THE HEIRESS
EPISODE 43
From U.S Bah ❤ ✌?
“I tried to think of any way he would answer for
his crimes, but every one of them led to war.
I’m sorry, Isabelle,”
Graham said, the wind
ruffling his hair as he stood beside her,
watching from the castle ramparts as Leopold
fled back towards his troops.
The sun was just
peeking over the horizon before them, painting
the entire world in muted shades of pink.
“It had to be done,” Isabelle said,
struggling
with her bandaged hands to keep the gusting
wind from lifting her cloak.
“That doesn’t mean it was easy,” Graham said,
noticing her struggle and helping her regain her
fumbling grip on the cloak.
“Nor does it mean
that I wanted to let him leave here alive.”
She met his eyes, his hands still atop hers
between them.
“We did what was best for the kingdom,”
Isabelle said, fighting back her rising nausea at
the knowledge that her father’s murderer would
go unpunished.
But there were more important
things than vengeance. Killing Leopold would
mean the death of hundreds of her people and
hundreds more of Graham’s. Hopefully, one
day, Leopold would be judged for his sins by a
power far greater than Pretania’s High Court.
“I would have killed him for you, if you’d asked
me to,” Graham said, his green eyes intense as
they held hers.
“I know,” she said, suddenly incredibly aware
of his warm hands atop hers.
“I’m sorry that I failed you,” he said.
Isabelle swallowed.
“It isn’t your fault. I’m the one who should be
apologizing…I didn’t see all this for the trap
that it really was,” she said, disgusted that
she’d played so easily into Leopold’s plot. But
Graham was shaking his head as he watched
her.
“I was wrong in Highcastle. I shouldn’t have let
the king be the one to deliver that news to you
and I shouldn’t have for-ced you to turn to Sam
to escape,” he said, his thumbs ru-b-bing gentle
circles over her bandages. “But you managed
to see your father before he died. You’re alive.
You’re free. The rest is all in the past now.”
Isabelle looked down to the bandages on her
hands. As much as Graham spoke the truth,
she would always bear the scars of what
happened here,
both seared into her mind and
sliced into her body. Her hands and ne-ck
would serve as constant reminders of the man
who had killed her father and what he had
attempted to do to her.
Following her gaze, Graham freed a hand to tip
her chin back up,
away from her injuries.
“You fought for your freedom and won, that’s
what they mean,” he said, his face softening.
“You’re a warrior now. You spared Pretania
from bloodshed.”
“We spared Pretania from bloodshed,” Isabelle
corrected, unable to tear her eyes from his. A
smile tugged at the corner of Graham’s li-ps.
“We. I like the sound of that,” he said, his eyes
roving her face.
For the first time in what
seemed like weeks, Isabelle’s heartbeat
accelerated not out of fear, but thanks to that
tug in her stomach that wanted her to lean in
and close what little space was left between
them.
“You love me,” Isabelle said, the words that
had been swirling around the back of her mind
tumbling free. Words she’d only intended to
address once she’d had a proper sleep and a
proper meal and a proper chance to sort out
her thoughts.
But the way Graham was looking
at her, his green eyes alive and awake despite
the purple stains of fatigue beneath them, the
way his free hand had found its way back
down to hers, had crumbled her resolve.
“I do,” Graham said, his eyes softening.
Isabelle swallowed, the wind howling between
them as she looked towards the rider
disappearing towards the horizon. Her heart
was thun-dering in her che-st as the implication
of Graham’s words loomed over her, a stone
about to fall.
Such a confession could only lead to a
question that she was not prepared to answer.
Not yet, not so soon after her father’s pa-ssing
and Leopold’s release. Not when she was
needed here, in Kentshire, to set things right
after all the upheaval and turmoil.
“I know what you’re about to ask me,” she said,
her voice so quiet the wind almost carried it
away before it reached his ears. “And before
you do, you should know that I love you too.”
She risked a glance up at him and it was
nearly her undoing. The pleasant surprise and
unfettered joy on his face had her hating
herself for what she was about to say next.
“But I’m needed here in Kentshire,” she said,
waiting for his expression to fall.
It didn’t.
“You are,” Graham agreed, his green eyes still
dancing with the magic her words had worked
over him.
“I can’t leave,” Isabelle said. “Not until
everything is in order and-”
He silenced her with a kis-s. His arms slid into
her cloak, tugging her to him as his li-ps
threatened to buckle her knees. It was exactly
as she’d remembered from that evening on the
terrace, what seemed like many lifetimes ago.
She would have willingly lost herself in him,
had it not been for the weight of reality keeping
her rooted in place.
Graham needed a queen. Kentshire needed a
duchess. She could not be both…
“Graham, I can’t-” she said, finally forcing
herself to break away from him and his
spellbinding kis-s.
“I love you, Isabelle De Havilland, and I’ll do
anything to make you happy. I will wait as
long as it takes for you to give me your
answer,” he said, leaning back to tuck a strand
of her hair behind her ear. It was a vain
attempt, however, as the wind simply tugged it
free again.
“And if that’s a long time from now?” Isabelle
asked, unable to remove her hands from the
place they’d found on his shoulders. He was
so deliciously warm and his kis-ses had
awakened kaleidoscopes of bu-tterflies in her
stomach. As much as her mind wanted to
finish their discussion, her heart wouldn’t allow
her break away from him.
“Then I’ll wait,” Graham said, nuzzling into her
hair. “I won’t enjoy it, but for you, I’ll wait.”
Isabelle closed her eyes, savouring the feel of
him. When he brou-ght his li-ps down to hers
once more, she didn’t push him away. She
couldn’t, not when he was everything she’d ever
wanted. Someone who loved her for being
Isabelle, not for her lands or her wealth or her
title.
The sun had risen in earnest, the entire world a
rose-gold dream as he kis-sed her. She didn’t
want it to end. She didn’t want him to stop.
She wanted to lose herself in his arms and
forget about all that had happened. But all too
soon, Graham was drawing away, a lazy,
satisfied smile on his face.
“As much as I could do this all day,” he said,
winding his arms around her to pull her head
to his che-st. “I need some rest before I leave.”
“Of course,” Isabelle said, something twisting
in her stomach at the mention of his return to
Highcastle, the city so far from Inverloch.
So far from her.
“Promise that you’ll write to me,” he said, his
heart a steady drumbeat un-der her ear. “And
mind that you keep insulting me, we wouldn’t
want my ego inflating in your absence.”
Isabelle smiled against his shirt, but it was
short-lived as the reality of his imminent
departure hit her.
“No, we wouldn’t want that,” she said, trying
her best to keep the smile on her face. The
thought of him returning to the palace, only to
be surrounded by desperate debutantes and
his manipulative father, had her stomach
knotting even ti-ghter. She bit back the question
before she could ask if he really needed to
leave.
Of course he needed to leave. He was the
crown prince of Pretania. He had a peace
treaty to deliver to the king and his High
Council. He also, no doubt, had to explain her
flight, unless she wanted to face the king’s
wrath whenever she returned.
And, lest she forget, she had a duchy to run.
“I’m going to miss you,” he said, reading the
emotion written all over her face despite her
best efforts to conceal it.
“I wish you didn’t have to leave,” she said,
nestling in to him as the words she’d tried so
ha-rd to stifle tumbled free.
“I know,” he said, kis-sing the top of her head.
~*~
Rather than return to the inn, Isabelle convinced
Graham to rest in one of the castle’s guest
rooms. She told herself it was because the
castle rooms were more comfortable than the
Inverloch Inn’s, but the reality was that she
wasn’t ready to let him leave yet.
He slept
throu-ghthe rest of the day, awakening in time
for dinner.
Sam and Lord Winters departed while the
prince slept, but not before their scouts had
returned to confirm that Leopold was indeed
retreating as agreed. They left one of their
highest ranking officers in charge of the
Umberwood men that remained in Inverloch, a
precaution should Graham’s treaty not hold.
Lord Winters promised to return in a few
weeks, to give Isabelle time to grieve and set
her duchy’s affairs in order before they
discussed their next moves as allies against
Germania.
Marcus refused to brief Isabelle that day,
insisting that she rest instead.
He a-ssured her
that Kentshire’s affairs could wait for another
day, now that the enemy was gone and daily
life could resume. She obeyed, but only after
visiting Father Hammond to thank him, a
bandage identical to hers wound around his
ne-ck.
When she awoke, the sun was already setting
and her famished stomach was growling.
Lissa helped her change into a fresh mourning
dress for dinner, the healers replacing her
bandages and salving her wounds.
Isabelle
could hardly sit still as they worked, her
thoughts already skipping ahead to dinner with
Graham.
Rather than sit just the two of them in the
castle’s ma-ssive dining room, she’d asked for
dinner to be served in one of the upstairs
reading rooms. The servants had set up a
table for two before the crackling fire, dozens
of candles chasing the gloom from the
corners. She was already seated, waiting with
the patience of a toddler, when Graham finally
arrived.
The rest had done him well. The purple stains
beneath his eyes were fading and he’d sent for
a change of clothes from the inn. Isabelle’s
heart fluttered as he kis-sed her hand in
greeting, casting an appreciative gaze over the
room.
“I hope they cooked for twelve,” he said, taking
the seat across from her. “I’m absolutely
ravenous.”
“Do you really think I’d allow such an important
guest go hungry?” Isabelle laughed, as Lissa
rang the call bell in the corner to summon
their food. Her maid had insisted upon playing
the part of chaperone, much to Isabelle’s inner
frustration.
“I most certainly hope not,” Graham said, the
hunger in his eyes having nothing to do with
food as he held her gaze across the table.
Isabelle felt the heat creeping into her cheeks
and, thankfully, the need for a reply was
preempted when their dinner arrived.
Isabelle had specifically requested one of her
favourites, a hearty stew that was one of her
mother’s family recipes. It reminded her of her
childhood, the comforting scent of spices and
its accompanying freshly-baked bread filling
the room.
Graham tucked in ravenously, asking the
serving maid to send his compliments to the
cook. He steered their conversation to easy
topics throu-ghtheir meal, never once
mentioning the past few days’ events nor his
imminent departure. Her belly filled and her
heart slowly mending, Isabelle felt tranquil and
safe for the first time in weeks. As she
watched the prince across from her, she
wished ruefully that this night could happen
again and again, here, at home, in Kentshire.
Once their plates were cleared and they’d
finished the sweet cranberry crumble that had
been sent up as dessert, Graham shifted in his
seat, reaching across the table for Isabelle’s
bandaged hand.
“I need to ask you a favour,” he said. “It might
come across as a little bizarre, but I promise
that I have a good reason.”
“Anything,” she said, fixated on the feel of his
fingers entwined with hers.
“I will call on you tomorrow, before I leave,
with the captain of my father’s men. I need you
to look your worst,” Graham said.
“My worst?” Isabelle repeated, her eyebrow
quirking in question.
“Preferably you’ll be bedridden and covered in
bandages,” he said. “That way the captain will
confirm my story when I tell my father that you
were too ill to be arrested.”
His last words sent a chill down her spine, but
Graham sque-ezed her fingers, reading the
thoughts on her face.
“I hadn’t realized that was still a possibility,”
Isabelle said. Half-rising, Graham shifted his
chair around so their knees were nearly
touching, taking both her hands in his.
“It won’t be, not if you help me by doing this,”
Graham said. “I won’t let anyone chain you,
ever.”
Isabelle couldn’t find the words to thank him,
instead simply squeezing his fingers in return.
If there was one person she could trust to
reverse the king’s arrest warrant, it was the
man before her. The prince smiled.
“Lissa,” Graham said over his shoulder. “Avert
your eyes.”
To Isabelle’s eternal surprise, her maid obeyed.
Graham leaned in to kis-s her, caressing her
cheek before he rose.
“Thank you for dinner,” he said, helping Isabelle
to her feet. In the corner, Lissa rose as well,
bustling over to start clearing their dessert
plates, a bright red blus-h on her grinning
cheeks.
“I hope to do it again,” Isabelle said, as he
swept his cloak over his shoulders. When he’d
fastened it into place, Isabelle couldn’t help
herself from closing the space between them,
wanting to feel his arms around her one last
time before he left.
She didn’t have to ask, Graham’s arms opening
as she approached, pulling her to his che-st.
“I love you, Graham,” she said, savouring his
feel, his scent, his steady heartbeat against her
ear.
“And I love you, Isabelle,” he said, his voice a
rumble in her ear. “I’ll be waiting for you in
Highcastle.”
To be continued….