Page 29

Chapter

Twenty-Five

Grahame

T he bed was empty when he awoke. Grahame tried to ignore the hurt that rubbed at him like a wet garment.

Adara was her own woman. Had been for years.

And he wasn’t her keeper. It’s what he told himself as he dressed in his discarded clothes, as he relieved himself in the chamber pot.

The fire had burnt down to ash. He hurried out of the room, wondering after the time.

“Oy!” Thorhild exclaimed as Grahame nearly knocked him over as he strode into the hall. “Watch your feet!”

Grahame glowered, annoyed. “Why don’t you?”

Thor scowled, but his attention was on the leather strap connected to the shoulder piece of the breastplate he wore. A sword lay in wait in his belt. Grahame tensed.

“Are we under attack?”

Thor issued him a flat look then continued onward, albeit slowly, as he fiddled with threading the strap through its clasp. “Just from the lady of the house.”

“What does that mean?” Grahame demanded. He ran a hand through the mess of his hair. Hunger gnawed at his insides and with it, an impatience that could rival a bear’s.

Thor halted at the entry to the great room, his chin twisted to his shoulder as he tried to eye where the leather connected. Grahame rolled his eyes and took hold of the material, threading it and tightening so the armor fit around the man’s bulky muscle.

“My thanks,” Thor said, his countenance lightening. “She’s out by the stable. Wanted a few opponents to skewer. Grab a bun from the table and follow me. I can take you to her.”

“Opponents?” Grahame asked, after obeying the recommendation of food.

Thor grinned, his teeth flashing as he opened the front door and walked out. Sun poured down from the east; it appeared to be nearly mid-morn. Grahame stuffed the bun in his mouth, savoring the buttery glaze on top.

“Aye, she means to ravage us today,” Thor said, then, as if realizing Grahame wasn’t a friend, amended, “I mean, my lady wished to shape up her combat skills in the wake of our unwanted visitors. Hagan is putting her through it right now. I thought I’d don my armor so she doesn’t stab me.”

Grahame’s hackles rose. Hagan putting Adara “through” anything had him clenching his fists.

Though, as they rounded the right side of the house to the rear of the yard, Grahame saw Thor’s meaning.

In loose pants and a fitted tunic, Adara whirled, a short sword in hand.

Hagan bared down on her with his shield, a grimace etched across his mouth.

In a terrifying heartbeat, he slammed the thick wood against her weapon and brought his own short sword beneath her guard.

“No!” The shout left Grahame’s lips before he thought to utter it.

Hagan paused mid-strike, his head jerking in Grahame’s direction.

The distraction cost him. Her features twisted in a scowl, Adara kicked his arm, sending his sword flying.

He yelped, his focus finding her too late.

She swung low, bringing the flat of her sword against his thigh.

If the blade had been turned, he would have bled out.

“Nicely done, My Lady!” Thor shouted, hurrying forward.

Adara’s furious gaze whipped to them. She stabbed her weapon into the soft ground.

“You dare protest when I am training? Is danger of no consequence to you?”

Adara’s hair had been woven into a crown around her head.

The style showcased the ripeness of her cheekbones, the austere set of her mouth.

Grahame couldn’t take his eyes off her if he tried.

In the stable to their right, the horses snorted, Adara’s raised voice causing them to paw at the ground.

Hagan recovered quickly, stalking up to flank his lady.

“He was going to…” Grahame began to protest.

“Hurt me? Are you so simple as to think my trusted man would harm me?”

Grahame raised both hands in front of him. “I…I apologize, Lady, for I do not know what I thought. I reacted when I saw you in the path of a weapon. Forgive me.”

Thor laughed, long and loud, a hand to his metal covered middle. The infuriating man strolled over to the others, covering Adara’s other side.

“You thought Hagan was fighting her?”

The scoff broke up the look of murder on Hagan’s features. He pushed Thor by the shoulder, a crooked grin winding up one side of his mouth. “Aye, she’s safe with me, My Lord,” the gruff man said.

Grahame blinked. He had the urge to glance behind himself to see to whom Hagan spoke but forced himself to refrain.

“Ah, yes! My Lord wished to seek his wife this morn and ran into me in the hall,” Thor crowed.

Grahame ran a hand over the back of his neck to relieve the heat that climbed from his chest to his cheeks.

The new marriage made him their lord, despite their mocking tone.

A glance back to Adara had the tightness in his chest loosening.

Her gaze had softened, her mouth curving with the slightest smile.

“You are forgiven, My Lord ,” she said, joining in on the teasing.

Grahame wasn’t bothered when she did it.

“Would you care to watch? I train with Hagan five days a week to keep up my combat skills.”

“Combat skills?” Grahame echoed. He shifted to his heels, crossing his arms over his chest. Would this woman ever stop surprising him?

“Why, of course. I need to be able to defend myself. I am no weak thing ready to wilt.”

Grahame swallowed around the dryness in his throat. Adara was many things, but weak wasn’t one.

“I would like to watch,” he said.

Adara’s gaze dipped to where the material of his tunic stretched beneath his forearms. He made his chest muscles dance, just to get a rise out of her.

It worked. Adara’s eyes widened then shot to his.

Grahame smirked. As if annoyed by his antics, she shook her head and turned back to where she and Hagan had been sparring.

The big man shot him a glare before stating, “No interruptions.”

Grahame nodded, crossing to the straw overhang of the stable.

He veered away from the giant black horse that whinnied at him as if he were a meal, and leaned against the door of a stall that held a grey mare.

It sniffed at his back but didn’t try to nibble his clothing.

The pungent, sweet sweat smell of the building reminded him of his sheep.

Over the course of the morning, Grahame watched Adara take her turns with Hagan, then Thor, then both at once.

He had to fist his hands beneath his armpits when the swords slid too close to Adara than was comfortable, but he was able to stop from shouting at the men.

Mostly, though, watching them spar was akin to a dance.

Steel clashed on wood, bodies were shoved, Adara whirled as if she’d been born with a blade in hand.

It heartened Grahame to see her prowess.

She’d be no lamb to slaughter if the need arose.

Finally, they leaned their swords against the stable. Adara retrieved a set of small daggers from a cloth roll. A nearby stump had target rings etched into its side along with a multitude of scars. She proceeded to throw them at various targets, each finding their mark with deadly accuracy.

“When did you learn that?” Grahame asked, astounded.

Adara’s answering grin was smug. She pinched a dagger between her thumb and forefinger then let it fly at the stump. It embedded a hairsbreadth from another dagger that claimed the centermost spot in the ring.

“After I was married. Hagan taught me.”

When the sun was at its highest, Adara declared it time for a meal, to which Thor heartily agreed.

Sweat coated his brow as he stomped up to the main door.

Hagan, on the other hand, continued to lecture Adara over the position of her wrist during her last throw.

Adara listened, her features schooled in concentration.

When she snuck a look at Grahame, his heart beat faster.

“Aye, I can tell it's time to finish,” Hagan muttered loud enough for Grahame to hear. “He is a distraction you cannot afford, my lady.”

Grahame offered a mocking salute as Hagan left. The gesture caused Adara’s mouth to tilt upward.

“You’ll have to forgive him. He is always like this,” she said as she walked to him.

There was a feline grace in the way she moved, even after a morning of slinging weapons around.

Grahame straightened from where he leaned, rolling his shoulders. “Aye, I’ve gathered he’s miserable. Though I am pleased he takes the time to do this with you.”

Raven-colored eyebrows rose. “Why, did you think I was a helpless damsel? Of course he takes the time. It is his job to ensure my safety.”

Adara’s teasing tone did nothing to temper the curiosity that Grahame wrestled with.

She must have seen it in him because she placed her hands on her hips and said, “Out with it.”

Grahame scraped a hand through his hair then scratched the back of his neck. “Does he ensure your safety? Or is his loyalty to your father?”

Adara had the gall to tip her head back and laugh. It rang beneath the overhang, grabbing the attention of the horses. The sound did something to Grahame’s lower half as well.

“I was wondering when this would happen.”

“This?” Grahame couldn’t help himself any longer. He placed a proprietary hand on the curve of her waist.

Adara smirked, the sly fox. “Your jealousy over Hagan.”

“I am not jealous.”

She placed a finger in the center of his chest then drew a circle, all the while batting her long, dark lashes at him.

“Hagan and I have a relationship that has nothing to do with you—”

“Relationship?” Grahame cut in.

He tightened his grip on her waist, the thick fabric of her tunic blocking his hand from the silk of her skin.

His vision went hazy for a moment as he pictured his ’Dara splayed out under the brawny man.

How they could have kept one another company for years while she was married. His mind hooked on the last thought.

Married.

Christ.

From what he knew of her, Adara wouldn’t have bothered to entertain relations with other men. Hagan was her guard. Someone close to her age. A confidant. For all his care, Hagan looked at Adara with affection, though not in the same manner he looked at Muretta. As if he hungered for her.

Grahame flushed with embarrassment.

“Indeed, Husband. My relationship with my guard has grown over time. And though he was assigned by my father, I trust him implicitly.”

Grahame was already nodding, his features collapsing into chagrin. “Forgive me, lady. I appear to be so besotted by our time together last night that I am a little tender about who you give your attention to.”

Surprise colored Adara’s cheeks at the admission. Her teasing veneer slipped away as her finger stilled from tracing patterns on his chest. A vulnerability lay in her eyes that Grahame hadn’t seen before.

“Do you remember when your aunt found out you were slipping away from Cecilia? She made you clean the chamber pot and wash clothes and sweep and scrub the floor?” he asked.

Adara nodded, her fingers tightening slightly in Grahame’s tunic. He relished the feel of her nails against him.

“Yes, but I managed it all and still snuck away. I couldn’t be kept from you.”

A smile split Grahame’s mouth. The admission, years later, was like a precious gem he wanted to hoard inside his heart. He leaned to her, cupping her cheek. Her skin was too smooth, too tempting. He’d never met anyone with skin like hers.

“Aye, I no longer wish to be kept from you. Please wake me next time you go to train. We have lost too much time already. You invade my thoughts, Wife.”

Grahame dipped his lips to Adara’s. He did not bother with chaste or sweet. They were past the point of decorum. He plied her mouth with his thoroughly, daring her to rebuke his spike of jealousy.

True to form, Adara did not back down. She took his mouth and tongue and teeth.

Her hands wound their way around his shoulders, twin snakes that he wished could anchor them together.

When he dipped to rub his hardness between her legs, they parted.

Gasps lived upon their lips like sullied prayers.

And, though gruff, Grahame’s last word felt like a heady promise.

One that burned brightly in the wake of a storm.