Page 20

Chapter

Seventeen

Adara

Y rsa was released from the dungeon before dawn. She was given a small room in the servant’s quarters, stripped bare of anything that could be construed as a weapon.

“One night with the farm boy and you’ve abandoned your mission?”

Muretta paced the great room before the fire. She wore a navy shawl about her shoulders despite the high fire warding off the cold that clung to the walls. Adara absently wondered how her farmers would do after the deluge. Rain was always welcome. Too much, however, was disaster.

“I’m not abandoning anything. Yrsa Ward is still my prisoner. I have simply reconsidered her place in the dungeons. She can be a prisoner upstairs.”

Annoyance prickled the back of her neck as she reviewed the tax amounts she would have to collect come harvest. The sums had been sent by her father last month though the increases were out of reach for nearly all tenants in the area.

She placed the parchment on the table before her and rubbed her eyes.

A visit to her tenants was needed. It would get her out of her head, out of this oppressive house she was working so hard to keep.

Though she couldn’t very well leave when Ward threatened her doorstep.

“She could kill us with anything up here. Hagan and Thor both said she was lethal.” Muretta’s hands moved at her sides with the flurry of a bird’s wings as she paced.

Adara felt a stab of affection for her; Muretta could be utterly brave in the face of a man yet worried over a Viking woman.

Adara let her shoulders drop. Exhaustion wound tight along her limbs.

There had been little sleep after Grahame left the room the night previous.

Instead, she’d removed her dress then sat by the fire in her nightclothes, reliving every moment she’d spent with Grahame.

Her mind loved to remind her of the tiny creases in the corners of his eyes when he smirked and the mountain range of muscle that was his lean stomach.

Of the way it flexed when he came all over her, his face awash with guilt and loathing.

“She should be fine if one of the men is with us.”

“How? She could kill them, too!” Muretta’s hands spread with her words.

“Adara, why? Her husband has agreed to wait until she is released. We have her where we want her, and you need to focus on your new groom. You travel to your father’s in less than a fortnight. The two of you should be preparing.”

Adara pinched the bridge of her nose. She wished for some tea but Bhlaine had disappeared into the kitchens a while ago.

“I know, Muretta, I do. But I also hate the thought of a woman down there in the cold and dark for no other reason than I want to punish her husband.”

Muretta’s mouth dropped open. She pressed her hands to her fine, yellow skirts.

“Adara, I must be so bold as to say your new husband has screwed the sense from your head. Why should you care about the woman down there? From what you have shared about the villains in Hyrstow, the whole lot of them can rot.”

Adara shook her head as she glanced back down at the parchment. Her tone was wry when she said, “Believe me, no amount of bedding from Grahame would strike sense from me.”

Muretta wrinkled her nose. “Ah. No good then? I thought with his jokes and that smile he’d have a way with women. But, I guess you never know until you take them for a ride…”

“That’s quite enough, Muretta.”

Adara did not want to talk about Grahame. Not about the way he kissed her like he wanted to steal her breath. Not about the manner in which his hands traced her outline like she was something he craved. Certainly not about the women of his past while he left her panting and alone in her bedchamber.

She also didn’t want to discuss the growing, messy sense that her exhaustion was not simply from brooding over Grahame.

It was due to the heaping pile of second-guessing that occurred along with it.

Thoughts of Grahame made her question how much he cared for his friends if he was willing to sacrifice himself in service to them.

She wondered how the dreadful people of Hyrstow had inspired such loyalty.

Adara blew out a breath. She leaned back in her chair, her back thanking her for the stretch.

“I am getting my revenge. Stealing the priest from Hyrstow was another part of it. And yet, Ridley’s wife has a will of steel. I do not think she will bend further to me, even if I decide to torture her. It will be punishment enough to keep them apart until I decide what else needs to be done.”

“Do you hear her?” Muretta gestured with one hand to Hagan as he and Grumb entered, Yrsa between them.

The woman’s skin was sallow, her hair filthy, yet she stood with an intangible grace that Adara envied.

“I do. I also know my place when it comes to our lady,” Hagan said.

Adara tensed when she looked upon her guard. She knew there was no point in dwelling in her embarrassment over the night previous. Though, she couldn’t help notice the way Hagan avoided her gaze as he brought Yrsa forward.

“That is why I am here. I will ensure no one acts untoward.”

Muretta gripped her top lip with her bottom teeth. She nodded once then wiped any emotion from her features. It was a skill Adara admired.

Thor and Grahame entered a moment later.

“Yrsa.” Grahame moved forward as soon as he spotted her. He halted when Grumbheld put his palm up before Grahame could get close.

“Wait there,” the guard said.

Grahame turned his gaze, burning with anger, on Adara. There was no softness in his countenance, no flicker of acknowledgement over what they had done the night previous. Adara told herself she did not care about his ire.

“He is permitted to touch her,” Adara ordered Grumb.

He nodded, stepping back toward the door.

Gratitude for him warmed Adara. Grumbheld always listened.

She stood, rolling the parchment, trying to avoid looking at her husband.

Thor caught her eye, offering her a friendly wink as if to say anything he’d witnessed the night before had been forgotten.

Adara nodded her thanks, not missing the affronted look Grahame issued them before he dragged Yrsa into his embrace.

Hagan did not release Yrsa’s arm as she hugged Grahame around the waist.

“For the love of God, man. Look at her, she can’t do anything,” Grahame seethed.

Adara rolled her eyes. “Show them how well you are, Yrsa. I have not starved you. Other than a little darkness and chill, you should be at full strength.”

Yrsa’s navy eyes narrowed on Adara. She released Grahame, fisting her hands at her sides as she straightened. Adara gave a self-satisfied smirk at the shock that coated Grahame’s handsome face.

“What is the meaning of this?” Grahame demanded as he reached for Yrsa again.

Her arm entwined with his just as Adara’s had during their wedding ceremony. Something ugly turned over in Adara’s gut.

Rather than answer, she poured herself a cup of watered ale from the jug on the table and took a drink. The hoppy flavor did nothing to calm her, yet allowed for a pause to show Grahame who was in charge.

“I have followed through on my bargain. Yrsa may stay in the upper house. You are welcome. Or would you rather your friend remain in the cold dungeon?”

Hagan stood by the door while Thorhild settled himself at Adara’s side, ready to defend if the need arose. Grahame put a wide hand over Yrsa’s where she clutched his upper arm, anger radiating from him.

“The agreement was that you set her free.”

Heat rose to Adara’s cheeks. He dare defy her in front of her men?

“I will keep my word as needed, Husband.”

The use of Grahame’s new title gave the desired effect. Yrsa’s mouth dropped open, her eyes going round as she clung to his side.

“Husband?” she breathed.

Adara couldn’t help the sense of pleasure she derived at the sliver of distance Yrsa placed between herself and Grahame as she searched his face. The sorrow in her pretty features begged for it not to be true.

Grahame set his jaw, his entire body going rigid as he issued a curt nod. “Aye, Yrsa. We were married yesterday. I am a prisoner for life, it seems.”

Adara froze her features in place. She would not reveal how his simple words sliced into her like daggers, each finding a mark close to her heart. It was her own folly to think he’d imagine her as anything other than a gaoler.

Adara bared her teeth in a feral smile. “You did not complain about the jail between my thighs last evening.”

Yrsa watched them volley words.

Adara’s must have hit their mark because Grahame’s cheeks turned from tanned to ruddy. “A prison is still a prison, no matter its beauty.”

“Ah, you think I’m beautiful?” Adara pretended to preen, yanking her fingers through her long, dark locks.

Grahame’s grip around Yrsa loosened as he stepped forward, ready to argue. Adara refused to admit the way it thrilled her. That she could still encourage a response from him, even an angry one.

“Enough.”

The word rang through the room with the authority of someone listened to. Everyone turned their gazes to Yrsa.

“You argue like children, both of you.” The sharp-tongued woman inclined her head at Adara. “My Lady, I will not insult you by saying I will be a good captive. I never have been. However, I will remain docile enough to receive a bath and a meal, if you would be so generous.”

Adara fought the grin that threatened her mouth. As much as she wished to impart sorrow upon Ridley Ward, his wife was entirely fascinating. A woman of strength and determination; Adara admired both attributes.

“I will allow it. Men will guard your room. No one will assist you as I do not trust you not to kill them.”

Yrsa grinned. It was beautiful and terrifying. “Smart choice.”

Adara snatched an apple from the plate on the table.

“Grahame, you will accompany me. I’d like to have a word with you.”

With a forced air of indifference, Adara walked around them.

She ignored the way Grahame pulled Yrsa back into a hug and whispered comforting things into her hair.

Ignored the twinge of guilt she felt. She also squashed the feeling of betrayal at Grahame’s proclamation of imprisonment. It was true. Even if it felt ugly.

By the time she reached the front door, she’d almost convinced herself she did not care about any of it.