Gavin watched as she held the missive to her lips, obviously happy to see the delight it brought his “mistress” as he always referred to her. As if affording her some privacy, he walked quietly to the window behind the desk.

Gwen broke the seal and held the parchment with both hands.

My dearest Gwendolyn,

I seek your grace once again. My journey has been delayed, though I should return by month’s end. You must make Seagrave your home, Gwendolyn. I pray you forgive me once more.

Yours,

Greylen Allister MacGreggor

“Gavin, may I write back to him?”

“Aye, lady, but you’ve only a minute. Our troops are always ready to travel and will leave shortly.”

Gwen ran to the desk and picked up a quill while Gavin unlocked the drawer to her left and removed Greylen’s initialed seal. “Tell me when you’ve finished. I’ll show you how the letter is sealed.”

Gwen reached for the parchment in the tray at the corner of Greylen’s desk. There was so much she wanted to tell him, so much she wanted to say. She did the best she could to express how she felt. Be careful what you wish for, Greylen.

“Lady Gwendolyn, the men must leave,” Gavin told her only a minute later. He came to her side and removed the glass from the oil lamp. Then he placed a stick of burgundy wax in the flame and instructed her to fold the letter in three. As the hot wax dripped along the seam, he handed her a brass instrument. She saw the initials embossed at the end and smiled as she pressed it into the wax. They couldn’t have been more appropriate.

When Gavin left, she picked up the gift that Greylen had sent to her. She settled in the cushions of the window seat, hugging the letterbox as she stared at the garden.

Days later Gavin was ready to rip out his hair strand by strand. His lady’s current request was outrageous.

“Explain to me your meaning again, Lady Gwendolyn,” he asked through clenched teeth as they sat before the fire. Isabelle had already changed into her bedgown as she did every night before they went to the kitchen. And he swore she did it on purpose, driving him mad to see her as such. His mistress changed as well before these raids, as she referred to them, donning his laird’s shirt and robe.

“I need to exercise, Gavin. I’m going crazy, and my bruises and cuts are completely healed.” As if sensing his discomfort at her request she went on, “But, if I continue to do nothing, I’m going to lose my mind.”

“Ladies don’t exercise, mistress. They take strolls and see to household duties,” he purposely corrected. He was pleased with the response he received as Isabelle covered her mouth with her hands, barely suppressing a laugh.