The Guardian

by Greyson, Maeve

  Graham squinted to bring the riders into focus. “Is that Marsden?” The portly captain had an odd way of sitting a horse that made his identity easy to discern.

  “Yes.” Crestshire scrubbed a hand across his mouth. “And those men with him are wearing the uniform of the palace guards.”

  Graham’s gut knotted, causing him to rest a hand on his pistol.

  “Take care, Graham,” Crestshire warned. “To win this game, do not engage the palace guard.”

  The group of three thundered toward them with alarming momentum.

  Graham rushed back to Mercy, dismounted, and hurried to her side. Taking hold of her arm, he pulled. “Come, lass. I’d rather ye sit with Gretna. I’ll tie Ryū to the wagon.”

  “Who approaches?” Mercy complied, patting the side of her saddle in search of her staff holstered at its side. She slid it free and thumped the tip of it hard against the road.

  “Marsden and two palace guards. Hurry. We’ve no’ much time.” Grasping her by the elbow, he rushed her to Gretna’s wagon and lifted her up to the seat. He pulled both his pistols from his belt and held them out to Gretna. “Just in case.”

  Gretna nodded and took them without a word. Her grim expression said it all.

  Hurrying back to her mount, Graham tied off the horse to Mercy’s side of the wagon. “He’s right here beside ye, love.”

  Mercy held out a trembling hand, waiting for him to take it. “Heed Marsden and Crestshire. They will protect us.”

  Graham squeezed her hand, then kissed it. “Bossy woman. I’ll do me best.”

  Her quivering smile spurred him onward.

  Graham saddled up and rode to Crestshire’s side just as Marsden and the two palace guards reached them.

  Wary. That was the first word that came to mind when Graham saw Marsden’s face. The man looked ill at ease. Graham half expected him to fall from the saddle in an attack of apoplexy. “Marsden.”

  The captain gave him a slow nod, spared a glance at the two stoic-faced palace guards, then swiped a hand across his forehead. “His Majesty—in all his generous wisdom—has not only granted a private audience with yourself and Lady Mercy, but has also ordered that you be accommodated to the palace and given a private suite at Kensington until such time as your business with court is concluded.”

  Crestshire reacted with a sudden clearing of his throat, increasing Graham’s alarm all the more.

  “Stay at the palace?” Graham glanced around the area, searching for soldiers hiding to ambush them whilst they were in shock at such an announcement.

  Marsden held up a hand at the two palace guards, giving them each a stern look. He urged his mount forward until they stood nose to nose with Graham and Crestshire’s horses. After stealing a glance back at the king’s men, he tucked his chin and lowered his voice. “I apprised His Majesty of every detail.” He paused and darted a look at Lady Mercy. “Every detail.”

  An odd combination of irritation and relief swept across Graham. “That’s why we wished to meet with the man. To tell him our story ourselves.”

  “The king does not appreciate surprises,” Marsden warned. “Trust me. It was far better that he learned all the details from me before he meets with you.”

  Graham wished they could return to Scotland “How did he react?”

  “His Majesty does not react.” Marsden shook his head. “His thoughts are known only to him until he so wishes to share them.”

  Graham clenched his reins so tight his knuckles popped. Never in a thousand years had he dreamed he’d ever face such a situation. He turned and looked back at Mercy, locking his gaze on her. Emotions churned within him. Love. Protectiveness. Sorrow. Guilt.

  He turned back to Marsden and nodded. “Lead on.”

  *

  “I don’t like you leaving the palace grounds without Marsden.” With a light exploring patting of the table in front of her, Mercy located the small, handle-free cup of the heated drink beside her breakfast plate of toasted bread. She lifted it to her mouth, and sipped, closing her eyes and savoring the milky, sweet flavor. Tea. Imported from the east. Very good. This should help settle her nerves nicely.

  Graham’s shadowy form, sitting opposite her at the small table on the garden balcony, shifted from side to side in the way Mercy had come to recognize as a signal that he was frustrated. He didn’t possess a talent for being idle. She’d lost the benefit of seeing his expressions but gained a sensitivity to his mannerisms that aided her just the same. “I must see to Duncan and the men. Tell them of our meeting with the king the day after next.”

  They’d already spent three days at the palace. Mercy feared the time on what Graham considered enemy ground would surely be his end. The unknown outcome of their meeting with the king plagued him like a festering wound. With care not to spill anything, Mercy returned her tea to the table, located her spoon, then tapped her fingers along the rim of her bowl of chopped apples and berries.

  “I…understand.” She pointed her spoon at him before dipping into the fruit. “Just t-take care. Please?”

  Graham reached across the table and tickled his fingertips across the back of her hand. “Aye, love. And when I return, perhaps we can enjoy another bath?”

  Heat rushed through her at the memory of last night’s bath they’d shared in the opulent tub of steaming hot, rose-scented water. The scandalous tub had been fashioned for two, and she and Graham had made good use of it, staying in the water until it had grown cold and been sloshed to the floor with their sensual thrashing. “I am sure it can be arranged.” Choosing words had become easier. The delightful distraction of another bath would do them both good.

  “Did ye get a message sent to ye’re seamstress?”

  “Yes.” Resting her fingers around the rim of her bowl, Mercy spooned up some fruit and popped it into her mouth. She scooped up the cloth napkin from her lap, pressing it in front of her mouth as she chewed. Goodness. She had not meant to take such a large mouthful.

  “Let me slice those into smaller bites for ye.” Graham’s shadow leaned toward her, clinked in her bowl for a few seconds, then retreated back to his seat. “There now. I’ll speak to the servants and ask them to pass along to the cook that your meals should be better attended.”

  Mercy patted the napkin to the corners of her mouth and returned it to her lap. “Please don’t.” A sigh escaped her as she shook her head. “I must do as much as I can for myself. I should have taken more care with the fruit before I put it in my mouth.”

  “Ye didna hesitate to speak!” Graham rushed around the table, knelt at her side, and hugged her to him. “I’m so verra proud of ye.”

  Relief and joy filled her. He was right. She hadn’t failed at a single word. Wrapping her arms around Graham’s neck, she kissed him soundly.

  “Mmm,” Graham rumbled as he nuzzled her mouth. “Apples and cream.”

  A sharp rap on the door tossed the enticing possibilities of an after-breakfast pleasuring to the winds. Graham rose and pecked a quick kiss to her forehead. “Finish your breakfast, love.”

  Mercy folded her hands in her lap and angled an ear toward the opened doors leading into their suite from the balcony. The sunny, open-aired breakfast had been quite nice, but she needed to hear who was at the door and learn what they wanted.

  “I am Madame Zhou. These are my assistants. Your presence here is unnecessary while we tend to Lady Mercy. I suggest you leave.”

  Mercy rose from her seat, retrieved her staff from where she’d propped it against the stone banister of the balcony, and scooted her chair back under the table. The brightness of the day helped so much with her sight. She could almost make out all the shapes around her and their colors. “Madame Zhou. Thank you for responding so quickly.”

  Mercy made out the blurred forms of Madame Zhou and two of her assistants hovering close to the suite’s outer door. It was moments such as these that reminded her of just how much she’d lost by losing her sight. She couldn’t see their expressions.
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  Graham hurried to her side and took her arm. “This is your seamstress?”

  The short shadow of Madame Zhou marched forward until she stood so close Mercy picked up the nose-tingling scent of the exotic herbal sachets the eccentric woman kept tucked in her clothing to ward off evil spirits. Angry wormwood. Mercy remembered her telling her the name of the pleasant-smelling plant. It was her herb of choice for protection, far surpassing the famed protective properties of dill or lavender.

  “Your presence is dismissed,” Madame Zhou announced to Graham. She stepped closer to Mercy and firmly pulled her a few paces away. “Your staff should be made of kingwood. More protection. And covered with the proper symbols to guide your steps. I know an artisan. I shall see to it.”

  “Mercy!” By the sound of Graham’s tone, a possible explosion was very close.

  Graham took hold of her arm and gathered her up. “If ye dinna mind, I shall kiss my wife good and proper before I’m dismissed.”

  He kissed her with such fervor her knees weakened. Graham lifted his head, and Mercy actually felt the smug look on his face. “I look forward to our bath this evening, love. Enjoy your day of picking out your fine dresses.” Then he strode from the room and slammed the door behind him.

  “Strong, that one,” Madame Zhou observed. “But ill-informed. I am under His Majesty’s service to complete your entire wardrobe. It has already been paid for.” She snapped her fingers, and one of her attendants jumped to her side. “Master Lang shall fashion Lady Mercy’s proper staff, by tomorrow.”

  The blurred form of the attendant darted out the door, clicking it softly closed.

  “His Majesty?” Mercy repeated. Madame Zhou’s announcement set her stomach to churning worse than it had when she’d smelled Graham’s breakfast. Mercy swallowed hard, pulled in a deep breath, then blew it out. “My husband and I requested your services, Madame Zhou—not His Royal Highness. We are only guests for a short time here at the p-palace.”

  Madame Zhou stepped closer. “Acupuncture and herbs will help with your speech and sight.” She circled around Mercy. Her adept fingers patted and prodded Mercy’s shoulders, elbows, and the curve of her waist as she moved. “The needles and herbs will not endanger the child. We shall administer the treatments during your stay here at the palace.” She snapped her fingers, and her other attendant popped to her side. “Inform His Majesty’s servants of our additional needs, then fetch the red box and the black one.” The attendant disappeared.

  “I need to sit.” Mercy felt her way across the room to a pillowed bench beside the open doors leading out to the balcony. She sagged down into the cushions, concentrating on taking deep breaths and not losing her breakfast. His Majesty paying for an entire set of clothes? A complete wardrobe? She pressed a hand to her stomach. And a child? How could Madame Zhou say such a thing? “Please explain to me about His Majesty’s generosity, but more importantly, tell me why you believe I am with child.”

  Madame Zhou idly paced back and forth across the path of sunlight shining across the floor. “His Majesty’s servant included a missive from the king himself when he delivered your message. By His Royal Highness’s order, a complete wardrobe shall accompany you when you leave the palace. I know not why.” The clicking of her heels across the marble floor slowed. “However, he did mention you had been under great duress for several weeks. I have made your clothes for years, Lady Mercy, as I did your mother. I am no stranger to abuse.” Her voice grew quieter. “Your body already prepares for the child you carry. Softer in some places. Fuller in others.”

  Mercy covered her face with shaking hands, overwhelmed by the joyous yet terrifying news. A child. She nearly wept.

  “You do not want the child?”

  “Of course. More than anything.” Mercy dropped her hands to her lap, then hugged herself, shaking uncontrollably. “But there is so much danger right now. And I have no idea what His Majesty intends.”

  “There is always danger in this world,” the woman announced. “Teach your child to be strong. Like you. Like your husband.”

  The curt woman perched on the edge of the bench beside Mercy. “We shall always be at the mercy of the court. Enjoy when you find favor with the king.” She shifted, doing something Mercy couldn’t make out.

  She took Mercy’s right hand, opened it, and pressed a small cloth bundle into her palm. Closing Mercy’s fingers around the packet, she squeezed it tight. “Angry wormwood for the child. Wear it wherever you go. That along with your new staff will keep you safe.” She released Mercy’s hand, stood, and marched across the room. “I shall request hot water for steeping herbs. You shall drink it and feel better. When my assistants return, we shall make preparations for later. Perhaps I shall try my hand at a christening gown for the babe.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  “I feel like a trussed goose headed toward the oven.” Graham tugged at the snug waistcoat, then ran a finger around the inside of the overly tight neck cloth. “I think that man wouldha rather hanged me as dress me.”

  “Probably,” Duncan agreed, rolling his shoulders and stretching his neck to resettle his own new garments. “Gretna said she felt the same when that rude woman measured her for a gown. All poking and prodding and such.”

  “Aye, rudeness itself that woman is.” Graham shook away the chill rippling across his flesh. At first meeting, he’d wanted to wring Madame Zhou’s neck, especially since Mercy had been in such a state after the seamstress’s first visit. But the woman had promised a cure for Mercy’s ailments and perhaps even help with her blindness before their meeting with the king. He’d bargain with old Scratch himself if it meant helping Mercy.

  A blessing in some ways, a curse in others, their meeting with King William had been postponed a fortnight. Some sort of emergency gathering of the European coalition against France that His Majesty could not ignore. So, they had waited, biding their time.

  Two weeks in the palace had rubbed Graham’s nerves raw, but it was worth it all to see Mercy gifted with such fine clothes. He had yet to be told the cost, but it didn’t matter. He had gold set aside. Madame Zhou could have all of it.

  And he had to give the woman respect; she had done exactly what she had claimed. Mercy said her vision was much clearer. For that alone, Madame Zhou deserved the world.

  “I’ll fetch Gretna,” Duncan said, interrupting Graham’s thoughts. “Me thinks making the king wait would be ill-advised.”

  “Aye,” Graham agreed as they entered the marble hallway lined with elaborate paintings and statues. Duncan hurried onward toward a gilded door on the right as Graham stopped in front of the next door on the left. Another of Madame Zhou’s eccentricities. The woman had insisted she dress Mercy in a chamber, keeping them separated as though it was their wedding day.

  Graham rapped a knuckle on the door. “Mercy, love. ’Tis time.”

  The latch clicked, and the door slowly swung open.

  Graham caught his breath. Such loveliness. How could his beloved wife grow more beautiful with each passing day?

  “Say something. You know I can’t make out your expression.”

  Mercy stood framed in the sunlight flooding through the arched window behind her. Bathed in its golden rays, she looked like an angel. The ivory shade of her dress and the golden trim of satin and silk along the full, flowing skirts and paneled sleeves were beautiful. Her glorious hair had been swept up and piled high, tendrils allowed to trail down on either side of her face.

  “Your husband appears to have been struck mute by your beauty,” Madame Zhou observed from behind the door.

  “She’s right,” Graham said in a low, rasping whisper.

  Mercy laughed. Her cheeks bloomed with color.

  Graham hurried to her side and eased her hand into his. He was almost afraid to touch her. “I am humbled by your beauty. Ye’re a glorious woman, m’love.”

  “We should go,” she said as she slid her hand through his arm. Pausing she turned to Madame Zhou. “Will you be
here when I return?”

  “No. My work is complete here.” She studied Mercy, then slid her piercing gaze over to Graham. Her scowl deepened, then she shoved a hand deep into the hidden pocket of her skirts. She withdrew a small, bundled bit of linen filled with something Graham couldn’t identify and tied with a purple ribbon.

  She jerked Graham’s arm out of the way, opened his coat, then stuffed it into the small pocket of his waistcoat. Jerking his clothing back in place, she glared up at him. “Protection. Keep it with you always.”

  Mercy squeezed his arm and bowed her head. “Thank you, Madame Zhou, for everything.”

  She gave a curt nod, clasped her hands in front of her, and marched down the hallway, her assistants scurrying to gather her things and follow.

  “What an odd woman,” Graham said under his breath.

  “She risked her reputation by taking on Mama and myself as clients,” Mercy said with a rueful smile. “She makes clothes for many royals.”

  Marsden came careening out of a side hallway, the sturdy heels of his perfectly polished boots striking hard against the floor. “Are you still here? We must take our places in the library now. His Royal Highness will arrive at any moment.”

  The knot in the center of Graham’s chest tightened. He patted Mercy’s arm.

  Mercy nodded, hurrying along with her husband. “Just remember,” she said. “His Majesty always speaks first.”

  Graham slowed his pace. “I promise to behave, love.” Or at least attempt to. He cleared his throat and gave her arm a reassuring squeeze. “We must think only good shall come of this meeting, and then we can get on with our lives.”

  Mercy gave him a sharp look he didn’t quite understand, but they’d reached the entrance to the library, so there was no time to ask.

  Crestshire stepped forward to greet them. “Thank goodness. I feared the king would arrive first.” He leaned to one side to look behind them. “Well done, Marsden.”

  Marsden patted the perspiration away from his brow as he bobbed his head and waved away Crestshire’s praise.