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A sadness descended on Graeme, reminding him of the day he’d learned Catrina had married Bryce Waryn. It was true he didn’t love her in that way, but he had imagined her as his wife for many, many years. For some reason, her defection had still hurt.
“That might be true,” he finally responded. “But this arse is your brother whether you care for the fact or not. And he is going to bed.”
Graeme stood. He and his wife still had matters to sort out between them, but they were perfectly in accord in one way, and at the moment, he needed that. Needed her.
Tonight more than ever.
25
Two days after Graeme found Gillian sleeping in the lady’s chamber, and not his own, he woke in his empty bed to a sound from the wardrobe room. Acting on impulse alone, he jumped up, grabbed his sword, and ran to the door.
Opening it, he discovered Gillian’s maid attempting to move a large trunk from the center of the room. She turned to him, gasped, and promptly spun away. He looked down at his nakedness and the sword, closed the door, and went back to his own chamber.
Well, how was he to know the maid would be up earlier than the rest of the household? If he hadn’t been sleeping, he may have even been sufficiently able-minded to realize it could easily have been his wife. Graeme dressed and went to the door once again. This time, he opened it without his sword in one hand.
“Mistress Morgan?”
Had she fled already?
The maid stepped out from behind a wooden screen.
“My lord,” she bowed.
“My apologies,” he said. “I—”
“Nothin’ to be sorry for, my lord. I am sorry to have woken you. But last night Gillian mentioned moving some of her gowns in here, so I thought to tidy it a bit.”
“Thank you, Morgan. I will leave you to it.”
He closed the door once more and retreated to the empty chamber that had never felt more so. It was unconscionable, to be so close to Gillian and yet so far away.
That first night, he’d wanted to wake her, but she’d suffered from a headache for most of the day. It wouldn’t have been right to rouse her for the simple reason that he wanted her in his own bed. After spending the following day hearing complaints and administering justice, he’d assured himself he would speak to Gillian at the evening meal.
When she’d requested that her meal be brought to her chamber, Graeme should have gone to her. Instead, he had spent the evening congratulating himself on being right about his wife all along. It was exactly as he’d thought from the beginning. She wanted nothing to do with him.
As a husband, at least. If she wanted to be with him, to give her all of himself, as she’d suggested, then surely she would have come to him by now.
A little voice in his head told him he was being foolish, that she was right to be upset with him, but something had stopped him from going to her. Perhaps pure stubbornness.
He shook his head. He would need to resolve this soon, but not this morn. He needed to find Aidan to ensure they were prepared for today’s meeting with Douglas. They had much to discuss with the Lord Warden, namely how to influence March Law revisions and ensure guilty parties were punished and not set free.
As expected, very few were about the castle at this time of day. He greeted those who were and walked through the hall and outside, into the courtyard. The sun had just barely begun its ascent into the sky. Though dampness hung in the air still from a light rain the evening before, the clean, crisp air was just what he needed.
“Morning, brother.”
“Aidan,” he said, without turning around.
“Have you spoken to Malcolm?”
Graeme thought back to the previous day. “No, why?”
His brother stood next to him, his arms crossed.
“He says the men are becoming anxious.”
“As they do whenever we fail to rush headlong into battle after a provocation. I am not surprised.”
“Nay, Graeme. It’s more than that. Old Ned says the unrest reminds him of just before the first Day of Truce was first negotiated.” He paused. “When is the last time you can remember a woman being killed in a raid?”
