Page 32

Chapter

Twenty-Seven

Grahame

T he rat in the cellar should have been a sign.

Cook, stalwart and sure, smacked the little beast over the head with a pot and continued as if Adara’s face hadn’t gone white upon seeing it.

She handed the thing up to Adara, offering the warm little body rather than the dried meat she’d gone into the cellar for.

At the sight of blood dripping from the creature’s mouth, the tinge of Adara’s cheeks went slightly green.

Grahame swooped an arm over her shoulder, grabbing the thing by the tail to take it outside.

Adara could handle anything life threw at her except, perhaps, dead vermin. When Grahame returned through the back door from pitching it in the refuse hole, Cook was bundling the food she was to send with them on their trip to Guston. By then, Adara’s pallor seemed better.

“I wish you a good journey,” the sturdy woman said.

She passed the food to Grahame, who gave a wink in return.

The older woman’s cheeks turned the color of roses.

Adara, ready to leave, bid Cook thanks and goodbye.

They were to travel to Guston, spend the night, then be back in time to pack the horses and wagons for the long journey to her father’s keep in three days.

Thor and Hagan were already by the stable, waiting.

Grahame didn’t bother wiping the self-satisfied smirk from his face when he and his wife approached the other men.

He’d taken his time with Adara that morning, wringing breathless moans from her as precious as gold.

Indeed, their joining might have held up the procession but Grahame didn’t care.

If he was to be threatened by her father and possibly dead within hours of meeting the man, Grahame was going to drink life in by the gallon while he still had the chance.

“What took so long?” Thor had the audacity to whine. He leaned against his horse’s shoulder, picking at his nails with a small knife.

Hagan reached over the saddle and cuffed the man up the back of his head.

His horse nickered but didn’t move as Thor said, “Ow.”

“Mind your business,” Hagan stated. He crossed in front of the great black horse Grahame now knew was Adara’s mount, Ulrich, ready to assist Adara into the saddle.

Grahame made sure to grab her about the waist and plant his lips on hers before she swung up without assistance.

Grahame tied the bundle of food to his own steed before mounting.

The sun dipped out from behind a cloud but another scurried in front of it.

Though the air was cool, Grahame was excited to exit the gates of Clayton House for the first time since he’d entered.

Apprehension did not climb his spine until they were closer to Guston.

Nestled between a stretch of grassland and a sprawling farm that boasted goats, horses and cows, the village was planted before a slim forest to the east. Sheep bleated in the distance, a mockery of Grahame’s previous calling.

Briefly, he wondered how his father was doing with the sheep, if Neil was helping, if they had gone to market in Eoforwic like the time of year demanded.

“You appear pensive,”Adara said, from his right.

On the journey, she’d pointed out places of note, sections of forest she liked to explore, and held an attentive ear for any of his questions. He did not have many. Grahame was struck by his luck to be riding with the woman who had commanded his thoughts for years.

“I only wish to absorb as much information as I can regarding your lands,” he replied.

His formal tone was something he worked on all the way to Guston.

Grahame had never needed formality. He’d been bred into hard work and later, some comfort, but nothing more than shepherding had ever been expected of him.

Adara seemed to notice the stiffness with which he spoke.

“Are you displeased with our journey?”

“No.”

She nodded, though she did not press. There was no time, anyway.

Hagan plodded past the first wood-planked hut, its thatched roof so like those in Hyrstow.

Something in Grahame’s chest tightened. They travelled through and around a tangle of huts and animal pens.

Mens’ heads tilted up from their labor while women with children around their ankles halted to observe their procession.

Adara wore a permanent smile as she lifted a hand in greeting which was heartily reciprocated.

Eventually, the latticework of huts gave way to several larger buildings that butted against the village square.

A wisp of smoke curled from the great hall’s chimney.

As their party came to a halt, a man exited a well-built structure to the south.

He lifted his hand in greeting, a smile on his broad face.

Grahame’s grip tightened on the reins. Any of the men in the village could have been related to the ones that attacked Emma and Yrsa.

Her pretty smile intact, Adara swung down from her horse and crossed to the stout, bulky man that held his arms out at his sides. Without hesitation she entered his embrace. Grahame, Hagan, and Thor dismounted, though Grahame was the only one to step closer to his wife.

“I was not expecting to see you until the leaves turned,” the man said with a chuckle.

The sound churned Grahame’s middle. Was he one of those who had stormed through Hyrstow’s market? Adara stepped away from the man, her gaze finding him.

“I have someone I’d like you to meet,” she said in a loud, clear voice. Several people had trickled into the square, their eyes on the greeting. “My new husband and now Lord of Clayton House, Grahame Shepherd of Hyrstow.”

The announcement rippled through those assembled, their murmurs like wildfire catching on a breeze. Grahame didn’t miss the turning heads, the eyes skewering him to the ground. Heat rose up his neck.

Adara simply canted her head as if she hadn’t just announced the presence of an enemy. Her smooth smile in place, she reached for Grahame’s hand, pulling him to her side. He threaded his fingers through hers as he notched his chin higher.

“Hyrstow?” the sturdy man asked. He wore a leather patch over one eye but his other, a muddy brown, narrowed in Grahame’s direction. “It sounds as if you come with a story, My Lady. Please, come inside. Sup with us and tell the tale of this new partnership.”

Grahame blew out a steady breath from his nose as they went into what was the village tavern. It was like rot in his belly to eat at an establishment where any of the patrons could have sacked Hyrstow. Yet he was surprised that those in the tavern greeted Adara with smiles and hand shakes.

The man with the eye patch was introduced as Uhtread, the owner.

He settled them at the centermost table where Adara told the glorified version of her marriage to Grahame: that they met years ago, how he’d grown in prosperity well enough to court her, and how, despite their opposing earldoms, an allegiance would be beneficial to all.

Uhtread listened intently, rubbing his scruffy chin, then disappeared down the short hall past the bar top to prepare their meal.

A stream of men and women came through the tavern.

Adara nodded along with the men who complained of their crops, their families, and their taxes.

Grahame tried his best to hold a smile while Adara remained focused on whomever she spoke to, however he was faintly aware that he was failing.

Regardless, Adara soothed those who expressed hardship whether due to a poor crop, the loss of a family member, or the implementation of her father’s new tax.

It was a surprise they revealed so much to the earl’s daughter, yet Grahame appreciated the loyalty these men seemed to have for her.

Food came, a hearty slab of meat and bread, along with a side of buttered carrots.

As they ate, people continued to see her; one thanked her for sending a healer to their child, another praised her reduction of their tax rate when their crop did poorly the previous fall.

How much she actually collected was not discussed; however, Grahame wondered what amount Adara paid to cover what her tenants could not.

Surely, she would dwindle her coffers if she did so for any length of time.

Only as darkness crept around the door did Grahame realize how late it had gotten.

“There is a room available at the back,” Hagan advised, arriving at the table after paying.

Adara nodded, catching Uhtread’s eye on the other side of the room. The man inclined his head as he cleaned a mug.

“Finally,” Grahame murmured, leaning close so only Adara would hear. He was starved for a morsel of her attention, which she had so freely given to everyone else.

Adara grinned before hollering a thank you to the barkeep and striding to the rear of the tavern, which served as an inn.

Grahame followed her, his head churning.

The day had been a reminder of his wife’s schemes.

He did not have the mind for politics, though that did not mean Adara wasn’t making plans.

Behind a heavy brown curtain was a short hall that branched off into four rooms. Two doors lay open, one of which Adara claimed.

Grahame noted the two small cots on either side and the wash basin on a stool in between.

Three candles flickered beside the basin, the only light in the cramped room.

The faint scent of onions and ale clogged the space, but Grahame wasn’t one to complain. A roof overhead was more than welcome.

“Rest,” Adara said, absently gesturing with a slender hand toward one of the beds. She worried her thumb nail as she stared at the closed wooden door of their room. Grahame slid his arms around Adara’s middle. He drew the first loose breath of the day, his nose full of Adara’s rose petal scent.

“I did not expect you to hold such a court here,” he murmured, tightening his hold.

Her breasts were shelved by his forearms, soft and full. A snicker drifted from her lips as she curled her hands over his.

“It surprised you that I listen and speak to my people.”

A statement but not a reprimand.

Grahame placed a kiss on the top of her head before pulling away to say, “The Adara I now know is a Lady. The ruler of Clayton House, where everyone is at her beck and call.”

He hesitated, his tongue tasting words he was not sure how to say.

The visit had shown him another side of her.

A tender, kind side. Yet it reminded him that he had no knowledge of anything other than what she deemed to tell him.

That, despite the deep affection and desire he felt for her, he still could not fully trust her.

“And? What else?” Adara asked, turning her face to the side so she could look up at him with one eye.

She was softer in the dim light, her features cloaked in shadow. It felt as if they were in a bubble, no one alive but them. Grahame swallowed around the knot in his throat.

“She’s a raider, a fierce fighter, a strategic planner.”

Adara’s fingers on his arm twitched. She did not smile.

“Say what you wish, Husband. Though you’ve chosen flattering words, the tone in which you wield them suggests you do not think those traits admirable.”