Every man at the edge of the clearing cringed, then shied away, disappearing into the woods.
Graham looked to Gretna, willing her to help him find the right words. Gretna widened her eyes and fixed him with a pointed scowl.
“We can still have bairns,” he whispered into Mercy’s hair, rocking back and forth. “We’ve a clan to help us. No woman raises a child alone at Tor Ruadh. Not even the sighted ones.”
Gretna smiled and nodded at him. Praise God. If only Mercy would accept his words.
“I’d never see them,” she choked out.
God in Heaven, please give me the words. “Nay, love, but ye will. Maybe ye willna see them with your eyes, but ye’ll ken them well and good in other ways—just like any mother.” Graham set her back a step, took her hand, and pressed it to his face. “Ye see different now but ye still see. Ye’ll know them by their cries, their laughter, their tears. Ye’ll know them by their scent, their touch when ye nurse them at your breast. Ye’ll know them by the way they hug ye when they clamber into your arms for your kisses.”
Mercy settled down some. Graham prayed that meant he’d achieved some small success at calming her down.
Mercy gradually lowered herself to the ground, patting along the dirt until she located her fallen staff.
It took every ounce of strength Graham possessed not to lunge forward and put the stick in her hand. She needed to do this herself.
She picked up the staff, patted along the length of it, and discovered which end was which. Plunking it upright, she grabbed hold with both hands, supported herself, and rose. She lifted her chin and hitched in a shaking breath. She wet her lips and swallowed hard as she rested both hands atop the staff. “I…”
The waiting stretched on for what felt like an interminable span of time, but Graham bit his tongue to keep from speaking. She struggled worse when agitated. All she needed was a bit of peace to put her thoughts into words and speak.
“I will try,” she finally said.
Graham rushed to her, and she threw herself into his arms, clutching him tight.
“Love you,” she whispered.
“And I love ye, my rare, fearless woman.”
*
Such a ride. Exhilarating. So much better than the endless hours of riding in the wagon.
She’d known in her heart she was strong enough and could trust Ryū to know where she wanted to go without her having to guide him. A pleased sadness filled her. What a struggle it must have been for Graham to watch her ride. But he had understood her need and finally allowed it. God had blessed her with a fine husband. A man she couldn’t imagine ever deserving.
Her dear horse nuzzled his warm, velvety nose against her cheek, then rumbled in her ear, his whiskers tickling along her neck. Ryū speak, she’d always called it. The beast understood and loved her.
“Love you, too.” She hugged him and snugged her forehead against his powerful neck. Even though she didn’t say all the words she wished, Ryū understood. “I walk. You drink.”
The horse shifted beneath her hands, moving forward a pace. Water sloshed to her left, then he snorted. She could just make out his shadow as he stood beside what sounded to be fast-running water trickling and gurgling across rocks. A shallow burn most likely. With the sun on his other side, Ryū’s silhouette focused for her better than normal.
Maybe that was the key. Keep her face to the brightness of the sun to make out more shapes and colors. She squatted down, patting along the rocks and hard-packed ground for her staff. She’d convinced Graham to let her take her horse for water and let her walk for a while alone. That was one of the worst things about this accursed sightlessness, she had no privacy whatsoever. Graham had promised her time to herself, but she sensed whoever it was hovering just outside her shadowy vision. Someone watched her. Probably Graham, Gretna, or Duncan.
She set her jaw and swallowed hard. No matter. This was life now. Time to move on and make the best of the situation. Mama would have done so. As would Akio. She sent up a prayer for an ounce of their immense strength and fortitude.
Mercy lifted her face to the warmth of the sun, closed her eyes, and pulled in a long breath. They might’ve crossed over into England, but the fresh greening floating through the air reminded her of Scotland. Thank goodness her sense of smell had returned fully. Graham assured her she looked the same although she didn’t know for certain if she trusted his word on that or not. Graham was not above lying to protect her feelings.
Gretna had told her she’d packed Mercy’s nostrils with linen and straightened it as best she could while Mercy was in deep sleep. Mercy wiggled her nose as she walked, remembering the day Gretna had removed the cloth. She would ask Gretna if she looked the same when they returned to their tiresome speaking lessons.
Her toe bumped into something hard. Mercy tapped it with her staff, tracing the large perimeters of the boulder. Leaning forward, she touched the stone, patting along its jagged surface. This would be a pleasant place to sit.
“Mercy.”
So, it was Graham shepherding her this time. Surprising. She’d thought for certain he’d be busy setting up camp. With all the men they’d gained and the wagons, their traveling time had slowed to a snail’s pace. It had taken them well over a week to reach Hadrian’s Wall. She turned toward his voice. “Yes?”
Graham looped an arm through hers. “We’re in England now but still nearly a solid fortnight or so from Kensington.”
“I…know.” Mercy’s staff thumped against the smooth river rocks as they strolled along beside the water. “Gretna and I work hard on speaking.”
Graham patted her arm, leaned in close, and pecked her cheek. “Ye’re doing a braw job, lass. I ken ye’ll overcome this in short order.”
Mercy huffed out an angry snort. Graham had no idea of what he spoke. “Do not humor me.” That was another irritating facet of this new existence. Everyone treated her like a child.
“Forgive me, lass.” Graham slowed down, took hold of both her arms, and led her to a seat on what felt to be a felled tree. “Sit down, m’lady. Let us enjoy the peace of this place for a while.”
“R-ryū.” She’d left him by the stream.
“I can see him from here. Duncan just brought the lad a carrot, and your beast is verra pleased with him. I’m sure he’ll lead him back to the other horses.”
That knowledge settled her somewhat. She brushed a hand across her forehead, pushing back tendrils of tickling hair. She must look a mess. Gretna had said she’d done a good job with tying up her hair, but she had to have failed in securing it somehow because she hadn’t ridden hard enough to loosen it this bad. “Messy.”
Graham smoothed her hair away from her face. “Ye’re lovely as ever. No’ a mess at all.” She could tell by the shifting of the tree and the movement of Graham’s shadow he’d risen from his seat and moved to stand behind her. “I’ve done well by a braid or two in my time. Shall I have a go at it?”
Her husband braiding her hair. Mercy couldn’t decide if it was laughable or an embarrassment. What would the others think? Were they watching? Did they pity her? Or worse yet, did they pity Graham? They had to. The only time Graham touched her anymore was to guide her or give her a loving peck on the cheek like a cherished pet. Every night, he kept his pallet settled an arm’s length away from hers, stating he feared jostling her or causing her discomfort whilst they slept. She’d been a fool to worry about children. At this rate, there was no danger of them ever having any.
Enough. Such mindset was poisonous. She flitted an impatient wave in his direction. “Fix it.”
A few gentle tugs of her hair and Graham’s fingers fluffed her tresses out across her shoulders. “I ken it’s too warm to leave it down, but I do love it like this.”
Mercy closed her eyes, pulled in a deep breath, and gave herself to the sensation of Graham raking his fingers through her hair, over and over. Combing it out. Tender and gentle, taking care to work around the parts of her scalp that wer
e still sensitive. She’d healed well but certain spots along her hairline still had a strange tingling numbness that turned to a burning when touched abruptly. At least he was touching her.
“Describe where we are.”
“We’re off to ourselves here. Sheltered from the camp by this great oak that must ha’ uprooted during the spring rains.” Graham’s fingers worked through her hair and massaged her scalp. Gentle, rhythmic tugs told her he’d set to braiding. His ministrations paired with his low, deep voice entranced her, eased the tension of the day out of her aching shoulders. “The burn runs to our right, and there’s a thick green patch of sedge off to our left, snuggled up into the curving of the tree.”
A patch of sedge. Off to ourselves. A rush of warmth flushed through her. She slid to her feet, one hand balanced against the log and one holding her staff.
“Wait, love. I’ve no’ bound the end of the braid yet.” Scrambling sounds and Graham’s blurred shadow seeming to float over the tree as he climbed across it to reach her.
Mercy paused, the certainty of what she was about to do strengthening with every breath. It was time she and Graham returned to behaving as husband and wife.
A final tug and Graham patted her shoulders. “There, love. Feel better?”
“Yes.” Her fingers trailing across the rough bark of the fallen tree, Mercy extended her staff and skimmed it across the ground in front of her as she walked. The rocky, hard-packed earth beneath her feet changed to the tangled softness of the grassy area Graham had described. “How large…a patch?”
“Good sized.” Graham’s tone sounded thoughtful. Strained.
Mercy suppressed a smile. Good. He needed relief as much as she but feared to take that first step. All she needed to do was put his mind at ease. She turned and faced him, holding out a hand. “Large enough…private enough for two?”
Graham took her hand, his strong grip sending a thrill through her. He moved closer, close enough that his warmth embraced her, welcomed her, and took her in. “Are ye certain, m’love?”
“It has been too long, husband.” She lifted her face to him. “I need you.”
Her staff clattered against the trunk of the tree as Graham swept her up into his arms, cradling her against his chest as he moved forward, then lowered her to the ground. Hovering above her, he whispered, “Ye’re certain?”
The sun at his back, Mercy swore she could almost see the contours of her beloved’s face. The sight brought tears to her eyes. She reached out to him, opening her embrace. “Never more certain in my life.”
Graham closed in, covering her mouth with his, kissing her the way a husband should kiss a wife. A hungry husband filled with need. She tangled her fingers in his hair and kissed him back in such a way as to leave no doubt as to what she wanted. She arched against him, thrilling at the rock-hard neediness that greeted her.
It was still daylight, and they were close to camp. With all her strength, she pushed against Graham’s chest, hanging on tight as he rolled to his back. Running his hands up her skirts, he squeezed her buttocks, groaning as she yanked his kilt up and out of the way and slid down on him.
“Yes,” she said in a whispering groan, grinding atop him to seat herself to the hilt. She’d so needed this. The union. The wondrous joining. This made her whole again. The sensations spun her into oblivion, ripped a joyous cry from her throat.
With a growling groan, Graham bucked beneath her, joining her ecstasy as he spasmed inside her, spilling his seed. “God Almighty!” he shouted. He jerked a few more times, then pulled her down atop his heaving chest, locking his arms around her. “I needed ye something fierce, Mercy.”
A glowing peacefulness filled her, the first real happiness she’d felt in a long while. Mercy pushed aside the opened neckline of Graham’s tunic and kissed his sweat-drenched chest. “I needed this, too. You will return to my bed for good now?”
“Aye, lass. Most definitely.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
“Shall Marsden return or meet us at the edge of the city?”
Graham pondered his brother’s question and wished like hell Duncan had asked it before they’d sent the captain on his way to secure a meeting with the king. “I dinna ken. My primary concern was ensuring we didna get shot as we approached Kensington.”
“Is King William even there? Rumor amongst the troops has the man in Ireland.”
“Why do ye ask me such a thing? How would I know?” Duncan had always had a talent for riding his last raw nerve. He’d done it since he was a wee bairn learning to talk. Graham shifted in the saddle and glared at him. “If ye’ve nothing useful to say, shut your maw and stop your yammering, ye ken?”
“Your husband has a case of the red arse today, m’lady. I’d advise ye tread lightly,” Duncan warned with a snide laugh as he edged his mount to one side and ahead to permit Ryū and Mercy to take their place beside Graham.
“Stop chiding the bear, Duncan,” Mercy said with a smile, aiming it in Duncan’s direction. “He has much on his mind.”
With every passing day, Mercy’s speech improved measurably thanks to Gretna’s tireless tactic of forcing her to chatter on about absolutely nothing. Graham made a mental note to mention to Alexander just how much the MacCoinnichs owed Gretna. He would never live long enough to repay the woman for all she’d done.
He cast a glance over at Mercy, sitting tall in the saddle, proud and in complete control even though she couldn’t see. This was the fearless woman he’d married. The rare woman he loved more than life itself. “If Marsden is successful, this could all be ended within days, m’love.”
Mercy nodded but her forehead creased with a frown. She smoothed a hand down her braid draped to the front of her shoulder. “We must be presentable before we see the king.” She brushed her hand along the layers of her skirts, ragged and dusty from the trials of the trip. “His Majesty will be so distressed by the filth, he will not see the truth.”
Mercy made a fair point. Court ran on pomp and circumstance. If they showed up at the palace looking like beggars, they’d be treated poorly.
“I’m sure he expects little from a Scot but…” Graham’s observation trailed off.
“He will expect much from me.”
Graham held up a hand and brought the caravan to a halt. They had to resolve this now. With her father dead by her husband’s hand, Mercy could not show up on the doorstep of her former residence in London and expect to be welcomed. They would have to find an inn and secure appropriate attire before meeting with the king. He motioned for Duncan to fall back and rejoin them. “Ride on and secure reputable lodging. Two rooms. A good place providing baths and meals. Close to the shops, ye ken?”
“Two rooms?” Duncan leaned forward in the saddle, obviously relishing the chance to ride alone.
“Aye.” Graham looked back at the first wagon. Reins clenched in her hands, Gretna stretched forward to hear their words. “One for Mercy and m’self and another for Gretna. I’ll need ye to camp with the men at Gray’s Inn Fields. Keep them in line.” He turned to Crestshire. “I assume Marsden and yourself will make use of military lodging, aye?”
Crestshire nodded. “Yes. We shall accompany you to meet with the king, but it would be best if all those wearing His Majesty’s colors abided by military protocol whilst in the city.” He gave a judicious shrug. “Such behavior would lend more substance to our words when we speak on your behalf.”
“Fifteen for ye to control,” Graham said, directing his words at Duncan. “Once ye’ve made the arrangements for us, meet us at the west edge of Gray’s Inn Field to take lead of the men, aye?”
“’Twill be done, brother.” With a curt nod, Duncan thundered away.
Drawing closer to Mercy’s mount, Graham reached over and touched her arm. “Can ye and Gretna manage the shops?”
Mercy’s eyes narrowed as though struggling to suppress a flinch. Her chin lifted and her jaw hardened. “I will send a message to my seamstress, Madame Zhou. She was the only
shop keeper in London who treated me with respect.”
“I will see to it that ye’re always treated proper, love. I swear it.”
“Their acceptance doesn’t matter anymore.” Mercy smiled. “The shallow people of London will never be as happy as I am.” She turned toward Graham, her gaze fixed upon him. “I have you. My heart is full now.”
Graham scooped up her hand and kissed it. “As I said before, ye’re a rare woman, Mercy. I thank God for bringing ye to me.”
He motioned to Crestshire as he spurred his mount forward. “Ride ahead of us, aye?”
Mercy trusted her devoted beast, but Graham feared the horse would decide to bolt. With one of them beside her and one to her front, they could correct that if it happened. The dark stallion was made for racing. It was true the steed loved his mistress, but Graham didn’t know if the horse loved Mercy more than he loved speed.
“Can you see the city yet?” Mercy asked.
Graham studied the surrounding land. Rolling hills tamed into farmland dotted with sheep and the occasional cow. Thatch-roofed houses with walls of stone, surrounded by stone fences. Gardens were littered with chickens, geese, and children. Graham felt it in his bones. They no longer road through open country. “I canna see the main city yet, lass, but we’re close. Listen. Do ye hear the sounds of farming around ye?”
Mercy tilted her head and smiled. “I hear the laughter of children.”
“We’ll reach the city by sunset.” Graham studied her, pondering whether he should speak his thoughts aloud. Aye. He’d risk it. “Ye’re speaking is almost back to normal. Ye’ve worked hard, and I’ll have ye know I admire your strength and dedication.”
Her cheeks turned a lovely shade of red. “I…thank you.”
Crestshire halted in front of them, holding up a hand as he cast a warning look back at Graham. “Riders approaching.”
Graham reached across and squeezed Mercy’s arm. “Stay here, ye ken?”
Thankfully, Mercy nodded, clenching the reins in her lap.
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