The Guardian

by Greyson, Maeve

  Catriona snagged her arm, gave her a stern look, and pointed her back at the chair. “Please sit in the chair, m’lady. I’ll no’ have my future sister sitting on a hard bench when she looks ready to faint away from a journey that’s left her battered and bruised.” The stern set of her jaw softened into a warm smile. “I’ve always wanted a sister.”

  The young maid reappeared with a tray and slid it down upon the small table beside the chair. She poured the wine and removed the metal dome covering the plate of buttered bread, curtsied, then waited, her attention centered on Catriona.

  Catriona smiled and nodded. “Thank ye, Meg. Please stay close in case Lady Mercy has need of anything else.”

  “Aye, m’lady.” Meg gave Mercy a shy curtsy and returned to polishing the candlesticks lined up on a long table nearby.

  With a firm, unrelenting nudge, Catriona steered Mercy down into the comfortable depths of the seat. She patted Mercy’s hand where it rested on the arm of the chair. “There ye are now. Is that no’ better?”

  Mercy ran her hands along the silky weave of the furniture. “I must admit, this is a much nicer place to sit than any I’ve had in a while.”

  Handing her the wine, Catriona nodded. “I imagine so from the looks of ye. Heaven’s sake, lass, ye look as though ye were dragged behind your horse rather than allowed to ride it.”

  “I had to dive off a horse into a ravine to escape the kidnappers. It was a rough landing but well worth it.” Mercy took a tentative sip of the honeyed wine laced with herbs. Such a welcomed drink. She nearly groaned, closing her eyes to relish the sweet, reviving taste. Her stomach rumbled, growling out a loud gurgle. Mercy felt like the noise echoed through the quietness of the room. Embarrassment flooded through her. Such was not the behavior of a lady. Her eyes flew open, and she pressed a hand to her vocal middle. “Forgive me for such rudeness. It’s been a while since I had anything stronger than water and bread.”

  “Ye dove from a horse?” Catriona waved her apology aside, pulling up a stool and lowering herself to it. “To escape kidnappers?” She leaned forward and laid a gentle hand atop Mercy’s knee. “What in Heaven’s name have ye been through, lass?”

  Mercy almost wished that Catriona had focused on the rude gurgling of her stomach rather than her words. She wasn’t ready to relive all that had transpired over the past few days. Staring down at the golden wine swirling in the bottom of her cup, she struggled to find the right words. This was Graham’s family. What would they think of her when they learned the truth? “My father sent kidnappers after me.” She lifted her gaze to Catriona’s concerned look, begging the dear woman to understand. “He wishes me dead,” she whispered, then swallowed hard. “He wishes all of us, myself and Clan MacCoinnich, dead.”

  Catriona studied her, compassion shining in her eyes as a quiet sigh escaped her. She squeezed Mercy’s hand and gave her a sad smile. “Well, we shall just deny those wishes, won’t we? My father was a monster, too, lass. And my brother, as well. We canna choose the ties of our blood, but we can choose the ties of our heart.”

  A tear rolled down Mercy’s cheek. Such acceptance and understanding overwhelmed her. Her bruised, disheveled reflection on the surface of the wine stared back at her. Her voice broke as she clutched the cup tighter. “Graham has been so kind to me. I can’t imagine how I would have survived this without him.”

  Catriona gave her arm a gentle pat, then squeezed. “MacCoinnich men are the best sort of heroes.” She stood, took the pitcher from the table, and refilled Mercy’s cup. “Drink the rest of your wine and finish this oat bread. It’s Cook’s finest and will build back your strength.” Returning the pitcher to the table, she stepped back and folded her arms across her middle. “After ye’ve eaten, we’ll get ye a good long soak in a bath so ye’ll be ready when Elena and Gretna arrive. I’ll set the lads to moving a tub into your rooms so the maids can get to filling it. And dinna fash, I’m sure Alexander has already sent Sawny to fetch Father William from the village, too.”

  “Father William?” The potent wine had taken hold, giving her a warm, spinning feeling that wasn’t altogether unpleasant. She took another deep sip, leaned back into the soft cushions of the chair, and gave herself to the comfortable surroundings. “To pray for our healing?” she asked with a hitching yawn, her eyelids growing heavy.

  Catriona’s light, bubbling laugh echoed through the chamber. “I suppose he can.” Her heels clicked against the flagstones as she hurried away but the sound silenced when she paused. “After he performs your wedding, of course.”

  Wedding. Eyes closed and floating off into the softness of much needed sleep, Mercy fought to regain wakefulness. “We cannot marry just yet.” She forced her eyes wide open and slid the pewter wine cup to the table. No more spirits until she’d explained the direness of the situation. “Graham and I must not marry until the clan is safe. I almost fear to marry him at all.” There. She’d spoken the demons of her fears aloud. How could she be so selfish to endanger Graham and his people?

  The murmurings of deep voices coupled with heavy boot steps cut off Mercy’s confession. The footfalls drew closer, then Graham was kneeling at her side. He took her hand, gazing at her with such intensity, she could scarce breathe. “I overheard your words, lass. But tell me…do ye love me, Mercy?”

  Emotions warred within her, threatening to spin her into hysteria. She swallowed hard at the threat of tears closing off her throat, praying for strength, praying for control. Panic took hold at the expectancy she saw on the faces turned upon her. Catriona. Alexander. Duncan. Marsden. They all stared at her. Silent and unreadable. Waiting to hear what she would say.

  And then there was Graham, kneeling beside her, peering into the depths of her soul and looking into every shadowy corner of her heart.

  “How can you ask me that?” The tears spilled over, out of her control, their hot wetness streaming down her cheeks.

  “Because I would know the truth, lass,” he said softly as he squeezed her hand and leaned closer. “Do ye love me?”

  “I love you more than you shall ever know,” she whispered, bowing her head and blinking fast to see past the tears. “I love you so much it hurts my heart to think of a world without you. But I cannot endanger you, Graham. I cannot bear to lose you or cause you the pain of losing your family.”

  Graham gave her a sad smile and pressed a tender kiss to her hand. “Nothing in this life is guaranteed, love. I willna tell ye we will always be safe and free from fear or pain, but know this, I will always love ye—to the end of this life and well into the next.”

  “Oh, dear heavens—how can I possibly do this to you?” A hiccupping gasp escaped her as she bowed her head and pressed her forehead to their clasped hands. “I am selfish to want a life at your side, even when I know it could turn into such a trial.”

  Graham rumbled with a low, soft laugh and pressed his cheek to the top of her head. “Ye’re weary, lass, and ye’ve had a pitcher of Cook’s strongest wine. Rest ye easy and set your worries aside, ye ken? Let Catriona and the healers tend ye so ye’ll be ready for tomorrow, aye?”

  Mercy sniffed and lifted her head to blink through the tears and look into Graham’s eyes. She was so weary. It would be so welcome to entrust herself to Graham, Catriona, and the healers and block her mind of all else. “What happens tomorrow?”

  “Why, our wedding, dear one,” Graham said as he pressed his forehead to hers. “Tomorrow, I make ye mine.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  The steaming water provided healing heat, sending a soothing warmth through her aching body. Mercy closed her eyes, leaning back against the linen-padded incline of the metal tub. She drew in a deep breath of the herb-laced steam. Sweet notes of lavender wafted across her senses. Her knotted muscles eased. Pure relaxation. She’d needed this. Badly.

  “Lie still whilst I dab this salve on those scrapes along your jawline, m’lady,” Gretna said.

  Mercy didn’t bother opening her eyes, just agreed with a con
tented sigh and a turn of her head as Gretna applied a silky, cool paste to the wounds on her face. Catriona had called them badges of honor she’d earned from her daring escape.

  “Arnica for the bruise, Gretna.”

  Mercy recognized the gruff, quivering voice of the old woman introduced to her as Elena Bickerstaff, Clan MacCoinnich’s healer. The stern matron seemed wise and well-versed when it came to the healing arts, but she had no time for the pleasantry of conversation.

  “Aye, Elena. I’ll tend her bruises next. The ones on her arms are already looking better. We’ll work in more of the salve once she’s done with her bath.” Gretna’s gentle touch continued smoothing the cooling ointment across Mercy’s face.

  “Ye’ve the loveliest hair,” Catriona said from somewhere behind the tub.

  Mercy opened her eyes as she slid to an upright position and combed her fingers back through her long, wet tresses. It had taken numerous washes to rid her of all the debris she’d accumulated in the last days of the trip. “Thank you. It can be quite the chore.”

  “I’m sure, thick as it is.” Gretna shoved the back of her hand against escaped tendrils of her own copper-colored locks sticking to her temples. “I’m fair melting in here. Are ye sure that waters no’ too hot for ye?”

  “Heat heals,” Elena advised in a clipping tone that ended the topic.

  “Aye, that it does,” Gretna replied with a resigned sigh. “Lean forward and pull your hair aside. These herbs will soothe ye even more when I crush them in the heated water and rub them along your back.”

  Mercy complied, the scent of the herb bundle reminding her of Graham and his wound. “You’re certain Graham’s wound has no infection?”

  “Cleaned and sewed it m’self,” Elena said as she hooked a crooked finger under Mercy’s chin and tilted her face upward. The ancient crone, wizened with age and crowned with frazzled hair white as snow, scowled down at her with a sharp, beady-eyed perusal. Turning Mercy’s face from side to side, old Elena studied her. “The marks willna be gone by tomorrow, but they’ll be a far sight better than what they were.”

  “There, lass,” Gretna said. “Stand up now and we’ll get ye dried and tucked into a chair.”

  Mercy rose from the water, reluctant to leave its comfort. Gretna steadied her as she stepped from the tub, then helped pat her dry. While Gretna dried Mercy’s arms and legs, Catriona squeezed the water from her hair, then wrapped it in a length of cloth and coiled it to the top of her head.

  “Here, lass. This should do well enough for now.” Catriona held open a lightweight linen gown that looked more like a shift that had been split down the front, then sewn with laces spaced at narrow intervals to secure the unique robe-like garment in place once the sides were pulled together. “I’m afeared it’ll be a mite short on ye, but it’s fresh and clean.”

  Slipping her arms into the shift, Mercy wrapped it around her and tied the laces. What a comfortable dressing gown, but Catriona was right. It was most definitely too short. The hem hit her midway between ankle and knee. She smoothed her hands down the fine weave of the cloth. The odd garment had seen little use, if any. It appeared almost new. “Is this yours?”

  “Aye. I knew how I wanted it and had the seamstress make it for me after the twins were born. Makes nursing them easier.” Catriona led her to a pillowed bench beside the wall of windows overlooking the side of the mountain. “I thought ye’d find it comfortable whilst ye relax here in your room until we sort out your other clothes. Sit down and I’ll brush out your hair.”

  “I be done here,” Elena announced as she gathered up bundles and small jars and tucked them into the cloth sack slung over her bent shoulder. “Are ye coming, Gretna, or will ye be staying and telling her of that lass and the wagons?”

  Mercy’s fragile sense of peace and contentment shattered. “What lass? Wagons?”

  Gretna gave the elderly healer a stern look. “Looks like I’ll be staying now, thank ye verra much, Elena.”

  Elena waved away the words, hitched her way out the door, and closed it with a firm thud behind her.

  “I thought we agreed to let the matter go?” Catriona said in a meaningful tone as she combed out Mercy’s hair with gentle tugs. “We decided to concentrate on the joy of the wedding, aye?”

  “I need to know,” Mercy said, frustration building as she watched the non-spoken interplay between Catriona and Gretna. The two women were trying to shield her from something, something that had to do with the wagons. “What happened with the wagons? The people with them? I assume they’re the wagons that were once mine?”

  Gretna rolled her eyes and blew out a disgusted huff. “Elena stirs the shite, then leaves the smell behind for everyone else to breathe.” With a glance at Catriona, the young girl perched on the edge of the bench beside Mercy. “Three wagons came through the village. Two flats and a boxy thing all painted up like some such nonsense I’ve never seen afore.”

  “Those were my wagons,” Mercy said. “Were they headed to Fort William?”

  “Said they were,” Gretna said, her gaze shifting from Mercy to Catriona.

  Catriona stepped out from behind Mercy, a dark tortoiseshell comb and silver-handled brush held in her hands. “There was a young, rough-looking girl with them. Gretna thinks she might ha’ been their prisoner.”

  “Janie?” Mercy turned to Gretna. “Janie left with them willingly.”

  Gretna gave a doubtful shake of her head. “She didna appear all that willing to head to Fort William.”

  “What did she say?” Mercy leaned forward, intent on scrutinizing every word Gretna said.

  “It wasna so much what she said, m’lady.” Gretna scowled off into the distance as though sorting through her thoughts was an unpleasant chore. “’Twas more like the look about her. All haggard and angry.” Gretna nodded, eyes widening as she held up a finger. “And trying to twist her wrist free of that sour-faced old woman, she was. Acted as though she’d jump down from that wagon and run, if given half a chance.”

  “So, she didn’t speak?” Mercy fisted her hands in her lap. Janie’s betrayal had hurt the worst by far.

  Gretna looked to Catriona, then to Mercy, then back at Catriona.

  “Tell me!” Not knowing was always worse than knowing. At least if she faced the evil head on, she knew what she battled. “What did she say?”

  “Mentioned yourself, m’lady,” Gretna said. “Said she’d find a way to get back to you if it was the last thing she did.”

  Mercy swallowed hard, staring down at her hands resting atop the clean, white linen across her lap. Remorse filled her. What would become of Janie? What would happen to the girl because Mercy had cast her aside? The soft weight of a touch to her shoulder pulled her from her tortured musing.

  “I spoke to Graham about the lass. He and I agree. Ye canna be certain what the girl meant when she said what she did. ’Twas merely heard in passing and could mean she’s intent on doing ye harm because of how ye acted after ye found her out.” Catriona gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Graham is as rough as they come. Says what he thinks and doesna care who disagrees. But he is just and fair and has good instincts. Trust Graham and rest assured he did what was best.”

  “And if they’re headed to Fort William, as they said, there’s always work to be found there,” Gretna added. “Honest work, if the lass but looks and keeps her wits about her.”

  A knock at the door accompanied by a duet of angry wails on the other side interrupted them.

  “Oh, dear.” Catriona pressed a hand to her bosom. “I shouldha kent by the fullness that ’twas near time for my wee bairns to howl for their supper.” She hurried to the door, pulled it open a short space, and said, “I’ll be right there. Take the wee darlings to my solar.” She turned back to Mercy. “I’ll return once I’ve fed them, and we’ll see about fitting ye with a dress for tomorrow, aye?”

  “You can feed them here.” Mercy rose from the bench and hurried to the door beside Catriona. She loved litt
le ones, but the opportunity to enjoy them was rare. “May I…may I hold one?”

  The red-cheeked maid complied before Catriona could answer. “Here’s Mistress Willa. She’s the liveliest of the two and will calm right down when she sees ye’re someone new. Curious as a cat, she is, whilst all Master William cares about is getting his wame filled.” She thrust the fussing little girl into Mercy’s arms and handed the other child to Catriona. “I’ll freshen their cots and blankets whilst ye feed them, m’lady. Just ring the bell when ye wish me to fetch them.”

  “I’ll be heading back to the village now,” Gretna interrupted, her face wreathed in smiles. “I’ll have three at home looking for their supper, and every time I hold someone else’s bairn, I end up with a new one on the way. Colin is fair worn out.” She patted her middle and winked at Mercy. “After tomorrow night, ye could be the same.”

  Struggling to hold the plump wiggling baby in her arms, Mercy’s mood lightened, a sense of contentment filling her. “Thank you, Gretna. You’ll be here for the ceremony, yes?”

  “Aye, m’lady. Ye couldna keep me from a MacCoinnich celebration.” Gretna stroked the cheek of the angry baby in Catriona’s arms. “There now, Master William. Your mam’s fixing to feed ye.” She made a curtsy to Catriona and slipped out the door, closing it softly behind her.

  “Oh dear, m’sweet, howling son. Ye’ve no patience about ye at all, have ye?” Catriona hurried back to the bench in front of the window. “Let me get this beastie started and then ye can hand me dear sweet Willa, aye?”

  “You nurse them both at the same time?” A sense of awe filled Mercy. How in the world did one woman manage two hungry babies at once?

  “Aye.” Catriona gave her a look as though she thought her addled. “If I didna feed them at the same time, I’d have a bairn suckling all the time.” She pulled down the scooped neckline of her bodice and exposed both breasts. Holding William with his feet toward her back and his head cradled in her hand, she looked as though she planned to tote him under one arm like a sack of grain. The eager child kicked and nuzzled, then latched on. A gleeful grunting accompanied his ardent suckling.