Page 16

Chapter

Fourteen

Grahame

“ W hat in all hell are you doing here?”

Oswald’s grin was like a serpent’s. The hall’s flickering candlelight caught the haughtiness of his hooked eyebrow.

It appeared the time away from Hyrstow had been kind to the priest: the roundness of his double chin was restored.

Though, the fine linen of his bone colored robes did nothing to suggest humble servitude.

“Why, I am here to marry you and Lady Clayton,” he tucked his hands within his oversized sleeves, his thin grin sliding higher. As if bidden by the devil himself, Grahame took a step forward, ready to put his fist in Oswald’s smarmy face.

“You came here?” Grahame asked in disbelief. “Emma saw you the morning of the raid. You left before anything happened. You deserted your patrons, your priests. We thought you dead. And you’ve been here ?”

Rage filled the space between his words. Oswald was Ridley’s brother and Grahame had known him his entire life. Though, Grahame had no qualms over striking the man to the ground. He had a tendency to look out for the glory of his church over the people in it. Until he deserted both.

“Indeed, I have. Lady Clayton offered a deal too significant to ignore.” There was a twinkle in the priest’s muddy brown eyes, one that caused foreboding to dig around in Grahame’s gut.

“How?” he ground out.

Vicious triumph lived in Oswald’s countenance. The priest opened his mouth to respond before Adara’s voice rose from behind Grahame.

“It is of little consequence.”

Grahame would not have it. There were too many questions. Layers of treachery that went too deep. He whirled, finger aimed at her.

“He tried to have Yrsa killed when he found out about her. He caused a riot in our village. He ran away when we were raided by your raiders only for me to find out he’s made a home for himself here ?”

Adara’s eyes narrowed, her kiss-swollen lips pinching together as she swatted his hand away.

It shredded the bit of hope that had spouted in Grahame during their kiss.

It wasn’t enough that he’d wrestled with how torn he felt over having to wed her and wanting to bed her despite knowing she was the cause of all his problems. That she was no longer the person he thought her to be.

Grahame scraped a hand over his chin as he said, “Not to mention, he’s a general piece of pig shit…”

“Enough,” she hissed. “The Reverend is now a part of this household.”

“He lives here?” Grahame demanded. He thrust both hands into his hair to pull at the ends. He wished for the pain to distract him from the madness surrounding him.

“Of course not,” Oswald quipped from behind him.

Grahame turned again, stepping to the other side of the hall so he could observe them both. He needed his heart to still. He needed his mind to stop tripping over important facts. Strategist he was not. And Adara had outplayed him once again.

“I’m staying at the structure that will be my new church. Generously funded by Lady Clayton, I will oversee the souls of Guston and beyond.”

“Why is that not surprising?” Grahame snarked.

He allowed his arms to drop only to find Adara had crossed hers.

The move ensured her breasts were part of the conversation, a detail Oswald didn’t miss either.

Unfortunately, Adara was only pinning Grahame with a glare.

Grahame gnashed his teeth so he wouldn’t feel inclined to poke Oswald’s eyes out.

It did not work.

“You poached him from Hyrstow?” Grahame demanded.

A little laugh escaped Adara. The sound was like the stroke of her hand against his lower half.

Her mouth had tasted better than it had when they were younger, but there was a brittleness to it, a tentativeness that made him think she hadn’t been kissed much in their time apart.

Damn it if that thought wasn’t satisfying.

He wanted to be the only one to have kissed her, even after all these years.

And now, Oswald of all people, had interrupted the first clash of their desire.

“I did.” Her chin rose a fraction as she met his eyes, though there was something in her own that betrayed her confusion over his anger, “I needed a priest. He wanted a congregation that valued him. Hyrstow doesn’t treat its own well if they are so willing to abandon it for a run down church.

It was a blessing that he happened to be Ridley’s brother as well. ”

“Of course, this is another ploy against Ridley,” Grahame shot back.

All of her planning against his friend; if only she had gone about it—any of it—differently. She could have come to him first. It would have saved them so much agony. Anger mounted in his shoulders, in his arms, aching to be let out. He felt as if he could pummel something.

“Indeed! And?” Adara snapped.

“Can you not see? It is not about us or Ridley or even your church; it is about him serving himself, always.”

“He and I have that in common then!” Adara thundered, her hands splaying as she took a step toward him.

Oswald merely stood there, watching Adara with pride in his eyes.

“You’re self-righteous in your old age, Grahame. You speak as if everyone in Hyrstow is one large, happy family. Well, he was unhappy enough to settle for what I had to offer.”

Disappointment licked his bones. In a breath, some of the fight left him.

How could she have orchestrated all of this?

He understood the ways; she was a single, powerful woman with a fortune at her disposal, bent on revenge.

What he did not understand was how his noble lass had been twisted into this stunning creature filled with hate.

She was wrath and vengeance, beauty and plans, and he already felt as if he was drowning against her current.

“So am I, it would seem.”

He let the words hang in the air between them. Adara seethed, her eyes narrowing on him, while Oswald continued to stare with his bland shit-eating grin. Grahame’s skin crawled with another betrayal. He scoffed, moving around them and into the great room.

Hagan stood near the fireplace, offering the flames another piece of wood while Muretta spoke to the housemaster.

The man with a wizened brow and hair the color of smoke nodded as she spoke, a ghost of a smile threatening.

Everyone’s eyes lifted to Grahame as he stormed into the room. Muretta seemed to understand his mood.

“Does it not look lovely here?” Muretta asked.

She strode to him, taking him by the wrist. Some of the fight in Grahame dissipated.

The great chairs before the fire had been pushed to the side while sprigs of greenery hung in small wreaths on the stone mantle.

In fact, little bouquets of flowers adorned every surface.

All down the table, clay jars held bursts of purple and white and green.

The shades almost matched the colors of his belt.

Muretta moved him about, positioning him to where she deemed fit. He let her, his shock and despair growing with each passing moment.

How could he fathom Adara’s next move when she had so many intricate plans?

Was her father even threatening her with marriage or was it another ruse?

Did it matter? He was to pledge himself to her, regardless.

And though he hated the way she had gone about involving him, there was a part of Grahame that revelled in their reunion.

It was something he had wrestled with all day: regardless of Adara’s treachery, he still wanted her.

“It is wonderful,” Grahame answered Muretta, running a hand through his hair.

He offered Hagan a brittle smile. The man did not return it.

Finally, Adara entered the room, Oswald at her heels.

Adara’s dress, a few shades darker than a poppy, clung to her in the most delicious manner.

It was a wonder any of the men in the room kept their eyes off her, though he and Oswald weren’t trying.

The priest had a slick grin pasted on his round face.

Grahame swallowed down the urge to grab Adara by the waist and pull her body behind his.

He didn’t want her anywhere near the traitor, even if she’d made him one.

“Shall we begin?” Oswald asked.

His hands were spread, fingers aglint with jeweled rings.

His left hand neared Adara’s rear, close enough that Grahame stepped forward and grabbed Adara’s forearm, pulling her to him.

The fabric of her sleeve did nothing to hide the strong, slender feel of her in his grasp.

It elicited the sharp hunger he felt any time he touched her.

Adara’s face twisted into a scowl. She yanked her arm away while she positioned herself across from him.

“Indeed,” she said, looking behind her as if to check that Muretta and Hagan were there.

She wore no smile, offered no words as her gaze met his again. Grahame forced a wry grin. It did nothing. Adara had gone utterly still, her hands at her sides, a look of sharp determination on her breathtaking face. Oswald took up residence between, boxing them closer to the fire.

“Do not begin without me!” said a male voice from the hall. All gazes fell on the guard, Thorhild, as he ran into the room, a wide grin laying within his blond beard. “I don’t want to miss the festivities.”

A scoffing laugh fell from Adara’s mouth. It eased the brittle tension in the room while Thor ran over to stand shoulder to shoulder with Hagan behind Adara.

“Now we can get on with it,” Adara said with a roll of her eyes though there was mirth in her tone.

“I cannot allow my lady to be wed without proper witnesses,” quipped Thor.

“Are you quite done?” Oswald asked, his tone thick with annoyance.

The three behind Adara cleared their throats to stifle their chuckles, shifting from foot to foot. Oswald gave them a sharp look before turning his focus to Adara. She remained unchanged other than the upward curl of her lips.

“We shall begin,” Oswald pronounced.

All at once, Grahame was too hot. He slipped a finger beneath the collar of his tunic to loosen the laces at his throat. It was all wrong. In all the fantasies he’d had, all the wishes he’d held as a stupid boy, none of them had panned out like this.

“We did not walk together down the aisle,” he blurted.

Adara’s lips folded downward, her brow tenting. Behind her, Muretta put her hand to her bosom, her mouth dropping open. Oswald snorted.

“Does it matter?” Adara asked. “That is an old custom. One that is rarely done anymore. I have no kin here, no father to give me away. In a marriage such as ours, I do not think we need to keep to tradition.”

Grahame searched for something, anything to say. It was all happening too fast, too formal.

He settled on, “Are we not to wed as a love match? Otherwise, why would your father believe the story we tell of our wedding?”

Something contemplative swirled in Adara’s eyes as she chewed the inside of her cheek.

Slowly, as if weighing his argument, she replied, “We shall walk from the entrance to the fireplace, then. Perhaps we should also commence with the hand fasting. Bhlaine, do you have a long piece of cloth we might use?”

The houseman bowed. Without a word, he disappeared into the room that Grahame assumed connected to the kitchens.

Adara strode to the doorway. Her shoes clicked on the wooden floor, so loud without the customary straw lain overtop.

Grahame supposed she was wealthy enough in the big, almost empty house that she didn’t need the extra layer of warmth, though it didn’t sit right that there wasn’t even a rug laid out as a makeshift aisle.

As if she believed that their marriage didn’t matter.

None of it felt right.

“Coming?” Adara asked.

Mute, Grahame followed her to the door and offered her his arm. She looked at it as if it were a snake.

“What? You dislike chivalry?”

She blinked, those pretty lashes fanning across her cheekbones. “I am unused to such gestures. There is no need for you to be kind. I understand I’ve trapped you in this arrangement. You do not need to behave as if you are alright with it.”

Grahame blew a breath through puffed cheeks. His arm remained in the air.

“My mother would hit me if she knew I wasn’t giving the proper respect to my bride.”

Adara’s lips curved at the corners. “I can imagine that.”

She had met his mother once, during lambing season.

Adara had travelled further afield to find him and came upon their hut.

His mother had insisted Adara stay for a meal and fed her scones with currant jam while his father eyed Grahame with a stern look.

When she finished eating, she watched a pair of lambs be born before they sent her on her way with Grahame to escort her so nothing bad befell her.

Adara seemed to recall the afternoon because she said in a low voice, “Best currant jam I’ve ever had.”

Something in Grahame’s heart squeezed at the acknowledgement.

He found it easier to grin down at her. “Y’know my father tore a strip off me when I returned from walking you home?

Said if I ever laid with you and got you with child, he would flay me himself so your father would be spared the joy of it. ”

“How did he know us so well?” she teased, her nose wrinkling with laughter. Affection was like a great wind through his chest.

“Probably because he had eyes in his head, ’Dara. Any fool could see how gone I was for you.”

Silence dipped between them as they held each other’s gazes, grins touching the corners of their mouths.

A warmth settled in Grahame as they stared at one another for too long, until Adara slipped her hand through his arm, linking them.

Her touch was a solid balm to his uncertainty. She tore her eyes from his first.

“Let’s get on with it, then.”