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Grahame

Northumbria

H e ran up the hill feeling as if his heart was about to burst. It was nearly sundown. Despite his father’s protest that he remain for supper after he’d been gone for a week, Grahame ran across his family’s land, his legs eating up the space between him and the girl he loved.Adara.

Love.

It was a bright, shiny feeling in his chest. His grin shone with it as he topped the hill and looked down to the small homestead nestled in the basin of the slope.

It was a sturdy home, large, with solid wood planks and a thickly thatched roof.

Smoke curled from the chimney while animals grazed in a fenced area to the right of the house.

It was his first time laying eyes on Adara's cousin’s home, the place she had lived the entire summer.

Adara had always ventured to him since he was busy shepherding.

Excitement spurred Grahame onward. He knew Adara would be happy to see him.

They’d parted on bad terms, with Adara begging him not to go.

She had feared for his safety, and rightly so.

He had followed his friends, Ridley and Branton, to a small outpost to the southeast, not far from their home village of Hyrstow.

In it were the men that killed Ridley’s parents in a vicious raid seven years prior.

Grahame shuddered beneath the fading sun.

The bloodshed had been swift and merciless.

Ridley had shown a side of himself Grahame didn’t want to see again.

Though Grahame had wielded a sword, his blade was not the one to carry out the deaths.

He had kept his promise to Adara to remain safe. To come back to her.

Adara. She was of noble birth yet there had to be a way they could be together.

Despite his only being ten and four years, he considered himself a man. He would take over his father’s sheep one day. Though of lesser status, his father and mother’s business was starting to grow. Adara’s father would perhaps be amenable to marriage if Grahame could prove his worth.

Confidence brimming, Grahame clenched his hand into a fist and knocked on the house’s door.

A slight young woman with hair the color of ripe wheat answered. She could not have been much older than Grahame and Adara. Grahame smiled wide. She must have been Adara’s cousin, Cecilia, of whom Adara had shared many stories.

“I have come to call on Adara,” he said. He couldn’t help the way his chest puffed out. Adara would be so happy to see him. She would forget their argument, he was sure of it.

The woman’s gaze trailed from his too-long golden curls to his simple tunic to the slight hole in the knee of his trousers. Grahame tried not to fidget. He’d changed his travel dusted clothing before coming, though he wished he’d had something finer. No matter. Adara cared little over his attire.

“She is not here,” the young woman said, not unkindly.

That couldn’t be right. Adara was to remain with her cousin for the rest of the summer. Three more weeks stood between them and her summons. Grahame tried again.

“My name is—”

“Grahame,” she supplied, “from over the hill and yonder.”

Grahame felt his smile slip a fraction.

“She’s told you of me,” he replied slowly. He hadn’t considered an outcome where Adara was not waiting for him. He tried to make himself look trustworthy by propping his hands on his hips. Perhaps she was still angry and instructed her cousin to turn him away.

“Please, I understand she was angry with me but if you’ll just let me see her.”

The woman’s light eyebrows rose for a moment, though her mouth did not curl with surprise. She began to shut the door. Grahame’s hands shot out in a gesture for her to halt.

“No, no, please. Please. I am here to see Adara. I had to help my friend and I have come to let her know of my success and my safety. I just need to see her.”

The pleading in his tone must have been cause for pity because the woman opened the door wide, sighing. She turned to the room inside, gesturing with a hand to show it empty.

“She is gone. Her father’s men came to collect her the day after you left.”

Horror hollowed out Grahame’s belly.

“Gone?”

The woman nodded, biting her lip. Her shoulders slouched with the loss. “Adara didn’t go without a fight. Scratched one of them across the face.”

A hollow feeling dug into his gut, scrounged upward into his chest.

“She’s not here?”

The woman crossed her arms. “Do you have trouble hearing? She’s been taken back to her father’s keep. Going to be married off, as was always planned. Count yourselves lucky you were not here when they took her so that there was no contestation of her purity. Now, I have things to do today, so…”

Grahame tried to swallow and found he couldn’t. Nor could he suck in enough air.

“You look a bit green. D’ you want to sit down for a spell?”

Grahame could only nod as he was guided into the tidy home. A small fire crackled in a hearth to the right. It was bracketed by a large table and a set of fur-lined chairs. A woven rug softened Grahame’s footsteps.

“I’m Cecilia, Adara’s cousin. She would be happy to know you came back well. She was worried sick over the risk you were taking for your friend.”

Cecilia pushed him into a sturdy chair then bustled over to the fire. She scooped a ladle of broth into a ceramic mug and brought it to him. Grahame accepted it though he did not drink. He simply stared at the liquid, his entire being empty.

“I should have stayed,” he muttered.

“No, like I said, it was good you were not here. She would have fought to stay harder.”

“I would have fought for her to stay, too.” The words were wooden.

Cecilia clapped her hands. “Ach, I am sorry to not be full of sympathy, but you both are young. Too young.”

“Yet she is of age to marry?” he challenged. Ire struck like a flint to flame inside him. He knew it was misplaced, knew that Cecilia was being hospitable, yet could not help his annoyance with her assessment.

Cecilia’s mouth pressed into a wobbly line. She eased into the chair beside his, lashes fluttering to dispel the sheen that overtook her eyes.

“Soon. Her betrothed is Lord Clayton. The marriage will be held when her father and Clayton see fit. She is my friend as well as my cousin. I have been grieving the loss of her presence this week. I fear once she is married I shall not see her again. So, forgive me, Grahame, if I am harsh. You are a shepherd, and she is the earl’s daughter. There is nothing to be done for it.”

Grahame felt as if a giant boulder had been tied around his waist and thrown into a lake. There was no coming back. No telling Adara he succeeded, no seeing her again. Grahame felt his heart crack.

“Oh no,” he moaned into his hand. “How far is it to her father’s keep? Perhaps—”

Cecilia grasped his arm to keep him from rising. Her face had contorted into a worried scowl.

“Do not go to her. The earl is not kind. You would sign your death warrant if you appeared asking to see her.”

“What if I do not care? I need to see her one last time.”

Cecilia gave his arm a good shake.

“Stop thinking of yourself. It would not only be bad for you. Her father would ensure Adara suffered for the misdeed of grousing around with a shepherd.”

The truth settled along Grahame’s bones like a too-heavy blanket. He was suddenly overcome with regret. It made the backs of his eyes prickle. He pinched the bridge of his nose.

“It will be alright,” Cecilia’s tone softened. Her pity and the sure hand on his shoulder made him want to vomit.

“I—I will go. Thank you for your kindness.”

He passed the mug of untouched broth into Cecilia’s waiting hand before he rushed from the room. Hot tears streamed down his cheeks as he ran back the way he came.