The Warrior's Queen

by Cecelia Mecca

  Graeme explored her head with his finger. “No bump,” he said, looking at Aidan.

  She never wished to see such despair and hopelessness on his face again, but what could she do?

  “Go to Donnan,” Graeme said to Aidan. “Perhaps he knows who his wife turned to for advice.”

  “Grace? Ask for advice?”

  Graeme’s eyes narrowed. “By the time we find another healer—”

  “I’ll go,” Aidan said, apparently realizing he had no other choice.

  When he left, Gillian began to pace. Her sister had an interest in the healing arts, but she had never given them much attention. As Graeme and Morgan watched her, Gillian walked back and forth, thinking, praying. Why did they stare at her so?

  “What will we do?” she finally blurted. “If no one can be found—”

  “Don’t say that,” Graeme said. “Fiona will be healed.”

  Typical Graeme. He never wanted to hear a bad word spoken, as if fearing something would make the deed come true. What other choice did they have but to hope and pray? But she would think only good thoughts, for Graeme’s sake. Fiona would be healed. Fiona would be healed. Fiona—

  “Morgan!” She ran to the maid who stood quietly by the old woman’s side, holding her frail hand. “Do you remember the boy at Lyndwood, the one who followed Allie around as if she were his mama?”

  “The marshal’s nephew?”

  “Aye.” Gillian started pacing again, excited by the thought.

  “Gillian, come here,” Graeme said.

  When she went to him, her husband merely grabbed her hand. She looked at him in confusion until she realized her walking back and forth worried him. Despite his assurances that all would be well, his face was nearly as pale as Morgan’s.

  “Graeme,” she said with as much confidence as she could muster. “Fiona will not die today.”

  He didn’t look convinced. And neither was she, but if he could will good things, then so could she.

  “Fiona will not die today. Do you hear me?” She turned to the woman who had welcomed her from that very first day. “Fiona, you may not leave us. I’ve much to learn about Highgate. You said yourself Morgan is only passable as lady’s maid.”

  Morgan looked up, and Gillian shrugged. Mayhap she should not have said that. Though Fiona had said it fondly.

  “She needs you. Highgate needs you.”

  “My lady,” Morgan pressed, “the boy?”

  She’d nearly forgotten. “Oh, aye. Do you remember two summers ago when the boy did much the same as Fiona? Simply dropped as if someone had clunked him on the head?”

  Morgan nodded. “I do, but—”

  “I saw it happen. Like her, he had no other ailments—”

  “But, my lady, he was just a young boy. And Fiona . . .”

  She looked at the old woman as if to say the two patients were very different. And while that was true, something told Gillian she was right. She tried to remember what Lyndwood’s physician had said. The boy had experienced a similar event before. The first time, his lips had gone blue and his hands had developed a tremor.

  They’d called the priest, thinking the boy possessed. Of course, that was not the case, and he’d healed just fine after being treated with . . .

  Fiona would do the same.

  “Morgan, we need rue.”

  She and the maid stared at one another before Morgan fled in search of an herb Gillian prayed they grew at Highgate.

  Gillian went to Fiona’s side and took the maid’s place. Graeme joined her there. She was no healer, and Gillian wasn’t even sure how to administer the herb. But they had to try. Neither she nor Graeme spoke until Morgan returned in a rush. When she handed her a potent-smelling blue-green herb, Gillian wordlessly crushed a bit of it into the palm of her hand.

  At least she knew the bitter smell meant only a small amount should be given. Would Fiona take it in this state? Would it be too much? Too little?

  “Open her mouth,” she said to no one in particular. When Graeme did so without question, Gillian placed the crushed herb under the maid’s tongue, just as she’d seen Lyndwood’s healer do many times before.

  And then they waited.

  After what seemed like days, Fiona’s eyes fluttered open.

  “Fiona,” Graeme said, the relief in his voice making Gillian want to weep.

  The woman took a deep breath and opened her eyes fully. “Where am I?”

  Gillian looked around at the unused chamber, glanced at her husband and Morgan, and said, “Your bedchamber.”

  Her husband’s tender smile tugged at her heart.

  “My . . .” She tried to sit up, but Graeme pressed her back down.

  “Aye, your bedchamber. I will not be using it, and ’tis a shame for such a room to remain empty.”

  Fiona laid her head back down.

  “What happened?” she asked.

  Fiona shook her head. “I know not. I remember thinking to check on the grain stores, and I was walking.” She looked at Morgan. “With you?”

  “Aye, Mistress Fiona. And then you fell.”

  “I did?” She closed her eyes once again. “I don’t remember it, lass.”

  “Does anything hurt?” Graeme asked.

  Fiona shook her head. “Nay. My thoughts are unclear, as if I am reaching for something I canna’ grasp. But no. Nothing.”

  Gillian wasn’t sure why her hands began to shake again. Fiona appeared to be just fine. She was not going to die on them . . . at least not yet.

  “Someone should stay with her through the night,” Graeme said.

  “I will do it.” Both she and Morgan said it at the same time.

  Graeme leaned down and placed a kiss on Fiona’s forehead “I will go find Aidan. Stay with her, but you will both sleep tonight. I will stay awake to watch her.”

  “My lord, I can—”

  “Thank you, Morgan. But Fiona has been with me since I was a babe. I wish to ensure she is truly well. Besides”—he looked at Gillian—“I am not likely to get much sleep anyway.”

  They all turned to look at her. Morgan and Fiona both smiled, though they misinterpreted his remark.

  With that, Graeme came around to Gillian, reached for her hand, and leaned down to give her a kiss on the cheek.

  “But you—” She stopped, aware that she could not publicly reprimand her husband for kissing her. Oh, but he was the devil himself.

  Exhausted, Graeme left his men on the lists and walked back toward the castle. Highgate had originally been built without a training yard. Two years before the first Day of Truce, Graeme’s father had fortified the castle’s defenses against raiders from both sides of the border and designated the east side of the outer bailey for training. Rather than walk toward the gatehouse, Graeme instead made his way to the secret entrance he’d used with Gillian.

  That day in the bakehouse. He could remember the look in her eyes when he’d taken her finger into his mouth. He’d wanted so badly to kiss her then, though no more so than he did at this moment. Or every moment, in fact.

  Three more days.

  Graeme climbed the stairs and made his way to the lady’s chamber, intending to check on Fiona. He’d stayed up all night, watching the old woman sleep, thankful to still have one of the only people who’d known him as a babe. He and Aidan had lost their entire family, slowly but surely, over the course of a decade or so. When his brother had returned, unable to find a healer, Graeme wasn’t surprised he had nearly wept at the sight of an awake and alert Fiona.

  When he opened the door now, Morgan put a finger to her lips and indicated for him to leave. Fiona was sleeping.

  He backed out of the room, content for the moment, and went to his own room, intending to close his eyes before dinner. How had he stayed awake for so long during battles? He’d felt so slow in training today.

  Graeme opened the door and froze.

  Gillian stood in the middle of the room bent over, and it took every bit of will he possessed n
ot to stride over and claim her that very moment.

  She stood when she heard him.

  “I didn’t expect you so soon.” Still looking at the floor, Gillian made to bend over once again, but he stopped her.

  “Nay,” he said, much too sharply. “What are you looking for?”

  “A pin,” she said. “It fell from my hair and ’tis the one Allie gave me on my naming day last year.”

  Spotting the pin, he reached down and picked it up.

  “Are you still worried for her?” he asked, handing it over. There had been no messages from Lyndwood.

  Gillian placed the pin back into her hair. The front was pulled back and piled onto her head, but the back hung in loose waves. She looked lovely, of course, but he preferred her hair down so that he had a reason to reach for it.

  “I am. What do you think she plans?”

  Graeme looked up.

  It was not the first time they’d discussed the matter, and Graeme repeated what he’d said before. “I just don’t know her well enough to say. Though I know you worry about her.”

  “She’s just so young . . .”

  Graeme shook his head. “When my father died unexpectantly, there were many who worried about my age. They asked, and not very privately, if I possessed enough wisdom to be chief.”

  Gillian listened as he remembered the doubts he’d had himself. Ones he was determined not to share, with the exception of his brother.

  “Those who knew me well, knew my father had sufficiently influenced my training, were not as worried. But the elders took some convincing.”

  Gillian understood.

  “She could not possibly be thinking of a nunnery.” She frowned, at least able to accept that her sister was capable, despite her age. “Allie has always enjoyed the attention of young men, though precious few were suitable. But that hardly seemed to matter to—”

  “Did you?” Graeme stood dangerously close to his wife.

  “Did I what?”

  “Enjoy the attention of young men?”

  She seemed to consider it. “I believe all young women enjoy receiving some attention. In fact, young men do too. Who prefers to be ignored? But nay, not like Allie. She even rouged her cheeks once—”

  “But not from their husbands?” He moved just a bit closer.

  “I do not understand.”

  “Women enjoy receiving attention, but not from their husbands?” He was close enough to breathe in her sweet scent. To see the blue in her eyes, which shone bright and innocent. At least, much too innocent for his taste. Graeme had so much more to show her.

  “I did not say—”

  “One kiss, my queen?”

  When her lips parted, he knew she would relent.

  “No?”

  This would not be as easy as he had hoped.

  “We have a deal, Graeme. And it has only been—”

  “Four days. I know exactly how long it has been, and longer still since you were angry at me.”

  When her face fell, Graeme knew he’d said something wrong. That he’d reminded her of something she would rather have forgotten.

  “Tell me.” He wanted to reach for her. To comfort her. But the source of her upset was likely his inability to open himself to her fully. “Gillian, you never did tell me—”

  “I heard what you said to your brother.”

  He didn’t understand, and said as much.

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

  He thought back to the conversation. “Gillian, did you not hear the rest?”

  “Nay, I left and—”

  “You did not speak to me afterward. Listen to me.” He clenched and unclenched his fists, unsure what else to do with them to keep from reaching for her. “I asked Aidan what either woman had to do with you. ’Tis as I said to you. I was not in love with Catrina or Emma—”

  “That’s not what upset me.”

  “Then what is?”

  She frowned. “I know you did not want me—”

  “Gillian, that is not at all what I meant. Look at the way I’m standing right now, all because I’m desperate to touch you. Do you think I didn’t know how wrong it was to kiss you in that garden? I do not ravish innocent women.”

  “I know that.”

  “Or make it my custom to find myself alone with them. But you . . .” For a wild moment he thought to tell her the truth. To say, “I love you, Gillian.” But what if she did not feel the same?

  She was forced to marry you.

  He laughed at the absurdity of the thought. His worries were just the same as hers. How had he never thought about it that way before?

  I will tell her. On the day we finally make love again, I will tell her. To hell with the consequences.

  “I understand why you asked for this agreement, but please, Gillian. Let me out of it for just one kiss.”

  He needed to touch her or die trying.

  She raised her chin, a final defiance, before she nodded.

  It was all the agreement he needed.

  Graeme pulled her toward him, pouring everything he felt into her. He coaxed open her mouth and slayed her tongue with his own. Their moans mingled as the past days of frustrated desire melted away. In an instant he was hard, ready for an act that could not happen today.

  But, by God, he would take whatever she offered and give no quarter in return.

  He cupped her face, moving her head in just the right direction for their mouths to fit perfectly together. In the end, neither one pulled back, but a firm knock at the door intruded on what had been the greatest kiss of his life.

  “My lord? My lady?”

  “Go away,” he shouted.

  “Lady Gillian?”

  Graeme did not recognize the voice, but whoever was on the other side of that door was no longer going to reside at Highgate Castle if he continued shouting their names.

  Just as he brought his lips down once more, satisfied the visitor had gone away, the voice called out again.

  “I apologize to intrude, my lady. But it’s your sister.”

  Gillian broke away and ran to the door so quickly that it took Graeme a moment to realize she was no longer in his arms. She opened the door with enough force to slam it against the stone wall behind it.

  “What is it? What about my sister?”

  The young serving boy looked as if he wished to be anywhere but standing in that doorway.

  “She’s . . . ,” he stuttered. “She’s here.”

  28

  “Here?” Gillian asked in bafflement.

  “Belowstairs, my lady,” the boy said.

  It took a moment for the words to fully wash over her. When they did, she lifted her gown and ran toward the hall.

  “Gillian,” Graeme called after her.

  She slowed just enough for him to catch her.

  “How is it possible your sister is at Highgate?”

  Gillian didn’t like the accusation in his voice. Did he think she’d lied to him and sent for her sister despite his concerns? That she’d conjure a story about having the impending marriage under control?

  “I do not know,” she replied bitterly, moving as fast as she could.

  Bursting into the hall with Graeme behind her, Gillian ran to Allie, noticing she had brought at least four men with her.

  “Allie!”

  Throwing her arms around her sister, Gillian hugged her as if she’d not seen her in years. She’d thought about her every day and night. Indeed, her dreams the evening before had been riddled with weddings and darkness. Nightmares, in fact, though she’d only just remembered them at this moment.

  “What are you doing here?”

  Graeme reached them and inclined his head in greeting. If he suspected something was awry, there was no sign of either now. He smiled as if Allie were the king of Scotland, come to visit Highgate.

  “Greetings, Lady Allie,” he said.

  “My lord.”


  “Graeme,” he corrected.

  Allie smiled, that broad, open smile she’d had even as a babe.

  “Then please, Allie.” She turned to Gillian. “I will explain everything.”

  She looked up as Morgan hurried into the room. No doubt she’d just learned about Allie’s arrival. The women embraced as Graeme directed the servants to assist the men who’d accompanied Allie. Her father’s men.

  “I am most anxious to learn how you came to be here,” Gillian said. Turning to Graeme out of respect, though she was still peeved by his first reaction to the news of her sister’s unexpected visit, she said, “Will you join us?”

  “Nay,” he said, his expression giving no indication of his earlier mistrust. “Speak in private with your sister.”

  Allie’s smile grew.

  One more woman under her husband’s spell.

  Gillian tugged on her sister’s hand and led her to a corridor and up a set of stone stairs. The women emerged on the very same parapet where Graeme had found Gillian, kissed her, and whisked her away to their bedchamber.

  The day they’d first made love.

  “Oh, Gill, ’tis so beautiful.”

  It really was a spectacular view. Rolling hills in the distance, one so high it seemed to touch the clouds. She lifted her face to the sun for a brief moment before turning to Allie.

  “So?

  “You are glowing, Gillian. I’ve never seen you this relaxed before.”

  “Allie!”

  Her sister expelled a breath. “I suppose you’d like to know why I am here?”

  Gillian crossed her arms.

  “Are you angry?”

  She was about to become so. Allie bit her lip, clearly avoiding the explanation that Gillian was beginning to dread.

  “The Earl of Covington is dead.”

  A sudden bout of dizziness forced Gillian to close her eyes. It was as if Allie had taken a war hammer to her chest.

  Dead?

  Nay. It was not possible. Allie had claimed to have a plan, yes, but she could not have done such a thing.

  “Gill?”

  When Gillian opened her eyes, the first thing that struck her was that her sister looked as worried as she felt. “You . . . killed him?” she asked uncertainly.