Page 37

Chapter

Thirty-Two

Adara

A messenger was sent out in the dead of night.

One Adara knew would be gone for longer than she wished if they were successful in relaying what was needed to both Uhtread and Ridley.

She had no way of knowing if her promises would be enough to help them.

Every day her father remained under her roof was one more he had to decide their fate.

“I had wished to see you wed,” her father said.

Side by side, they strolled along the path that stretched from the rear gate down a green slope leading into undulating fields of wheat. His eyes were locked on the bounty ahead.

Bernira was an earldom of strife. Eadric’s keep sat close to the ocean’s craggy rock face, bereft of usable farmland.

Adara had grown up amid rocky cliffs and valleys of cold marsh, unaware of what good land looked like until she stayed with Cecilia that fateful summer.

The land surrounding Clayton House and further, into Guston, was some of the best under Bernira rule.

“I am sorry, Father,” Adara allowed, keeping her eyes on the horizon.

At the midday meal, Grahame’s posture had sharpened when Eadric announced he would take a walk with Adara, alone.

Muretta had halted pouring ale for one of the men she’d been smiling with, the jug poised in the air.

Hagan had straightened as well, though there was nothing to be done for it.

He, Thor, Muretta, and Bhlaine had been banished to sleeping in the stable, and though they appeared tired, none were worse for wear.

Adara could not refuse her father’s request.

“You’ve imparted to me the importance of alliances. After Elvin passed, I wished for a husband I could influence. One of the regions, in whom others carried trust, yet one hungry enough to climb. Grahame is influential and well-liked. I have molded him perfectly, which benefits us, the earldom.”

Eadric waved a dismissive hand. The sleeve of his charcoal tunic fluttered with the movement. She’d never seen him wear another color. It was as if shades of grey were armor in and of itself.

“You flatter yourself, Adara. You should have known I would not have left you unwed for more than a year. Your mother’s death held up the dealings longer than expected. You should have waited.”

Adara bit back the fresh wound of grief that surged in her breast. Despite not being close—most of her life her mother had holed up in her rooms, unreachable—Adara wished she’d been able to say goodbye.

Stuffing her feelings inward so her father wouldn’t sense weakness, she said, “I understand.”

Eadric halted on the path, turning to face the fields below.

He drank them in, as if memorizing their shape, the sweep of the breeze across the feather-like tips of the wheat.

Adara clasped her hands before her. The familiar lines around her father’s mouth and eyes had settled deeper, his skin had thinned with time.

Not that she’d ever remembered him being of vital strength; however, this older, more stooped version begged a certain wariness from her.

She knew Eadric’s physical health had nothing to do with his cunning.

“The priest, Oswald. He is also a Hyrstow man, is he not?”

Adara gulped, remaining silent, for she knew her father was not truly asking. He already knew. Eadric smiled.

“Interesting man, that one. He was only too eager to tell me of Hyrstow’s growth, and the close relationship his brother shares with earl Lachlan of Deircia.”

Adara’s chest tightened. Her father turned, the small smile fixed upon his lips.

“He married us,” she stammered.

Betrayal cut through her. Grahame had been right about him.

“I cannot abide by your marriage,” Eadric stated in a flat tone.

Adara’s breath caught in her throat. His words were so sure. A decision already made. Fire sparked in her limbs, the kind that told her to fight or flee.

“But he did perform it. And the bedding was witnessed.”

“By whom? Your men?”

“Yes,” Adara tugged the snarl out of her mouth before the words landed. “My men. One of which is your man.”

Eadric scoffed, clasped his hands behind his back, and started walking back to the house, knowing she’d follow.

“Hagan was of my keep when he was a squire. He left to guard you when you wed. That was years ago. Though I pride myself on my influence, I know he’s likely to have turned against me in favour of you.”

“He is loyal because I am your daughter. And I am loyal to you,” she protested. “He will testify that the marriage is sound. And I maintain it is a good match for Bernira.”

Adara’s arm was in his tight grasp before she could blink.

Eadric spun her so quickly to face him she barely saw the back of his other hand before it connected with the side of her face.

Shock lashed through her. On its heels, a wave of pain.

It didn’t stop her father from pulling her to him, his hand a manacle.

He spit words in her face. “You know nothing of the pitiful land you claim your husband has rights to. Nothing of the disputed territory other than the problems you’ve caused after it was reclaimed by Deircia.

I was given that land for a marriage agreement after that damned Lachlan stole my bride.

I kept the land, but the king saw fit to saddle me with your mother.

When Lachlan sent his men to reclaim it, they were under trespass.

That land is mine . Deircia’s reclamation went against law, but you—” he squeezed her arm, taking her face in his other hand, nails digging into her chin— “ you raided it. You created more upheaval, and for what? You ignore my commands, marry this usurper, and expect me to accept that you are doing it for Bernira ?”

He flung her arm hard enough to throw her off balance.

Adara’s toe caught on her heel. She gasped as she fell back, seeing the sky before she crashed to the ground.

Pain shot through her elbow and hip as she connected.

Before she could scramble back, her father stomped down on her foot to halt her movements.

Adara clamped her teeth together to bury the shout of pain that barked through the small bones.

Spittle flew from his mouth as he yelled.

“You’ve caused enough problems, Daughter.

Rather than go through appropriate channels, petty squabbles will divide the top half of the kingdom!

The land is needed. That is the reason for the Britons.

If that Godforsaken Lachlan wants to extend his reach further, I need another set of warriors ready.

I’m water to the east, Deircia to the south, and marshy Briton land on the north and west. I will not have Lachlan take anything else from me. ”

Eadric swept his hand along his forehead to rein in a hunk of hair that spilled forward.

He drew a breath, turning back to the view of the wheat.

Adara curled forward, pressing her hand to her foot to try to alleviate some of the pain that ate at her bones.

She didn’t take her eyes off him, in case he decided to strike again.

Instead, in an almost wistful tone he said, “Oswald, was it? The clergyman who ordained your marriage?”

Dread curdled in Adara’s stomach. She forced strength into herself she didn’t feel, got up.

An ache like that of a hot iron pressed through her foot as she set it down, and she immediately took the weight off, favouring it.

Breaths came heavy and hard, and her fists clenched as she tried to straighten.

Her father continued. “He’s a remarkable fellow.

I met him as soon as I came to your house.

Funny what people will do to get what they want.

He assured me your marriage wasn’t legitimate.

I assured him that such a man of consequence should not be confined to a simple church.

No, that man will be coming with me back to Bernira to be involved with a church of nobility. Helpful, helpful man.”

“I can assure you, Father—”

Eadric smiled, adjusted the cuffs of his fine tunic. It was more terrifying than any of his frowns. Adara backed away, readying herself to run.

“Your husband will not be at the house when you return. Do not fret; it will be as if he never existed. I asked you on this walk, dear Daughter, to congratulate you on your betrothal to Galan. You wed at nightfall.”

Adara couldn’t hear over the pounding of her heart. Frantic breaths carved a stitch in her side as she ran. She was panting by the time she made it back to the house. Somewhere her father walked leisurely behind her.

“It will be as if he never existed.”

Adara’s stomach revolted. She swallowed the surge of bile that rose, causing her to pause before the gate long enough to take stock of things. Stupid. She’d been so stupid. She had to get to Grahame. All of it was a waste if he was killed for no other reason than being hers.

Her arm and backside ached from where she fell while every step spiked pain into her foot.

She would find him. There was no world in which he’d be wrenched from her so suddenly.

Not again. Their fates were intertwined.

Pursuing the marriage had been a selfish choice.

But they couldn’t end like this—not even being able to say goodbye.

She had to get to him, had to get out of the house and had to flee to Guston.

Muretta. Thoughts of her friends slammed into her as she raced up the hill to the house. She couldn’t just leave Muretta and Hagan, Thor and even Bhlaine and Cook. They were her people. The ones she’d promised safety. Panic clogged her throat.

Adara hobbled through the main gate, past men congregating in the great hall.

She ignored the shout of one as she searched, frantic, for Grahame.

Why were there no men in the great room?

The hallway? She tore through the kitchens, asking Cook for word, then shoved open the doors to each room until she came to the end of the hall where the door to the dungeon lay. Would they have thrown him in the cell?

Each step down was agony, but the flickering light didn’t reveal her husband. Teeth clenched against the flare of pain, she tried to collect herself as she moved upward.

“It will be as if he never existed.”

Dead. Dead. Her beloved was dead.

“Goddamnit,” she gasped at the top of the stairs, collapsing against the door.

From the hall, Muretta came at her, hands out, face twisted into a question. “Adara, what is it?”

Adara grasped her arms, leaning on her friend. “Where is Grahame?” she panted.

Muretta searched Adara’s sagging form, her slight body tensing at the question.

“I do not know. He was riled up about you going for a walk with your father, said he’d keep watch, then the Briton took him by the shoulder and told him he had to stay put. You know men and their posturing. They left out the rear door.”

Adara grabbed Muretta’s arms.

“Mur, listen. My father is going to have me wed tonight. Told me he was going to kill Grahame. I have to…you must get Hagan and get to safety. See if you can find Thor and let him know. Our people are under attack. We will not be able to escape.”

Muretta’s eyes widened, her mouth dropping open as she nodded. “Where are you going?”

“I must find Grahame. Now .”

Adara shrugged off her friend and darted into the kitchen to grab a knife.

“My lady,” Oswald’s voice tugged at her as she pressed a hand against the house’s rear door. His steps were calm, his hands together as he made his way to her.

“What is it?” She didn’t have time.

The man’s lips quirked upward. He reached out, daring to lay a hand on her outstretched arm. “I thought you were out for a walk with your father?” His fingers tightened on her skin.

“I must go,” she said, turning to leave.

The priest did not relent. He pulled her arm to him.

“I must be so bold as to say you’ve made quite a mess for yourself, haven’t you?

You’ve destroyed relations with Hyrstow, you’ve angered your father, and you’ve endangered a good man.

I am not sure that God will look fondly upon your soul when your time of reckoning comes.

Though, I would argue that your female mind got ahead of your actions and—”

His words cut off as Adara lifted her knee into the cradle of his legs, hitting the most sensitive of areas.

Oswald released a pathetic groan, releasing her arm.

Adara didn’t hesitate. She shoved on the door, running out to the rear yard before Oswald could catch her again.

She had to find a weapon. Cut her way to Grahame. He could not be…

Adara’s unspooling thoughts stopped as soon as she stepped into the rear yard.

Past the well, men stood in a circle, cheering.

The sun had eaten through the clouds enough to pour heat on the dirt.

She could make out movement through legs—a pair of fighters or, from the sound of it, a fight where one man was gaining ground.

There wasn’t time to second-guess herself. Adara ran for the men, slowing only to scoop up a rusty ax. She grunted as she hefted the heavy implement over her shoulder, before shoving through the small crowd and screaming at what she saw.