Diana Cosby (17 page)

“Never did I say it would be easy,” Seathan stated. “Many never find love. You have. And, with a woman who, if I judge accurately, cares deeply for you if nae loves you as well. You both need time. Once she comes to know you and you her, any doubts about your situation will fade.”

“I—”

“Regardless,” Seathan interrupted, “you are wed.”

“We are.” Griffin gave him a wry smile. “After the convoluted mess that tossed Rois and I together, I admit I entertained the prospect of stowing her away within an abbey. But, Angus bade me to keep her with me, to protect her.” He grew somber. “Once he recovers, however much I care for Rois, I will procure an annulment.”

“Impossible. You have traveled with her, slept—”

“No.”

Seathan’s mouth opened. Then closed. “You have nae . . . God’s teeth.”

A muscle worked in Griffin’s jaw. “My decision is made.”

“Decision? Aye, that you are a stubborn arse.”

“A trait,” Griffin drawled, “’twould seem common within the MacGruders.”

Irony flashed in Seathan’s eyes. “Common indeed.”

Griffin refused to say more. ’Twould change naught and breed more upset. Still, he must face the remainder of the MacGruder family and his sister. For now, he and Rois would remain here until Angus healed, and prayed indeed his friend would recover. Then, he would leave Lochshire Castle.

Alone.

He shifted, and his fingers bumped against the bulky roll beneath his garb.

The writ.

Images of de Moray and his grave condition flickered to mind. White-knuckled, he withdrew de Moray’s writ. “Seathan, there is another reason I have come. Lord Andrew bade me to deliver this to you.” He handed his friend the writ.

Worry creased Seathan’s brow as he broke the seal and unrolled, then scanned the rough-inked parchment. After a long moment, he glanced up, his face pale. “If de Moray dies, he requests I stand in his stead and act as Wallace’s advisor.”

Griffin nodded. “He told me of his request. Though the English have retreated, we both know ’tis but to regroup. More so once King Edward learns of the Battle at Stirling Bridge and the catastrophic loss to his forces.”

Seathan’s mouth thinned into a tight line, and he rerolled the writ. “Are Sir Andrew’s wounds so dire?”

Emotion stormed Griffin. “I fear for his life.”

Seathan swallowed hard and looked away. “God’s teeth.”

A low pounding began in Griffin’s temple. He rubbed his brow. How could Seathan not be affected by the news? Sir Andrew was their friend.

“Where is he?” Seathan asked.

“Cumbuskenneth Abbey.”

Lord Grey turned, his face composed, but his skin taut. “I will pray for a miracle.”

“As I.” Somber, Griffin glanced inside the chamber where Angus rested. “’Twould seem we need many as of late.”

“Indeed.”

Silence fell between them, the normalcy of distant voices from the great hall below at odds with their fear, as the lives of many they cared for lay in jeopardy.

“You will want to return to Rois,” Seathan said.

Griffin nodded.

“Before you go, why was Angus brought to Lochshire Castle? In his condition, to move him from the battle site could easily have killed him.”

Anger stormed Griffin at the reminder. “I agree. Worse, ’twas done with ill intent.” He explained of how upon Griffin’s return from taking de Moray to Cumbuskenneth Abbey, he’d had to track her and Sir Lochlann down, only to discover Angus near death in a crofter’s hut. Then, he relayed Sir Lochlann’s intervention, the knight’s lies to Rois, and that the Scot wanted to wed her once she was free.

Seathan clasped his dagger. “Sir Lochlann’s blood will spill beneath my blade.”

“No,” Griffin stated. “He is mine.”

Seathan eyed him hard. “And what of Rois when she learns of your intent?”

Griffin held his hard glare. “’Twill be a blasted mess.”

“Aye, ’twill be that.”

“Griffin?”

At his sister’s voice, Griffin turned toward the turret. A slender woman hurried toward him, the warmth of her smile inspiring his own. “Nichola.” He drew her into a fierce hug. “I have missed you.” He stepped back, swept her with a critical eye, and then tugged the neat plait of her auburn hair. “You look content.”

She laughed.

With happiness beaming on her face, Nichola reminded Griffin of his mother, and a pang touched his heart.

“I heard you had arrived with a party.” She glanced around, frowned. “Who?”

“Lord Brom and his daughter accompany your brother,” Seathan explained.

“Lord Brom?” Nichola asked. “Why have I never heard mention of him?”

“He is a powerful Scottish lord who lives in Kincardan Castle,” Alexander said as he strode toward them. “Remember I told you about the feud between my grandfather and Lord Brom’s father?”

She nodded.

Griffin smiled at the warrior he now called brother, hair black as Seathan’s and of his equal height. But the similarities ended there. A scar angled down his brother-in-law’s cheek, the battle wound adding to his daunting presence.

Cobalt eyes studied him with unapologetic interest. “I was surprised to hear Lord Brom would grant his permission to be taken to Lochshire Castle,” Alexander said.

“I knew not of the discord before our arrival,” Griffin explained. “Had I known, I still would have brought them.”

Alexander grimaced. “Mad as a badger Angus will be.”

Griffin shrugged. “A worry I will tend to once he awakens.”

“Griffin?”

At Rois’s unsteady voice, he glanced over. She stood at the door to the chamber, her eyes wide, unsure. His heart tightened in his chest. Seathan was right. He loved Rois, which complicated everything.

Rois glanced at the gathering group, then toward Griffin. “’Tis Da. He is calling your name.”

“Who is that?” Nichola whispered to Griffin, curiosity rich in her voice.

“My wife.” Ignoring the shock upon both his sister and Alexander’s faces, he turned to Seathan. “Rois and I will meet with you shortly in the great room.” He strode past. Time for explanations would come, but at this moment Rois needed him, and by God as long as he could, he would be there for her.

On edge, Rois walked beside Griffin as Seathan led them down the corridor. With a discreet glance, she took in the hard angles of Lord Grey’s face. He was a man well lauded for his strength, wisdom, and cool calm when a difficult situation arose. And, her cousin. At Lochshire Castle for hours now, she still struggled with the revelation of their blood tie.

Griffin wrapped her fingers within his.

Thankful for his unfailing support, she gave his hand a gentle squeeze.

“The solar.” Seathan moved aside, motioned for Rois and Griffin to enter. “I thought it best to finish explaining the details of our grandparents’ embattled past in private.”

“Thank you.” She stepped inside, the warmth of the afternoon sun welcome. “I look forward to hearing the rest of their story.”

Seathan crossed to where goblets were set out along with a bottle of wine. “Would you like a drink?”

“Nay,” she replied, anxious to learn more.

“Nor I,” Griffin replied.

“I will start at the beginning,” Seathan said. “In 1257, my grandfather, Trálin MacGruder, was wounded in an effort to halt an abduction of King Alexander III.” He set the bottle down.

“I had heard of the kidnapping,” Rois said, “but I didna know of my great-uncle’s involvement.”

Seathan swirled the wine around in the cup. “During the battle, my grandfather and the others in accompaniment fought valiantly. Due to the sheer number of Comyn’s knights, their forces were overwhelmed. My grandmother came upon the abduction. Stunned, she watched in shock as the Comyns rode off with the young king. After they’d left, she aided Trálin.”

Amazed, Rois shook her head. “An incredible way to meet one’s future husband.”

“Indeed,” Griffin agreed.

“How did your grandfather know King Alexander?” Rois asked.

“An only child, my grandfather was fostered to train with the knights in the king’s service,” Seathan replied, pride in his voice. “Due to his age, intelligence, and expertise with a blade, Trálin was often paired to spar with King Alexander II’s son, Alexander III. Over time, they became fast friends. When Alexander II died, his son was crowned king.”

“At the very young age of eight,” Griffin said, his voice somber. “It must have been difficult to lose a father and gain the demands of a kingdom. More so, when he later became caught up in an embittered power play between Walter Comyn, Earl of Menteith, and Alan Durward, Justiciar of Scotia.”

“Aye.” Seathan took a sip of wine, swallowed. “During the turmoil, my grandfather was appointed as the king’s personal guard, the reason Trálin remained by Alexander III’s side.”

“You said the king was abducted,” Rois asked. “How was he freed? What part did your grandfather play? And what does this have to do with your grandmother?”

Her cousin smiled. “’Tis much to take in. My grandmother and her clan joined forces with him to free the king.”

“Incredible,” Rois said.

“It is,” Griffin agreed, “but as you know, Lady Catarine was a proud, strong woman who once you met, you never forgot.”

She glanced at her husband in surprise. “You knew her?”

Griffin cleared his throat. “I met her on several occasions.”

“Indeed,” Seathan said dryly.

Rois hesitated. From the tension between them, they spoke of something more. “How did Trálin and Lady Catarine fall in love?”

“My grandmother said that from their first meeting she felt an immediate connection with my grandfather. Trálin, intrigued by her mysterious appearance, admitted he felt the same. During their time together to save King Alexander III, the unexplainable bond grew into love.” Seathan paused, smiled with remembrance. “My grandfather loved her greatly, and would do anything for her. When Lady Catarine MacLaren agreed to wed, he built the tower chamber for her, and filled it with her favorite things from her homeland for all she sacrificed to become his wife.”

Rois sighed. “Their story is like a romance told.”

“An interesting story,” Griffin agreed dryly. “One I wonder does not grow with the telling.”

Lord Grey chuckled. “Mayhap a wee bit.

“A trait,” Rois said, “’twould seem carried by his grandson.”

Seathan’s smile grew. “A compliment indeed. My grandfather was an extraordinary man.”

“’Tis sad that my grandfather’s infatuation with your grandmother tore our families apart,” Rois said.

“Aye, Faolan was a man as proud as stubborn,” Seathan agreed. “My grandfather missed his brother, but never did his love for his wife fade. I remember standing on the wall walk with my grandfather during my youth, his eyes twinkling when he spoke of Catarine. He said theirs was a love he’d never believed possible. Eyes misty, he explained ’twas like a spell cast over him when he looked into her eyes. Fitting, as stories claim her chamber is enchanted.”

Prickles slid up Rois’s skin. “Enchanted?”

Seathan cleared his throat. “’Tis—”

“Naught but a tale crafted by Duncan,” Griffin finished with a scowl.

“What tale?” Rois asked.

Humor flashed in Seathan’s eyes. “I see Griffin has omitted an important MacGruder legend, one I will leave him to explain.” He nodded to the door. “I have sent Alexander to gather the rest of our family. They will be awaiting our arrival in the great room.”

“Before we go,” Rois said, “I would like to check upon my father one more time before I join you.”

“I will accompany her,” Griffin said.

Seathan nodded. “Of course. I will see you both shortly.” He turned and left.

Curious about what had passed unsaid between the men, Rois turned to Griffin. “What MacGruder legend did Seathan speak of?”

“Naught that cannot wait until after we see Lord Brom.”

“Aye,” she agreed, her mind immediately lost in her worries for her father.
Please let him have begun to improve.

 

Still reeling from shock at news of her brother’s marriage, Nichola ambled down the spiral steps of the turret. At the bottom of the stairs Alexander stood smiling up at her. Warmth burst in her heart.

Alexander took her hand and rubbed his thumb over the soft curve of her palm as he scanned her face. “Still stunned to learn your brother is married?”

“Yes,” she replied, her emotions on edge. “As well as your blood tie to Lord Brom.”

“Until his arrival,” Alexander said, “I had forgotten of our family bond.”

“’Tis sad such a division came about when family is so important,” Nichola said.

“Aye, but ’twas long ago.” He grazed his knuckles across her cheek. “Mayhap the time has arrived for the severed bond to heal.”

“I pray so. Alexander . . .” Nichola hesitated. How did she explain she sensed something momentous had occurred with the arrival of Lord Brom, more than the possible healing of their ancestors’ feud, and however crazy the thought, beyond that of Griffin being wed. “Griffin brought them here.”

“With Lochshire Castle being so close, it made sense.”

“Nay, ’tis not what I mean.” Nichola blew out a frustrated breath. “Alexander, ’tis Rois.

“What about her?”

Nichola exhaled. “I would not have thought Griffin would marry.”

“’Tis time for him to settle.” Alexander winked. “And to think, Rois never entered nor stayed within our grandmother’s chamber.”

At his teasing reference to the tale of the halved stones in their grandmother’s chamber, Nichola smiled, loving this man who had stolen her heart.

“Griffin’s halved stone does still sit in the bowl in your grandmother’s room.” Nichola tapped her fingers against her gown. “’Twould seem Rois has proven that the chosen bride of the wearer of the matching gemstone does not need to enter the chamber, or take a gemstone.”

“Mayhap,” Alexander said, “but she is my cousin. Mayhap my grandmother’s magic has woven another path, one that beguiled your brother?”

Nichola laughed.

“Aye,” he said with a wink. “’Twould seem that, unknown to your brother, nae only has he been charmed by my grandmother’s magic, but his role is one of a greater deed. Their marriage will repair the division cast between our grandfathers so many years before.”

A thought fluttered to mind. Nichola gasped. “Alexander, I know you but tease me, but ’twould indeed take magic to break Griffin’s vow.”

“Vow?”

She nodded. “Griffin swore off ever taking a wife.”

Alexander frowned. “Why would Griffin nae desire to wed?”

An ache built in her chest at the tragic memories. “A penance of sorts. Our parents died while we were en route to free him from imprisonment. He believes himself responsible for their deaths.”

“’Twas an accident during a storm.”

“I agree, but Griffin dismisses fact. He is convinced that had my father, mother, and I not journeyed that night to release him from his incarceration, they would be alive today.” She exhaled. “And, with his service to the Scots as
Wulfe
, he thinks his life is too dangerous to ever take a wife.”

“Bloody fool. Does he nae think any of us took such a risk? That I . . .”

“What?”

A flush reddened his cheeks. “Before I met you, I believed the same.”

“You mean of your father’s decision in battle to take an arrow meant for you,” Nichola acknowledged. She was well aware how, after his father’s death, Alexander had lived a reckless life, challenging death, and not caring if it took him within its grasp.

Until he’d met her.

Until they’d fallen in love.

“Aye,” he breathed.

Nichola’s heart ached with love for this fierce Scot, one who had suffered overlong from guilt. “’Tis what Griffin must come to accept as well, that our parents made a choice to travel that night. But how does one convince him? My brother is foolish and stubborn.”

Alexander smiled. “And wed.”

Doubts about her brother’s unexpected marriage increased. “I am happy for him, but I admit I am anxious to see if Rois is indeed the woman for him. A brief meeting told me little.”

“Nae worry, the hard part is done.” Alexander arched a playful brow. “Mayhap she already carries a nephew or niece?”

Hope bloomed. “I had not thought of that.”

“Which is why you have me.”

Nichola chuckled. “You are too arrogant for your own good.”

Alexander claimed her mouth in a heated kiss. “Aye, that I am. Let us join the others. ’Twould seem the night holds much to discover.” With their fingers entwined, he strode through the great hall toward the solar.

 

Rois hesitated as she and Griffin walked down the corridor. “Mayhap we should wait until tomorrow?”

He gave her hand a gentle tug, his look sure as he led her forward. “Your father sleeps. There is naught more we can do for now. ’Tis time to meet the rest of
our
family.”

Our family
. A tremble slid through her. Though blood tied her to the MacGruders, she wished Griffin indeed looked upon her as a woman he loved and wished to remain with forever.

“Why did you reveal to Seathan, your sister, and brother-in-law we were wed?” Rois asked.

“Are we not?”

’Twas nae so simple. “We both know our marriage is but a role played. That in time, we will part forever.” She forced out the last words, damning them, wishing somehow their marriage could be real. Regardless of his touch, of his apparent desire, he’d made it clear no room existed for her in his life.

“Rois—”

“’Twould seem we are nae late, then.”

At the deep male burr, Rois turned, and barely stifled a gasp as a large sandy-haired man strode toward them, his gait sure. A smile sifted through his gaze, but she caught hints of wariness. Beside him walked a slim woman who, oddly, seemed a fine match to this daunting warrior. An olive hue accented her gentle features, and the confidence in her steps radiated strength.

“Rois,” Griffin said, “may I introduce my brother-in-law Sir Patrik and his wife, Emma.”

Warmth gleamed in the fierce Scot’s gaze a second before Patrik took Rois’s hand. He pressed a kiss upon her knuckle. “Lady Rois, the pleasure is mine.”

Patrik’s wife nodded, her gaze lingering, then softening with welcome. “As well as mine, my lady.”

Rois was humbled and overwhelmed by their genuine welcome. Tears burned her throat. Griffin’s thumb caressed her finger in support, and she struggled to control her emotions. This moment with Griffin’s family was a mirage, a glimpse at what never could be.

“My thanks for your warm welcome,” Rois said, “and the care given my father.”

“Nay thanks are necessary.” Though subtle, Patrik’s gaze intensified as if he detected strife between her and Griffin. “We are family.”

“We are,” Griffin said. “Come, Seathan and the others await us.”

Rois assured herself ’twas but nerves that fed her thoughts of Patrik’s insight. The formidable Scot was a warrior, a man used to sizing up those he met. She’d married his brother-in-law, which would invite scrutiny.

They walked down a long corridor, the sturdy stone hewn beneath a brilliant eye, the paintings adorning the walls unique and unexpected. After they passed an archway, she paused, taken by the fairy captured in each canvas hanging in a row before her. Cupped within each fairy’s hands lay a round of stone, each different.

“You have fairies upon your walls?” Warmth crept up Rois cheeks. “Sorry, ’tis obvious.”

Emma smiled. “Worry not. I said the same when Patrik brought me here after we wed.”

“They are so beautiful,” Rois said, stunned by the sheer magnificence. “I find it intriguing that each holds a stone—” She gasped. “Griffin, the fairy at the end is holding a stone exactly like the one you wear.”

Patrik arched a brow. “Indeed?” Laughter danced in his hazel eyes, and Rois caught the look that passed between him and Griffin.

Her husband frowned.