Chapter 22
Drake wished they could flee to somewhere else in Scotland as Greer had suggested.
But he couldn’t do that to his mother and sisters, not when the king would upend their lives to locate Drake.
And then there was his honor that he’d spent his entire life establishing, to become a man his da could be proud of.
It was foolish to put such stock in one’s pride, but he had assigned such an incredible weight to his morality and the choices he made that they could not be so easily cast aside. Every decision he had made led him to this point. He would now face the consequences.
The ride from the inn to Dunfermline Palace was silent beneath a blanket of tension. Even Mac and Bean quieted as the cart crawled closer to their destination. Drake held the reins with one hand, while the other hand held tightly to Greer, reluctant to let her go. Now or ever.
They were all aware he might be marching to his death. For most of his life, he had lived for the present—a day at a time to put food on the table, to keep a roof over his family’s heads, to survive one more day so he could wake up and do it all over again.
Only recently had he put an eye toward the future, with the potentially realized hope of becoming a knight.
And then dashing that all away for the woman who had become his wife, a woman he longed to grow old with.
He wanted that future back, to spend with Greer, to raise their children as his sisters did now with theirs, in a secure home where he could keep them all safe.
The castle came into view, and Drake’s heart slammed against his ribs. Greer tightened her grip on his hand as if she intended to never let go either.
The lads hopped out of the cart and walked slowly alongside, their backs straight and proud.
Drake turned back and looked to Bean, hoping the lad would recall the conversation they’d had earlier that morning.
Drake had told the lad to disassociate with him, to swear he had tried to convince Drake not to try to rescue Mac from the dungeon.
But Bean had refused the offer, saying he had never met a man more honorable than Drake and that, had he known, he would have encouraged Drake’s decision.
Now Bean met Drake’s gaze directly and gave a single, definitive shake of his head. Still refusing to save himself if he was implicated.
Drake would plead the lad’s case for him later with the king.
One of the king’s soldiers attached himself to their slow-moving procession toward the castle.
Another one did likewise. Within several minutes, as they neared the yawning archway leading to the castle, at least twenty guards were walking alongside the cart as though escorting Drake and his party to the king.
Drake paid them no mind as the cart’s wooden wheels clattered over the cobblestones. He stopped in front of the stables, squeezed Greer’s hand, and stepped down from the bench, pausing to help his lovely wife down as well.
She caught his eyes, her gaze so wounded in that instant that it cut him to the quick. Leaving her would be his biggest regret. His mother and sisters were safe now, well off with others to help protect them.
But Greer…he would not be there for her any longer. Not when he received his judgment, for the more he mulled over the facts of it all, the more he realized there would likely be no pardon. He had killed an earl. It was an offense that couldn’t be forgiven. Even if the king believed Mac’s story.
Drake ran his fingers over the back of Greer’s hand before letting it go. Her gaze flicked around to the surrounding soldiers, and the emotion in her eyes went as hard as emeralds. The mask he knew she would put up was in place, his bonny, brave lass.
“Beathan,” Drake called as though the soldiers were not all standing about him. “See my horse to the stable.”
Before Bean could approach the horse, a man with a pale complexion and hair as dark as peat strode toward Drake with an authoritative posture.
Greer stiffened at Drake’s side.
The man stopped in front of him. “Master Fletcher, by order of the king, ye are to be taken prisoner for the death of the Earl of Calver. I should hope ye’ll do this peacefully.”
Drake met the man’s small eyes without flinching. “Aye, I will.”
A slight relaxing of the man’s shoulders reflected his relief that he would not have to use force.
“The lad as well,” the man said.
“Nay.” Drake stepped forward, encroaching the man’s personal space and forcing him to look up, for Drake stood an easy hand-width taller. “The lad took no part in what I did.”
“The king—”
“I said, the lad took no part in what I did,” Drake repeated, this time in a low, quiet voice.
The guard swallowed and nodded. “I’ll speak with the king but be prepared in case we come back for ye.” He shot a warning glance at Bean, who nodded solemnly.
“Drake.” Greer’s soft cry pulled Drake’s attention back to her. “My husband.”
The guard looked between them. “If she is indeed yer wife, ye may speak to her for a swift moment.”
As much as Drake had disliked the shorter man who wielded his authority with limp confidence, he was now grateful for this precious gift.
Though they had said farewell that morning in anticipation of not having this moment, and though Drake ought to decline to ensure he remained strong, he could not turn down this final opportunity to hold his wife one last time.
“Greer.” Her name came out in a ragged exhale as emotion choked in his throat. He pulled her into his arms.
She exhaled a shuddering breath against his chest, warm and sweet and reminiscent of the intimacies they had shared the previous night. “I’ll talk to the king with Mac,” she whispered in a frantic rush. “We’ll get ye free.”
He knew the likelihood was nearly impossible but also knew she said it more for herself. For hope. For such times truly did require what little one could salvage.
Drake too had hopes for the woman he loved.
“Live a good life,” he said. “Go to Skye where I told ye. With my mum—” His voice caught.
“I’ll go to Skye with ye,” Greer said vehemently, her eyes welling with tears.
She would go alone, and Drake well knew it.
“I love ye.” He pressed his mouth to hers before she could offer any further protest. “I will always love ye.” He drew away, knowing if he stayed even a moment more, he would never be able to leave.
“Drake.” She reached for him. “Wait—”
He shook his head, unable to speak a word more around the growing ache in the back of his throat. He would face his judgment like a man.
But as the guards led him into the keep, he heard her cry out behind him. “I love ye.”
It was so raw and so filled with the same emotion burning his chest and digging into his raw, tender heart that he could not stop the moisture from welling in his eyes.
He was truly thankful he was able to bid her farewell and ensure she would indeed live a good life. It was the best gift a man could have before facing his death.
Greer’s heart went with Drake as he passed into the shadowed alcove of the castle and disappeared amid a swarm of soldiers. He would give them no trouble, but of course, they didn’t know that. They had no idea of his true sense of honor.
Never had a man existed like Drake Fletcher.
But she was not a woman to stand by and weep at the world’s injustices. If she were that type of lass, she wouldn’t have made it past ten summers. Nay, she was a woman of grit and determination, one who would survive no matter the cost and protect those she loved.
And she would do everything to ensure Drake was freed. That, and guarantee none of Lord Calver’s men came for Mac again. Until he had divulged what he knew to the king, her brother would be in danger of those who wished to see him forever silenced.
She took Mac’s hand in hers and marched up to the guards who had closed the space after Drake had left. “I’m Mistress Fletcher, and I demand to see the king.”
The guards flicked their gaze over her worn dress, and she knew their answer before they gave it.
“The king doesna see the wives of prisoners,” one said with bored disinterest.
She was not so easily dissuaded, though she wouldn’t let them know that.
“Verra well,” she sighed and turned away from the entrance.
“Greer?” Mac said, confused by how swiftly she’d given up.
“Do ye see Bean?” she asked, skimming the surrounding area.
“There.” Mac nodded to a shadowed wall of the castle where Bean leaned against the stone, his expression sullen.
She approached Bean as a plan formed. “I need yer help.”
“Anything.” The lad straightened. “I’ll do whatever it takes to help Drake.”
“I was hoping ye’d say that.” She exhaled with relief. “Will ye take Mac to yer lodgings in the castle and keep him safe until ye’re both summoned by the king?”
“Aye, I can do that.” The lads grinned at one another, their fast friendship evident as the two ran off together.
Once they were gone, she found a quiet alcove to slip into and used a bit of linen to bind up her hair like a laundress. If she’d played it successfully at Lochmaben Castle, surely, she could do so again now.
This time, she didn’t bother to stop and speak with the guards on her way inside the castle. Instead, she acted as though she knew exactly where she was going as if she belonged there.
As expected, they paid her no mind.
The laundering area of a castle was always located in the depths, where the steam and lye fumes wouldn’t cause any unpleasantries to the noble residents upstairs.
That familiar sharp odor was an easy one to follow, and within minutes, she strode into the laundry room, which operated in a flurry of activity.