Page 24

Chapter

Twenty-One

Grahame

“ Y ou will not give details other than that of your well being. You will not tell of my plans until I reveal them,” Adara said out of the side of her mouth as she stalked to the great room.

There had been some maneuvering in the hall, a demand for Yrsa to proceed first, while Adara and Grahame brought up the rear. Adara’s hair swished at her back with her stride, a distracting reminder of how it felt threaded in his grip.

Grahame shook his head to remove the thoughts that arose of all the other things he could do with that hair and said, “Of course.”

Adara glanced at him sidelong, arching a raven eyebrow of suspicion.

He gave a snort in an attempt to dismiss her mistrust. Adara simply continued forward, though Grahame didn’t miss the way she tilted her chin up in the same manner she did when they were younger.

As if readying to shoulder the weight of the world herself.

Adara’s back was so straight, Grahame could imagine the wings of her shoulder blades kissing beneath the sage green dress she wore.

He wasn’t much better, his throat thick with worry.

As daring as Adara was, Grahame could only see the manner in which everything could go wrong.

Despite Hagan and Thor taking away weapons, Ridley was feral when it came to Yrsa.

It was all Grahame could do to let Adara walk beside him and not shield her behind his back.

“You can do this,” he whispered, leaning into her space as they paused on the entryway to the great room. ’Dara’s mouth quirked upward, the only indication she had heard him. If it meant peace between her and Hyrstow, he’d take it.

“Yrsa.” The reverence in Ridley’s hoarse voice tore Grahame’s attention from his wife.

Ridley’s hands hung at his sides ready to grab for weapons Grahame knew had been taken away. Dark circles had soured the skin beneath his eyes while shadows lived under the cut of his cheekbones. His haggard appearance did nothing to hinder the flame that lit his gaze as Yrsa walked into the room.

A pained gasp broke from Yrsa who ran at Ridley, arms outstretched.

He met her half way, catching her in his arms, pulling her into him as if to meld her body with his.

Grahame caught sight of tears glinting on Yrsa’s cheeks until she pushed her face into Ridley’s neck.

All the while Ridley sowed words of love into her hair.

Watching them was like staring into the sun.

Beside Ridley, Branton glowered, his entire beastly body as tense as the ridge of his clenched jaw. Surprise grabbed Grahame around the collar. He thought it impossible for Bran to leave Emma’s side. Grahame’s hackles rose. If Branton was present, they were in deep shit.

Grahame stifled his grimace, shifting his gaze to Adara. She did not turn away from Yrsa and Ridley’s embrace, the pain she’d caused. Rather, a feline smile spread across her mouth, as if readying for battle.

“Welcome, Ridley Ward.”

Both Ridley and Branton’s gazes locked on Adara and Grahame, side by side at the entrance of the room. Bran scoured the space between their arms, his frown falling lower, if it was possible.

“Please, be seated,” Adara commanded, striding forward as she gestured to the table laden with food and ale.

Branton’s grim features did not change while Ridley’s arms remained wrapped around Yrsa, his eyes narrowed on the woman responsible for their misery.

Behind Ridley and Branton, another man emerged, one Grahame had never seen before. Straw-colored hair, a stony face that had seen many more years than they had, a body covered in chain mail. It had to have been one of Lachlan’s men.

Hagan watched coolly from near the fire, his hand on his swordbelt, while Thor stood near the kitchen door idly flipping a knife and catching its handle, the threat clear. Other men lined the wall, silent, watching.

No one moved as Adara came to stand at the head of the table.

She did not sit. The impasse was enough that Grahame pasted on an easy smile, moving around Adara to break the tension laid thick in the room.

Despite his friend’s look of death, Grahame pulled Branton into a rough embrace.

Bran accepted the hug, smacking him on the back loudly then running his hands over his arms as if checking for injury.

“Are you both well?” Ridley asked, his own gaze searching Grahame.

Grahame nodded, heartily punching Ridley’s shoulder with affection. “Indeed, brother. We’ve been well kept.”

“Some more than others,” Yrsa grumbled, her face buried in Ridley’s neck.

He relaxed his hold just enough for her to turn to face the others but kept his arms anchored around her torso. Bran’s countenance softened as his gaze searched Yrsa.

“What—” Ridley began, murder in his features.

Yrsa’s hand trailed over his face, while the other remained looped around the back of his neck, the knife still in her hand.

Grahame caught the way Hagan glowered at the sight of the weapon.

Grahame shook his head, holding up his hand in a gesture to remain calm.

To his surprise, Hagan relaxed against the wall once more.

“I was kept in the dungeon, while Grahame was allowed to remain up above.”

Furious faces looked to Grahame, then Yrsa. Grahame stepped back to gain some space from the sense of injustice between them.

“The dungeon?” Branton’s quiet words promised torture.

“Indeed,” Adara said from behind them, ready and waiting for their reunion to be over. “I couldn’t very well have a skilled warrior in my midst. Now, shall we meet to parse out the terms of this agreement?”

“Agreement?” Ridley moved aside to push Yrsa behind him. Suddenly, he held her knife, clutched in one hand as if he would bring down the entire house with it.

The man in chainmail stepped forward while Branton thumbed his belt where his small ax usually sat. Grahame sidestepped to Adara. The movement didn’t go unnoticed.

“You took my wife . Tricked us. Stormed our village, causing death. Now we have a host at your door. It does not seem to me like we are much inclined to agree to anything.”

Ridley’s words were hissed through clenched teeth, his entire body shoring up for violence.

Grahame’s heart beat faster. His muscles primed, limbs locking in place, readying to fight.

A weapon would have been useful. He knew how deadly both his friends were, and though he didn’t know the man in chainmail, he appeared battle-worn.

A metallic taste sat at the back of his mouth.

Grahame glanced at Adara who stared at the Hyrstow men as if she wasn’t fazed in the least. Her perfect mouth slid into a knowing line, her jaw relaxed as if she’d been waiting years for such a meet. Perhaps she had.

“I had my reasons, Ridley Ward, and if you are inclined to listen, I have a further proposition for your earl.”

Ridley’s tawny gaze slid from Adara to Hagan to Thor, then scoured the room for further threat.

Yrsa had no such qualms. She stepped around her husband, her hand twined in his, pulling him toward the table.

Ridley’s entire body puffed out for a heartbeat, as if readying to shove her behind him and slay them all, before he acquiesced to her and followed.

Branton was next, his bright blue eyes narrowed on Grahame.

Finally, the stranger in chain mail shuffled to the table.

“Who are you?” Grahame blurted.

The man’s grimace could have been a grin but it folded as quickly as it appeared in his lined face. Brown eyes with an inkling of wisdom returned Grahame’s stare.

“I am Sir Langley, cousin to the Earl of Deircia. I act as his steward and head commander in this matter.”

If Ridley bristled at not being the head commander as he settled next to Yrsa on the table’s left side, he hid it well. Branton plunked down on the edge of the bench, bracketing Yrsa, while Sir Langley settled on Ridley’s left.

Grahame wished to join them. To have Adara across from him so he may hear her proposal with clarity rather than being so near that the scent and warmth of her clouded his judgement.

As it was, he settled himself next to her, the only two on their side of the table.

Grahame wished the act wasn’t so symbolic.

“What could you have to barter with?” Ridley asked, words spewing from his mouth like shards of metal. “You’ve done despicable things. What could have prompted such a dispute? You wish to lay claim to Hyrstow?”

Grahame tensed. Hagan crept forward with lethal grace, menace decorating his features while Thorhild continued to flip the knife, his gaze locked on Branton.

He offered a lazy grin that only promised pain.

And while Grahame thought Adara calm, she surprised them all by leaning forward on her elbows to spit her own words.

“I have no issue with your little nothing village. I take issue with you , Ridley Ward. Your bride was a convenient way to secure revenge.”

“Revenge for what?” Ridley shouted, lips curling over teeth.

Yrsa placed a hand on his upper arm, her eyes tracking the men looming behind them. Grahame tried to catch her gaze to communicate with a look that they needed to stand down, to listen.

“You killed my cousin,” Adara said, her tone like frost upon the ground. She straightened, a haughty knowing infusing her next words. “I have no dispute with anyone but you. When you overtook the lands outside Guston, you came upon a homestead. A woman tried to defend her land, and you ended her.”

Everyone stilled at the pain entrenched in each word. Grahame wished he could pull Adara to him, to let her cry that pain into him while he held her. Instead, he watched his friends, saw confusion mar Ridley’s face, followed by recollection.

“Your cousin…”