Diana Cosby (18 page)

“Is something wrong?” Rois asked.

“Nay,” Patrick said, “’twould seem all is right.”

“Enough of this idiocy.” Griffin gave Rois’s hand a tug and started down the corridor.

“Idiocy?” Rois asked as she walked at his side.

Patrik’s faint chuckle echoed behind them.

Griffin cleared his throat. “’Tis nothing.”

Nothing? By his withdrawal, clearly there was something of relevance, but he chose nae to share it with her. An ache built in her chest. Should she expect otherwise? Still, it hurt that he pushed her away when she wanted him, when she . . .

She stumbled.

Griffin caught her. “What is wrong?”

“Naught.” Everything. Heaven help her, she loved him. A man determined to leave her. A man she’d once believed her enemy.

“You are here.”

As they entered the solar, Lord Grey’s deep burr jerked her from her thoughts. Rois forced a smile.

A stately woman stepped to his side, her amber-gold hair woven into a plait.

“Lady Rois,” Seathan said, “’tis my pleasure to introduce you to my wife, Lady Linet.”

“Lady Grey,” Rois said, liking the woman immediately, appreciating the sincerity in her smile.

“Please, call me Linet. I am sure we will become close.”

Because she and Seathan were cousins? “I would like that very much,” Rois replied, and realized she yearned for the close bond of this family. Except, regardless of her relation, visiting Lochshire Castle with any frequency meant she would risk seeing Griffin.

En route to Lord Grey’s home, she’d focused on the dire condition of her father. She hadn’t considered Griffin’s family or their acceptance of her.

“This is my brother Duncan and his wife,” Seathan said.

Rois turned and found herself greeted by a man whose eyes were bright with interest, his sun-bleached hair framing a face that could easily be that of a Greek god.

Heaven help her, she’d been staring. Heat stole up Rois’s face. “Oh, I—”

Laughter spilled from the woman at his side, the sheen of whisky-colored hair a warm complement to her amber eyes. “Do nae worry. Your reaction to Duncan is that of most women.”

“I like her already,” Duncan said, the dimples on his cheeks deepening. “Lady Rois, my wife, Lady Isabel.”

“A pleasure to meet you,” Rois said.

Griffin drew Rois to his side and grinned at Duncan. “She is mine. You have your own wife.”

“Never mind them both.” Isabel smiled at Rois. “It pleases me to welcome you into the family.”

Rois smiled at Nichola, thankful to have met Alexander’s wife and Griffin’s sister before the family had gathered. Trying to keep everyone’s name straight and who was wed to whom was overwhelming.

She took in the brothers, their similarities easy to see, except for Patrik. Of course, Griffin had explained he was adopted. Still, his mannerisms were those of the MacGruders.

Seathan motioned toward a servant waiting nearby, who brought in wine and a platter of cheese, bread, and meat. Once all were served, Seathan raised his cup. “A toast. To our cousin, Rois, and Griffin. God bless their marriage, one that will reunite our families.”

At Rois’s stricken look, Griffin silently cursed. Though thankful Seathan had explained their marriage to everyone before he and Rois had arrived, he’d not meant to embarrass her, or to make a mockery of their union. Yet, he had achieved both.

Rois lifted her goblet, her eyes avoiding his.

Griffin drank deep.

“I will say,” Alexander said, “the news of your marriage surprised us all.”

Aye, Griffin mused. It had surprised him as well. But he would not remain on this topic and add to Rois’s discomfort. “Though we traveled here to seek care for Lord Brom, I have come for another reason. I bring news from Andrew de Moray.”

At the mention of their rebel leader, the room quieted.

Patrik clasped his wife’s hand. “How fares he?”

Well aware Patrik had worked with Sir Andrew under the guise of
Dubh Duer
while he and the MacGruder brothers had believed him dead, Griffin quietly explained Lord Andrew’s condition, and of the writ he’d passed to Seathan.

Alexander shot his eldest brother a hard look. “We stand behind you, whatever the need.”

“Aye,” Seathan said. “Later we will retreat to the war room for further discussion. For now, we celebrate that our cousin and uncle are back in our midst.” Lord Grey met Rois’s gaze. “I pray your marriage to Griffin will bring our family close again.”

Rois glanced at Griffin, the doubts and questions in her eyes clear. By God, he would spare her further scrutiny. “’Tis many miles we have traveled, and Rois is exhausted.”

“Of course,” Linet said. “I have a chamber readied for you both.

“My thanks,” Griffin replied, catching the nervous glint on Rois’s face. Before he said something bloody asinine, he escorted Rois from the room. Once they’d checked on her father, he prayed his fatigue would allow him to rest. But, cloistered with Rois over the next several hours, doubts weighed heavy he would find naught but fragments of sleep.

 

As Griffin and Rois exited the chamber, Alexander smiled.

Duncan frowned. “With de Moray’s wounds, I find little to smile about.”

“Aye, ’tis of grave concern.” Alexander drummed his fingers upon the table. “However,” he glanced up the stairs. “The lad is in love.”

Patrik shrugged. “A bloody fool could see that.”

Alexander raised his goblet, drank a deep draught. “Aye, all except Griffin.”

“What?” Duncan’s brow dipped. “Does he deny it, then?”

“I would like to know as well,” Patrick said, his gaze shifting from Duncan to Alexander.

Seathan remained silent.

Alexander shot his older brother a grimace, then faced the others. “Griffin wants an annulment.”

“What?” everyone said in unison.

“’Tis true,” Nichola said, then explained Griffin’s guilt at wishing never to marry in fear of endangering a woman’s life.

“It matters not,” Patrik said, “Griffin and Rois are wed.”

“Aye,” several agreed.

With a rough sigh, Seathan shook his head. “Handfasted, but in name only.”

Stunned silence fell about the chamber.

“Bloody fool,” Patrik said. “Stubborn as well. Well we know that danger is a foolish thing to toss in the way of love, and I believe from the covert looks Rois gives Griffin that she cares deeply for him as well.”

“Aye, from watching her with Griffin, I agree she does,” Seathan replied.

Eyes bright with mischief, Duncan folded his arms. “And what are we going to do about it?”

“Naught.” Seathan’s brow drew into a stern frown. “However much I disagree with Griffin’s decision to nae seal their marriage, ’tis nae for us to interfere.”

“Mayhap nae yours,” Alexander replied, “but I say we get Rois alone, then find out her true feelings for Griffin. If she loves him as well, we give them a push. Let them decide if indeed they will sacrifice a marriage a bloody lackwit can see should be real.”

“Push?” Isabel said with a laugh. “A saint’s curse, you are as bad as my husband.”

Duncan winked at his wife. “Nay, lass, I am worse.”

“Listen.” Nichola leaned forward. “I have a plan.”

Alexander chuckled, admiring his wife’s spirit. “Well, Griffin is your brother, after all. ’Twould be fitting you led to his marital demise—I mean, to ensure he lived happily ever after.”

“I still disagree with interfering,” Seathan stated. “Nor shall I partake in such.”

“Husband,” Linet said, “did any here ask you?”

Their brother’s shocked look prompted a round of laughter.

“So, Nichola,” Alexander said with a wide smile. “What do you have in mind?”

Nichola smiled. “Seathan, you said Rois tended to act on impulse?”

Lord Grey grimaced. “Aye.”

“Does she know of the room’s magic?” Nichola asked.

Seathan hesitated, shook his head. “Griffin said he would explain it to her later.”

“Which I doubt he did.” Nichola’s smile widened. “I say we encourage Rois to drink a wee bit too much, and if during our conversation we decide Rois indeed cares about my brother as we believe, then we tell her about the myth surrounding the stones, and how Griffin’s half still resides in the chamber. If she decides to stay there for the night in hopes to consummate their marriage, the decision is hers.”

“’Twould aid the cause if Griffin found her there naked,” Duncan added.

“How Rois is clad once alone in the chamber is her decision,” Nichola said, “but mayhap us women will encourage her to disrobe once alone and before Griffin arrives.”

Patrik chuckled. “And what of Griffin? How will he find Rois?”

“I will let it slip,” Alexander replied with pride.

“However much I disagree with your tactics,” Seathan said, “neither will I allow it while her father struggles for his life.”

Alexander grew somber. “Aye, the lass has enough worry for now. Until Angus is on the mend we will leave Griffin and Rois alone.”

Everyone nodded.

“With the way they looked at each other tonight,” Nichola said, “our plotting may be for naught. Mayhap time together will ignite what already exists.”

“I did leave wine in their chamber,” Linet said with a delighted smile.

“And they intend to do naught but sleep,” Alexander said, his mind working with ease. “When he finds Rois naked, after nights of sharing her bed . . .”

“How will you convince him to go to her if he suspects a trap?” Seathan’s wife asked.

“We tell him where Rois is—in our grandmother’s chamber,” Alexander explained. “Except, we do nay tell him she is naked. ’Twill be his to discover.”

The scent of roasted venison, herbs, and bread from the evening meal lingered as Griffin departed Angus’s chamber. He rubbed his brow, thankful that over the past two days his friend’s condition continued to improve.

In but a sennight, Lord Brom would be well enough to return to his castle, but not alone. However much Angus wished his and Rois’s marriage real, Griffin refused to endanger Rois’s life by bringing her with him to Westminster Palace. News he would break to her father in the morning. News Rois had taken hard.

Sadness weighed on Griffin as he neared his chamber. He took in the simple oak door behind which held life’s most precious gift—Rois. The ache at the thought of leaving her forever intensified.

’Twas absurd that he’d allowed himself to fall in love with her. An act for which he would dearly pay. Not that his leaving wasn’t hurting Rois as well. Over the past few days, he’d caught her looking at him when she believed him unaware. Her distrust toward him at their first meeting had transformed into intrigue. Or, had it built into something more?

Griffin dampened the flare of hope. Regardless of how much they cared for the other, the time had come for him to leave. He laid his hand upon the door, took a deep inhale. This night would be their last.

Forever.

Heart aching, he shoved open the latch.

On a soft creak, the door swung wide. He stepped inside.

Empty.

Griffin leaned back, glanced down the corridor, and frowned. Earlier this evening when he’d departed their room to go and speak with Seathan, Rois had said naught. With her upset, he’d believed she would remain in the chamber for the night. She must have wandered downstairs and become caught up in talking with one of the brothers’ wives.

Or his sister.

Nichola’s pleas earlier this day to reconsider his staying wed to Rois replayed in his mind. His sister had ignored his reasons, but neither had he expected her to have discerned that he loved Rois.

Unease slid through him. Nichola wouldn’t interfere with his and Rois’s marriage, would she? Indeed she would, if she believed her actions would aid Griffin, as she’d done so many years before when she’d kept creditors away from their home when she’d believed them destitute.

Determined to find out, Griffin hurried to the turret and down the curved steps. The rumble of voices from below increased. Anxious, he stepped into the great room.

Alexander sat at a trencher table nearby the hearth. Duncan and his wife, Isabel, sat beside him, and Duncan’s arms moved with animated gestures.

Laughter sounded from the trio.

Where was Rois?

Nichola glanced up. Hesitation flickered in her eyes, then her expression softened into a smile.

Unease filtered through Griffin as he strode toward her.

“I thought you had
retired
for the night,” his sister said.

Griffin ignored her emphasis on the word
retired
and its intimate implications.

Alexander lifted his goblet of wine, drank a sip. “Sit and join us. Since your arrival at Lochshire Castle, we have had little time to talk. ’Tis time to relax.”

Griffin shook his head. “I must sleep. I have a long ride on the morrow.”

Duncan turned his goblet in his hands. “Do you nae think it best to wait one more day before you leave?”

One more day with Rois. No, too much of a temptation. “I have much to tend to at Westminster Palace.”

“With King Edward in Flanders, his troops scattered about licking their wounds from Stirling Bridge,” Alexander said, “I doubt your remaining here another day or two would incite royal dissent.”

True, but loving Rois, each day he remained by her side tempted fate. He cleared his throat. “’Tis time I depart.”

Sadness darkened Nichola’s eyes. “Alexander’s words hold wisdom. Griffin, please consider his request. Your each visit is wrapped in affairs for the rebels and your duty. You now have a wife. Can you not stay one more day?”

His jaw tightened. “I explained everything to you this morn.”

“All you explained,” Nichola replied, her voice cool, “is that you bury your life in demands that allow you not to live, but merely exist.”

“What I choose to do, or not, is my decision.” Tired of her interference, aching at leaving Rois, Griffin scanned the great room. “Have you seen Rois?”

Amusement touched Alexander’s face. “My cousin?”

As if his brother-in-law didn’t know whom he meant? “Yes,” Griffin replied, barely concealing his frustration.

Nichola’s gaze slid to the abandoned goblet near the edge of the table. She cleared her throat. “She was here some time ago.”

Some time ago? Rois must have left their room right after he’d gone to speak with her father. “I just came from our chamber and she was not there. Have you any idea where she could be?”

His sister chewed on her bottom lip. “Well, she did mention something about needing to be abed.”

“Aye. Indeed those were her words.” Duncan shot Nichola a wink. “However slurred.”

“Slurred?” Griffin repeated, a sinking in his gut. Well he knew his family’s love of a prank. God’s teeth, he didn’t need their interference.

Duncan’s face grew smug, and Isabel’s cheeks flushed a delicate pink. Mirth sparked in Alexander’s eyes.

Dread crawled through Griffin. “Rois is drunk?”

“Drunk is a harsh word,” Nichola hurried out. “Your wife had a meager amount. Though we were unaware she rarely imbibed, or how much a few drinks would affect her.”

Griffin clenched his teeth, envisioning Rois tipsy, and in her inebriated condition, telling his family God knew what. “How many is a few?”

“I believe,” Isabel scraped her teeth across her lower lip, “’twas four.”

Griffin stared at Duncan’s wife. “Four?” He would not panic. Rois might be drunk, but she was safe. Alexander laughed, and Griffin’s hard-won control shattered. “Why in bloody hell would she drink four glasses of wine?”

“’Twas a celebration,” Duncan said, his dimples digging deep. “Rois told us of your halved gemstone and how one evening when you were together it glowed.”

Griffin muttered a curse. “As if what my gemstone did or didn’t do bloody matters. We are handfasted.”

“You are,” Nichola agreed, her voice somber with challenge. “With a woman you love and a woman you seek to sever from your life.”

Rebuttals flew through his mind, those laced with frustration and dredged in anger. To engage his sister now would open a topic Griffin refused to discuss. A subject he’d pondered, foolishly, with naught but one end.

He must set Rois free.

Weary, Griffin narrowed his gaze on the youngest MacGruder. “Duncan, you know where she is.”

Green eyes widening in mock surprise, Duncan laughed. “I do?”

Griffin eyed those he loved. “By God, you will tell me where Rois has gone.”

“Afraid of our grandmother’s magic then, are you?” Alexander challenged.

“There is no magic,” Griffin replied, recalling how he’d enjoyed the brothers’ torment as they’d struggled with the same question in the past. ’Twould seem now ’twas his conflict to bear.

“No?”

At Linet’s voice, Griffin glanced back to find Seathan and his wife walking toward them.

“Is it nae true your halved Magnesite glowed when you were with Rois?” Linet asked, a mischievous smile upon her face.

Griffin grimaced. ’Twas conspiracy.

“Did it?” Isabel pressed.

The image of Rois naked and his all but making love to her filled his mind. Neither could he forget how his halved gemstone had glowed. He shrugged. “’Tis vague.”

“It indeed glowed,” his sister said with a wide smile. “A fact we all heard Rois reveal.” She hesitated. “Well, mumble.”

Laughter echoed around the table.

Far from amused, Griffin glared at his family.

Patrik’s wife, Emma, poured herself a goblet of wine. “Would you like a drink, Griffin? You seem tense.”

“No,” he replied, his calm comparable to that of a saint, “I seek naught but my wife.”

“I may have seen her,” Linet said.

Nichola chuckled.

Griffin clenched his hands at his sides. “Where is she?”

His sister arched an amused brow. “Abed.”

“I told you, I came from our chamber, and Rois was not there.”

Nichola’s smile grew. “Did I say your wife was in
your
chamber?”

He stilled. Their questions about his halved gemstone glowing. Their mirth on the topic. Had they somehow convinced her to go to the MacGruders’ grandmother’s chamber? After four drinks Rois would be pliable to his relatives’ guidance.

Uneasy, he scanned the group. “Where, pray tell,” Griffin drawled, “is she?”

Alexander lifted his goblet in a toast, then downed the cup. “After our tales of the fey and explaining the magic in our grandmother’s chamber, I believe Rois mentioned she wished to go exploring before she went to sleep.”

Griffin fought for calm. All the stories of magic in the chamber mattered not. They were already wed.

But Rois was still a virgin.

A smile widened Patrik’s mouth. “You look a touch pale.” Griffin shot a cool glare at the adopted MacGruder brother, then scanned the remainder of his family seated around the table. “Rois did not
decide
to explore your grandmother’s chamber,” he ground out, “but was prodded with drink and stories to stir her interest. She may be inside your grandmother’s room, but by God, she will not stay.” Laughter on his heels, Griffin strode toward the turret.

Inside the carved stone tower, he bolted up the steps as if chased by the hounds of Hades. The second-floor corridor flashed past, then he rounded the final turn.

The entry to the third floor tower chamber came into view. The sturdy door stood edged open, the flicker of torchlight exposing naught but normality.

Fatigue washing over him, Griffin slowed. He rubbed his brow. What was he doing? Alexander, Nichola, and the others had teased him for this exact reaction. Even if Rois was drunk and passed out in their grandmother’s chamber, there was naught challenging about the situation. He’d simply carry her to their room below.

Calmer, he continued up the steps. “Rois?”

Silence.

Of course she didn’t answer. Rois was not here. Wherever his sister and the others had put her in her inebriated state, ’twas to make him fear the worst. A ploy he’d fallen for. On a chuckle, he started to turn.

Griffin glanced back. What if Rois was in their grandmother’s chamber? She would have answered his call, wouldn’t she?

Not if she was drunk and had passed out.

He grimaced. Well, he was here. A few steps and he could see for himself.

With a frustrated sigh, Griffin ran up the remaining steps. At the entry of the MacGruder brothers’ grandmother’s chamber he halted.

Moonlight poured through the arched window in a pale swath, melding with the flicker of flames in the hearth, illuminating Rois lying on the bed.

Naked.

Not a stitch of clothing. Her luxurious body exposed for anyone to see.

Not anyone.

Him.

Blood pounding hot, his body hardened. Fighting the desire coursing through him, he damned Nichola and his in-laws for their meddling. Did they think his seeing Rois naked and vulnerable would break his willpower? That caught up in the heat of the moment, he’d claim her as his wife?

Indeed.

They’d assumed once his and Rois’s marriage was consummated, he’d abandon his decision to send her with her father, and keep her at his side when he returned to England.

But they were wrong.

On a rough swallow, he focused on the dance of flames from a nearby wall sconce. Regardless of how much he desired her, he’d made up his mind. In the morn, he would ride to Westminster Palace.

Alone.

With a steadying breath, Griffin stepped inside the chamber. He tried not to stare at how the fire in the hearth illuminated her silken curves, or how the spill of her chestnut hair framed her breasts.

Laughter flitted through the chamber.

He spun on his heel and searched for the origin of the sound.

In the corner sat a small table, simple in its design, elegant in the craftsmanship. He glanced at the bowl and the other items atop, then skimmed past the woven tapestry upon the wall.

No one.

A gust of wind rattled against the glass, then softened to a moan. He rubbed his temple. Laughter? ’Twas naught but the wind. Griffin studied the tapestry on the far wall woven with an intricate pattern of fairies amidst the leaves.

The tales of the fey and the magic within this room came to mind. He shook his head. Magic? No, none existed. Duncan had crafted the stories over a year ago, after Alexander had abducted Nichola and brought her to Lochshire Castle as a prisoner.

Duncan’s far-fetched tale—that if Nichola stayed within their grandmother’s chamber, then she and Alexander would fall in love—was intended to trouble his sibling. Nichola’s having taken Alexander’s halved stone before her escape ’twas a fluke.

The story of the chamber and the magic inside had grown with each telling. More so as the prospective wife of each MacGruder brother had taken from this bowl the respective matching stone, the other half which hung around her future husband’s neck. That the brothers now believed the tale true was laughable.

Magic didn’t exist. Naught was real except for the struggles of men, determination, and in the end, death.

Another burst of wind buffeted the handcrafted glass.

With a frown, he walked to the window. Outlined by the moonlight, a bank of clouds lay to the west. A storm was moving in. If he departed at first light, he should be hours south before the rain began, hours away from Rois, and hours into his life.