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Graeme helped his wife mount his horse. They would ride together. She’d protested the arrangement—and his manhood would no doubt feel the strain of having his wife practically on his lap. But this was the best way to ensure her safety as they traveled. Graeme had been raised on the border and knew every pass, hill, and tree from here to Highgate End. If he and his men were outnumbered, she’d be safe with him.

“A word?” Geoffrey asked just as he prepared to mount behind her. He looked up at Gillian, a vision in her crimson riding gown, her hair pulled back into one long braid at her back. She took the reins from the groom and nodded, clearly able to handle herself.

He looked past Geoffrey to where Sara, Emma, and Garrick stood. They’d requested that he and Gillian stay the night at Clave, but he was anxious to get her well away from Kenshire.

Or, more precisely, from her father.

The bastard had not even shown up to see her off, and her mother had done so only briefly. Both were now conspicuously absent from their departure and only the sister remained now, consoling her after a meeting with her father that had apparently not gone well.

“You’re a good man,” Geoffrey said. “You’ve done the right thing.”

Graeme turned to look at his wife. “She doesn’t agree.”

His queen appeared anything but pleased.

“Emma believes there is more to it than a surprise wedding,” Garrick offered.

“As does Sara,” Geoffrey agreed. “But nothing that has happened in the last day mitigates our alliance.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Graeme said.

“Assure Douglas that Lord Hedford is committed to peace, as are we. And if you’ve word of any further upsets—”

“I’ll let you know at once,” he said. “I’ve a meeting with Douglas and Kerr before the next Day of Truce.”

Toren Kerr, chief of Clan Kerr and Geoffrey’s brother-in-law by marriage, was staunchly committed to keeping peace at the border.

Geoffrey nodded. “Godspeed then.”

“And much luck to you,” Garrick added.

Graeme shook both of their hands.

“This land is ours,” he said, nodding. “We will have peace if enough of us press for it.”

The English earls exchanged a glance.

“We wish you luck,” Garrick said, “on your marriage.”

And when both he and Geoffrey burst into laughter, Graeme glanced once again at his wife. Ahh, well. She was a different matter entirely. He had no idea how to be a husband or even how to gain her confidence. But it was a challenge he looked forward to.

When he was finally mounted, Graeme led his men from Kenshire’s courtyard and onto the dirt road that would take them north.

They rode in silence until the castle disappeared behind them. Graeme tried to ignore the heat and pressure of Gillian’s body in front of him. If they wanted to reach Highgate End by the following evening, they would need to ride hard both days. Emma and Garrick had been attacked on this very road just five months earlier, and with Gillian along, he’d not take any chances.

“Are you still angry?” he asked finally, hoping she would engage with him.

Silence.

“Gillian?”

“Aye,” she answered. “But not at you. I kissed you too.”

“And this is the price we must pay,” he finished. Though she’d not said it, Gillian could not have made it clearer that, whatever her reasons, she would rather be married to the ancient Earl of Covington than him.

So be it.

He spent the remainder of the afternoon considering border tensions, alliances, and just about anything capable of distracting him from her movements. She was too innocent to realize her effect on him, but every time she shifted toward him . . .