Chapter 11
Drake waited for Bean to join him. The lad scampered toward him—half attempted decorum, half unbridled energy—and led the way, his small chest lifted with pride for his role in the king’s mission.
The Great Hall was longer than it was wide, the crossing beams overhead grand where they formed a pointed roof overhead.
Voices echoed around them, softened mildly by the rushes spread underfoot.
At the far end of the room was a raised dais where a man and woman sat in two regal chairs with ornate carving. Lord and Lady Calver.
A frisson of excitement flickered through Drake.
This was truly the start of his mission.
One in which he knew he would succeed. He had to, to finally be the kind of man his father would be proud of, to be victorious despite all the failures he had endured, to rise above the low acts he’d stooped to in order to survive.
Back straight and stiff, Bean approached the dais to deliver the king’s missive to the earl and announce Drake. The earl looked at Drake with interest and waved him forward.
Drake obediently approached the stately figures, stopping just before the dais where he bowed.
“Master Fletcher,” Lord Calver said in a clipped tone.
“So, the king finally deemed it important enough to send a warrior to train all the new soldiers he’s sent me.
Most are so bloody green that they’d shite themselves before even thinking to pull their blades.
” He regarded Drake closely. “Let’s look at ye then. ”
Drake lifted his head, forcing himself not to narrow his eyes at the soft-bellied noble who would so degrade the men who risked their lives to keep him safe.
Lord Calver’s appearance was well-matched with his whiny tone.
His scalp was visible beneath his dark hair, and his face might be lined with a map of wrinkles, were it not so fleshy and his beard not so great.
The man’s blue eyes bulged as if the fullness of his face were forcing them from their sockets. “Ye dinna seem verra large. I was expecting an exceptional warrior.”
“He looks large enough to me.” Lady Calver’s voice was barely audible.
Drake flicked a glance at her in time to see the quirk of an appreciative brow in his direction as she reached for her goblet.
She was younger than her husband, as was often the case with aging earls.
Her golden braid was pinned around her head, and her deep brown eyes glided down his body as she lifted the chalice to her lips.
Lord Calver either did not notice his wife’s comment or did not care. “Can ye fight?” he barked.
“Aye.” Drake didn’t bother to elaborate. His presence by order of the king was surely proof enough, even for a pompous noble. It wasn’t Drake’s job to recommend himself.
Though now he did understand why Lord Androll had his doubts on the story he’d been given regarding Lady Eileen. There was an oiliness about Lord Calver that put Drake’s hackles up.
The earl scoffed. “We’ll see how well ye can fight.” He waved a servant closer. “Have their rooms prepared.” His focus went to Drake once more. “Ye start tomorrow at noon.”
Drake gave a single, firm nod.
Most nobles would have at least allowed him a day to refresh from the journey. But in truth, Drake didn’t need the time to recover. He’d simply wanted the additional time with Greer.
His thoughts slipped back to her, to his fear that she would depart, and he would not have the chance to offer his farewells. Or mayhap give her whatever coin he could spare to keep her from having to steal to live.
Or possibly kiss her one last time. To taste the sweetness of her lips. Something to hold tight to for the rest of his life, for he knew after tonight, he would never see her again.
“Ye may go.” Lord Calver made a shooing motion with his hand.
Drake bowed and took his leave.
“He dinna seem verra grateful,” Bean muttered under his breath. Fortunately, the lad had waited until they were at least out of the Great Hall before sharing his opinion.
Drake discreetly shook his head to silence the lad from saying anything further. “Walls have ears in such places as these,” he said quietly.
Bean’s eyes went wide with understanding, and he pressed his lips together.
A woman strode in front of them, and Drake put his attention immediately to her, first to assess her distance to gauge if she might have heard Bean’s comment. But then, recognition took hold.
A petite woman with an impossibly slender waist and her pale blonde hair pulled back in a series of braids that fell into gentle curls at the ends.
No sooner had he realized who she was than the woman turned back to him, her blue eyes lighting with her own recognition, and a brilliant smile blossomed on her lips.
“Drake?” she asked in a breathy voice.
“Lady Anice,” he said in return. “Lady Graham,” he corrected, using her married name.
She cried out in delight and rushed toward him with the grace that most noblewomen could only dream of possessing.
She threw her arms around him and squeezed, then stepped back with a laugh.
“Forgive me, I know you don’t enjoy such affection, but it’s been an age since I’ve seen you.
And I certainly didn’t expect to see anything to remind me of home here.
” She cast a disgusted look over his shoulder, her dislike for the earl and countess apparent in her expression.
“’Tis good to see ye,” Drake said earnestly. And indeed, it was.
He had imagined this moment countless times, a chance meeting with her where her husband was not around. An opportunity to be alone with her. Or at least as alone as one could be with Bean standing nearby, his watchful stare taking everything in to likely comment upon later.
Yet in the times Drake had fantasized about meeting her, his heart had thudded like a blacksmith’s hammer against his ribs, his blood going hot as sin in his veins as he imagined confessing to her everything he had never dared say.
His undying affection for her, the way he had loved her with every part of his being.
But now his pulse remained even, his blood temperate and his tongue held not with restraint, but truth. It struck him like warm sun on an icy day.
He didn’t harbor romantic affections for Anice anymore.
“What are ye doing at Lochmaben?” Drake asked.
“James has to meet with each of the March Wardens from time to time to reassure them he hasn’t lost his Scottish loyalty despite our living on English land.
” She waved it off as though meeting with the earls who controlled the Scottish border was something of little concern, though she knew the matter to be of great import for certes.
“We don’t mind the other two, but Lord Calver is always rather unpleasant.
I didn’t dream of seeing you here. What brings you to Lochmaben? ”
“I’ve been asked to help train the new guards,” he replied easily.
She threaded her hand into his arm. “Do tell me how you’ve been all this time. Have you found yourself a woman?”
A grin spread over his face, one he couldn’t stop even if he wanted to.
She gave an excited gasp as they continued to walk onward. “You must tell me all about her. Is she here? I would so love to meet her.”
He shook his head, a feeling of shyness suddenly washing over him. Not only with Bean giving him an odd expression that promised a stream of questions to answer to later, but also for fear of scaring off Greer.
For that was truly all he could think of in the time since he encountered Anice so unexpectedly—Greer. Her smile, the way her green eyes held his, how she smelled so wonderfully of flowers, the way she kissed and tasted and loved.
At that moment, he realized that no matter how much he had tried to erect walls around his heart to keep himself from caring for her, he had failed terribly. He wanted Greer in the way he had once wanted Anice.
Nay, not in the same way.
More.
And while such a revelation ought to have frightened him, the idea of accepting that he loved her suddenly felt like home.
The castle rose before Greer, ominous with what it represented. Her brother lay within the bowels of the dungeon there. No doubt, a few minutes’ walk would bring her right in front of him if she were granted entry.
But she wouldn’t be. Mac was in there, and she was outside, standing in the sunshine with a full belly and clean clothes.
She chastised herself where she remained, loitering near the castle gate like a lost pup, waiting for Drake and Bean to emerge.
She originally had planned to pick a few pockets while they were detained inside the castle.
But as she reached for the first one, her usual calm was offset with a tremor of fear.
Usually, she did not worry about being caught, not when she could typically talk her way out of it. Except now, instead of only fearing what might happen to Mac if she were taken prisoner, she worried also about Drake. And how his association with her might cost him his dream to become a knight.
She was becoming too damn soft.
Now she hovered by the entrance in anticipation of spending an evening with him before departing to figure out a way to free Mac.
All too soon, she would be swept into her former life again, where her meals weren’t guaranteed, where protection was at her hand and where she was never afforded a modicum of respect.
Footsteps thudded over the drawbridge. Greer glanced in the direction, eager to see Drake. A woman’s delicate laugh tinkled through the air as he came into view with a lovely woman on his arm.
Nay, not a lovely woman—an exquisite woman. Jesu, how was it possible for a lass to be so bonny? It was hardly fair to the rest of the women in Scotland to compete against one so stunning.