Page 24 of The Highlander's Dare
“Aye. Alan heard one of the noble’s squires mention that 150,000 marks would be impossible to raise and that the prince is keeping the extra taxes he’s collecting for himself.”
Graham frowned. “Clara is related to Prince John through marriage. Her mother is the sister of Prince John’s wife.”
“Is it possible then that she is also a part of the coup?”
Graham shook his head, not wanting to believe that could be true. “I dinna think so. She wants out of the marriage. But maybe she knows more than she’s told me. Perhaps it is one of the reasons why she wants to get away from Baston, besides the fact that he’s an utter arsehole.”
Cormac nodded and took a long pull of his ale. “How do ye feel about asking her?”
Graham ran a hand through his hair. Before her hasty exit from the tent, he would have said just fine, but there was something deeper going through the lass’s head, and he had to get to the bottom of it. “I will speak with her.”
Brooding back in the tent that evening, Graham hoped for an invitation to the feast, but none came. So, he made his way toward the castle anyway, dressed in his finery, pretending he was supposed to be there. Even if he had to sneak in and hide in a corner until she passed, he intended to speak with Clara tonight.
Though most of the English knights ignored him as he walked through the crowded camp and castle bailey, the Scots were another matter. He waved to Giric de Beaumont and a few others. With his back straight, head high, he marched right up to the castle and swerved to the right as several guards stood outside the door to make sure that no one entered without an invitation. Around the back of the castle, however, things were a bit different.
Just as at home, Graham had made fast friends with the castle’s kitchen staff and servants. Not because the kitchen lasses all wanted him, though that was a factor, but because he offered them things like a warning on which of the lords were going to be prissy, which would be downright rude, and which were bottom pinchers. It was a game he’d often played with those on Sutherland lands. He scratched their back, and they scratched his, usually with information or extra tarts.
The day before he’d managed to swipe a nice jug of whisky from one of the Ross brothers who left it just a moment too long unwatched and passed it on to Cook, who’d been having trouble with a tooth and the spirits helped to ease his pain. It also made Graham feel better to take something from the bastards who’d taken practically everything from him and his clan.
Tonight was no different as he entered the kitchens, and one of the older kitchen women pretended to swat at him with a spoon.
“Just making my way through.” He held up his hands and flashed a winning smile.
“Is this about the lady?” one of the scullions said.
“What lady?”
The maid with the heavy spoon pointed at him. “You know the one.”
Graham pressed his hand to his heart. “I’m no’ the sort of knight who kisses and tells.”
“Do you want us to put something a little extra in her betrothed’s soup?” Cook said with a glint in his eye. “He was none too pleased with his supper last night. I wouldn’t mind giving him a complaint.”
Graham laughed. “Ye all do me proud, but ’tis no’ necessary. I plan to give him enough to complain about myself.” He swiped an empty tray from a passing servant and then rushed from the kitchen, using the tray to block his face as he skirted the great hall looking for an empty, private alcove. Just how was he going to get her attention?
Finally, he found one, and to a passing serving lad, he gave a coin and a message to be privately delivered.
It felt like hours that he waited, and mayhap it was. The feasting was going on, all the smells making Graham’s belly growl since he’d not had anything to eat since the apple in the market. He still ached from the joust. Though he’d beaten Baston, the man had a powerful blow that would have surely defeated him had he not practiced hours on end day after day, year after year.
The feasting ended, and the dancing began, and still, she’d not appeared.
Graham was about to find the lad and demand his coin back when a slim hand cut through the veiled fabric enclosing the alcove. Clara’s face, momentarily lit from the chandeliers in the great hall, was visible before being cloaked in shadow once more. Her scent surrounded him in essences of floral and cinnamon and made him ache all the way to his toes to have her in his arms again. It took every ounce of willpower he had not to tug her close and kiss her senseless.
“Sir Graham,” she whispered. “What are you doing?”
Going mad. “I needed to speak with ye.”
“Baston could have seen you.” There was a rustle of fabric in front of him, as she shifted deeper into the alcove.
Her profile was made out in black, and he wanted to run his fingertips along her jaw and dip his lips to hers. The urge to kiss her was so strong, it strangled his words in his throat.
“Well? What is it? What did you need to say that couldn’t wait?” There was an urgency in her voice, but he sensed none of the irritation her chosen words were meant to convey. Instead, there seemed to be something else entirely—a bit of curiosity and an underlying need.
Any of the words he’d thought about saying dried up. Besides, verses were nothing compared to action. However, acting was dangerous for both of them. Especially right here, where all the world only had to whip back the curtain to reveal them both. This was dangerous. This was stupid. And yet, he was here, and so was she, and they had unfinished business to attend to.
He reached forward in the dark, his fingers tracing her jaw just as he’d wanted to, and her gasp was audible, sending a shiver of desire racing up his spine.
“I wanted to make certain ye were all right,” he said, and that was the truth.
