Page 22

Chapter

Nineteen

Adara

G rahame braced an arm around Adara’s waist and shoved her behind him so fast her head whirled. Her face met with the cloth of his tunic as he anchored her behind the wall of his body. Adara’s hands molded to his arms in an attempt to right herself against the sheer magnitude of his protection.

“Get inside. Ridley’s called in more men,” he snarled.

With a grunt, Adara was able to stand on tiptoe to see around him.

She wished she hadn’t. About three hundred yards past her gate was a collection of soldiers.

Each held an implement of death, whether it be a sword, shield, knife, club, or ax.

They’d come on horse, with armour and without, their solemn faces painted a dark green.

Ridley Ward was shaking the hand of one of the armored men while the small band of men he’d brought from Hyrstow remained by his side, ready to help their leader in this battle Adara had waged.

“Get inside, Adara,” Grahame seethed through his teeth. His muscles bunched beneath her hands.

Adara shoved down the panic that greased her insides. She couldn’t let it take hold of her. If she did, her command was over.

“Come with me,” she ordered, pulling his tunic. There was no way she would leave him to fend off an army, even if it was made up of his own people. They wouldn’t know it was their friend behind the gate if they chose to plow it down.

As if unable to let his guard down wholly, Grahame turned to the side allowing him to keep an eye on the figures in the distance. His mouth was a grim line.

“No, Adara. I need to speak with them. I need you inside. I need…Christ.” Grahame shoved a hand through his unruly curls, his straight nose wrinkling with a grimace. “I need to talk to Ridley. I need you to go somewhere where you’ll be safe.”

“I will not run away,” Adara began. Her words were cut short by Grahame picking her up and throwing her over his shoulder.

With purposeful strides he went back to the house, his arm like a steel band over her legs.

She shrieked with frustration, but Grahame ignored her as he worked through what to do.

“Those must be Lachlan’s men. I’ll try to reason with him. We can give Yrsa back, they can see she’s unharmed, and…”

The warm light of the entryway greeted them as they moved over the threshold.

Thorhild’s steps thudded down the hall, his protest as to what Grahame was doing to Adara overshadowed by Grahame’s booming orders for men to assemble in the great room immediately.

With little ceremony, he leaned down and righted Adara.

His hand didn’t leave her hip until he knew she had her balance, though his gaze cut past her to Thor and Hagan, who were crowded in the hall behind her.

“Ridley has reinforcements. Likely men from Lachlan’s keep. It’s not a whole army but enough to overturn the house.”

Thor moved around them to the door, poking his blonde head out to see for himself. Hagan simply stared at her in shock as if Grahame taking charge of the matter was the most distressing part of the situation.

“The men do not appear to be approaching. Hagan, gather everyone in the house, take them out through the rear. Perhaps we can ready the horses and leave before they catch wind that we’re gone.” As Grahame spoke, Thor’s hand shifted to the wicked dagger on his belt.

“We will not leave,” Adara sputtered. She had never seen this decisive side of Grahame. A tiny, selfish part of her rejoiced at the thought of his dominance. However, there would be no escape. She still held Yrsa. They would not desert her home.

As if she was not there, the three men all began speaking at once.

“There are too many…”

“We don’t have the men for battle…”

“Time is of the essence…”

Adara held up her hands in a gesture for silence, her tone slipping into one of command rather than consternation. She had to wrangle a plan. One that would keep the people of her house safe. The familiar clutch of panic wove up her shoulders.

Rather than cave to it, she ground her teeth and shouted, “Listen! We shall not leave. This is my home. I still hold the upper hand.”

Her words were met with open mouths and straightened shoulders.

The men blinked down at her as if she had set fire to the tapestries.

They thought her a woman not thinking clearly.

Little did it matter, for her mind was racing over the things she could offer and what she would have to sacrifice.

She could free Yrsa, which meant giving up her revenge.

She could fight or be locked in siege. Both would call her father down from his keep to defend his daughter, something she absolutely did not want.

Adara fisted her clammy hands. Her ambition had landed her in the situation and it would damn well pull her out of it.

“’Dara,” Grahame started, reaching for her wrist, as if their fresh argument gave him any right to overrule her. She pulled her arm away.

“Hagan, take me to Yrsa Ward. I will speak with her and stop this madness before it even starts.”

Adara stretched a hand between Hagan and Thor so as to move between them. They yielded to her immediately.

“Lady, we must do away with the chieftain's bride, ” Hagan said as he fell into step beside her.

She sensed the alertness he wore like a second skin.

It was a comfort and a curse. Hagan would die to protect her, she knew.

Many of them would. Yet she did not want them to.

She loved those in her care: each tenant, every homestead leading up to Guston, even those inside the turbulent village.

Those who served in her home would not live in fear.

Which was why she had to protect them from her father’s rule.

Hagan unlocked the door to Yrsa’s room. He braced his hand on the handle, his large body taking up the doorway.

“Step aside, please. I would like to speak with her alone,” Adara said. She puffed out her chest with resolve.

“I will accompany you,” Hagan retorted.

Adara felt both Thor and Grahame at her back.

Murmuring from the kitchens grew louder.

Somewhere from the yard came shouts and the sounds of clanking weaponry.

Worry was a finger along her throat. The property was a handful of cooks and washing maids and stable hands.

Muretta and a small force of men. They could not hope to take on the soldiers Ridley threatened.

She widened her stance, locking her legs in place.

“You were not with me when I visited Yrsa Ward in the dungeons at night.”

Hagan stiffened. Adara continued. She ignored the stab of guilt she felt at the disregard she had shown her guards by lying to them.

“You know I’m a poor sleeper, Hagan. I grew lonely. I yearned to speak to someone who had an inkling of power such as mine. She and I got along when we were not under the threat of male presence.”

Warm fingers locked around her wrist. She didn’t have to look up to know Grahame’s touch. His thumb brushed the tender skin of her pulse; a thank you, a show of protection, she wasn’t sure. Whatever it was, it bolstered her.

“Move, Hagan. I will settle this feud with Yrsa.”

“You are to let her go?” Thor interjected. His hand twitched at his side, his gaze locked on Grahame. He wore his mistrust like a heavy cloak.

“Not quite,” Adara muttered. She swallowed the fear that snaked up her throat. The only play she had was her strength, her integrity. All she could do was hope Yrsa Ward would accept her proposal.

“Leave us.”

Hagan’s jaw rippled, his face stricken as he slowly coaxed the door open. Grahame threaded his fingers through hers. He walked with her into the room, sticking to her side like a burr.

Pleasure and uncertainty warred within her. Despite Grahame’s words that he suffered her absence, his loyalty was to Hyrstow. Hyrstow wanted her dead. Adara stuffed her doubt to the back of her mind as Yrsa stood from the mattress and faced them both with a smile on her perfect lips.