Page 4

Chapter

Three

Grahame

G rahame fought the urge to retch. After racing over his father’s lands, a shout in the forest bordering the fields alerted them to Yrsa’s location.

Thorns and low lying brush had clawed at Grahame’s trousers as he ran through the woods, frantically trying to see through the greenery for a glimpse of Yrsa’s blonde hair or the men who took her.

Somehow, he had picked the right direction when the others fanned out.

His arms shaking with the strain of having the bow drawn and ready, he’d found Yrsa holding a woman at knifepoint.

The sight had frozen Grahame to the spot.

Raven hair spilled over a slate-blue cloak. Only the curve of her cheek was visible but Grahame knew the softness of it in his marrow.

Adara Clayton. Her letter had not been coerced by a dying husband to wreak havoc on Hyrstow. She’d taken part in Yrsa’s capture.

The last shred of hope he’d been holding deep in his chest cleaved inward.

The women appeared to be talking. Why? Red stained Yrsa’s leg and forearms. Grahame could only pray she wasn’t wounded.

He inhaled sharply as Yrsa stepped away from the other woman and mounted a large, black horse.

Was she going with Adara? His shoulders quaked from holding the bowstring at the ready, yet he could not bring himself to release the arrow.

“Grahame, shoot the horse! Stop them!” Ridley’s voice came from far behind his left shoulder. Too far back.

When Adara turned at the sound of Ridley’s rage-filled voice, Grahame’s hard-won grip on the bowstring faltered. Tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth, he stared dumbly as she moved to the horse, quickly settling behind Yrsa.

She looked different. Of course she did.

Last time he saw her, she was fourteen, with tears streaming down her cheeks into her wide pink lips.

The woman before him had eyes like a storm, which were narrowed in incredulity at him.

Her pillowed lips were pinched together in displeasure, yet her straight back betrayed her noble lineage.

The sword held ready to bury in Yrsa’s side made him want to vomit.

His Adara, all grown up and ready for bloodshed.

He couldn’t take his eyes off her. Couldn’t breathe past the knot of emotion that had formed in his throat. Breathing would remind him that this was real, that she truly would harm those he cared for. That Adara was no longer the girl he knew. Perhaps she never was.

“Grahame!” Ridley was nearly on him now, panic leaching into his tone.

Adara didn’t wait. Her lip curled in a snarl and she flicked the reins, surging through the trees on a beast as black as a demon.

Her cloak and midnight hair flowed behind her like the devil’s banner.

A huge man in chainmail followed on his own horse.

A third man shot from the bush to bring up the rear, staggering to his horse, shouting at it to move while he was mid-mount.

Grahame loosed the arrow at the third man’s back. It merely scored along the plated armour of his shoulder as he disappeared through the trees. Grahame’s hands trembled as he brought the bow down.

“Damn it!” Ridley raged as he came upon Grahame. “Why did you wait?”

Ridley shoved him, hard. Grahame stumbled back.

“You could have shot the animal twice in the time it took you to stand there and stare. Could have made it harder to get away!”

Before Grahame could steady himself, Ridley whirled, racing back to their horses left abandoned in the field past the trees. They didn’t think they’d be able to ride in the tree-filled terrain and now they would pay for their follied judgement.

Grahame’s head felt as if it would float away. He went to one knee in the dirt, bracing a hand on the ground as his stomach churned. Bile climbed his throat, emptying onto the bracken in front of him as he tried to reconcile what he’d witnessed.

Adara had done it all. It hadn’t been her husband who had ordered the raid on Hyrstow.

No, Adara had shown up in the forest and spoken with Yrsa and Emma weeks beforehand, gleaning information from them without revealing anything about herself.

Emma had said she’d seen the same woman at the raid.

Grahame had suspected, but to have it confirmed—to know that she was the one to take Yrsa, to bring hell upon his people…

He heaved again. There was the crashing of feet through the bush and Thomas’s voice beside him.

“Ridley went after them alone. Get up; we must go.”

Grahame nodded, wiping the spit from his mouth with the back of his hand. He stood on weak legs, loathing himself for being so useless. It was a familiar feeling as of late. Twigs scraped at their knees as they ran back to the horses, converging with Sam and Murhed.

“Ridley’s gone off,” Murhed said, his heavy copper brows a deep ‘V’ overtop his eyes. Sam panted beside the butcher, holding his side as if he’d run from Guston and back.

“We know.”

They mounted, galloping in the direction of Guston and, after the better part of an hour, caught up with Ridley’s horse.

It had stopped at a crossroads, the man atop bent over.

As they neared, Grahame could make out ragged sobs.

The others hesitated, unsure of how to proceed.

Grahame guided his mare closer. A crying man didn’t scare him.

He’d dealt with Branton’s unruly emotions after Freda passed.

Ridley’s gaze was fixed on the horizon as he spoke.

“They’re gone. I didn’t even see them. They must have taken another way but…”

“C’mon, Rid. Let us head back. Regroup.”

Grahame was amazed he could force the words out. Ridley turned to point a finger at him.

“ You.” The fury that laced Ridley’s tone nearly made Grahame’s bowels turn to water. “We could have had her. You were there first. You could have done something .”

Grahame opened his mouth to let Ridley know the same thoughts rattled in his head, but he was cut off by Ridley readying to spur his horse toward Guston.

“We will proceed to Clayton House.”

“Rid, we can’t.”

“Why not?” Ridley snarled.

Grahame offered a small shrug. He tried to grin but his mouth wouldn’t reach for it.

“Yrsa had a knife on Lady Clayton in the woods. She had her, Rid. For some reason, just when I got there, she let the woman go and went with her.”

The ruddy color of rage leaked from Ridley’s face.

“I couldn’t believe it at first. It was why I did not shoot. I have to believe Yrsa knows what she’s doing if she went with the woman.”

In the distance, Murhed made a scoffing sound.

Grahame felt the urge to hit him. The butcher had never believed Yrsa to be true to Hyrstow.

Part of a Viking raid on the village two summers ago, she became Ridley’s captive then his wife.

Some felt her allegiance to Hyrstow shaky.

Grahame didn’t have time to chastise him. Not with Ridley so close to the edge.

“Went with her? Are they in league together?” Sam dared to ask. The words were said through white lips.

“No.” Grahame’s tone had enough steel in it that Sam appeared properly cowed by his answer.

“There is something more to it. She was covered in blood.” Grahame turned to Ridley, whose face had turned ashen.

Hastily, Grahame added, “Not hers. Something the other woman said swayed her. And we have to trust Yrsa’s decision enough not to go barrelling into a trap or worse.”

Ridley stared at him long and hard, his hands twitching on the reins as if his hold on them was the only thing preventing him from strangling Grahame.

For his part, Grahame tried not to flinch.

It wasn’t as difficult as it used to be.

He could withstand Ridley’s displeasure, even his scorn.

He’d always been looked upon as the younger brother, the charming man with loose morals.

Other people’s judgement didn’t carry the sting it used to. They would judge no matter the cause.

Ridley broke his stare and gave one final look in the direction he thought his wife to be.

The set in his bearded jaw, the stubborn line of his back was a gift, for it told Grahame he was thinking like a knight again, not a devastated husband.

Finally, Ridley turned his horse back the way they’d come.

“We will return to Hyrstow and regroup. I will send a herald to the earl alerting him to this act of war. Grahame, you will ride with me and tell me why someone from Bernira territory would steal my wife and accept you in exchange.”

The ride back was somber. Ridley went directly to the hall, presumably to find AEleck, the village herald, while the others dispersed to their homes with various bids to keep in touch about the next course of action.

Grahame licked his dry lips as he contemplated going to Branton’s to check on his nieces and nephew rather than face Ridley’s wrath, though he knew prolonging the inevitable would only make it harder.

In the hall, Ridley sat like a king in one of the great fur-lined chairs before the roaring central fire.

“Tell me everything you know about Lady Clayton.”

“I knew her when we were young.”

Grahame kept his tone even as he approached. Ridley’s fingers were curled around the carved wooden armrests, his foot tapping the ground. Needing to do something with his hands, Grahame clasped the back of a chair across from his friend.

“How?”

A sigh rattled loose from Grahame. He moved ‘round to the chair beside Ridley’s, indicating with an eyebrow a silent question as to whether or not he would be permitted to sit. Ridley waved a hand in a gesture of acceptance.

“Do you remember the girl I used to run around with?”

“You’ll have to be more forthcoming. You’ve spent time with a lot of women. I am not one to remember them all.”

“Fair enough,” Grahame said, though he covered his wince with a nod. Shifting in his seat, he bumped the side of his fist up and down against the armrest.

“She is the Earl of Bernira’s daughter.”

“What?” Ridley’s bark was as sharp as he’d ever heard it.