Diana Cosby (16 page)

“Rois, I—”

A dull cough sounded from the bed.

On a gasp, Rois whirled. “Da.” She hurried across the worn floor.

Griffin walked to her side and knelt beside Lord Brom. Against the flicker of flames, Angus’s face lay pale, his cheeks hollow. ’Twas amazing he still lived.

“How fare thee?” Griffin asked.

Rois laid her palm on her father’s brow, turned toward Griffin. “He has done naught but ramble since we began to travel.”

Griffin silently cursed. “I wish not to move him, but given his failing condition, we must bring him to Lochshire Castle this night.”

Fear flashed in her eyes, but she nodded.

He laid his hand atop hers, gave a gentle squeeze. “I will return once the horses are readied.”

“The litter is outside.”

Her bravery touched him deeply. She was terrified, afraid, but pushed on. “Leave it. I will carry him.”

On a shaky exhale, Rois nodded.

Griffin leaned forward, pressed a kiss upon her brow. “Know this, Rois. I will do my best to ensure your father recovers.” Wishing for time, aware that each moment was critical, he made preparations for them to leave.

 

With the full moon illuminating the cloudless sky, Griffin’s breath misted in the icy air. He held Angus close, the blanket wrapped around his friend like a prayer, each league traveled passing with aching slowness.

He prayed God would allow Lord Brom to live. Or, at least spare Rois the hell of living a life of guilt, of wondering if she’d made another decision, her father may have lived. Well he knew of the crush of guilt for being responsible for your parent’s death.

Heart heavy, Griffin guided his mount through the thick stand of trees, the rich scent of earth and pine far from a balm against the troubles cascading his mind.

Thank God Angus still breathed. With a fever riding him, another day in the crofter’s hut without proper attention and he would have died. A fact the Scot had kept from Rois, his purpose easy to discern. With Lord Brom dead, and Rois free once the annulment became final, Sir Lochlann would court her with false words, his sole purpose to claim her father’s title.

At Rois’s gasp, Griffin looked around, drew his horse to a halt. Below them, the land curved in a wide arc to expose a huge lake surrounded by weathered hills. Beneath the silvery crush of moonlight, from a peninsula extending from the southern curve, a majestic fortress rose without excuse.

“Amazing,” Rois whispered, as if to speak out loud would break a spell.

“’Tis,” Griffin agreed, remembering his awe the first time he’d seen this immense fortress. Even years later he found himself moved. He noted the standard flying atop the tower; Lord Grey was in residence. “Welcome, my lady, to Lochshire Castle.”

“Lochshire Castle,” she breathed. “Built by the Normans and passed down through the MacGruders ever since.”

“It is indeed.” As a Scottish noble’s daughter, she would be aware of the castle’s heritage. Nor could they linger.

He nudged his mount forward, the steep bank demanding all his attention. Rocks clattered as they loosened beneath their mounts’ hooves. With each slide and jolt, he worked to ensure Angus remained as still as possible in his arms.

As the land flattened out to field, where the roll of hills led to the causeway, he breathed a sigh of relief. He guided his steed toward the rutted tracks leading to the castle.

“How fares Da?”

At the waver in her voice, Griffin glanced over at her; the pale sheen of moonlight lent her face a fragile look. “The same.”

She nodded.

Somber, Griffin focused on the castle arching toward the sky. Embraced within the silvery cast, the hewn stone fortress seemed insurmountable, yet, at the same time magical.

Magical?

God’s teeth, ’twas naught but a thought conjured by the days of hard travel and by the worry overwhelming him.

“You know Lord Grey?”

He nodded. “I have visited here many times.”

Rois lifted a surprised brow. “You have?”

“Indeed, my sister lives within.”

“Your sister is married to Lord Grey?” she gasped.

A smile tugged at his mouth at the shock in her voice. “No, she is wed to Alexander MacGruder, Seathan’s younger brother.”

“You said the Scot she married abducted her for ransom. You meant Alexander MacGruder?” Disbelief filled her voice.

“Indeed.” And until he’d rescued her, he’d been frantic for a sister he’d believed lost all because of a dangerous tale he’d contrived to cover his actions as
Wulfe
. “In the end, Alexander and Nichola fell in love and married.”

“I have briefly met them and understand why the MacGruder brothers are well known as fierce warriors. ’Tis an incredible tale.”

“Incredible, but true.”

The halved gemstone at his neck shifted, and Griffin grimaced, well aware of the stories crafted about its powers by the MacGruder brothers. Regardless whether the gemstone held the ability to identify the woman meant for the man who wore the halved stone ’twas truth or fable, Rois had no reason to visit the grandmother’s chamber, which allowed no opportunity for her to see his halved stone inside, resting in the bowl.

Or remove it.

God’s teeth, his mind rambled with the thoughts of a lad off-kilter. He focused on the steady clop of hooves upon the causeway echoing around them, the rush of wind cold against his skin.

“There are four brothers,” Griffin said, refusing to ponder further the stone and the magic believed to exist in the grandmother’s chamber. “Seathan is the eldest and lord of the castle and married to a Scottish noblewoman named Linet. Alexander is married to my sister, Nichola. Patrik, a brother adopted, is married to an Englishwoman named Emma. The youngest is Duncan, who is married to a Scottish lass, Isabel.”

“Two of the MacGruder brothers are married to Englishwomen?”

“Yes.”

“And,” she asked with disbelief, “they accept you?”

He smiled. “Being a Sassenach who has given his fealty to King Edward, you mean?”

She hesitated. “Aye.”

“With Alexander married to my sister,” he said with a smile, “I doubt there would be any way around me being otherwise.”

She studied him a long moment. “You could join the Scots.”

The hope in her voice touched him. Again he wished he could explain his secret life as
Wulfe
, and admit that his loyalties lay not with King Edward, but with the Scots—and had since his youth.

An ache built in his chest as he focused on the stone-cluttered road, the shadows and moonlight exposing a timeworn trail, one that offered a sturdy defense, one that bridged the land to a castle where men lived, dreamed, and had found love.

Love?

Bloody hell.

“The castle is imposing,” Rois said with awe.

With a frown, he scoured the sturdy walls where torchlight battered the weathered stone with intangible delight.

“Riders coming!” a guard’s voice rang out.

Muffled shouts rang out from the wall walk. Armed men moved atop. Griffin focused on the reality of this moment, of saving Lord Brom, not thoughts conjured by needs, desires he must ignore.

“Who goes there?” a deep male voice boomed.

Griffin halted with Rois before the gatehouse. “The Baron of Monceaux. Pass word to Lord Grey I ride with Lord Brom and his daughter. Lord Brom is ill, and needs a healer. ’Tis urgent!”

“Aye, my lord,” the guard replied.

Moments later, the creak of wood and rattle of chains sounded as the drawbridge was lowered, and then the iron gate raised. Guards with torches stood beneath the gatehouse, their faces illuminated by the wavering yellowed light.

“Enter,” a guard called from above.

Griffin gave Rois a tender smile. “All will be well.”

“I pray so,” she replied, her gaze upon her father in Griffin’s arms, her worry building with her every breath. She nudged her mount forward, into the shadows of night interwoven with flames.

As they rode into the bailey, a tall, well-muscled man walked toward them. Black, shoulder-length hair framed his face, his stride that of a man of authority, that of a warrior, that of a man confident in his decisions. Even if they’d never met, from descriptions she’d overheard, she would have recognized Seathan MacGruder, Earl of Grey.

Lord Grey halted before them, his gaze riveted on her father, his brow deep with concern, then shifted to Griffin. “A healer awaits him. Guards, take Lord Brom to the readied chamber.”

Two knights hurried forward and helped Griffin lower her father into their arms.

With a weary exhale, Griffin swung down. He helped Rois dismount, clasped her hand in his, and followed the guards toward the keep.

Tears burned her eyes as she hurried at his side. At their approach, the keep doors opened wide, the burst of candlelight like a promise of hope.

The murmurs of the women who cleaned the great room whispered around her as she moved through the large expanse. Within the wash of light her father appeared frail, his face ashen.
Please, Da, do nae die.

A curve of steps led them to the second floor. Down a corridor, they entered a chamber on the right. A fire burned bright in the hearth, and a wizened old woman, her face sagged with age, stood near the bed, a basket of herbs by her side.

With a somber nod, she gestured toward the bed. “Set him there. Gently now.”

As the guards lowered Lord Brom to the awaiting crush of linens, her father began to ramble.

“Da,” Rois whispered, and her body began to shake.

Griffin drew her against him, and pressed a kiss upon her brow. “He is with a healer now, ’tis calm he needs.”

It was, but how did one keep at bay the terror slicing her heart?

“Griffin, Lady Rois,” Lord Grey said, his voice rough with concern, “let us wait in the corridor.

Fears for her father’s health left her trembling. “Do nae ask me to leave him.”

The earl’s piercing green eyes held hers, then softened. He nodded. “I ask you to wait outside the room only while your father is made comfortable and is tended to.”

She nodded.

“I am remaining with her as well,” Griffin said.

Lord Grey arched a curious brow, then nodded. “Once Lord Brom is settled, I will have food brought up for you both.”

Rois fought to control the fear for her father’s life. “My thanks, Lord Grey.”

The hard face of the earl softened. “Seathan, please. You are my second cousin, after all.”

“S-second cousin?” Stunned, Rois scrambled to absorb the implication, the conviction in Lord Grey’s words assuring her the powerful lord of Lochshire Castle had spoken truth. “Surely you jest, my lord.”

With a frown, Seathan glanced at her father sprawled on the bed, before focusing back on her. He waved her and Griffin to follow. “Come, we will discuss this outside Lord Brom’s chamber.” He walked to the doorway.

“Cousins?” she repeated to Griffin.

He shook his head. “Unbelievable.”

To say the least. At her da’s groan, a shudder swept Rois. She looked at her father while the healer cleansed his battle wounds, his sallow complexion and weak breaths at odds with his sturdy frame. Trembling, she met Griffin’s gaze.

Worried eyes held hers. “’Tis difficult, I know, but your father is receiving the finest care.” He took her hand. “Let the healer work.” Griffin took her elbow and guided her from the chamber.

“Do you need anything, Rois?” Seathan asked as they stepped into the corridor.

With a glance at her father, she shook her head. “Naught but my father to regain his health.”

“As I,” Lord Grey replied, his voice somber. A long second passed as he studied her. “You were never told of our family relation?”

“Nay,” she replied, overwhelmed by the revelation, and struggling from fear for her father’s health. Praying her father would recover, she focused on Lord Grey. “Da never spoke of any family connection to the MacGruders. Nor my grandda.” She frowned. “Which makes nae a whit of sense. I saw you on occasion at Kincardan Castle. Twice you came with your brothers.” She paused. “Now that I think of it, never did you or your brothers linger.”

“With your father’s refusal to acknowledge our blood tie,” Seathan said, “we had no reason.”

“Did you ever ask your father about Seathan or his brother’s presence?” Griffin asked Rois.

She nodded. “Once, when after a meeting, Da seemed tense. He dismissed their attendance to aid in the rebel cause. Never did he mention our relation. ’Tis sad to have lost the years between us.”

“It is,” Seathan agreed.

“But,” Rois said as she studied him, “you are nae as surprised to learn I am ignorant of our family tie, are you?”

Lord Grey glanced at the fairy upon the sword hanging on the wall at his side, then slowly met her gaze. “Nay.”

“And why is that?” Rois asked.

Seathan exhaled. “We are a family whose past carries a tragic story, but one you should know.”

A tragic story? Is that why had her da had never told her of their family connection, or the reason for their division? Anxious, Rois nodded.

“When my grandfather, Trálin MacGruder, Earl of Grey, met my grandmother, Lady Catarine MacLaren, theirs was a love few experience.” Seathan stroked his finger along the sword’s hilt, paused when he touched the fairy. A faint smile lingered, then faded. “When Trálin brought her to Lochshire Castle, his brother, Faolan, Rois’s grandfather, was in residence. Upon their meeting, Faolan fell in love with Catarine. Regardless of her assuring Faolan she would always love Trálin, Faolan stated his intent to win her over.”

Rois tensed. “Which started the conflict.”

“Aye,” Seathan replied. “Furious, my grandfather warned Faolan away. They fought. My grandfather broke his brother’s sword arm, and swore if he came near my grandmother again, he would kill him.”

“How awful,” Rois said. Griffin took her hand, gave a gentle squeeze. “Did my grandfather and yours ever try to put their troubles behind them?”

“To try and make peace,” Seathan explained, “my grandfather gave Faolan their mother’s lands. For Faolan, his offer mattered little. He denounced the MacGruder name. Then, my great-uncle claimed the name of their mother, Brom.”

“Brothers,” she said, saddened by the events. “How awful that jealousy tore our families apart.”

“Aye.” Seathan lowered his hand to his side. “After Faolan rode away, and with the division between the brothers so bitter, none spoke of the other. Years passed. Except for the mention of the incident within the family journals, ’twas all but forgotten that a great-uncle did exist.”

“But my grandfather did remarry,” Rois said. “One would believe that with a wife and children of his own, he would release his anger and rebuild a bond with his brother.”

Seathan shook his head. “My grandfather learned through another lord who had drank one night with Faolan that Faolan never loved his wife, his marriage that of duty to procure an heir.”

Sadness tightened Rois’s throat. “How tragic he nurtured his bitterness.”

“’Tis,” Seathan said. “A resentment he passed to his son, Angus.”

“Did you try talking with Lord Brom?” Griffin asked.

“On several occasions,” Seathan replied. “Over the years, raising the topic has sparked only upset. So, I learned to leave the past be.”

“It makes no sense,” Griffin said. “Angus is a rational man.

Seathan nodded. “On most things, but ’twould seem being raised beneath his father’s kindled anger has soured Angus’s belief that our family could ever again be close.”

“Still, I canna believe he kept my heritage from me over a feud so long ago,” Rois said, her anger gaining foothold. “But no longer. The gift of a family is precious. Once he is recovering, I will speak with him. ’Tis time long past for our families to heal.”

“It is,” Seathan said, “but do nae expect a miracle. ’Twill take time for Angus to understand that the separation of our families lies in his mind, nay more. I, and my brothers, hold no grudge for his grandfather’s actions. Our wish is for our families to reunite. Above all, family should be coveted.”

“Aye,” Rois agreed.

The familiar ache of regret filled Griffin as he recalled his own past. He understood too well the struggles Rois now dealt with. How he wished his parents still lived, that he could erase the mistakes he’d made. But, as a flicker of torchlight, naught remained the same. Stability was but an illusion. ’Twas a person’s choice to grasp the moment, to decide if one but existed or chose to truly live.

As had his sister.

With Nichola’s marriage, Griffin had inherited the MacGruder brothers, men who he was honored to call family, men who he would do whatever to protect, including sacrificing his life.

“Yes,” Griffin said, meeting Rois’s gaze, “family should be nurtured against all.” She nodded, but he caught the shimmer of tears in her eyes. “You worry for your father.”

She nodded. “A-aye.”

“Rois,” Seathan said, his face somber, “while within my home, your father will receive the best care.”

A tear spilled upon her cheek. “I know. Still, I find myself afraid. His wounds are deep, and infection has set in.”

Griffin drew her against him, her tears warm against his skin, and with each that fell, he ached to quell her distress. “Quiet now,” he whispered and pressed a kiss upon her brow, well aware of Seathan’s curious look. He could imagine the shock when Lord Grey learned that in addition to his family connection through Alexander, they were now connected on a second front, through his marriage to Rois.

Rois withdrew from Griffin’s hold. “I wish to remain with my father. I must be with him in case he . . .”

In case he dies, Griffin silently finished. He looked through the entry at Angus, relieved to find his friend’s breathing had slowed to an even rate. But, his pale skin spoke of fatigue, of his struggle against the agony, and Griffin prayed that indeed his life would be spared.

He caressed the soft sweep of Rois’s cheek. “Go. I will join you in a moment.”

Emotion-filled eyes met his, her fear evident, her desperation clear. “I am being foolish.”

“No, you are a woman who loves her father.”

Tears glittered in her eyes. “Thank you for understanding.”

“Along with you now.” Griffin lifted her hand, pressed a kiss upon her knuckles, his eyes never leaving hers. “I will be there shortly. That I promise.”

A wisp of a smile touched her lips, and then she turned toward Seathan. “Thank you, cousin.” Rois hurried inside the chamber.

An ache built inside Griffin as he watched Rois kneel beside her father’s bed. She was an amazing woman, one any man would be blessed to have in his life, one he found himself wanting to keep with every breath.

A glint of light drew his attention to the wall-mounted claymore near Seathan. From atop its leather-bound hilt, a finely carved fairy peered down. Embraced in the flicker of torchlight, delicate wings lay open as if she was ready to ascend into the night. An impish grin framed her face, and her eyes shimmered with pure delight.

The first time he’d seen this fierce weapon, he’d thought the fairy’s presence odd and out of place against the brutal weapon. On closer study, he found that somehow, the delicate carving completed the blade in an unexpected regal union.

Fitting, as the weapon belonged to the MacGruders’ grandfather. The blade, a gift from a young King Alexander III in 1257 after Trálin had saved Scotland’s king from an abduction attempt by the families of Comyn. An attack where he’d met and later married Lady Catarine MacLaren.

“’Tis a fine piece,” Seathan said.

“It is,” Griffin agreed, finding life a curious mix. “Never would I have believed myself to become part of your family.”

A smile played upon Seathan’s mouth. “When Alexander was sent to abduct you, and instead abducted then fell in love with your sister, ’twas a fine twist of fate.”

“Indeed. Who would have believed it possible to find love with your enemy?”

Shrewd eyes narrowed, softened. “Christ’s blade, you love Rois.”

“I care deeply,” Griffin reasoned. He refused to acknowledge the words that would make their inevitable parting worse.

His expression far from convinced, Seathan rubbed his jaw. “From the way you held Rois, cared for the lass, you are nae bloody immune.”

“Immune?” Griffin gave a rough laugh. “Far from it, but then . . . how does one properly treat a wife?”

Surprise flashed within Seathan’s eyes, and then laughter. “Christ’s blade, for a moment I believed you.”

“’Tis no joke.”

His eyes widened. “You married Rois? I didna realize you had met her before?”

“I had not.”

With a grimace, Seathan glanced where Rois remained by her father’s side, then met Griffin’s gaze. “How could you have married her when you do nae even know the lass?”

“An understatement,” Griffin replied dryly. In short, he explained the meeting as the rebels prepared for war, and his errand to deliver the request from King Edward and de Moray’s father to Lord Andrew. Finally, of how Rois, a woman who tended to act on impulse, had challenged him.

“She accused you of taking liberties before a chamber of warriors at a rebel meeting?” Seathan gasped. “Is she daft?”

The shock in his friend’s voice matched Griffin’s own at the bewildering event. “At the time I believed so.”

“God’s teeth, ’tis a miracle you escaped unscathed.”

“Unscathed?” Griffin arched a brow. “Is that what you call marrying the lass?”

“Why did you nae confront Rois then and there?”

“When the room calmed,” Griffin explained, “I caught a glint of fear in her eyes. Foolishly, I believed when faced with marriage she would admit the truth. I knew not Rois, her stubbornness, or her passion for those she loves.”

“Why would Rois call attention to herself in such a volatile setting?” Seathan asked.

“She believed my presence was a threat to her father, that I would expose his Scottish loyalties to King Edward. So, when I apologized for my untoward behavior before the rebels, then asked her to handfast, instead of admitting ’twas all a lie, she accepted and in the mayhem that followed, escaped with her father in tow.”

Seathan chuckled. “Had another told me, I would have accused them of telling a bard’s tale. But, ’twould seem that however peculiar the beginning, you have found someone—”

“No,” he said, wishing he could allow their marriage to remain, “we have found naught.”

“Bloody hell, I saw you with her. You care for my cousin.” Seathan paused, his gaze shrewd. “Nay, I have known you for many a year. You love her.”

For the briefest moment, Griffin allowed himself to consider the fact. His mind braced, he awaited the panic, the soul scraping fear of truly caring for a woman. Instead, warmth filled him, that of completeness, of having someone forever in his life.

Heavyhearted, he blew out a rough breath. “I would be a fool to not want to keep Rois in my life. But I refuse to endanger her.”

“Do you think you are alone?” Seathan demanded. “That I and my brothers didna face the same questions when we found women we loved?”

Griffin cursed. “But—”

“Nay excuses. You will hear me out,” Seathan stated. “Alexander married your sister, an Englishwoman. By rights they should be enemies. Now, they are wed, happy, and in love. Duncan reunited with a woman he believed a mistress to his enemy. I married an Englishwoman whose brother sentenced me to hang. And Patrik.” Seathan exhaled. “If any should claim a reason for nae marrying, ’twas him. Having watched his family butchered by English troops in his youth, never would any of us, much less Patrik, have considered he would fall in love with or wed an English lass. But it happened. Blast it, Griffin, we are at war! Do you think anyone is safe? That there is logic in whom we fall in love with?”

“No,” he rasped, his heart aching, “but you and your brothers do not work for the English king. My position as King Edward’s advisor to the Scots exposes me to continued scrutiny. If any shred of proof could be provided of my work for the rebels, ’twould mean my death. And if I kept Rois with me, hers as well. Do you think I want her living in constant danger? When I depart on a mission under the guise of
Wulfe
, how could I leave her and not fear for her life?”