But by invoking trial by local visnet, Blackburn had put the decision of his guilt or innocence in the hands of twelve men who would first hear a witness speak in his defense. And only if that witness was more respected and well received than the original accusers would the defendant be set free.
Which meant the man who defended Blackburn had to be—
“No.” It could not have been.
“Aye,” Graeme said, confirming her fear.
“But why?”
Her father held no affection for Blackburn. Would never have even associated with such a man before. And yet, this was the same person who’d promised her hand, and now her sister’s, to another equally nefarious man.
“No one was sure,” he said, looking at her for answers. As if she had any.
“Was it because of me?”
That unwelcome thought refused to budge once it entered her mind.
“Perhaps.”
But he clearly didn’t blame her. How could that be?
“I was not allowed close enough to him to ask,” he said. “Although, since I was armed, illegally, that might have been a good thing.”
Both sides were supposed to come to the Day of Truce unarmed, but very few did. Gillian was just glad Graeme had not gotten himself killed.
“Aye,” she agreed. “A very good thing.” She frowned. “I am so sorry.”
Gillian wanted to reach out to him, but she didn’t dare.
Graeme shook his head.
“This does not bode well for peace,” he said. “Even if I wanted to let the matter pass, even if I could convince my clan to accept the outcome of the trial.” He shook his head. “Our allies are many, and none pleased with recent events. The raid was not an isolated one, and I fear this is merely the beginning.”
Gillian felt as if the bed would open up and claim her. Or perhaps she just wished it so. Her father had helped free the man who’d killed Grace.
“The people of Highgate will blame me,” she said, thinking for the first time of the repercussions of her father’s treachery.
But Graeme was already shaking his head. “I will not allow it.”
Her heart lurched. His tone had been so fierce. So protective. If she wasn’t careful, Gillian could lose her heart to this man.
Would that be such a bad thing?
Aye, if he did not return her affection. And how could he? After what her father had done?
Allie.
Gillian could feel the blood drain from her face. She looked past Graeme, not daring to meet his eyes. How could she ask for his help now? When the only recourse would be for her father to receive the funds he needed another way? A way that did not include selling her sister off to a wealthy, crooked earl?
“What is it?” Graeme cocked his head to the side as if remembering. “You wanted to tell me something.”
Oh dear.
This would not do at all.
17
Graeme sat alone in the solar, waiting for Aidan to arrive. He’d sent word for him, and requested a tankard of ale, long enough ago for both to have arrived by now. Like the lord’s chamber, the solar sat along an outside wall, which meant it also boasted a hearth. After a visit to Conisbrough Keep in England, his father had added a hearth to nearly every outside room at Highgate, including this one.
Graeme stared at the colored stones depicting his clan crest and the other emblems that dotted the drab stones around them with blue, red, and yellow. Never could he have imagined sitting here, chief of Clan Scott, without his father, at such an early age.
The transition had been a difficult one, even though he’d served as his father’s tanist for more than a year before his abrupt death. None had expected the brawn, robust man to be felled in a battle that had started and ended in the same day.
“You’re thinking of Father.”
His brother always did have the ability to discern his thoughts and moods. Not that Graeme was particularly reticent with him.
“Aye.”
Aidan sat in the cushioned seat opposite him. Two windows, their shutters wide open, gave evidence to the fast-approaching night. He hadn’t realized how long he and Gillian had spent in his chamber—their chamber.
A servant approached with a tankard and two mugs, which she arranged on the table between the brothers.
“You’re new?”
She bobbed a curtsy. “I am, my lord.”
“What is your name?”
“Heather, my lord.”
He glanced at Aidan. The girl, no more than ten and three, was poorly attired. He intended to find out why—and to help as need be.
“Well met, Heather. Thank you for the ale.”
She curtsied again and scurried from the room.
“Where is she from?”
Aidan shook his head. “I will find out.”
“And see that she—”
“Of course, brother. But more importantly—”
“Is anything more important than the well-being of Highgate’s people?”
Aidan rubbed the back of his neck, a sure sign of his annoyance. “So prickly this eve. One would think you’d be in a better mood.”
Graeme gave him a look that would wither a lesser man.
“Very well. That may indeed have been out of turn.” Aidan took a swig of ale. “Though I am happy for you. And for Gillian. It’s about time—”
“Aidan,” he warned, and his brother thankfully stopped talking.
“What happened?”
It took him a moment to realize Aidan was talking about the Day of Truce.
“What did the men tell you?” Graeme drank deeply, cringing at the thought that the bastard Blackburn was walking free even now.
“That Lord Lyndwood, among others, spoke on behalf of Blackburn’s character, allowing him to be declared innocent.”
“Then you have most of it. None were surprised by the other men’s testimony. But Lyndwood . . .”
Aidan took a long draw from his mug before responding. “Revenge?”
Graeme shrugged. “Perhaps.”
“What will you do?”
He looked up, surprised by the question. “What would you have me do?”
Aidan’s eyes narrowed. “This cannot stand. The man was responsible for a raid that
killed—”
“I know well what happened in the raid.”
“Then surely you—”
“What? Am I to call our allies against Blackburn and all twelve men who spoke on his behalf, Lyndwood included? And then what, Aidan? We would start a war, and well you know it. We’d be back to the chaos of our grandfather’s time, when murder and kidnapping occurred daily, on both sides of the border. Is that what we should do?”
Aidan’s voice rose to match his own. “What is the alternative? To sit back and allow an English bastard like Blackburn to lead a raid on our land? To kill innocents and then walk away without so much as a lashing?”
“I don’t know.”
For some reason, Aidan’s own tone softened. Perhaps it was because Graeme so rarely uttered those words. “Cross-border raids are becoming more common. Blackburn would never have attempted such a thing even a year ago.”
“That we agree on, brother. I never suggested we do nothing. Just that we not—” he finished his ale and stood to fetch another, “—start a war.”
“If not war, then what?”
Graeme sat back down and looked at the face so similar to his own. “If not war, then peace.”
The elders would not like it, but if Aidan could be convinced, anything was possible.
“I’ll start with the most likely adversary, the one whose daughter is now my wife.”
“What exactly do you propose?”
He didn’t like the idea but could see no other way. “To speak to Lyndwood.”
“Speak to—” His brother stood, slammed his mug down, and began to pace. “Talk. That is your proposition? Talk to one of the men responsible for Blackburn walking free?”
> Graeme smiled against the rim of his mug. “Aye. Talk.”
“They will never agree. The men are mad for revenge. They—”
“Are not the chief. Come, sit back down.”
Aidan, of course, did not.
“Do not speak to me as if we were still children, Graeme. Will the others see this as an acceptable path forward?”
“If you’d sit,” he said, “I’d gladly explain myself.”
Aidan finally heaved a sigh and returned to his chair.
“We cannot go against this ruling. To do so would court criticism from both sides of the border and put our allies in the untenable position of choosing between loyalty to us and loyalty to their commitment to peace. But we can ensure men like Blackburn are unable to wreak the havoc they so desire. I must understand how this happened so I can prevent it from happening again. To us or our allies. On both sides of the border.”
From the white-fisted way Aidan clenched his mug, Graeme could tell he was unsatisfied. He understood, for he himself was still as angry as if the ruling had just occurred. But Graeme had vowed to protect Clan Scott against any outside threat. And right now, the biggest threat was the very real possibility the hard-fought peace that had kept them safe for decades would unravel around them.
Still, March Law needed to change, to be modified to fit the times in which they lived. Jurors from both England and Scotland must be included in trials. Sanctuary should be offered to those who confessed. He had said as much to the Lord Warden before returning home, and Douglas had agreed with him. Facts must be gathered first; then they would act.
He could have simply told Aidan that Douglas was on board with the plan to alter the law. But that would have been too easy. He’d wanted him to accept the outcome from his chief first.
“Very well.”
And now, to convince the others.
“Come, we’ve much work to do.”
Graeme lingered over the table to refill his mug. Perhaps just what he needed to forget the impending crisis. And his wife’s question earlier that day.
So we are stuck with each other?
She’d never seen her husband quite like this. When Fiona had informed Gillian her husband and his brother would be taking their evening meal in the solar, and they’d requested her company, she hadn’t quite known what to think. She’d changed hastily and now stood at the door watching the two men as they turned toward her. Though Graeme wasn’t smiling exactly; he had a strange, flushed look about him. He rather seemed like he was in his cups.
“Come in, my lady,” Aidan said.
A long table, quite like a trestle table but not as long, was set for dinner. Both Graeme and Aidan moved from their seats, presumably to sit for the meal. When she didn’t move, Graeme made his way toward her.
She’d wondered if this feeling—the insistent fluttering at her very core—would cease after what had transpired between them. If anything, though, it had intensified instead. Despite her worry for Allie and concern over her father’s recent actions, all other thoughts fled when Graeme reached for her.
She looked down inadvertently, trying to imagine how his manhood, so long and thick earlier, could be so inconspicuous now. Her cheeks reddened when she looked back up and realized what she had done.
Graeme took her hand and leaned in toward her. “I thought we had agreed. No shyness between us.”
His whispered words sent a shiver through her.
“I did not mean—”
“Pity if it was not intentional.”
And then he very obviously looked down, directly at her chest. When he raised his eyes, they sparkled with merriment.
“That, I can assure you, was quite so.”
Without further discussion, not that Gillian would have been able to manage it, Graeme led her to the table.
“Good evening,” she managed to Aidan.
“I will apologize straightaway, Lady Gillian. My brother and I have been in discussion.”
He began to fill his trencher with rabbit and meat-filled pastries.
“In discussion?” She couldn’t help but smile. The mood was lighter than she’d have expected given the circumstances. No doubt they had been imbibing.
Graeme followed his brother’s lead, filling his own trencher. “Of sorts.”
Gillian looked between them, wondering which of the men would satisfy her curiosity about the private meal first.
Graeme took pity on her. “We thought it best not to appear in the hall as such. And though the circumstances surrounding the failed truce day are dire, we do, in fact, have a plan.”
She could not resist teasing him. “As such? Whatever do you mean?”
She had, of course, witnessed men in their cups before. Including her father. Some became rowdy. Some became angry. But Graeme and his brother merely seemed cheerful. There was something quite endearing about that.
“Wine, my queen?” Graeme poured her wine himself. Aidan almost choked on his first large bite of bread and looked back and forth between them as his jaw worked on the food. “Queen,” he finally repeated.
“Did your brother tell you how we met?”
Aidan took another bite. “Most,” he said. “But I’d hear your version too.”
Gillian smiled, remembering their dance.
“You currently dine with the May Queen herself,” Graeme said ceremoniously.
“Ahh, I wonder who proposed such an honor?”
She glanced at Graeme, whose guilty expression gave him away.
“Well then.” Aidan took one final drink, grabbed an apple, and stood. Without further comment, he walked toward the door more than a bit unsteadily and bowed. “Until tomorrow, fair queen.”
She watched the door close behind him.
“I do believe your brother is drunk,” she said, taking a sip of the red wine Graeme had poured her.
“I do believe you’re right,” Graeme replied with a smile.
They ate more slowly than Aidan, Gillian in no rush to finish. She’d considered all afternoon what to do next, torn between helping Allie and knowing Lyndwood was the last place in the world Graeme would desire to visit. Holding her tongue earlier had been the right thing to do, but she couldn’t keep her concerns from her husband forever.
“Drink,” he said, pointing to her wine.
“But I—”
“We’ve so many troubles ahead. Enough to match the ones we left behind at Kenshire. But tonight . . .” He frowned. “I would happily tell you all will be well. But I cannot do so and remain honest. Still, I would have you leave your worries for tomorrow.”
Gillian did drink deeply then. His judgment was both bleak and accurate.
“But let us have tonight to enjoy each other.”
His slight smirk reminded her of the first time he’d looked at her at Kenshire, at once charming, sensual, and kind. Graeme was all of these things. But tonight, he was also more relaxed than usual.
If only she could say the same for herself.
Should I tell him?
“To us.” Graeme lifted his mug. “Then tomorrow, to Lyndwood.”
Gillian froze. Could she have heard him correctly? “My lord?”
He put his mug back down. “We ride to Lyndwood tomorrow.”
“We—”
Did he know about Allie? Who would have told him?
“The men want war, but Clan Scott is committed to peace, despite what transpired this week. I need to know why it happened. To assess the situation before discussing a course of action with the Lord Warden. So”—he raised his mug again—“we ride to Lyndwood tomorrow. To speak with your father.”
“Speak?” Did she dare hope?
“Aye, to speak to him. I thought you would like to accompany me—”
“Of course!” She raised her goblet high. “I would be delighted to accompany you. More than that, I . . .”
Nay. I will tell him tomorrow.
As he said, they deserved a single night without worry, and if they were t
ruly riding to Lyndwood, she would have a chance, however remote, to help Allie.
“To our wedding night,” she said, toasting her husband gladly.
18
“You’re not drunk.”
He’d never been accused of such a thing before. As Graeme opened the door to their bedchamber, he tried to gauge Gillian’s mood.
A change had come over his wife upon learning they’d be leaving for Lyndwood tomorrow. Though he’d never describe her as carefree—she was much too thoughtful for such a designation—she smiled more easily than before. The news had pleased her.
“You say that as if you’re disappointed.”
Gillian sat on the bed, out of his reach.
But not for long.
“When I first joined you, I thought—”
He began to walk toward her. The soft glow of candlelight put him in mind of her gown on May Day, the one she’d also worn to their wedding. She looked radiant, ethereal, as if she was not from this world.
“I am very careful,” he said. “Unlike my brother.”
She smiled. “I do see what you mean. But I like him.”
“As do I.” He returned her smile, taking another step forward. “Why did you think I was in my cups, my fair English queen?”
He stood next to her now. And waited.
“You appeared more relaxed than normal. Which I thought was odd given the circumstances.”
He raised his brows. “And which circumstances would those be?”
Graeme would not touch her. Not until she requested it. Even though he wanted nothing more than to slip her gown off and continue to explore every—
“Was that a knock?” he asked, certain he’d heard a sound coming from the wardrobe room.
“Oh, aye. I nearly forgot to tell you—”
But he had already crossed the room and was pulling the door open.
“Oh!” A young maidservant he didn’t recognize stumbled into the chamber.
“Who are you?” he demanded. Gillian pulled on his arm, jolting his attention to her.
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