The Guardian

by Greyson, Maeve

  Catriona looked up at Mercy and sighed. “He’s a wee piglet, he is, but he’s mine and I wouldna have him any other way.” She held out her free hand. “And now for his darling sister.”

  Already working her mouth and making noisy sucking sounds, Willa squirmed and squealed as Mercy turned her and positioned her opposite her brother. Cradling a babe under each arm and holding them close as they nursed, Catriona smiled down at her offspring. “I’m truly blessed.” She looked up, her smile widening. “I pray yourself and Graham will be as blessed.”

  “Are there many twins in the MacCoinnichs?” A sense of trepidation filled Mercy. She wanted children. Especially Graham’s babies. But twins? And to do what Catriona did. Every few hours. Mercy prayed she wouldn’t be charged with such a monumental task.

  Catriona laughed. “I am a twin. They run in the Neal side of the family.” She winked. “I’ll temper my prayers with the request that ye be blessed with one bairn at a time.”

  Mercy lowered herself to the bench beside Catriona. “They’re so precious.” She placed a finger in the center of Willa’s chubby little hand, her heart lurching as those tiny, tender fingers closed around hers and held on tight. “What a dear she is.” Mercy looked to baby William, greedily rootling as though he couldn’t empty his mother’s breast fast enough. “My goodness.”

  “Aye,” Catriona agreed. “The breast is nay enough anymore. To sate him and get a bit a peace and quiet, it takes a bowl of thinned out parritch for him as well. Gobbles it right up, he does.” Catriona winked. “Eats like his father. Their nursemaid will see to a fine bowl for them both afore she puts them down for the afternoon.” Her attention shifted to her daughter. “Willa’s a bit more ladylike but still a fierce eater, so she’ll be having some parritch, too, won’t ye, dear girl?”

  Watching the babies nurse, a special kinship with Catriona stirred within Mercy. The woman had opened her home, welcomed her in, and even shared such an intimate moment with her babies. Mercy caught her bottom lip between her teeth and chewed as she studied Catriona. Here sat the sister she’d always wanted. The experienced sister.

  “What is it, lass?” Catriona lifted her gaze from her babies. “Ask me anything ye wish.”

  “The wedding night.” Mercy held her breath. Had she actually said the words aloud?

  Catriona nodded with a knowing look. “I ken how ye feel right now. All uncertain and mayhap a mite fearful about what ye dinna know.”

  Mercy shifted on the bench, pinching a fold of her shift between her fingers. She leaned closer. “I’ve never…” How could she say it?

  “Been with a man?” Catriona finished. She smiled big and nodded her approval. “Good. I’d want nothing less than a pure-hearted lass for Graham.”

  “I’ve never even seen one,” Mercy whispered.

  “Truly?” Catriona shifted the babies a bit higher. “Prop a pillow under each of them, lass, the weight of them becomes too much after a while.”

  Mercy hurried to slide a pillow beneath each chubby baby tightly curled to Catriona’s side. She reseated herself and folded her hands. “Of course, I’ve seen their parts in artwork but never the real thing. The closest I came to seeing a man unclothed was at the river when Graham was swimming.”

  Catriona studied her, quirked a brow, then gave her a dip of her chin. Voice low, she spoke in a conspiratorial tone. “His…ye know.” She waited for Mercy’s nod before she continued. “’Twill seem overlarge—if he’s anything like his brother. But trust me, ’twill be a verra fine fit once your maidenhead has been dispatched proper, and ye can be about enjoying each other fully.”

  Mercy wasn’t sure if that was good news or bad. “How overlarge…exactly?”

  Catriona frowned down at her children, puckering her brow as she smoothed her thumb back and forth across her son’s chubby cheek as she cradled his head in her palm. “I’m afeared if I attempt to describe it to ye, ’twill make your worries worse instead of better.” She leaned forward. “Dinna be afraid. I’m sure Graham will be gentle and understanding.” She shrugged. “And at least your first time willna be in a cave.”

  “A cave?” Visions of rock slabs, bats, and spiders filled her mind. “Your first time with Alexander was in a cave?”

  “Aye.” Catriona laughed as she handed Willa over to Mercy, then motioned for her to pat and rub on the child’s back as she did to William. A pair of loud burps popped in rapid succession. Catriona tucked her breasts back inside her gown, stood, and sauntered around the room with William held to her shoulder. She cast a glance back over at Mercy. “Trust me, lass, when the loving’s right, it doesna matter where ye are. All that matters is that ye are.”

  “Oh, my.” Mercy held Willa to her shoulder, rubbing and patting as she walked alongside Catriona. “How did you know what to do?” she whispered.

  “Believe me when I say…” Catriona smiled. “Ye will know.”

  That’s what Mama had always said. Mercy snuggled her cheek to little Willa’s silky head, breathing in her sweet baby fragrance. She idly rubbed the contented baby’s back as she walked. “I’ll know,” she repeated under her breath. I certainly hope so.

  Chapter Seventeen

  “Ye’re sure ’tis Campbell they’ll be sending rather than the king’s army?” Alexander asked as he held out a whisky.

  Graham pulled the clean tunic over his head and yanked it down in place before accepting the wee dram. He downed the fine, golden whisky, welcoming the familiar burn in his throat. “Aye. According to Mercy, the best way that Edsbury could figure to pay his debt to Campbell was giving him free rein here with the king’s blessing.” Barefooted, he strode across the bedchamber and refilled his glass. “Ye ken as well as I that King William would prefer the clans kill each other so he didna have to bother with them.” He held up the bottle to Alexander. “Another for ye, brother?”

  “Aye.” Alexander held out his glass, scowling at the bottle like a witch studying her potion. “But Marsden insists Edsbury has since fallen from favor. Said the king appeared determined to make a good match for your lady. Even went so far as to arrange one for her.” Alexander gave Graham the sobering look that only an elder brother could give. “Reckon His Majesty would give ye his blessing for today?”

  “I dinna give a rat’s arse if he blesses us or no’.” Graham pulled on his boots and reached for his waistcoat. A grunt escaped him as he shrugged it on, pulled it snug, and buttoned it. Damned old Elena Bickerstaff. She’d stirred the pain in his wound by cleaning it out and stitching it shut. He motioned for Alexander to hand him his neckcloth. “I mean to make Mercy my wife, and we’ll sort out the rest later.”

  Alexander nodded and strolled over to the lone window facing the inner courtyard in front of the large cave that served as Clan MacCoinnich’s stables. “Sawny’s bound to Fort William with a message to Crestshire. The man willna make the wedding, but I feel certain he’ll arrive within a few days. After all, ’tis his duty to uphold peace and the king’s justice in the Highlands.” Alexander grinned and raised his glass in a toast. “He tossed Jameson’s arse in the Tolbooth once before. He can do so again. A wedding present for ye and your lovely bride, aye?”

  “Aye.” Graham accepted the toast, emptied his glass, then plunked it on the table and reached for his best coat.

  It wasn’t nearly as fine as the men at court wore, but was the best he had. He arranged his plaid over one shoulder and pinned it. He raked his fingers through his damp hair, smoothed it back, and braided it, securing the end with a leather tie. He smelled a damn sight better. Felt better, too. They’d made it to the safety of Tor Ruadh, and he was about to claim Mercy for his bride. He turned and held his hands out to his sides. “Tell me true, brother. Will this do for her? Remember, she is a fine lady.”

  “Ye’re missing one thing.” Alexander reached into the black, leather pouch attached to his belt and withdrew something hidden inside his hand. “The MacCoinnich crest.” He held out the pin with a proud smile.

>   A sense of awe, pride, and wistfulness filling him, Graham took the pin in both hands. “It’s like Da’s.” Their father’s crest had been lost in the upheaval of their clan during the plague that had decimated them and handed their lands to the bloody Campbells.

  “Aye.” Alexander took the pin out of Graham’s hands, removed the one holding the plaid to Graham’s shoulder, and replaced it with the MacCoinnich crest. “’Tis identical. I described it to the silversmith, and he made it so for me, but I wish ye to have it. I’ll have another made for m’self.”

  Graham ran his fingers over the engraved lettering of the weighty silver pin, oval in shape, and the image at its center of a fist clutching a sword raised to the heavens. “Je ressuscite. I rise again,” he whispered. Alexander couldn’t have given him a more perfect gift. He clapped a hand to Alexander’s shoulder and squeezed. “I thank ye, brother. For everything.” He’d endangered them all by coming here, but Alexander would not have had it any other way, and Graham appreciated it. Family meant everything, and he was more than a little thankful for his own.

  A rapid pounding on the door startled them both. Duncan threw it open and gave them a stern look. “If ye dinna wish to sit through Father William’s sermon about timeliness being next to godliness, I suggest ye move your arses. Catriona won’t bring Mercy down from her rooms ’til she gets word that the rest of us are waiting in the chapel.”

  “We’d best make haste,” Alexander said.

  The three men hurried down the back stairway, the shortest route to the back of the keep and the path leading to the small chapel tucked into one corner of the skirting wall. The modest stone building with arched windows waited with its double doors propped open. Candelabras bathed the altar in a golden glow.

  Father William, overly thin but resplendent in his white robes, stood in front of the altar, prayer book in one hand, and a folded length of ivory satin cloth in the other. His bushy, gray brows arched to the wispy remnants of his nonexistent hairline as Graham and his two brothers hurried into the room. “If ye wish to survive as a husband, Graham, ye’d best learn to no’ keep your woman a waiting.”

  “Yes, Father.” Graham took a stance to the priest’s left, while Alexander and Duncan took their places to Graham’s right.

  With a nod toward the smattering of villagers sitting on the benches, Father William leaned closer and lowered his voice. “Ye ken, if ye’d waited a few days, a better feast couldha been prepared and more gathered to welcome your bride into the clan, aye?”

  “We dinna have the luxury of time, Father,” Graham said while keeping his gaze locked on the doors. Mercy would arrive any moment.

  “Oh?” Father William gave him a judgmental scowl and pointed his holy book at him as though ready to drive out a demon. “And why not?”

  “Because her father’s mercenaries, the king’s guard, and perhaps her betrothed, could be upon us at any moment.” Graham shifted in place, growing more anxious by the moment. “Alexander will explain it to ye later. Can we leave it for now, Father?”

  Father William rolled his eyes and shook his head. “Always into some such mischief, ye are. Always. Ye MacCoinnichs never learn.”

  Graham didn’t hear the rest of the priest’s diatribe because Mercy walked in the door.

  Her beauty humbled him. She moved with the flawless grace of feather-white clouds skimming across the sky. She wore her long, black hair silky and flowing over her shoulders and down her back just as she knew he loved it. A simple gown of pale yellow and white had been hastily fitted for her, and it framed her dark beauty to perfection. The tawny gold of her eyes shimmered with the sheen of unshed tears, rivaling the sparkle of stars in the darkest night. Graham prayed her tears were borne of happiness. How could one such as her ever love him?

  The bundle of ivy she held between her hands trembled as she made her way to him. She held herself poised, but Graham saw the way she caught her breath and wet her lips with a nervous swipe of her tongue. Lord Almighty, if she only knew what a rare blessing she was—the perfect heartmate Graham had never thought to find. He held out his hand as she neared, swallowing hard when she took it and handed her bundle of ivy to Catriona.

  “Ye’re a rare woman, Mercy. I swear I’ll do my best by ye.”

  Father William cleared his throat and held up a hand. “Ahh now…I’ll speak the proper vows first, if ye dinna mind.”

  Mercy squeezed Graham’s hand but kept her gaze locked on the priest. “I have one request, Father,” she said in a tremulous voice.

  “What is that, my child?” Father William leaned forward with the benevolent smile.

  “Would you please use the name my mother gave me rather than Claxton?” She stole a glance over at Graham, the pleading in her eyes touching his heart. “It would mean a great deal to me.”

  Father William pursed his lips, looked over at Graham, then nodded. “Most certainly. What was your mother’s name, child?”

  “Yumiko.” Mercy bowed her head, pulled in a deep breath, then blew it out and lifted her chin. “And the name she gave me when I was born was Kimiko Mercy Rowena Etain.”

  Graham’s heart ached for Mercy. His dear woman had lost so much. Heritage. Family. He strengthened himself with the knowledge that she’d bear his name now. Clan MacCoinnich would be her own.

  Father William cleared his throat again, stood as tall as his small frame would allow, and peered out over the congregation. “We gather here to bear witness to the union of these two before Almighty God.” He made a regal nod toward Mercy. “Kimiko Mercy Rowena Etain, as christened and blessed by your beloved mother, Yumiko, do ye hereby take this man, Graham Cauley Evan MacCoinnich, to be your beloved husband, bound together until death shall part ye?”

  Tears slipped down Mercy’s cheeks as she whispered, “Yes, Father, I do.”

  With a nod, the priest turned to Graham. “Graham Cauley Evan MacCoinnich, do ye take this woman, Kimiko Mercy Rowena Etain, to be your beloved wife until death parts ye?”

  “Aye, Father, I do.” A sense of peace, a feeling of things coming together as they should, swept over him. Graham exhaled a relieved sigh and extended their clasped hands for Father William to wrap with the binding cloth.

  Over and under, Father William wound the length of satin around their hands, symbolically tying their lives together, joining them the old way. Pressing his hand atop theirs, he nodded to Graham. “Now say the words of your heart to the lady.”

  Turning to Mercy, Graham took hold of her free hand and pressed it to the center of his chest as he stared into her eyes. “My heart beats for ye alone. With every breath, I need ye. Ye are my blood. Ye are my bone. I canna live without ye. I give ye the protection of my name, my body, and my heart. Even in death, I shall find a way to ye. Never will I leave your side. I swear it upon my soul.”

  Lips parted, Mercy hitched in a sharp intake of breath and took a step closer. Pressing her hand harder against his chest, she smiled up at him, blinking away the tears. “Never have I known such love. Never have I known such acceptance. Always, I shall be bound to thee—today and forevermore. I accept your protection. I accept your love. And I swear to you that our children and our children’s children will sing of the great eternal love we shared.”

  Graham leaned forward and sealed their vows with a sampling of Mercy’s sweet lips. Aye, this was right and true. Thank God above for that summons from the king.

  *

  The strength of his hands holding hers was all that kept her standing.

  A subtle trembling had overtaken her as soon as she’d donned the lovely dress Catriona had altered for this special day. A strange jitteriness shook her insides as though her heart had sprouted wings and was about to take flight.

  Graham, handsome and strong, saying words she’d never dreamt anyone would say to her. Those precious vows had worsened her condition. So much love filled her. It was all she could do to keep from weeping with joy.

  His eyes, the deep, dark blue of them, held h
er transfixed. And then the kiss to seal their vows. The enormity of what had just happened exploded within her at the touch of his warm mouth to hers. She was wife to Graham. The man she loved. The man this union so endangered.

  “I fear for us.” The whispered words escaped her as soon as Graham lifted his mouth from hers. The thrilling happiness of the day marred by the destruction that could overtake them at any time.

  Graham shook his head, then pressed his forehead to hers. “Not today, love,” he said in a gentle whisper. “Today, we celebrate each other. Tomorrow, we shall plan a way to end this madness, aye?”

  “Aye,” she said with a helpless sigh. How could she deny them both this day, this stolen bit of time when nothing mattered but the two of them? She bowed her head and squeezed Graham’s hands.

  “I hereby proclaim the two of ye man and wife,” Father William said. “Let no man dare put asunder what God hath joined together.” He removed the binding cloth and folded it. Looking to Graham, he arched a brow. “I would tell ye to kiss your bride, but since ye’ve already done it, I’ll be waiting for a fine whisky to toast ye.” He graced Mercy with a smile. “Dinna fear, lass. Ye’ve married a fine man.”

  “Yes, I have.” Mercy never doubted that fact.

  Graham offered his arm. “Might I lead ye to our banquet, wife?”

  His words thrilled through her. Mercy took his arm and hugged him to her. “Yes, husband.”

  The few gathered in the small chapel cheered, following the couple as they made their way to the main hall of the keep. As they walked through the archway, Mercy came to a halt, staring at the view before her. The sight touched her heart and flooded her with so much emotion, she struggled to speak. “H-how?”

  Catriona appeared at her side, smiling proudly. “It’s amazing what can be done when we set our minds to it.”

  Bundles of thrift, rose, and cowslip, bound with ribbons and intertwined with braided ropes of ivy filled every nook, corner, mantle, and archway of the room. The yellows, pinks, and soft purples of the blooms made the deep green of the ivy leaves even more vibrant. The head table glowed with the finest silver candelabras, polished and lit with the glow of beeswax candles, their scent mixing with the delicate fragrance of the blossoms. Two, high-backed chairs waited at the center of the main table on the dais, draped with flowers as well.