a clan war?”
Aidan looked up, his eyes sharp. “For what purpose?”
“If March Law falls apart and the Days of Truce become a thing of the past, who benefits?”
Aidan thought for a moment. “Those who would take advantage of the instability for their own gain. But March Law has held for thirty years, Graeme. Despite setbacks like this one.”
“Grace is more than a setback.”
Aidan took a long swig of ale.
Graeme should apologize for that. His brother had not meant to be unkind. He was not the only one who cared about Grace. But he couldn’t get the words out.
“Chief?” The word was delivered in a quavering voice.
Both he and Aidan turned, and he immediately understood the source of the young man’s concern. Agnes stood in the entranceway, her arms crossed.
“She refuses my escort.”
His brother’s smile was too much. Graeme stood so fast the heavy chair nearly toppled on its side. He strode to the woman who’d caused him a sleepless night and confronted her.
“Agnes. We discussed this. You will accept his escort, or you may go alone. But you will leave my hall. Immediately.”
“Graeme,” she pouted. How could he ever have thought this woman appealing? She was so different from Gillian . . .
“Now,” he repeated. The servants were beginning to stare, but he ignored them.
> “I—” Her lip quivered. “Can we not speak alone, just for one moment?”
He was about to say nay when she stopped him.
“After we talk, I will leave with your man.”
Gillian would be down any moment. He just wanted Agnes gone.
“Very well.”
When he strode toward the door leading to the inner courtyard, Agnes followed.
Gillian stood at the entrance to the great hall, watching her husband walk away with his former lover. So much for his promise . . . a promise she’d been foolish enough to believe. She tried to ignore the hardening in her stomach as she walked into the hall. Spying Graeme’s brother in front of the hearth, she made her way toward him.
“Good morn, sir,” she greeted him.
He stood.
“Aidan, my lady,” he responded with a bow.
“Gillian,” she returned, moving toward the unoccupied seat next to him.
He began to move toward her, but she sat too quickly for his assistance. Gillian looked toward the entrance of the hall.
“How have you been settling, my lady . . . Gillian,” he corrected.
She could tell Aidan was attempting to distract her and immediately warmed to him because of it.
“I . . .” How to answer that?
“As well as can be expected after being forced to wed and move to a foreign land, only to be abandoned by your new husband?”
Gillian smiled. “Exactly so.”
Aidan took a swig of whatever he was drinking. “I am sorry for that,” he said, and seemed sincere. “And my brother is as well.”
She glanced toward the courtyard.
“Tell me.” Aidan brought her attention back to him as the hall began to fill with people for the morning meal. “Of your family.”
Gillian frowned.
“You’re not close to them?”
“Oh, no. It’s not that.” She didn’t want him to think ill of her family. “It’s just—”
“Tell me,” he prompted.
“I—” She took a deep breath. “I worry for them.”
She could tell he didn’t understand. What harm would it do to share her concerns? He appeared genuinely interested. And certainly Clan Scott would not feel the need to sacrifice themselves to save her family, not when Graeme so clearly loathed her father.
A bit of the truth would suffice. “I was to marry another,” she said. By his expression, Gillian could tell Aidan already knew of Covington. “My father needed the coin, desperately. I worry what will happen to them now.”
“From my understanding, your father is quite influential. I’m sure he will arrange for a way to recompense the loss.”
Aye, and that was exactly what she was afraid of. “I’m sure he will.”
Feeling rude, she asked Aidan to share as well.
“Tell me,” she repeated, “a bit of your clan.”
The corner of his mouth lifted, making him appear younger than his age.
“Your clan,” he corrected.
Gillian shivered. “I suppose, but I know there are many who likely do not want me here.”
“Nay, lass. There is no doubt of it. You are my brother’s wife, the lady of Highgate End, and a member of Clan Scott. If anyone dares cast doubt on the fact, they’ll have me . . . and Graeme . . . to face because of it.”
Though they weren’t close to the fire, Gillian’s whole body felt warm. First Fiona had declared herself an ally, now Aidan. This was a much better reception than she’d expected.
Save Agnes.
“You sound very much like your brother,” she said.
Aidan crossed his legs in front of him. “I suppose that’s to be expected.”
Aidan’s gaze turned toward the door, and the expression on his face told her Graeme had already returned. When she turned to look behind her, sure enough, her husband made his way toward them. And he did not appear particularly happy.
13
“Gillian. Aidan.” Graeme inclined his head to both of them, unable to stop staring at his wife. She sat perched on the edge of her seat, her back ramrod straight. It was as if she belonged there already, the lady of Highgate in truth.
If it weren’t for that damned fool woman.
He should not have believed her when she’d claimed to only want a word. No sooner had they found a somewhat secluded spot than she’d tried to seduce him. It mattered not that he was now married, or that he’d ended their affair, to their mutual satisfaction, well before he’d left for England.
Aidan had warned him not to get involved with Agnes, but he hadn’t heeded his advice. At the time, he’d believed it wouldn’t matter. That he’d never marry. After all, he’d tried twice, first with Catrina Kerr and then with Emma.
“The men are waiting,” he told his brother, who rightfully looked confused.
“Already? But we’ve not even broken our fast.”
“Already,” he answered. “My apologies, Gillian. It’s been many days since I’ve trained with the men, so I asked them to assemble earlier than usual.”
Aidan, in charge of their training, did not appear amused. “Why?”
Graeme couldn’t very well tell the truth. That a sleepless night lying next to this beautiful woman had already tormented him into a foul mood. One that a bitter departure with Agnes had not helped. In the end, he’d simply walked away from her while she was in midspeech. He would not continue to dishonor his wife by speaking to her, and the groomsmen could very likely hear their conversation. The last thing he desired was to be the subject of gossip in his own home.
Aidan and Gillian both stood from their seats at the hearth.
When she reached down to smooth out the front of her deep green gown, a color that complemented her dark hair nicely, he could not take his gaze from her.
Aidan coughed, gaining his attention. “Lead the way, brother.”
Gillian frowned.
“Apologies, my lady, for not breaking my fast with you. If it pleases you, I’d very much like to introduce you to some of the staff this afternoon.”
She looked as if she wanted to say something, but if so, she thought better of it. Her only response was to raise the corners of her mouth ever so slightly.
Just then, Fiona appeared from nowhere and led his wife away.
“I will take care of her,” she said, shooing him dismissively. “Go.”
Sometimes he wondered who gave the orders at Highgate. He or his grandmother’s maid? But he couldn’t lament the fact that Fiona treated him more as an equal than as her master. His mother was gone. And now his grandmother too. Fiona was the only reminder of a time when he had been surrounded by women who loved him. Who cared for him. And while he certainly needed neither, it felt good to know she was still with them, taking care of both him and Aidan.
With a bow, he strode from the hall and into the courtyard, prepared to continue on the path that would lead to the lists.
Aidan reached out to stop him. “Graeme.”
He ignored him, ducking his arm.
“Graeme,” his brother said more loudly.
He stopped.
“What’s gotten into you?” Aidan asked.
“Nothing.” Even to him, it sounded like a lie.
“You could have stayed with your wife. The men would have been happy not to eat stale bread.”
He referred to the meal that awaited them during their training.
“Fiona is with her. She—”
“Needs you.”
“I hardly think—”
“I never imagined I would be in any position to lecture my older brother about women. But she is not just any woman, Graeme. She is your wife.”
“You think I don’t know that?”
“I think you don’t know her.”
He took a step toward Aidan, his hands balling into fists.
“She is scared. And you’ve done nothing—”
“Scared? Of what? Surely not of me?” If he’d given Gillian the impression . . .
>
“Nay, you fool. Of what will happen to her family now that she’s been sent here. And likely of her place in this clan. And—”
“Enough,” he stopped him. “How do you know all of this?”
“I spoke with her.”
Graeme had spoken with her too. Had spent the past three days with her. But she hadn’t mentioned any of that to him.
“All I’m saying is that she’s no Agnes.”
“Of course she’s not.” Gillian was so much more. Kind and curious. Passionate and—
“Go to her.”
Only then did he realize why he’d held himself back. He’d opened himself up to Catrina . . . to Emma, and both had left him. Nay. He’d sooner not chance it.
“I will see her this afternoon. Now”—he continued walking—“if you’ve finished advising me how to conduct my marriage, we’d best be on our way. Suddenly, I’m itching for a match with my younger, much less competent brother.”
He couldn’t see his face as Aidan walked behind him, but he’d never known his brother to shy away from a challenge.
Sure enough, when Aidan caught up with him, he narrowed his eyes and issued a challenge of his own. One Graeme was eager to accept.
Taking out his frustrations of the past few days was the exact thing he needed to get his mind off of her.
“What is that wonderful smell?” Gillian followed Graeme into a room that, once inside, she realized was the bakehouse.
As promised, he’d spent the afternoon introducing her to the staff and giving her a very different account of Highgate than Fiona had. Whereas Fiona’s tour had been peppered with stories about the people, Graeme’s was far more focused on the castle’s defenses.
The first thing he’d said, upon finding her in the castle, was that her maid, Morgan, would be arriving in two days, something that had immediately buoyed her spirits. Finally, news from home. And then she could decide on her next course of action. There must be something she could do to help the others.
On the tour, he’d treated her much as he had on their trip. Polite. Cordial. Still, he’d occasionally give her a look that assured her that he did indeed still desire her. But the looks were so fleeting, she wondered if she’d imagined them.
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