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“Of course,” she replied. “My great-grandfather was granted it on the battlefield—”
“Aye. And do you know what your great-grandfather was before becoming a knight?”
She thought back to her lessons. To the stories her father had told her about the family that had held the borders for three generations. “I don’t believe I do.”
“He was a blacksmith.”
Her mouth dropped open.
“A commoner. Who forged his own sword, practiced with it day and night. Saved enough coin to purchase armor, though not enough for his own horse. That”—he frowned—“he stole. So I suppose you could say he stole his knighthood, and this land grant, though he never apologized for it.”
“A blacksmith?”
She turned back to Graeme to see what he thought of this revelation. But he was gone. Nay, not gone. He’d retreated to give them privacy, but she could see his shadow just ahead.
“I retain a legacy, not a title, Gillian.”
“If you’re asking for me to condone this marriage, I cannot,” she said. “Though I understand your motives, you are condemning Allie to . . .”
She’d almost said, “your life with Mother,” but stopped herself.
She watched his face for any hint of understanding. But there was none. Still hard. Still stubborn. Still very much her father.
Gillian sighed.
“I see you will not be convinced. Go,” her father said. “We’ll speak again in the morning.”
Was there anything left to talk about?
“You are really not angry about Graeme?”
He raised his brows. “Are you happy with him?”
She almost said, “I will be.” Her deep, dark hope was that Graeme would come to love her. That she had not, after all, been mistaken about the feelings developing between them. But she would not say such a thing aloud. To her father. Or to anyone.
“Aye, Father,” she said instead. And had to contend with the fact that even though her father still refused to budge, he’d done something this eve she could not ever recall him doing before.
He’d explained himself.
Which was exactly what she needed her husband to do tonight. An explanation for his dismissive behavior earlier. But she owed him something first.
* * *
Graeme watched his wife sleep, wondering if he should wake her.
She’d said she wanted to talk, but they’d not had much of a chance to do so. After the impromptu visit from her father, his no-longer-so-proper English wife had explained in no uncertain terms that they would have a serious discussion “afterward,” and then she’d taken it upon herself to seduce him.
Once Gillian made her intent clear, he was like a man possessed by Eros. It had been the singularly most passionate bout of lovemaking he’d ever experienced. Perhaps it was because Gillian had initiated it. Perhaps it was something more he wasn’t willing to examine.
Exhausted, Gillian had promptly fallen asleep, which he should have done long ago. But sleep did not appeal to him. Watching her now, he fought the drab darkness of slumber in favor of seeing the candlelight flicker across her face. He touched the faint freckles on her cheek, perhaps his favorite feature of hers.
Graeme closed his eyes, planning to rest for just a moment, and startled awake to light streaming through a sole arrow slit. So he’d slept after all. A good thing since they would travel back to Highgate this morn.
He rose from the bed as silently as possible and dressed. Before he could leave the room, he heard a small voice behind him.
“Graeme.”
Turning, he nearly was brought to his knees by the sight of her. Would he ever be accustomed to watching her rouse from sleep? She lay there with tousled hair and a smile that would make the devil himself grin.
