The Warrior's Queen

by Cecelia Mecca

  He moved the cloth down to her neck. “I’d never betray you Gillian. Surely you know that?”

  She did. Or was beginning to.

  “Why didn’t he question you further?” She thought of the strange look that had passed between them and wanted to understand.

  “We are allies.”

  Gillian waited, but he did not say anything more.

  “And?”

  “And I asked him to trust me, so he did.”

  “But you never said—”

  “I didn’t have to.”

  “When my sister asked me to trust her, I did not do so immediately,” she said, staring into his tawny eyes. What did that mean? Was Graeme just more loyal than she was?

  “But you did.”

  She thought of how many times Allie had begged her. “Aye. Eventually.”

  When Graeme began to rise, she stayed him with her hand.

  “Whenever we speak like this, you leave. Can you not stay?”

  The tender look he’d been giving her transformed to his familiar chief look. She had his answer even before he opened his mouth.

  “The men are waiting.”

  “Graeme, why do you do this?”

  He stood despite her plea. “Do what? Gillian, we really must—”

  “Sometimes you’re so open with me, so tender and loving. But at other times, like now . . .”

  When he didn’t respond, she pressed on. “. . . you might as well be a stranger to me.”

  Graeme looked as if he were about to say something, but he took her hand instead.

  She pulled it back. “Nay, Graeme. Talk to me. Please. Tell me why I’m speaking to the clan chief now, and not my husband.”

  “Gillian, I don’t know what you want me to say.”

  “I want you to tell me how it’s possible that the man who makes love to me so passionately is the same one who walks away every time we speak of anything more than border politics or my family. Won’t you let me in?”

  Gillian hadn’t realized how desperately she wanted to deepen their connection until that moment. She held her breath waiting for his answer.

  He dropped her hand.

  “I cannot.” With that, he turned and walked away.

  It took her a moment to realize he wasn’t coming back. Part of her wanted to stay, to force him to come back to fetch her. But that wasn’t going to help anything. He would simply remind her that she had no choice but to follow. The men were waiting.

  So she put one foot in front of the other, the mud conspiring to slow her pace, until the men came into view.

  Her husband had already mounted. Sitting straight and tall, his expression grim.

  The clan chief.

  The man she foolishly loved.

  For the remainder of the ride back to Highgate, Graeme thought of Gillian’s question.

  Won’t you let me in?

  At dinner, he hardly spoke. The hall had since been cleared of evidence of the meal, and conversation swirled around him as he sat at the hearth. His gaze returned again and again to his brother and Gillian. Aidan was regaling her with stories about their youth over a chessboard. Until now, Graeme hadn’t realized she could play chess, though he shouldn’t be surprised. Though sheltered, his wife was remarkably intelligent. She listened intently.

  It was one of many, many endearing qualities about his English queen.

  So why not let her in?

  “A commendable move for someone who apparently had quite the headache earlier today,” Aidan said to her.

  He watched from the corner of his eye, noting Gillian did appear much recovered. They’d arrived with enough time for her to call for a hot bath, which she’d taken in her own chamber. He hadn’t said anything, unsure what to say really, and had instead used the time to catch up with his brother.

  “Nothing a little rosemary- and lavender-scented bath wasn’t able to cure.”

  So that was what he’d smelled when he escorted her to the hall. Mixed with the scent that was pure Gillian, a heady combination, Graeme had nearly marched her right back to their chamber.

  Until he remembered she had reason to be upset with him.

  “Ahh, the Englishwoman strikes again.”

  Graeme ignored them, uncomfortably aware that the dull ache that started in his chest and ran up to his heart was partially self-induced.

  Or completely self-induced.

  “I must leave you to contemplate your next move. I fear the events of this long day are beginning to take effect.”

  Gillian stood, so he did the same.

  “Stay, Graeme. I fear my headache is returning, so I shall retire for the night.”

  “I’d like to speak with you anyway,” Aidan said to him.

  He looked from his wife to his brother and relented. When Fiona appeared from the side of the hall to escort Gillian away, he simply watched her go. His feet, suddenly made of iron, refused to budge.

  “Come, drink with me.”

  When the last bit of her yellow gown disappeared, he turned to Aidan. Joining him, he lifted his mug and his brother did the same.

  They drank in companionable silence until Aidan broke it. “You are an arse, you know.”

  Graeme didn’t need to ask what he meant. “I suppose I am.”

  Staring at the fire, he raised the mug to his lips and drank. “You are also a lucky man, Graeme.”

  He frowned. “Aye. Lucky indeed.”

  Aidan looked confused—and well he should. Graeme hardly understood himself. He turned to look at the hall, mostly empty with the exception of a few servants who had begun to push the trestle tables to the side of the room against the walls.

  “What is it? What could possibly be wrong? You yourself said Lyndwood will not work against us. Douglas is coming in two days’ time to speak to you personally about what happened. All is as well as can be expected for the moment.”

  He looked up, not wanting to talk about Gillian with his brother, but needing to do so. “It’s not the border troubles.”

  “Then why are you so distant with Gillian? The wife you didn’t want but were lucky enough to get anyway?”

  “Nay, I didn’t want her. Not Gillian nor any wife. Not after Catrina. And then Emma.”

  There, he’d said it aloud.

  But Graeme already wished he could take it back. He didn’t believe he meant it, and surely it wouldn’t help matters to voice his insecurity.

  “What do either of them have to do with Gillian?”

  Was his brother daft?

  “You want me to explain it to you?” he asked incredulously.

  “Aye, I do.”

  Graeme shook his head. “I’ll not—”

  “You were never in love with Catrina. Not in that way.”

  “We were promised to each other for years—”

  “What does that matter? You pledged as children to be together. The foolish actions of our relatives tore the alliance apart, aye, but be thankful it did. Otherwise you would now be married to a woman who is more akin to your sister than—”

  “Aidan!”

  “I just meant . . . the two of you were friends. Nothing more. You know it as well as I do, brother. And you also know she belongs with Bryce Waryn.”

  “Of course I know that. She is expecting a child, so I’ve heard, and I’m happy for them. But that isn’t what I meant.”

  “And Emma.” Aidan shrugged. “You cannot say you cared for her?”

  He didn’t answer.

  “She is a beautiful, charming woman, aye. And you, for some unfathomable reason, were looking for a wife. ‘To start a family,’ as you said. But it was nothing more than that. None of this has shite to do with Gillian.”

  Graeme looked at Aidan incredulously. “It has everything to do with her. Don’t you see, brother? Catrina. Emma. Mother. Even when they care . . .”

  She asked for more than he could give.

  “As I said earlier. You are an arse.”

  A sadness descended on Graeme, r
eminding him of the day he’d learned Catrina had married Bryce Waryn. It was true he didn’t love her in that way, but he had imagined her as his wife for many, many years. For some reason, her defection had still hurt.

  “That might be true,” he finally responded. “But this arse is your brother whether you care for the fact or not. And he is going to bed.”

  Graeme stood. He and his wife still had matters to sort out between them, but they were perfectly in accord in one way, and at the moment, he needed that. Needed her.

  Tonight more than ever.

  25

  Two days after Graeme found Gillian sleeping in the lady’s chamber, and not his own, he woke in his empty bed to a sound from the wardrobe room. Acting on impulse alone, he jumped up, grabbed his sword, and ran to the door.

  Opening it, he discovered Gillian’s maid attempting to move a large trunk from the center of the room. She turned to him, gasped, and promptly spun away. He looked down at his nakedness and the sword, closed the door, and went back to his own chamber.

  Well, how was he to know the maid would be up earlier than the rest of the household? If he hadn’t been sleeping, he may have even been sufficiently able-minded to realize it could easily have been his wife. Graeme dressed and went to the door once again. This time, he opened it without his sword in one hand.

  “Mistress Morgan?”

  Had she fled already?

  The maid stepped out from behind a wooden screen.

  “My lord,” she bowed.

  “My apologies,” he said. “I—”

  “Nothin’ to be sorry for, my lord. I am sorry to have woken you. But last night Gillian mentioned moving some of her gowns in here, so I thought to tidy it a bit.”

  “Thank you, Morgan. I will leave you to it.”

  He closed the door once more and retreated to the empty chamber that had never felt more so. It was unconscionable, to be so close to Gillian and yet so far away.

  That first night, he’d wanted to wake her, but she’d suffered from a headache for most of the day. It wouldn’t have been right to rouse her for the simple reason that he wanted her in his own bed. After spending the following day hearing complaints and administering justice, he’d assured himself he would speak to Gillian at the evening meal.

  When she’d requested that her meal be brought to her chamber, Graeme should have gone to her. Instead, he had spent the evening congratulating himself on being right about his wife all along. It was exactly as he’d thought from the beginning. She wanted nothing to do with him.

  As a husband, at least. If she wanted to be with him, to give her all of himself, as she’d suggested, then surely she would have come to him by now.

  A little voice in his head told him he was being foolish, that she was right to be upset with him, but something had stopped him from going to her. Perhaps pure stubbornness.

  He shook his head. He would need to resolve this soon, but not this morn. He needed to find Aidan to ensure they were prepared for today’s meeting with Douglas. They had much to discuss with the Lord Warden, namely how to influence March Law revisions and ensure guilty parties were punished and not set free.

  As expected, very few were about the castle at this time of day. He greeted those who were and walked through the hall and outside, into the courtyard. The sun had just barely begun its ascent into the sky. Though dampness hung in the air still from a light rain the evening before, the clean, crisp air was just what he needed.

  “Morning, brother.”

  “Aidan,” he said, without turning around.

  “Have you spoken to Malcolm?”

  Graeme thought back to the previous day. “No, why?”

  His brother stood next to him, his arms crossed.

  “He says the men are becoming anxious.”

  “As they do whenever we fail to rush headlong into battle after a provocation. I am not surprised.”

  “Nay, Graeme. It’s more than that. Old Ned says the unrest reminds him of just before the first Day of Truce was first negotiated.” He paused. “When is the last time you can remember a woman being killed in a raid?”

  That was easy. “At Bristol.”

  “Aye, years ago. And now Grace . . .”

  His voice trailed off, but Graeme understood Aidan’s concern. He shared it. “This is precisely why Douglas is coming here. He’s met with the new English Warden, and it is my understanding there will be another meeting with the English before the next Day of Truce.”

  “Meetings. That’s all we do any longer. Meet. Discuss—”

  He was not in the mood for this. “Am I chief or no?”

  His brother didn’t answer.

  “We meet with Douglas. And hope for peace. If it can’t be achieved . . .” He shrugged his shoulders. “Then we do exactly what Old Ned and the elders did before us.”

  “Which is?”

  “We go to war with the English.”

  Although he was quite sure his own English war had already begun.

  “Nay, I didn’t want her. Not Gillian nor any wife. Not after Catrina. And then Emma.”

  Get out of my head.

  The words intruded on her sleep and during every waking moment. Gillian held a pillow atop her head, trying to rid herself of them for good, but they stubbornly refused to go away.

  She could hear Morgan moving about in the adjoining room but was not ready to wake just yet. In fact, Gillian would be content to lay here for the remainder of the day. If only she hadn’t gone back for Graeme that night. And to think she’d returned to the hall to ask if he’d be up shortly. She’d still wanted to talk to him. To make things right.

  She hadn’t meant to listen to the conversation, and was, in fact, surprised neither man had seen or heard her approach. But unfortunately, she had heard. And now, no matter what she did, Gillian couldn’t unhear the words Graeme had spoken about her.

  Well, of course he didn’t want to marry you. This marriage was forced upon us both.

  True, of course. But though she had known of his former interest in Catrina and Emma, Gillian had not realized how deeply they had hurt him.

  Still, ignoring her husband was not a solution to their problems. Though she couldn’t do anything to solve her sister’s problems or her parents’ financial issues, she could surely do something to improve her own life.

  Gillian tossed her legs over the side of the bed and called for Morgan. The maid appeared after the second time she called her name.

  “Good morn, my lady.”

  “Good morn, Mor—” She just realized where she’d emerged from. “What in the name of the king were you doing in there?”

  When a flush crept up her face, Gillian was even more confused. Surely the maid shouldn’t be embarrassed to have been found in the wardrobe.

  “You mentioned moving some of the trunks in there, my lady. You know I rise early and so . . .”

  Gillian knew Morgan well. Something was amiss.

  “Morgan?”

  “Aye, my lady?”

  “Is there something else you are not telling me?”

  “Aye, Lady Gillian.”

  She waited, but Morgan simply stared at her toes.

  “And do you plan to tell me some time this morning?”

  Still, nothing.

  “I saw your husband,” she finally blurted. “But not really! The door to his chamber burst open, and when I looked . . . but I spun around so quickly, I really didn’t see much at all.”

  Gillian was about to tell Morgan not to be so silly, that she’d done nothing wrong, of course. But she decided to tease her maid instead.

  “Are you sure you saw nothing at all?”

  Morgan swallowed but didn’t move otherwise.

  “I know my husband does not sleep with any clothing. Did you perhaps—”

  “I saw it! But ’twas so quick, I did not get a good look, I swear. I couldn’t help it.”

  Gillian burst out laughing. She just couldn’t keep it in. “Your face. I’m so sor
ry, Morgan. I should not have done that to you.”

  In truth, she was glad she had. It had given her a moment of pure amusement amidst all the stress and pressure of the last several days.

  “Oh, you are evil,” Morgan said, shaking her head.

  “Come and help me dress. That very fine man you got a peek of is the same one I must now speak to.”

  Morgan made a quite unladylike sound. “If I had a man as such, I’d not be talkin’ to him, and that is the truth.”

  Gillian chuckled, feeling much better than she had in quite some time. Avoiding Graeme only made her feel worse. It was time for a new strategy, one she should have tried from the start.

  26

  He was nowhere to be found.

  Gillian broke her fast alone, joined by neither Graeme nor Aidan. Finally, spying Fiona at the other end of the hall, she made her way toward her.

  “Fiona,” she called out, “have you seen Graeme this morn?”

  Gillian could not have been happier with how well Morgan and Fiona were getting along. In fact, the two had become practically inseparable. Yesterday, when a stableboy was overheard saying that Highgate had become overrun with English, Fiona had taken care of the matter herself. Insisted on it, actually. Gillian wasn’t sure what she’d said to the boy, but he’d apologized to both her and Morgan. Begged her not to mention the incident to the chief and promised never to say another bad word against his lady, or her maid, “until the day I die.” A long time for such a young lad.

  So she wasn’t surprised to see Morgan just behind the older woman.

  Fiona looked into the air, her nose scrunched in concentration. “I don’t believe I have, my lady. Were they not at the morning meal?”

  Gillian shook her head. “Nay, they were not.”

  So much for her idea. It would be difficult to make things right with Graeme if she could not talk to him.

  Her shoulders sagged.

  “Have you forgotten about Master Timothy, my lady?”

  “Who?”

  “The merchant I mentioned. He usually stays just a few days, so I thought perhaps—”

  She’d nearly forgotten. What a treat it would be to visit him. “Oh aye, Fiona. ’Tis just what I need. Would you two care to accompany me?”