Page 44

Chapter

Thirty-Nine

Grahame

“ T wo men, on the outskirts of town,” Sam said, bursting through the hall’s door, skidding to a stop at the chairs that circled the central fire. His sandy blond hair was pasted to his forehead, arms wheeling as he brought himself up short.

Grahame blew out a breath, his head propped in his hand. The dregs of lunch were on the table before him. Adara and Muretta had ventured off with Emma, a wary Branton at their heels, to learn how to bake bread.

Grahame was glad Adara was getting out of the hall, trying to make other acquaintances.

Though her existence in Hyrstow was tenuous, she was trying to make amends.

While most were put on alert to guard their village, she had been learning how to prepare food, had served it to those who ate at the hall’s table, worked her fingers to the bone gardening, and somehow had gotten Ridley’s wolf dog, Nod, to fall in love with her.

The great black beast followed her around as if she had forged the world. Grahame knew the feeling.

“Were they armed?” Ridley demanded. Fires and theft in the dark of night were one thing. Warriors at Hyrstow’s doorstep was another.

Sam nodded, his hand pressing to the hall’s table for support as he sucked deep breaths.

“On horse, swords, shields.”

“I shall find out what they want,” Ridley said, moving to his quarters. Yrsa was a step behind him.

“Will you go as well?” Sam asked Grahame.

Grahame hesitated. After he’d returned from his walk with Adara several days prior and proclaimed his intent to claim Bernira, the others in Hyrstow looked upon him with thinly veiled awe.

There was no need for it. Their wild plan would surely end up with him dead, but Grahame refused to voice that deep-seated doubt to anyone.

He’d been living with that same doubt his entire marriage, only now the scope of it was larger.

His need to defend Adara to his last breath was a flame raging inside of him.

His friends and neighbors, however, entrusted him with their lives as well.

Was this how Adara felt all the time? He did not know how she could stand it.

“I…” Grahame said, dragging out the word. Though his wounds had been healing well, his shoulder still ached, and the thought of riding wasn’t pleasant.

Ridley and Yrsa returned after having strapped swords, shields, and daggers to themselves. Ridley carried chainmail.

“Here.” Yrsa thrust a sword at him.

Their faith that he would want to join them gave him renewed strength.

Grahame forced a smile he hoped appeared ruthless. “Yes, I am,” he confirmed to Sam.

His friend’s smile of relief was all Grahame needed to bite back the pain as he hefted the proffered chainmail.

“I’ll help,” Yrsa said, her tone unflinching. She set the sword down on the table and took the mail, assisting him with threading his arms in first, then laying the rest over his shoulders.

“Where are you off to?” Thor’s voice rang out as he passed through the doors. Past the doorway, Isla Dunn was making eyes at Thor’s back. He did not notice the admiration when he came to stand with them, his large arms crossing.

“There’s men on horses north of Hyrstow. We’re going to see what they want. You need not accompany us,” Grahame said.

Thor ran his tongue over his teeth then nodded. “Well, I best come with. She’ll skin me alive if something happens to you.”

There were not two men lingering on the village outskirts.

There were thirty. Several were in leathers, others in chainmail.

They held real weapons, not mere pitchforks and axes.

Ridley and Yrsa surged ahead, meeting the lone man that rode out to the center of the field.

All Grahame could do was sit back, readying to race to Hyrstow to warn the others if there was a battle.

“Who d’ya think it is?” Thorhild asked as he reined up beside Grahame. The man squinted toward the field of men, sweat beading on his brow beneath the sun’s stare.

Ridley’s horse remained steady as Yrsa danced hers back and forth behind him.

Surprise lit through Grahame as Ridley pointed at him then waved him forward.

Thor raised a bronze eyebrow at the gesture but followed Grahame to the center of the field nonetheless.

Despite Grahame’s worry, Thor’s presence warmed something in him.

Only when he approached did he recognize Guston’s tavern-owner, Uhtread. He must have worn relief on his face because the man said, “I’m happy to see you, too, My Lord.”

Grahame moved his horse up to Uhtread’s, offering a hearty shake with his good hand.

Uhtread didn’t hesitate. “We’ve come to assist our Lady Clayton. Been sent word that she may be within Hyrstow’s bounds.”

“Aye, that she is,” Grahame said.

“Of her own will?” the man pressed.

The line of men in the distance shifted. Somewhere behind him, Yrsa scoffed.

“Yes. We fled Clayton House. Her father aimed to kill me and marry her off to the northerners,” Grahame confirmed.

Uhtread hawked phlegm onto the ground as if insulted. He scratched his chest with the meaty hand not holding a weapon while his gaze narrowed on Ridley.

“Friends of yours?”

Grahame swallowed, trying to get his bearings. The last time the people of Guston and Hyrstow interacted was the former raiding the latter.

“Indeed. Ridley Ward, chieftain of Hyrstow. His wife, Yrsa the Viking. They have been of great help to us.”

Uhtread’s face broke into a smile that didn’t meet his eyes. It sent a chill down Grahame’s back.

“Aye. Ridley the Conqueror. The one who sacked our farmsteads, pillaged homes with his men. Hurt women. The one whose village we were happy to raid a few months ago.”

Ridley stiffened, hand twitching on his short sword. Yrsa had stopped trotting. Grahame kept his eyes on Uhtread. The older man’s smug grin told him he’d been aiming low to get a rise out of them. Grahame puffed out his chest, hoping if he came in strong, Uhtread would behave.

“Whatever has passed between our two villages is settled. My marriage to Lady Clayton is proof of a truce. Are you here to aid us?”

Uhtread’s eyes snaked from Grahame to Ridley. His grip tightened on the reins, huge shoulders bunching. His attention slipped to Yrsa. Something akin to a twinkle lit his eyes as he scoured her face. It had Grahame’s hackles up, though he forced an impassive look.

“Aye. We are. We stand with Lady Clayton. Though, I will have you aware, we do not take kindly to your people. We will not enter your lands like lambs to be slaughtered.”

“Like you did to us?” Yrsa reined up next to them, her lip curled.

Uhtread’s grin widened. He leaned forward. “Don’t worry, lamb. Yer one I wouldn’t dream of harming.”

Yrsa recoiled as a laugh boomed out of him.

Ridley growled, his next words coming through teeth. “You shall remain here. No man from Guston is welcome within our border.”

“Just our Lady?” Uhtread sneered.

A hawk screeched overhead. The sun climbed. It would be disaster to leave an entire fleet of useful men out in the baking lands.

“Have you tents?” Grahame asked, ignoring their pissing contest.

Uhtread tipped his chin to his chest.

“We will have water and food brought. This is my land. Your men may remain here. We are in the midst of forming a plan of attack. You, Uhtread, will come with us to Hyrstow.”

After much grumbling from Uhtread and Ridley, their small band rode back into Hyrstow.

Joy surged in Grahame when he set eyes on his wife.

Back straight, her hand over her eyes to shield the sun, Adara perched on a bench beside the hall.

Muretta sat beside her, hands flapping with the story she told.

When Grahame dismounted, Adara rushed to him, arms outstretched.

Grahame forced back the grimace at her embrace.

The pain in his arm skewered him to the spot for a moment.

“Husband,” she said into the skin of his throat.

“We have Guston,” he said, triumphant despite his discomfort.

Adara’s entire face lit with a smile when she looked past him to Uhtread. She shrieked, clapping, before throwing herself into the older man’s meaty arms.

“My Lady, I am glad to see you well,” Uhtread said as they parted.

“Come,” Adara said, drawing the tavern-owner into the hall.

Grahame took a moment to lean against the bench Adara had vacated, sucking in a deep breath to combat the pain in his arm. The chainmail was heavy and he was hot from riding.

“She was worried.” Muretta’s voice was sharp. Her cloud of hair had been pulled back into braids similar to those worn by Merthe, Emma’s daughter. Her usual dress was swapped for a simple tunic.

Grahame blew out a breath. “I had to go. There were unknown riders.”

“She’s so used to ruling on her own or, like with Elvin, being ruled over. You as a partner are different from anything she’s known. She worries when you take off to your doom.”

“Aye, and I imagine she will have to get used to it. I cannot balk at my duties, Muretta. Not now. Believe me, I would have rather laid about this afternoon. I did not want to ride a horse in the heat with barely healed wounds. However, next time I will send word to her what I’m doing and why.”

Muretta snickered as she walked with him into the hall. When she looked up at him, a tenderness shone in her features. “Good.”

Grahame didn’t hide his affection, pulling Muretta into his side. “Thank you for being her friend.”

Ridley, Hagan, Thor, Sam, Ewan, Awolf, Aeon, and Paul stood around the table while Adara questioned Uhtread. Once word went ‘round the village that there was a Guston man present, several more people filtered in, including Branton and Father Chisholm, Head Priest of Hyrstow.

Siege on Clayton House was determined as the best course of action.

Ridley had not heard if Earl Lachlan would provide assistance but quick action to halt the barrage on Hyrstow’s farmland was deemed of import.

Better to trap the earl of Bernira in Clayton House before he could call on more men or retreat.

If he retreated, it would be dire for their forces to push up into his lands.

They would prepare in the coming days and travel in the evening so as to take Clayton House by surprise.

Grahame’s eyelids were drooping by the time Hagan and Thorhild left with Uhtread to relay the plan to the Guston forces.

Across the table, Adara rose then came to him, draping her arm about his good shoulder and proclaiming he was to go to bed.

They disappeared to the rear of the hall, Grahame thankful to finally have his arms around his wife.

As if others were as exhausted as they, the noise of the hall died down quickly.

Adara produced a poultice, helping him remove his tunic and wrappings, then layered the mint-scented salve on his shoulder wound.

“The skin appears as if it has begun to properly stitch itself back together,” she murmured, her fingers careful as she re-wrapped the bandage. “Scabbed but together.”

Grahame could nearly taste the relief in her tone. He felt it himself. There was something intensely vulnerable about not being able to properly defend his wife in a village where she wasn’t safe. The quicker he regained his strength, the quicker he could help fight in this war.

Grahame pressed a kiss to her temple and murmured, “Aye, aren’t all of us that? Scabbed, but together.”

“Indeed, Husband,” Adara whispered as her lips skimmed his.

She tasted of berries and pastry. Grahame threaded his fingers into the nape of her neck to hold her to him longer.

Even if they only had a short time together, he could not bring himself to regret a moment of it. Adara had made him live a thousand lives with her love. And though he wished to live a thousand more with her at his side, he would go to the grave knowing he’d tasted rapture.