After a tensely slow fortnight of travel marked by Averyl’s fevers and his fear, Drake dismounted, his body leaden with exhaustion. Averyl still lay sleeping peacefully in the farm cart he’d stolen upon reaching the main land.
During those ten interminable days, he’d traveled by her side, providing sustenance, aid, and prayer as she recovered. During those bleak nights, he’d held her hand, sponged her face, and swore to himself he would never endanger her life again.
As long as he remained with her, she was not safe.
While Drake had kept vigil over his wife, he also watched over his shoulder, hoping Murdoch and his miscreants would not find him until he could get Averyl to safety. To his relief, they never caught his trail.
Now, Drake found himself in Yorkshire, staring through the early-morning gray at the massive stone doors of Hartwich Hall. His mood was as black as the threatening storm clouds.
A peace he had missed emanated from the walls of his grandfather’s castle. Inhaling deeply, he let the peace soak into him like the sun suffused one after a long day indoors. He fantasized about such tranquility, dreamed of life without greed, jealousy, or hate.
But Fate had decreed him a future of revenge, not peace, and ’twas foolish to dream of aught else.
Today he would say good-bye to his handfast bride, putting an end to the peril on her life—and his heart, for he could not stay without risking both.
Refusing to dwell upon it, Drake scanned the ivy-draped walls, then the colorful riot of summer flowers amidst the castle’s quiet. Such reminded him of his grandmother, Matilde, God rest her soul.
During his boyhood years here, she had provided the motherly touches Diera never had, the soft voice over a scraped knee, the gentle smile over a deed accomplished. She had never needed to be the center of anyone’s world, never demanded attention, as had his mother. Though mother and daughter, Diera and Matilde could not have been more different.
A fond smile tugged at his mouth. He’d missed his grandmother’s generous ear and sage advice these last three years since her passing. Averyl, having been motherless for eleven years, would have appreciated the woman a great deal.
Averyl.
Drake lifted her still-sleeping form into his arms. Warm and dazed, she roused, asking in a slurred, sleepy voice, “What’re you doing?”
He’d oft wondered the same thing over the past ten days. But he knew; he was leaving her. As he had told her he would.
Drake swallowed a lump of something thick in his throat and said, “We have stopped. Go back to sleep.”
Her hazel eyes lifted half-open, slumberously stunning. “Where are we?”
“With…friends.”
Nodding tiredly, Averyl covered her mouth with a half-closed fist and yawned as her eyes drifted shut once more. She laid her head trustingly against his shoulder and drifted back to sleep.
Her childlike gestures tugged at Drake’s heart. With a gentle hand, he brushed a dark curl from her face, his fingers lingering upon her soft cheek, finally regained its healthy pink.
Holding in a sigh, he approached the castle, dread engulfing him like quicksand. His heart pounded. The urge to hold on to Averyl tightly swept over him like a hurricane. Sense won out. To keep her with him would do naught but place her in more danger and submit his own heart to more of her bewitching. Neither consequence could be risked.
Shifting Averyl’s weight, Drake approached the gatehouse entrance. The guard let him pass with a few words. Inside the garrison, the main gates remained closed against the night. A pair of well-armed soldiers admitted him through the wicket gate. His wife stirred restlessly in his arms.
Within moments, a young page met him in the courtyard, in front of the empty blacksmith’s forge. Despite the predawn’s murky light, a fresh, friendly glow reflected from his face.
Drake wondered if he had ever been that young or innocent on his road to knighthood—and manhood.
“Sir Drake, I bid you welcome. You have come to see your grandfather?” he asked in gentle inquiry. His gaze traveled over Averyl’s limp form, but he politely held his tongue.
“Aye.”
“Step this way. I shall tell him you’ve arrived.”
Drake watched the boy disappear down a narrow torch-lit hall, punctuated only by gray stone walls and silence. The young page returned long minutes later.
“His lordship is eager to see you. He awaits you in the solar.”
In the dusky splendor of the hall, Drake cradled a sleeping Averyl a bit tighter and set upon the familiar trail to the solar. After passing the brewery and the joiner’s workshop, where rising workers spotted him and stared, Drake veered through a garden gate, toward the majestic keep. Up several flights of stairs he trudged. Again, Averyl lifted her head groggily, only to put it down again at his soft whisper.
With a dry throat and all the enthusiasm of a condemned man, Drake slowly entered the low-ceilinged domain of the firelit chamber. His gaze found the grayed man, his formidable figure now softened by old age and good living.
“Drake, it is you. When Lionel, my page, told me you had come, I was not certain if ’twas true. Are you well?” The old man’s bushy gray brows slashed down into a frown.
“Murdoch has not yet stretched my neck, as you can see.”
“Aye, and lucky for you.” He glanced again at Averyl. “And the girl? She must be Averyl Campbell.”
His gaze drifted down to the delicate lines of Averyl’s face pillowed against his shoulder. Drake felt a tight vice of pain in his chest as he realized this would be the last time he would ever hold his wife.
Resisting an urge to clasp her closer, he answered, “Aye.”
Something like approval filled his blue eyes. “Put her on yon bed, then come speak with me by the fire.”
Drake searched for the courage to relinquish Averyl to his grandfather’s soft mossy-scented mattress—and a safer life. Though he had faced months in Dunollie's dungeon and armies of vicious men bent on seeing him dead, he found it nearly impossible to simply release her. But he did, gently laying her down with a brush of his thumb upon her cheek. Averyl stirred a brief moment before settling into the mattress. Drake covered her with a thick blanket folded at the foot of the bed. Reluctantly, he returned to Guilford.
The old man frowned, clearly choosing his words as he bade Drake to sit in a high-backed Romanesque chair. “Wine?”
Drake shook his head and sat. “I cannot stay. Murdoch’s men hunt me still.”
A furrow creased his forehead. “Unfortunate business. I did not like your decision to pursue revenge.”
“But you understood it,” Drake pointed out.
“True. Kieran arrived two days past, after Murdoch discovered his identity.”
“Aye?”
“Indeed. He tells me Averyl is your handfast bride. If she is your wife, and you intend not to stay, why have you brought her here?”
“I hoped you would hide her from Murdoch and his men.”
Guilford scowled. “He will think to look for her here.”
“That is so,” answered Drake with regret. “But now only you can protect her.”
“And you cannot?”
Drake shook his head with remorse, remembering with aching clarity the past ten days. “Murdoch’s men nearly ended her life when they stormed my hideaway on Arran.”
“Too wounded to travel farther, is she?” Guilford asked, clearly skeptical.
“Nay. Simply dangerous. I must continue to hide until Averyl becomes eight and ten and until I find a way to kill Murdoch.” Drake rose to escape his grandfather’s probing look.
“So you abducted her, then wed her. Is that correct?” Censure laced his voice.
Drake nodded like a contrite boy caught at mischief.
“’Twas pure foolishness I hope you regret.”
“In some ways,” Drake replied. “Yet I know well Murdoch would have treated her very ill as his wife.”
Guilford shot him a reproving frown. “True, but you should not have taken her. You had no right to force her from Murdoch’s side. ’Tis doubtful she wed you willingly, either.”
Cursing his grandfather’s perception, Drake admitted, “Aye. And now I cannot give her the things she seeks, nor can I protect her any longer. Murdoch must not get his claws into Averyl, particularly before her birthday in February. So I have come humbly to you for help.”
When Drake knelt at Guilford’s feet, the old man laughed. “You’ve never had a humble day in your life, boy. Do not think to start now.” He sighed. “What does the girl seek?”
“Money,” answered Drake. “Her childhood keep falls about her ears, her people starve, and her father is a dimwitted dolt who knows not how to solve the ills of his vassals.”
Guilford paused thoughtfully. “If funds for Lady Averyl’s home will ease your mind, then I shall provide it. What else?”
With a sigh, Drake sank back into his chair. How could he explain a yearning he did not fully understand? “She seeks…affection. Her mother died when she was but a child. Her father convinced her she was homely and worthless.”
“Ridiculous!” insisted Guilford as he cast another glance at Averyl upon his bed.
“To be sure, but she has grown up believing this and will need friends within these walls.”
“Of course.” Guilford granted the request with a wave of his hand, as if such required little effort.
Drake sighed in relief. Averyl would be happy here until her birthday. After that time, she could return to her father or remain here as his widow, whatever she wished.
He resisted the pain at realizing he would not be beside her as she lived out her days.
“Aught else?” the old man asked.
“Nay. I thank you for your help.”
Guilford responded with a nod. “I sense something else troubles you.”
He cursed his grandfather’s perceptions. How could his elder know so much so quickly? Had Kieran told the old man about his suspicions of love? Pray God, nay. “’Tis naught.”
“Naught had you clinging to your wife like a babe clutches its mother as you entered the room?” he challenged. “Come now. I may be an old man but not so old that I do not recognize affairs of the heart. You care for her, do you not?”
Drake faltered for words, struggling to explain what he could not. “Our marriage…took an unexpected turn.”
“Ah, Kieran speaks true. You do love her,” he deduced. “Praise be! I never thought to see this day.”
Drake regarded his grandfather with a probing stare, willing him to understand. “I love no woman. ’Tis simply that Averyl is intelligent and of good heart, as well as deserving of a life better than either her father or I can grant.” He looked away. “I would simply see her safe from further harm.”
“Including thus from your hard heart, Drake? Do you believe that she loves you, then?”
He paused, wanting to end the conversation. But Guilford would only pry the truth from him anyway. “So she says.”
“And you do not believe her, despite her admittedly good heart?”
“’Tis no more than a foolish girl’s notion, one she will outgrow soon enough.”
Guilford nodded in consideration as he rose and walked to the fire, boots heavy against the wooden floor. “Does believing thus make it easier for you to deny your own feelings?”
Drake drew in an impatient breath. “I do not deny that I have come to care about her welfare.”
“And more, I daresay. I remember hearing similar denials from Aric not long ago…” He shot Drake a skeptical glance from across the room.
“Their marriage was a different circumstance.”
“Aye, instead of Gwenyth forced to the altar, they both were. What of it?” he demanded. “Drake, love would bring peace to your life. At last, you have a woman worthy of your affection. Why not embrace her?”
Gritting his teeth, he replied, “Her life is in danger, and I swore to exact vengeance upon my father’s grave. I will not sacrifice either to chase some foolish sentiment.”
The old man paused, templing his hands beneath his chin. “Drake, your father, of all people, would have encouraged you to seize love whilst the opportunity is yours.”
“Such love bought him nothing but despair and death.”
“Do you think he was the only one hurt?”
Drake frowned, and Guilford continued, “Did no one ever tell you the story of your conception?”
Irritation coiled into his gut. “I assumed I was conceived in the manner of every other child. I am sorry to say it thus, but Diera was hardly the Virgin Mary.”
Guilford smiled. “In some ways, you are wrong. Lochlan was quite enamored with your mother. She did not return his feelings.” The other man paused, frowning. “I loved your mother. She was my daughter, after all. But I knew her shortcomings. And her greatest one was that she was fickle.
“She was a woman grown. In her mind, she could do as she pleased. When she met your father, the attraction was instant, and they soon became lovers.”
“’Tis no surprise. She granted her favors freely enough,” Drake added.
Guilford pursed his mouth into a disapproving frown. “They were together mere weeks before your father believed himself in love with her. With his own wife dead for three years, it seemed natural that he ask Diera to wed. She refused that time and many others, though she continued as his leman.”
Drake frowned. “Why would she refuse a position of honor with a powerful chief?”
“Because your father demanded absolute control over everything and everyone about him, and Diera believed that control could not extend to her unless she wed him.”
Knowing that Lochlan had always said control was his biggest ally, Drake froze, somehow dreading these next words.
“When another handsome Scot, a MacDuff, I believe, caught your mother’s eye, she tried to leave your father. He refused to relinquish her, despite her wishes, then locked her in his chamber. He refused to allow her to leave Dunollie. He restricted her visitors to women friends and family members.”
Drake tensed in his chair, his hands unconsciously tightening around its arms. “My father would not have done something so heartless! How can you slur him in death?”
“’Tis truth, Drake. Why else would your father come here to help fight my battles over the years, if not to atone, to assuage his guilt?”
Drake had always assumed Lochlan fought because of his respect for Guilford, but now…
“And even after your father’s attempts to keep Diera, she still refused to wed.” With a heavy sigh, Guilford continued. “’Twas then your father decided that, should she conceive, she would be forced to marry him. Eventually, he got her with you.”
“My father forced her to bear me?” Cold disbelief sliced through him.
Guilford gave a sharp nod. “He made certain she had no way to prevent conception and seduced her repeatedly until the deed was done.”
Drake gaped, his mind racing. His own father, so selfish? Why? Guilford’s description hardly sounded like the honorable man he’d known. Yet his grandfather would never lie. Which left him to wonder, if his father had truly loved Diera, how could he have forced his dominance upon her without a care for her wishes?
“So she finally wed him,” Drake said softly, frowning.
“She had little choice, for she could not bear the dishonor to our family. Thus sated, your father continued to keep her under lock and key, then ordered her to be a proper mother.”
“Which she was not.”
“Nay, she was not, but surely you see that she acted out of anger and spite. She told me once that she wanted to love you, but that you reminded her too much of your sire.”
Drake sighed tiredly, pondering the ramifications of this tale. Had he known of his father’s cruelty, he might have understood Diera’s rejection and spite, perhaps made peace with her before her death. As it was, there was much left unsaid between them, most notably these facts.
“What does this have to do with Averyl?”
“Your father’s unreturned love cost him his peace and your mother her life. She wanted to die; in fact, willed herself to die to escape the pain, the loneliness. Would you want to inflict the same damage on Averyl?”
“If not for Murdoch, I would never treat my wife as a prisoner.”
“Desertion is but another prison, Drake. If you have any love for Averyl, embrace her.”
Drake gritted his teeth, confronted by words he felt unprepared to face. “If this were a simple situation, I would consider what you say. But I am a bloody criminal in my clan’s eyes. The most I could offer is dishonor, and she deserves far more than that. ’Tis a favor I do in leaving her.”
“How noble,” drawled Guilford. “Tell yourself that. See if it keeps you content as you grow old.”
“If Murdoch has his way, I won’t live long enough to grow old,” Drake snarled.
“You will not let him best you. ’Tis Averyl I worry for now. Drake, you have used your wife in a very deadly game, and now you seek to abandon her like stale bread.”
His entire being rebelled against his grandfather’s words. Averyl was a treasure of goodness, hope, passion. But Guilford was right; Averyl would feel discarded and again unworthy. Over the years, she would grow to hate him. ’Twas a thought he could scarcely bear, but bear it he must, for all too soon, she would be another tragedy to add to his bleak reality.
He gave his grandfather a contrite nod. “’Tis the only way to ensure she stays alive and out of Murdoch’s grasp. She must not die,” he all but pleaded.
Sighing, Guilford shook his head. “You are strong-willed, as was your father.”
As Drake acknowledged that with a sad smile, Guilford crossed the room to place a comforting hand upon his shoulder. The urge to allow the old man to console him was great, but he did not. Some sense of manly pride and a reluctance to further burden his elder with his problems stopped Drake.
“Will you provide Averyl a safe home here?”
“Aye, and I will care for her for as long as need be.”
“Her safety means…a great deal to me. Thank you. When she turns eight and ten, she should be safe to leave, if she wishes such, but not before.”
Guilford nodded, his expression sage. “Do you wish a few moments alone with her before you take your leave?”
Drake feared if he did, he could not let her go. “Nay,” he answered, then whispered, “Godspeed, my wife.”