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Chapter

Thirty-Six

Grahame

T he crack of the door at dawn had Grahame stirring from a fitful sleep, his body primed to defend Adara, lest someone try to harm her.

He ached all over, but the stabbing pain in his shoulder had abated slightly.

Silhouetted in the hall’s doorway was a slight woman and a sturdy man.

Grahame recognised the shapes of his parents within a heartbeat.

He gently removed his arm from around his wife in an attempt to ease upward.

His mother hurried to them, her arms open. Tears glistened in her eyes.

“What is it?” Adara asked, rousing immediately. The corner of her mouth twisted down at the sight of his mother and father approaching. Her forearm jutted in front of him, as if to ward off an attack. Love for her flooded Grahame, even if her gesture was misplaced.

“It’s my parents,” Grahame said, covering her hand with his.

Adara’s eyebrows met her hairline. She inhaled a sharp breath, then moved aside to help him into a sitting position. As much as Grahame hated being weak, he accepted the help, though he didn’t hesitate to wrap his good hand around Adara’s thigh to keep her with him.

“Grahame!” His mother’s whispered shout was laden with distress. Fiona Shepherd’s grey hair was bound back by a strip of cloth, her tunic pulled tight around the waist by an apron. A trembling smile broke over her wrinkled face.

“Mother,” Grahame said, standing to scoop his mother into a one-armed hug.

Adara stood with him, her hand steady on his low back.

“My boy. We came as soon as we could,” his mother whispered into his neck, her tears mingling with the dried poultice on his skin.

Her body quaked with quiet sobs, her grasp around him strong.

Her lanolin and wool scent, the wiry feel of her—it made him feel like the cherished little boy he once was.

Then his father was there, wrapping his arms around his wife and son with a quiet inhale.

They remained like that for long moments.

When they pulled away, Fiona wiped her eyes with a disparaging laugh.

It died on her tongue when she set eyes on Adara.

Grahame stiffened. He knew there was no way his parents would simply accept the way Adara had raided Hyrstow, taken Yrsa, and forced his marriage. Their eyes were wide, lips drawn downward. Wilfred’s hand found Fiona’s in unspoken solidarity. Silence grew.

Grahame swallowed his worry over their judgement.

Adara had done terrible things. His choice had been to remain with her, so though it felt wrong to have others hate her, he would also shoulder the burden of their feelings.

He reached for Adara’s hand. She allowed him to thread his fingers through hers, her eyes locked warily on his parents.

Grahame braced himself. “Mother, Father, I am pleased to present my wife, Adara Clayton of Guston. Adara, it is my pleasure to re-introduce you to the only woman who’s been able to tolerate me for any length of time, my mother, Fiona, and my father, Wilfred.”

His mother crossed her arms across her chest, the ends of the shawl about her shoulders tucking into her elbows.

Grahame winced at the stony look his mother leveled at Adara, the lines around her mouth and eyes smooth from her flat expression.

Beside him, Adara stood as if her spine had become a tree.

Grahame opened his mouth to say something to break the silence rioting around them but Adara swooped low, dirty skirt gathered in hand, her gaze on the dirt packed floor.

“I am honored to make your acquaintance, Shepherds. Grahame has shared many fond stories of your family. I am sorry that I could not have met you under better circumstances.”

For a stony moment, no one moved. Adara remained low with her head bowed, as if offering her neck in sacrifice. Her hand trembled in his.

“Well met,” Fiona said, her tone flat.

Grahame’s heart went out to his wife as she stood, eyes still downcast. His parents turned back to him, expressions of disappointment on their faces.

Grahame was about to change the subject when a wave of pain hit him, coupled with a rush of dizziness.

Adara’s arms went around his middle. He leaned on her, grateful for her strength, her love, even in the face of meeting his hostile family.

She ushered him to sit on the mattress. Grahame kept his arm around her shoulders, pulling her down with him.

He nuzzled an absent kiss into her hair.

The next instant, Fiona was at his other side. She pressed a cool hand to his forehead.

“They said you were nearly dead when Sam found you,” Wilfred said, his voice gruff.

His hands were dirty on his hips. Bags lived beneath his eyes. As if struck by lightning, Grahame remembered Ridley was to station men at his parents’ and they were to move into Hyrstow. They’d likely been up all night, clearing out belongings and herding sheep.

“Aye, I probably looked like a ghost. Am a bit better after resting,” Grahame acknowledged, “And you both? You’re to stay here?”

His mother nodded. Grahame winced as her hand hovered above his knee, unsure.

“It’s alright, Ma. My arm was shredded and my ribs feel like hell, but I’ll make it through. I’m more worried over Adara.”

From beneath his sore arm, Adara turned her face to his in question. Grahame cracked a mischievous grin.

“She’s married to Hyrstow's Golden Boy. Handsome, kind, generous; however will she remain humble now that she has the most eligible man in the territory?”

Relief plucked strings in his chest as he saw his mother’s facade crack.

A loud laugh rushed from her. “Oh, Grahame, how everyone’s missed you.”

Adara and Wilfred chuckled, rolling their eyes in unison.

His father let loose a familiar, weary sigh. “I must say, I was disappointed to hear of your marriage. Though, upon seeing the manner in which you seem to care for my son, I look forward to knowing the person Grahame deemed worthy,” Wilfred said.

Grahame tightened his grasp around Adara’s shoulders and planted a kiss on her cheek.

She squirmed, face squished, but a laugh slipped from her.

It rang through Grahame like a dinner bell, solid and true.

His own shoulders unhitched and, despite the aches in his body, a carefree smile fit itself inside his mouth.

Together with his wife and parents he was truly home.