Page 11

Chapter

Nine

Adara

M ead sputtered from Grahame’s mouth onto his plate. He reached for his napkin as Hagan patted him heartily on the back. Adara tried to hide her smirk.

“Christ, Adara, give a man a warning,” Grahame wheezed. He sat back, running a hand over his front to ensure no droplets of liquid coursed down his tunic. In a strained voice that made her wonder what he sounded like in the dark, Grahame said, “I can’t marry you. ”

Of course, she was expecting him to refuse. She was playing puppet master with his friend while she held him prisoner. Still, it felt like salt in a wound he’d caused long ago.

“Why not?”

“I am not of noble blood.”

Adara blinked back her shock. Not because he hated her. Not because she manipulated him and harmed his friends. He couldn’t marry her for the same reason they couldn’t be together in the first place.

Adara leaned forward, lacing her fingers beneath her chin.

“My husband died of an illness a few months ago. Recently, my father has sent word advising he has arranged a new marriage for me to a northern prince. Currently, I hold power over my own estate. I need a husband, one that will give the illusion of influence over me yet will actually allow me to reign over my affairs and tenants.”

“And I’m the one you can manipulate to get what you want?” he asked, sarcasm lacing his tone. The swell of his arms as he crossed them over his chest drew her eye. Adara notched her chin upward in an attempt to control her gaze.

“Yes. Your family has wealth. You do not care about the affairs of my territory so I would still make all the decisions concerning my estate. You would be a kept man, doing as you wish.”

Grahame stretched his legs out beneath the table. One of his boots hit her foot. She moved away. A dimple popped in his right cheek as he smirked, the bastard.

“I doubt your father would accept such an arrangement. He is Bernira’s earl. There is no way he would allow you to align with someone from Deircia.”

“We will lie. Your parent’s land is on the border of the two territories. A neutral party. I will have men from Guston cite that you sell your family’s wool at their market.”

Adara didn’t know if she should feel proud or vulnerable at the manner in which Grahame’s tawny brows shot up.

“You have put a lot of thought into this.”

“Of course.”

“Why?” Grahame’s lowered tone caused her heart to flutter.

The sensation went to war with the untimely lump that formed in her throat when she thought of her past marriage.

She stilled the tremor in her hand by grabbing for her knife.

Adara couldn’t look Grahame in the eye any longer.

The wrinkle of concern etched across his brow, as if he cared about what haunted her, was too much for her strained heart to bear.

Instead, she focused on spearing a slice of carrot as she explained, “I will not be married off again.”

Hagan and Muretta’s heads swivelled from side to side watching the exchange.

Adara rolled her lips together. It was one thing to outline her plan to her friends, quite another to propose marriage to the man she used to fantasize about.

She felt raw, scraped open in a way she hadn’t felt in years. It was detestable.

Grahame sighed, pushing himself out of his chair. He ran a hand through the golden curls on his forehead. Uncaring when Hagan moved to get up to follow him, Grahame paced to the chairs before the fire, then back to the table, his pinched gaze locked on the floor.

Adara forced herself to remain still by threading her fingers together on her lap. Being a simpering fool hadn’t gotten anyone far in life, and she wouldn’t begin now, no matter how her heart thrashed against her ribs.

“When?” Grahame asked as he paced toward her.

His voice was ragged, as if he’d just run from Hyrstow.

Instead of halting on his side of the table, he stormed right up to her chair, hands on his hips.

Adara craned her neck to stare up into his handsome face.

He towered over her, green eyes locked on hers, swirling with something more than fury.

Then Hagan yanked him back.

“It’s alright, Hagan.” She murmured as she rose from her seat, not breaking eye contact with Grahame. They were two hand-widths apart, the space between them aching with time and loss. Adara willed the cage of fluttering birds in her chest to calm. “He won’t hurt me.”

Grahame’s head tipped to the side. He crossed his arms across his broad chest. His tone was lethally gentle as he said, “Won’t I?”

Adara scoffed, her words more of an afterthought than an answer. “I’ve been hurt in so many ways, Grahame. Once by you. Hundreds of times by others. Whatever you could do to me is nothing compared to what I’ve already gone through.”

Some unnamable emotion flitted across Grahame’s features. Perhaps confusion or concern. Adara couldn’t allow herself to dwell on it. To do so would soften her to him. He opened his mouth, but a far off crash of wood on wood snagged their attention.

A commotion of shouting and a loud, rhythmic bashing began. Hagan strode to the window to listen.

“He won’t stop,” Grahame said.

He hadn’t moved. Rather, he stood close enough that if Adara wanted to press her palm to his chest, she could have. Instead, Adara curled her hand into a fist at her side to alleviate the temptation.

She counted to ten in her mind, reminding herself that she had craved this. Dreams of Ridley Ward’s frantic worry had kept her going in the days and months following her heartbreak. Though, now, facing Grahame after all these years, the timing felt off.

“Confounding man,” she muttered to herself.

A small, mean grin wound up Grahame’s mouth. It did nothing to detract from his beauty. “Ridley?”

Adara nodded.

“He loves her.”

“I know,” she snapped. “I planned for this.”

Grahame’s lip curled as his frustration boiled over.

“Why?” His shout echoed through the room.

Muretta startled while Hagan cut him a look that promised death.

Adara rubbed her temples. It was too much.

Everything she worked for had come together yet her satisfaction was left wanting.

Grahame, all tall and bronze, was full of hate for her.

Ridley Ward was taking a tactic she did not expect.

Plus, her father’s demands she marry after she’d just escaped her last marriage…

Adara’s clothing felt too tight. She could not draw a proper breath. Not with the incessant pounding in the distance.

“Why do all of this?” Grahame pressed, stepping closer. She could feel the heat from his body, could only see the breadth of him before her. Rage shot up her spine.

“Because he killed my cousin!” she shouted back.

As if she had slapped him, Grahame fell back a step. The shock that painted his features only enraged her further. How dare he think she was doing all of this just to terrorize his pathetic village? That she had disappeared from his life and come back a monster? Monsters were created.

Adara stormed forward, a finger pointed at Grahame’s chest.

“It was Cecilia.” He had the grace to flinch at the name. “She and her husband oversaw her parent’s land. Ridley’s men stormed through to take back the disputed territory on behalf of Deircia, and he slew her as if she was nothing.”

Adara forced her voice not to crack on the last word. Grahame’s mouth flopped open then closed, his jaw working as he kept whatever words he wanted to say clamped inside. It wounded her that he had no response. He’d met Cecilia. Had known she was Adara’s only true friend when they were younger.

A familiar mix of hate and sorrow coursed through her. For the loss of her cousin, the cruel way she died. She could not stand it. Adara shoved his chest, her hands conforming to the muscled flesh before pushing him away.

“How dare you look at me like that. How dare you come here and think I am the evil one. Your chieftain dealt death throughout the countryside on behalf of your earl. And you have the audacity to look at me as if I am the terrible one? He ran a sword through her back when she was only defending her home. He killed the only person in the world I cared for, and he is going to suffer for it.”

Adara whirled, clenching her fists as she stalked back to the table. Muretta was staring at them, white-faced. She offered Adara her goblet, which Adara snatched, gulping down the biting drink.

“He is.” Grahame’s voice came low from behind her. “Suffering. You have accomplished what you’ve set out to do. We all suffered, Adara. Every person in Hyrstow has suffered at your hands.”

The words were not the balm she wished them to be.

“Good.” She downed the rest of the mead, then turned to Hagan who stared at her in that blank way of his when he needed to be calm for them both. As if he would carry out any order, even to the detriment of himself. A wave of affection hit her. He and Muretta were all she had.

“I am retiring. If Ridley Ward continues to be a problem, tell the men to kill him. I am tired.”

“No.” Grahame’s voice cut through the room.

She turned to find him nearly on her. With the raise of her hand, Adara stopped Hagan from burying his knife in Grahame’s side.

And, damn it, a thrill spun through her at the way Grahame leaned into her space, his tall form arching over her.

She caught a whiff of rain and wool, sweet straw and rugged male.

It caught her by the throat and tugged. Suddenly she was a youth lying on the grass amid the sheep, Grahame at her side as they stared at the sky, watching the clouds move.

“I will not concede to more bloodshed. Please, Adara. I will agree to your demands if you leave my people alone.”

Grahame’s breath fanned over her cheeks as he spoke, his words carrying the same pleading tone it had when he’d left her that summer they spent together.

Something hot and reckless spiked inside her.

She pressed upward on her toes causing their noses to almost touch.

His eyes widened as his nostrils flared.

“I will marry you,” he said, his tone strained, “on the condition that you stay your grudge against Ridley and let Yrsa go. Forget about Hyrstow.”

Adara pressed her lips into a line as she rocked back on her heels. The offer was tempting. She hated Ridley Ward, yet each moment she spent in Yrsa’s stoic presence was one more that she did not want to kill the woman to make him suffer.

“What of my cousin? Should he not pay for the crime of her murder?” she asked, crossing her arms against the warm feel of him so close. She would have to keep her guard up around him if this was how quickly she wanted to melt in his proximity.

Grahame’s features crashed. He rubbed a wide hand against the back of his neck. The motion pulled Adara’s eyes to the bulge of his upper arm. She licked her lips. His green eyes tracked the movement.

“I…I don’t know. I am sorry to hear of Cecelia’s passing. She was lovely and kind, and I know the two of you shared a special bond.”

Adara’s throat was suddenly thick with emotion. The urge to be held—to have those words whispered into her hair with strong arms wrapped around her—was overwhelming. It was wishful thinking. She hadn’t been embraced in years.

Grahame’s features hardened as he straightened, as if realizing how close they stood. “Let go of your mission against Ridley. Release Yrsa.”

Adara bit down on her lip to quell the urge to tell him to rot in hell.

How dare he try to manipulate her? With his looming body and sharp tongue, Adara hated that Grahame wasn’t the happy shepherd’s son she once knew.

He’d gained layers, a certain slippery veneer. She had to retreat to reorient herself.

“I must contemplate it. Alone.”

Grahame nodded. “Of course.” He stepped away, clasping his hands behind his back. “At least permit me to see Yrsa to confirm she is alright. I can then speak with Ridley to hold him off. He will not stop. You have taken the one person he would sacrifice everything for. Myself included.”

His mouth twisted upward in a wry grin that reminded Adara of when he once confided in her that he felt like Ridley and his other friend—Brannon? Branton, was it?—shared a deeper bond than with him. It made her chest feel tight.

“Fine. I will take you to her. You will find her unharmed. Then you can tell Ridley Ward she is safe. He will have to stand down, or I will have him killed.” Adara returned his smile with one of her own. “It matters little to me.”