Page 35

Chapter

Thirty

Adara

A dara didn’t bother holding back her sneer. She could barely control the impulse to strike the man down, to haul Grahame from the room and ride with him to Hyrstow, where he would be safe. She wove her fingers together to halt herself from reaching for Grahame’s hand.

“Thank you for your generosity, Father. I appreciate the care you’ve taken to find a marriage prospect. It is rather unfortunate that I have already wed. I took it upon myself to find a match.”

Eadric did not allow one ounce of surprise to cross his face. Her intended groom, however, scowled, his wide face tipping into something murderous as he looked from the earl to his daughter.

“Have you, now?” Eadric mused. His voice was like the gnarled branches of a dead willow tree. He tapped his index finger on the armrest. “Can I hope it was for strategy? Or did you marry someone like Hagan?”

Adara wished she could spit in his face.

Once, a few years into her marriage to Elvin, her father had pulled her aside at a Yuletide feast and asked after her ability to bear children.

She’d been flustered by the question, but he’d told her she needed a little beast inside her whether she got it from her husband or her guard so long as the thing could pass as legitimate.

Eadric assumed she was at least trying to fulfill her responsibility with Hagan.

“No, Father. I have not married Hagan. He is my trusted guard. He has my esteem and respect. I have married Grahame Shepherd, wealthy merchant of Hyrstow, and new Lord Clayton.” The words were quick, hard-edged.

Grahame stepped forward, putting himself in line with Adara. She did not dare glance up at him, did not dare breathe as his sleeve brushed hers.

The grin that spread on her father’s face made Adara’s middle pitch forward. It wound up his cheeks until it collapsed his eyes as he let out a stunted clap of a laugh.

“So, the new priest told the truth. You cannot be serious, Daughter,” he said as laughter creaked from him again. He pounded a hand on his armrest.

Around them, the murmuring of his men descended into scoffing chuckles. Adara tried to calm her trembling hands by holding them stiff at her sides. Oswald had relayed news of the marriage?

“Indeed, I am. I intended to travel to your keep in the coming days to announce the news but you have spared me the journey, and for that, I thank you.”

From the corner of her eye she could see Grahame’s passive grin.

The one he wore when he acted a jester, or drifted off into his own mind to duck his feelings.

It enraged her more than it should have.

He was playing his part but that dismissive smile, the one she’d first seen when she called him to Clayton House, nearly carved her in two.

“Am I to suppose this lumbering fool is the man in question? He is pretty, Adara, but I thought you had more sense than to marry just to have a shiny toy in your bed. Not when I’ve been benevolent enough to bring a proper match.”

Every one of Adara’s muscles locked around her bones. She fought it, loosened her shoulders as she took a step forward, hands spread in supplication.

“I’ll admit, his appearance was a happy accident.

As you know, Elvin was sick prior to his death.

I’d begun planning my next match as soon as my dear husband left this earth.

You had chosen such a fine husband for me the first time, I wanted to make you proud with my next.

It is all I’ve ever wanted: for you to be proud. ”

Eadric waved his hand dismissively. His hawkish eyes locked on Grahame.

“Flattery does not become you, Daughter. There is no need for it. If you would like to discuss the events preceding Elvin’s death, how about you explain to me your Hyrstow raid? I heard you got Guston men involved in a squabble that landed you in Deircia territory.”

Adara’s face heated. A bead of sweat trailed down her spine. Was he really going to air her deeds in front of the whole room?

“You heard correct, Father. I wished to keep Ridley Ward of Hyrstow in check. As a gift to you, since he had stolen the disputed territory from us. It has since been settled with the marriage to Shepherd. He is the bridge to peace between the earldoms.”

Eadric arched a brow as he scratched his grizzled cheek with his thumbnail. Grey dotted the scruff along his pointed jaw, matching the silver that streaked through his black hair.

“In check? A gift to me? You’ve only proven your weakness. Just like your mother. She’s gone. Did you know that? Died last month. Succumbed to what ailed her, finally. If you had answered my summons, you might have known. Might have been a good daughter and shown the proper respects at her burial.”

The news slammed into Adara as the blow it was intended to be.

Her mouth moved, flapping open and closed as she harnessed words.

A picture of her mother shoved to mind, though after not having seen her for years, it was a blurry imagining.

Annallee of Bernira had been a waif, haunted and child-like, even in Adara’s memories.

“Imagine my trouble when one of my lords died, my daughter enacted unprovoked raids against a neighbouring earldom, my wife dies, and my daughter took a new husband without my approval. This is why women aren’t fit for anything.

I can respect the jump your supposed husband has taken from shepherd to lord.

At least he has enough of a mind to climb the ladder of nobility. ”

Adara barely heard the words as her father’s attention landed fully on Grahame. Her mind raced, trying to keep up with the change in subject while her heart shouted with grief for her mother. Her mother, to whom her father had always been cruel.

Grahame played his part well. He did not reach for her nor did he offer a kind word for her loss.

“Have you bedded her under witness?” Eadric asked Grahame.

Adara shook her head to clear it. It was her task to confirm the details—to show she was the head of her house.

“Yes, My Earl. We were wed under the supervision of the church, and I bedded her with proper witness.” Grahame’s voice was full and strong next to her, suffused with something akin to triumph.

It made Adara’s skin crawl. He sounded like any other man, satisfied in his conquering.

Eadric fisted a hand then released it. His bony shoulders shifted as he scooped up his mug and took a long pull. The Briton he had brought to wed her settled back down, but her father snarled, “I didn’t give you leave to sit,” and the man hopped back to standing.

“See?” the earl said. “See how Galan listens? Do you listen, Grahame of Hyrstow?”

“I’ve been listening this entire time, Earl.

You want a man for your daughter who will lead, yet one who will be ruled.

You want a match offering resources or power or both.

I will admit, resources I have, and alliances I can broker.

She raided my homeland, yet I was able to convince her to the marriage.

Would that not indicate power of persuasion?

Your daughter needs a strong hand to wield her.

I am yours, Earl. Even if you are displeased, I claim her as my wife.

We have completed vows, she’s been bedded under witness. She is mine.”

Grahame locked eyes with her father as he spoke. The words rang through the room with the easy confidence befitting a lord. The others were silent for long moments. A sly grin twitched at the corners of Eadric’s beard.

“Come, Grahame Shepherd of Hyrstow. Adara. Eat with us after your long journey. I would like to hear further how this surprise alliance will benefit Bernira.”

Grahame accepted a chair at the end of the table without waiting for Adara. Numb, she settled into the space next to him. Travel stories were exchanged, news of Bernira filtered through, though not one more word was exchanged regarding her mother.

Adara nursed her grief behind her ribs while she ate.

The deliciously prepared food was like dirt in her mouth.

Grahame played the part too well. Easy grins and hearty laughs were exchanged over tales of raids and travel and alliances.

Adara knew Eadric was not fooled, yet he let Grahame play the part of high-reaching husband.

The Briton, Galan, glared his way through mug after mug of ale.

Only toward the end of the meal, when the drinks had been drained, did her father give her a peculiar look that stuck her to her chair.

One that said she hadn’t fooled him, that her choice wouldn’t stand.