Graham’s soul raged for the lass. He hated all she’d been through and had yet to endure. He had to find a way to help her escape this cruel web of deceit and also protect his kin in the process. “Tell me what your father said for ye to do—exactly how he said it, mind ye. I need to know so I might help ye and save my clan as well.”
“He said to seduce you. Then spurn you. Trick you into reacting.” Sadness shadowed her features as she stared off into the distance. “If I do not succeed, he swears to send me to the wharf where he bought my mother from her captors and sell me to them.” She shook her head and shrugged. “He said I’d be sold to the highest bidder.” She swallowed hard, then jerked her gaze downward. “But if I succeed and please him, he said he would send me to the abbey. It’s almost as though he knew of my planned escape.” A bitter smile trembled across her lips. “And I feel quite certain His Majesty would rest easier with my removal from court no matter how much affection he has always professed for his godchild.”
Graham mulled over all she’d said, turned back, and studied those standing at the top of the hill watching them. How many spies traveled with them? One? Two? All? How many watched to report back the details of Mercy’s progress in her assigned quest? He felt for certain St. Johns was a spy, but for a man as ruthless as Mercy’s father—and the king, he doubted very much if either man left anything to chance. Edsbury was desperate, and King William enjoyed the game. Neither would leave the gathering of information to just one informant.
Another thought occurred to him. The abbey. Her father had offered it as reward, but Mercy had said reaching the abbey was her goal as well. Did Mercy mean to seek sanctuary no matter the outcome? “Do ye mean to take vows, lass?” Such a waste. He caught the tip of his tongue betwixt his teeth to keep from speaking the sinful thought aloud. Mam would cuff him hard for such. “Do ye seek to join the order?”
Mercy lifted her hands as though at a loss. “I seek peace, Graham, and acceptance.” She shook her head. “God has not called me, but it is my hope the sisters will allow me an indefinite stay.” Her focus shifted to the group at the top of the hill. “Will you help me? If you deliver me safely to the abbey and Mother Julienne sends word to the king, that should ensure the safety of myself as well as you and your clan.”
Graham shook his head as he noticed St. Johns and Duncan had returned. “I doubt your father will allow us to reach the abbey. He’d be robbed of the chance to unleash Campbell to repay the man. He’d ken well enough that once ye’re within those walls, ’twould be difficult enough to touch ye without risking his name. Holy ground is holy ground, and not many would look kindly on him disregarding that no matter their beliefs about your ancestry.” He nodded toward their watchers. “We’ve a spy among us, lass. More than just St. Johns, I’d wager. If your father or the king gets wind that ye’ve warned me…”
“He’ll make good on his threat to sell me into whoredom.” Mercy swept her hat from her head, then rubbed her knuckles across her forehead. “What can we do to stop this?”
“Seduce me,” Graham said, a subtle plan falling into place at the back of his mind. “That’s what ye must do, m’lady. Seduce me and make them all believe ye’re determined to honor your sire’s wishes.”
Chapter Seven
Anger and the slow burn of endless betrayal filled her. It was more than obvious the seal of the missive had been ever-so-carefully peeled away from the folded parchment and then reattached. Mercy turned and locked a cold, hard glare on Lieutenant St. Johns, willing the coward to crumble. The man looked guilty, glancing from side to side in an obvious attempt to avoid meeting her gaze. Without a word, she looked to Duncan. “Did he open this in front of you?”
“Aye.” Duncan gave the lieutenant an up and down sneer that clearly said he despised the man. “He thought I didna ken what he was about, but I saw him.”
“They bade me protect you!” St. Johns defended. “It is my sworn duty.”
“Protect me from Mother Julienne? The abbess of Iona?” Mercy pointed at the stamped seal bearing Iona Abbey’s insignia. What a fool the man was. It was a wonder England prospered with such men in its armies. She snapped the missive in his direction. “And just how did she threaten me, sir? With hellfire and damnation of my eternal soul?”
Lieutenant St. Johns jutted his chin upward. “You are under the king’s protection. I do not apologize for my actions.”
Mercy turned away before she said more than she should, lifting her face to the cool spring breeze and taking in great calming gulps of the sweet air. She must not overplay this game. The stakes were far too high. She stomped a few feet away from the circle of wagons surrounding the camp, the weight of the task set before her feeling even heavier than before. She chanced a glance back at Graham.
The ceaseless wind pulled at his dark, long hair and whipped at the tail of his kilt as he waited beside his horse. Graham watched her, he stood as a man who cared not what others thought. Such a great, bear-of-a-man, tall and proud. Wide shoulders, defensive stance, commanding—he was breathtaking. The oppressive despair she’d felt since the loss of both mother and brother, the burden she carried that snuffed out all possible hope and joy, lessened. At least she had one ally. One true friend. Thank Almighty God for Graham. She swallowed hard and clutched the parchment between her hands tighter. “Help me save us both from Father and the king,” she said in silent prayer.
Unfolding the letter and studying the contents, an uneasy pounding gained strength and thrummed at her temples. She blinked hard and read the words again, disbelief and dismay fighting for possession of her soul. One sentence, written in a delicate flowery scrawl, crept across the center of the page.
“God bless you and keep you in perfect peace, my child. My prayers are with you.”
Mercy stared at the words inked across the creaminess of the parchment. They stood out in blue-black starkness like a damning brand. This wasn’t a welcome or the assurance and direction she’d hoped to receive. Had Mother Julienne rescinded the offer she’d originally made in the letter she’d sent offering condolences and prayers after the loss of Mercy’s family? The sentence sounded like a blessing meant for one headed to the gallows.
She cast an alarmed glance across the way to Graham.
Her trusted partner in this treacherous game hastened to her side. “What is it, lass?”
The fact he read her so easily brought some small comfort. She held out the letter. “I don’t understand what she’s telling me.”
Graham took the page, scowled down at the script, then lifted his gaze to hers. “I thought ye said she expected ye, had invited ye even?” He turned the paper and studied the seal, then flipped it back and studied it again. “She’s as much as dismissed ye.”
“She felt a kindness for my mother. Expressed sincere regret when Mama and Akio died. Told me to come to her with anything I might need.” Mercy wrung her hands. An uncontrollable shivering took hold of her. The early evening air suddenly felt much colder. “Did she just mean to come to her in prayer?”
“Akio?” Graham interrupted, repeating the name carefully.
Mercy turned away. How could she have so easily uttered her brother’s Japanese name that only she and Mama had known and used? Because that was who he was to her, who he would always be. She once again faced Graham, forced herself to regain control, then continued, “Akio, known to everyone else as Lord Andrew Phillip Charles was my brother. Akio was his…” she paused. The name stirred such fond memories. Akio, older by five years, had been her devoted friend and champion. “Akio was his pet name.” She couldn’t bear to say more or dwell on the memories long. She’d be reduced to tears if she did so.
Graham studied her as he refolded the letter. “I need to know how your mother and brother died.”
A nauseating chill shot through Mercy, making her take hold of the lapels of her riding coat and draw it closer about her. “A carriage accident.” She looked out across the horizon, noting the clouds skittering across
the delicate pinking of the sky as it blushed with the vibrant colors from the retreating sun. The wind rippled across the grasses of the hillside. In the distance, a small flock of sheep meandered through the undulating sea of green. “I was spared any further details.”
“I see.”
“What do you see? Tell me.” She knew in her heart the accident had not been an accident at all, but she’d never found proof or anyone brave enough to discuss the matter in detail.
“I see that ye’re in more danger than I first thought, m’lady.” He gave her a sad smile as he returned the letter to her, then held out his hand. “Come. Let us see what Cook has prepared for our supper. There is little we can do from here.”
She took his hand and allowed him to tuck it into the crook of his arm as they made their way to the fire on the other side of the wagons. Wood smoke and the mouthwatering-scent of meat roasting, its fat sizzling and dripping into the coals, filled the air. Percy, Doughal, Robbie, and Wills had already erected the tents. Her private shelter off to itself, feet away from the tent for the men. Janie slept in a small, partitioned-off space inside Mercy’s tent and, as declared at the onset of their journey, Cook slept in the floor of her wagon. Although, Janie had recently informed her that Cook had managed to rearrange enough of her supplies to fit herself back into her bunk.
Before they neared the others, Graham stopped and drew her closer. With a cautious glance about, he pressed a hand atop hers where it rested on his arm. He gave her fingers a reassuring squeeze. “Ye must convince the spies that ye mean to seduce me. Ye must be believed, ye ken?” The look he gave her fueled a more frantic fluttering in her middle. “We can wait no longer in taking control of this game. I fear your survival depends on it, lass.”
Mercy swallowed hard, struggling to speak in spite of the erratic pounding of her heart. “I’m…I fear I…” The intense blue of Graham’s eyes mesmerized her, making the simple act of forming words almost impossible. “I don’t know how,” she whispered.
She’d never seduced a man before. Mama would have been shocked and ashamed at such behavior. Mercy remembered the severe scolding she’d received over a simple flirtation when she’d been little more than sixteen years old. Mama had come close to boxing her ears, swearing that Mercy would never suffer the same fate she’d endured. You are a lady and will always behave as such.
Graham smiled, and the blue of his eyes darkened, once again reminding Mercy of a midnight sky filled with lightning. “Act as though ye like me, lass, and wish to know me better. Simple as that.”
He made it sound easy enough—and if she was honest, it was the truth. She did like Graham and would like to know him better. “I can do that.” She peered over at those gathered around the fire.
Cook was busy resettling the iron pans deeper into the coals, lifting lids, and scowling down at the steaming contents. Janie stood with a tray held between her hands, waiting for Mercy’s share of the choicest parts of supper to finish cooking.
Taking a deep breath, Mercy forged ahead. She would do as Graham advised and do it well. “Janie—rather than eating off my tray beside the fire, please set the table in my tent. For two, please.” She cast a smile back at Graham, then turned to the surprised faces around the fire. “Could you help her move the chairs, Robbie?”
“Yes, m’lady.” Robbie tossed the armload of firewood down beside the fire, then dipped his chin as he brushed off his hands on his dark, worn trews. “Right away.”
Janie stared at her, her shock apparent. “Uhm, yes, m’lady,” she uttered as she tucked the tray under one arm and hurried toward Mercy’s private tent.
“You will join me, won’t you? I know you don’t like formalities, but surely a quiet little visit while we eat isn’t too proper?” Mercy took Graham’s arm, sliding her hand up through the crook of his elbow and hugging it close. The feel of him pressed to her in such an intimate manner stole her breath. She thought for certain she’d choke on the pressure of her heartbeat pounding in her throat. She forced a smile, struggling to maintain control.
“Easy now, lass,” Graham said under his breath as he gazed down at her. He stroked her arm with the touch of a man laying claim to what he desired and intent on making it known. “I’d be most honored to join ye.” He glanced up at the sky ablaze with the setting sun. “’Tis a lovely night for a dinner for two,” he said loud enough so all could hear. “But no’ as lovely as yourself, m’lady.”
Judging by their heat, her cheeks had to be flaming. How in the world could she make everyone believe she was a seductress when she couldn’t even handle a simple compliment from the man intended as her prey? She lowered her gaze and fluttered her lashes as she’d seen her mother do a thousand times when attempting to placate her father and turn his anger aside. “You are too kind, sir, too kind, indeed.”
“Wills!” Cook clanged her spoon against the lid of one of the iron pots hanging over the fire. “Fetch me that other rabbit. Sounds like there’ll be two meat pies needed this evening.” She bobbed a quick curtsy in Mercy’s direction without looking up from the makeshift table at her side where she added another handful of flour to the ball of dough in front of her. “No problem at all, m’lady, no problem at all.” Her gruff tone hinted otherwise.
“Thank you, Cook.” Mercy took a deep breath to settle her nerves, then stepped forward, pulling Graham with her. “I sense you’re flustered. I do apologize that I gave you so little notice on this evening’s arrangements.”
Cook shook her head with a defensive jerk, looking aside as she busied herself with the rolling out of the dough. “You must do as you see fit.”
Mercy smiled up at Graham, leaning against his shoulder as she did so. “You wouldn’t mind sharing my table every evening, would you?” She fluttered a hand along the edge of his coat lapel, then brazenly pressed it to the center of his broad, hard chest. “You tell the most delightful stories, and I so enjoy your company. Please say yes. It would assist Cook’s planning in the future.”
Graham looked down at her with a lazy, seductive smile that threatened to buckle her knees. “I’d cherish such company, m’lady. Every night. For as long as ye’ll have me in your tent.”
A light cough escaped her as she almost choked. She managed an even brighter smile and tightened her grip on Graham’s muscular arm to keep from melting down to the ground. Such suggestive words. Graham played this game far better than she. With a graceful wave toward her tent, she gave him a coy look. “Shall we wait in my tent while Cook finishes our supper?” She needed to sit. Badly. Before she fell to her knees in the first swoon of her life. A drink would not be amiss either.
“As ye wish, m’lady,” Graham said in the same evocative tone that rumbled through her every fiber in quite the delicious fashion.
Forcing herself to appear a great deal calmer than she felt, Mercy allowed Graham to lead her to the tent. Janie stood waiting beside the pinned back flaps creating the door.
“All is ready, m’lady.” The color high on her cheeks and her white bonnet askew, Janie stood with her hands fisted in front of her apron. “Robbie and I took the liberty of blocking off your sleeping area so it wouldn’t disturb your meal,” she said with a pointed look. She made a flipping motion toward both sides of the tent opening. “And we fastened back both flaps so you can enjoy some fresh air whilst you dine.”
“Thank you, Janie.” Mercy struggled not to laugh or act as if she gave a whit that Janie did not approve of her private dinner with Master MacCoinnich.
“Be sure and bring us an extra bottle of wine, ye ken?” Graham said in a dismissive tone as he helped Mercy into her chair.
“Yes, Master MacCoinnich.” Janie made a perfunctory curtsy and hurried away.
Seating himself on the other side of the small, round table, Graham chuckled at the trio of flickering candles illuminating the canvas walls and flooring of the tent with a bright golden glow. “Me thinks your maid disapproves.”
“Janie’s very protective.” Mercy
smoothed her hand back and forth across the fine weave of the tablecloth. “And sometimes oversteps her bounds because she’s so close to me.”
“Can she be trusted?”
The question caught Mercy off guard. “Of…of course,” she stammered without a thought. “Janie’s been with me for almost two years.”
“Aye, but can she be trusted?” Graham repeated in a hushed tone as he glanced out the opened flaps of the tent.
“Most certainly.” His insistence put her on edge, making her second guess everything. She picked up the handbell waiting beside the base of the candelabra and rang it. “We need wine. I can’t believe she hasn’t already returned with it.”
Janie appeared almost immediately. She gave Graham a borderline sneer. “Your extra wine, sir.”
“Thank you, Janie. Tha’ll do.” Graham opened one of the bottles and filled both glasses on the table. He paused and turned to Janie waiting at the door. “Was there something else?”
“M’lady?” Janie ignored Graham with a rude shifting of her gaze to Mercy.
“Yes?”
“I’ll bring your supper soon as ’tis ready, but I shall be close until then, so you just ring that bell if you have need of anything at all, yes?” Janie lowered her chin, pinning Mercy with a fierce glare. “Anything at all,” she repeated.
“Thank you, Janie.” Mercy did her best to calm the girl with a reassuring smile. “I shall keep the bell close.”
Janie turned and walked away after one last scowling look at Graham.
“There. You see? She’s doing her best to protect me.” Mercy took a fortifying sip of the sweet wine that had always been her favorite.
“Just be careful,” Graham said as he peered down at his own glass of wine shimmering in the candlelight. “Mind your words with everyone.” He reached across the table, scooped up her hand, and pressed a slow kiss across her knuckles.
The Guardian Page 8