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The maid followed her into the courtyard and to the stables, and the boy that had made the comment about the English rushed to saddle their horses. The women had ridden just beyond the gatehouse when a rider approached from behind.

“Malcolm?”

“My lady, they say you’re headed to the village?”

“Aye,” she said, wondering how the captain had learned of it so quickly.

“Allow me to accompany you.”

She and Morgan exchanged a glance. And then she realized why he’d made such a request.

“To guard us.” Graeme had told her never to leave the castle walls without a guard. And while she thought it a reasonable directive—she’d been expected to travel with a guard back home too—she’d been so distracted she’d completely forgotten.

“Of course, thank you, Malcolm.” It occurred to her that Malcolm, who was nearly always at Graeme’s side, might know what Fiona had not. “Do you know where my lord is by chance?”

He looked beyond her and pointed, and Gillian turned her horse toward the horizon. Four specks, becoming larger each moment, rode toward them. No, not specks, men. Four men with the rolling green hills of Highgate End behind them.

Graeme.

The man always had an effect on her, whether she saw him from near or afar. As he rode closer with Aidan and two men she didn’t recognize, his brown-blond hair catching errant rays of sunlight, her heart thudded in her chest.

“It appears he rode out to meet Douglas,” Malcolm said from beside her.

James Douglas, Lord Warden for the Scottish, was one of the most feared men in all of Scotland. She’d known of him even before becoming the lady of Highgate Castle.

The men slowed as they approached. Gillian could immediately tell which of the two strangers was Douglas by the way he sat on his horse. The man was powerful and fearsome, but her husband was even bigger and just as ferocious looking. Especially now, when he did not smile.

They all appeared so serious.

Until she smiled, and one by one the men did the same. All but one. So she addressed him first. “Greetings, my lord,” she said to Douglas. And then, “Husband. Aidan.”

If Graeme looked at her oddly, it was likely because these were the first civil words she’d said to him in days. Not that she’d said much, of course, but it was an improvement from silence.

“Gillian, may I present James Douglas, Lord Warden of the Eastern Marches, and his man, Darden. This is my wife, Lady Gillian, daughter of John Bowman, Lord Lyndwood—”

“I know her father well,” Douglas replied, not very kindly.

“But you’ve not had the pleasure of meeting his daughter,” Graeme said firmly, the rebuke not lost to anyone.

Though Douglas did not reply, he did nod his head to her, a deference to Graeme’s retort.

“We are headed to the village for supplies,” said Malcolm by way of explanation.

Graeme looked pleased, likely because she’d taken an escort, and she silently reminded herself to thank Malcolm for offering his service.

“Aidan, will you please escort our guests to the keep? I will be along in a moment. I’d like a private word with my wife.”

The way he said wife sent chills up her arms. It was as if they were alone, and he’d caressed her with the word.

Without further exchange, the men spurred their horses toward the castle. Graeme offered Malcolm a poignant look, and he and Morgan rode ahead, out of earshot.

Gillian’s horse was becoming impatient, even more so when Graeme moved closer to her.

“Are you speaking to me then?” he asked.

She’d hurt him. How could she have missed that before? Maybe her husband wasn’t prepared to love her, but despite what he’d said the other night, he must care for her. His expression said so as clearly as if he’d spoken the words.

“We need to talk,” she said, reminded of the last painful conversation they’d had in the woods. This time, she would not push him so hard. She would not ask for all of him, simply for what he was able to give.