The Scot

by Mecca, Cecelia

  Roysa knew it well.

  “I like him, of course. Lance thinks of him as a brother. But . . .”

  Idalia looked at her with such a look of pity, she wished she had held her tongue about the kiss.

  “He is like Father in some ways.”

  “In many ways,” she agreed.

  “He is not a man I could imagine for a husband.” The words were said gently, as if Idalia believed she were dissuading her from a dear wish.

  Roysa’s shoulders sagged in relief. “That is all?”

  “He is very focused on this mission,” Idalia said, furrowing her brow. “It would surprise me greatly if he took a wife.”

  Roysa waited, her lips pursed together.

  “Though you are wonderful, of course. Any man should be as lucky to have a wife such as you.”

  She attempted to keep her expression serious.

  “Especially when you are being kind. Not that you are not always kind, but at times I wish you would be easier on yourself. That you would not expect such perfection . . . Roysa? Are you laughing at me?”

  “Nay,” she said, doing just that. “I would never do so.” She shook her head. “Not at all. Never.”

  Except that she was.

  And finally, her little sister understood.

  “You don’t want Terric for a husband.”

  The very word terrified her. Though maybe slightly less than before the previous evening. “Nay. I have had one and would not care to repeat such an arrangement again.”

  “But you said . . .”

  “You are married, Idalia. To a man who loves you. Surely you can understand a woman might want something else from a man?”

  “You don’t want to marry him. You want to have sex with him?”

  Or at least be introduced to the pleasures he’d promised. Roysa was about to respond when a voice interrupted them from behind.

  “Have sex with whom?”

  “You could not be more outrageous,” Terric declared, watching the men from the sidelines with his arms folded over his chest. He always trained alongside his men. But not today. This was no longer training but preparing for battle. Or perhaps a siege. He alternated between encouraging the men, speaking to his marshal, and sneering at his friend. Lance had seen his wife atop the parapets and left them for the sole purpose of stealing a kiss.

  He’d have gladly followed and done the same, the mere sight of Roysa stirring him quite easily.

  “I was not gone long,” Lance objected.

  “That hardly matters. I dare you to repeat those words to Guy or Conrad. ‘I will be back soon. I need to kiss my wife.’ Who says such a thing?”

  Terric’s eyes tracked Gilbert as the marshal walked between the men, shouting orders though never berating anyone. He was a capable marshal, and he was lucky to have such a man.

  “I’m not ashamed of wanting to kiss my wife. Besides, Guy would understand well enough. Though I’d never have believed it, the man’s heart actually beats inside his chest.”

  Terric laughed at that. None of them had ever believed Guy, a mercenary, would marry. But the rest of them had agreed that he seemed happier with Sabine than he’d ever been before.

  “Even Conrad understands the notion of being in love.”

  “I understand it. I just do not wish to partake in it.” He turned toward Lance. “Besides, when has Conrad ever been in love?”

  Lance just gave him a private smile, a look that said he knew something but did not wish to share. Could it be a secret about Conrad?

  “Out with it, Lance.”

  His friend just shrugged. “You chastised me for kissing my wife, but it seems you’ve taken the time out of our preparation for battle to do the same. Though not with my wife, of course,” he rushed to add.

  Terric groaned. He’d assumed Lance would find out eventually—it stood to reason Roysa would tell her sister, who would in turn tell Lance—but he’d hoped it might not be so soon.

  “There’s naught to tell. It was one kiss. That should not have happened. And will not happen again.”

  If Lance had looked pleased before, he now appeared as if he had just been crowned tournament champion. He knew something else, something he wasn’t saying.

  “Your loyalty is to the order above all,” Terric said. “Even your wife.”

  Lance chuckled.

  “I do not remember that in the oath we took.” His smiled fled. “Either time.”

  Terric did not wish to talk of that first occasion, although it seemed many of their conversations ended up touching upon their initial meeting.

  “We said it,” he nodded, firm. “I remember that part clearly.”

  “I don’t believe we did.”

  “You will tell me what you know.”

  “I don’t believe I will.”

  “Lancelin.”

  He hated his given name, but he merely scowled at the mention of it. It was clear he did not intend to reveal his information. Frustrated though not terribly surprised, Terric turned to glance at Gilbert—and saw his marshal was pointing toward the North Gate.

  Terric squinted.

  “Who is it?” Lance asked.

  He could not tell yet. But the man’s face slowly came into view. And from the newcomer’s quickening pace, Terric knew the news was not good.

  Chapter 15

  His scout had returned from The Wild Boar, an inn that some called the most strategic location along the border. Every rumor from England or Scotland, whether it be from the north or the south, eventually made its way to the Boar.

  And there were whispers of the king’s supporters mobilizing against them. Paired with the information Roysa had brought them, it seemed to indicate the rumors were true.

  King John did not intend to make good on his agreement to meet with them. He planned to attack.

  Now, if only his men could settle on a strategy. Although they’d been discussing the matter for days, they were still at a standoff. His captain thought they should prepare for a siege only if Ulster marched against them; his marshal thought they’d best do so anyway.

  These men had been entrusted to keep Dromsley Castle safe in his absence. In his father’s absence. He respected them and understood their hesitation.

  Even so, they were wrong.

  If John effectively mobilized Ulster, the order’s mission would begin to crumble. Dromsley was as well positioned as any fortification to withstand a siege. They were well supplied and as prepared as possible. It would last for months.

  Although Terric should not have allowed Rory to delay sending the men. Indeed, he’d made a grave mistake in doing so—he knew they could not afford to wait. If the rumors proved true, Dromsley would be under attack the moment the weather broke.

  They could not bend lest they break.

  “We fight,” he announced over the others’ arguing in his solar. He moved away from the table, his decision made.

  “Tomorrow we will plan, though you have my leave to prepare for siege as well,” he said. “Tonight, we eat.” Something they had not done all day.

  The marshal and captain did not know him well—before this winter he’d only visited Dromsley on occasion—but Lance had been his friend, his brother in the order for years. He was the only one who did not question his decision or attempt to dissuade him. Lance knew he did not waver once he’d made a decision.

  It was done. They would fight.

  But he really did need to eat. Tomorrow was soon enough for them to continue their planning.

  “My lord?” Gilbert grimaced.

  They doubted him, and to succeed, he would need their confidence and support. His father’s face flashed before him. His words rang in Terric’s ears.

  If you believe, they will too.

  “If Ulster and Langham combined forces, we will undoubtedly be outmanned—you are correct about that. But not outmaneuvered. If victory were not within our grasp, I’d not sacrifice Dromsley’s men unnecessarily.”

  Whether it
was his tone or his words that put Gilbert at ease, Terric couldn’t be sure. Although he was still not pleased, Gilbert looked slightly reassured as he glanced down at the hand-drawn map of Dromsley and its surrounding lands they’d been studying.

  “We will need to discuss a battleground.”

  “Aye,” he said.

  “And take a full accounting of their combined men.”

  Terric agreed again.

  Still, despite his extreme hunger, Terric waited. He wished to have his marshal’s full cooperation and confidence.

  “We should speak to the men as soon as possible,” Gilbert continued.

  He paused, wanting his marshal to know he understood the gravity of the decision he’d made. “I agree,” he said finally.

  Satisfied for now, Gilbert gestured toward the door Terric desperately wanted to exit. Because he was hungry.

  Not because he wanted to see Roysa.

  “Your gown . . .”

  Roysa ignored her sister’s shocked expression and the grin that followed, pretending it meant nothing. After what Lance had overheard, and the giggling that had ensued because of it, she could not deny the reason for this particular choice of dress.

  “The maid is quite capable. She’s aired out all five of the ones I brought and even repaired the hem on one.”

  “Only five?”

  Roysa had been happy to see her sister at the door, asking if she wanted to walk down to the hall together for the evening meal. Maybe she should not have been so quick in her joy.

  “I was advised to bring little. Or take nothing.”

  They navigated the dark corridors with the aid of two candles, the scant light flickering against the walls as they walked.

  “I hate him.”

  Roysa slowed. Idalia never hated anyone. Not even the boy who’d tossed mud at her face when she was nine. It was preposterous for him to have done such a thing, to the lord’s daughter no less, but Idalia, in her typical way, had wiped it off and continued on to the market as if nothing had happened.

  Roysa had always wished she could be more like her sister in many ways.

  “I am not fond of him either,” she admitted. “Apparently Walter felt the same way.”

  Idalia burst out laughing, and it was all Roysa could do not to join her. It had been an incredibly uncharitable thing to say. The man was dead. But she so wanted to be rid of the guilt that threatened to strangle her.

  Besides, why should she spare a kind thought for a man who had mistreated her? For his brother, who likely wanted her dead?

  But surely a good person would, wouldn’t they?

  “Am I flawed?” she blurted.

  It took a moment for Idalia to stop laughing, as if she did not at first realize it were a serious question. When she did stop, it was abrupt.

  “Oh Roysa, whatever do you mean?” she said.

  She wished she could take the words back.

  “I cannot decide if I care for others too much, or too little. If I should be more like Father, or you.”

  Two people she admired deeply, who were as different as can be.

  “You’ve never asked such a question before.”

  Roysa wished she hadn’t done so now. Her tongue had run way with her.

  “You are my sister. Always dressed”—she gestured with her free hand toward Roysa’s gown—“to perfection. Father’s favorite. I do not begrudge it,” she rushed to add. “And neither does Tilly. Not”—she smiled—“that we understand it. Father can be . . .”

  “Difficult,” Roysa finished for her.

  “Aye. Tilly and I have always wanted to be more like you, not Father.”

  Roysa did not want to disappoint her sister, but neither could she mislead her.

  “I am far from perfect,” she confessed.

  But Idalia did not react as she would have expected.

  “Of course you’re not perfect. And as for who you should strive to be more like, the answer is evident.”

  Roysa knew it too. Who would strive to emulate a man like her father when the very essence of a good, kind person stood before her?

  “You should be more like you.”

  That was hardly the answer she’d expected.

  “But I am—”

  “Exactly as you should be. Rail against a dead man, if it pleases you. Empathize with him, even after he wronged you, if it allows you to heal. Neither is wrong. ’Tis only wrong to chastise yourself for being honest about your feelings.”

  “When did you become so wise?”

  She meant the question sincerely. This was a different woman than the younger sister she’d left behind in Stanton. Meeting Lance, and supporting his work with the order, had changed her.

  And maybe Terric could be a part of her own journey?

  Nay. He has made his intentions clear. Best listen to them.

  “I’m no wiser than you. Indeed, I’m shocked you’re still standing on both feet given everything you’ve been through. You lost your husband and were forced out of your home, only to flee to safety in what is soon to become a battleground.”

  Roysa did smile then. “You forgot to add that I was kissed by the handsomest of men.”

  Idalia cocked her head to the side. “Do you really think so? He is much too large, I think. And his nose . . .”

  “Is perfect! There is nothing wrong with Terric’s . . .”

  Idalia had already started walking. Roysa followed the sound of her laughter toward the hall.

  Thankfully, there was little chance the man with a perfect nose would be in attendance. Her father’s war councils sometimes lasted for days, and Terric had made himself scarce these past few days. She wouldn’t make the mistake of stumbling into his solar again, so they were unlikely to see each other.

  Then why are you wearing this gown?

  Roysa pushed away the pesky thought.

  Chapter 16

  Her heart sped up as she stepped into the hall.

  He was there.

  Sitting exactly where he would be had an impending battle not demanded his attention. Perhaps he was not so much like her father after all.

  Terric and Lance stood as they entered the room. The hall seemed to grow quiet, which did nothing to quell Roysa’s growing sense of doom. Nothing good could come of this attraction. Idalia had warned her away, and she would do best to heed her sister’s warning.

  And yet . . .

  There was no denying she’d decided to wear her favorite lilac gown tonight in the hopes he’d see it. Made of Italian silk, it had been a somewhat extravagant purchase—a gift from her mother for her wedding.

  The gown was a single color, from its long split sleeves to the embroidery winding its way from her shoulders down the center of the dress to the low vee that hit below her waist. Cut just above the elbows, the sleeves’ slits allowed for the fabric to hang well below her hands. When lifted, her arms peeked out easily. When lowered, they were completely hidden.

  The gown had been meant for her wedding.

  Roysa had decided not to wear it the morn of the wedding. It had felt . . . wrong. She hadn’t precisely understood why, but that feeling of wrongness had been strong enough that she’d risked upsetting her mother by changing their plan. Now, with the benefit of hindsight, she understood part of her had, even then, understood the marriage was a mistake.

  She’d taken the dress with her to Stokesay, but she’d never worn it.

  Until tonight.

  “He’s staring,” Idalia whispered.

  Roysa did not need to be told. Her eyes had locked with his as soon as she stepped into the room. Looking at him, she could not help but remember the feel of those lips moving against hers, that hand on her flesh. In truth, she hadn’t stopped thinking of either since the night before.

  “Lady Roysa. My beautiful wife,” Lance greeted them.

  At first, Roysa had thought her sister’s blacksmith a touch too dour, but the man did know how to smile, she’d learned—he just did it so rarely, each sm
ile felt like a gift. He was the husband her sister needed, and she loved him for it.

  “Lord Tuleen,” she said with a nod, acknowledging his status as the new lord of Tuleen Castle, even though he and his new wife had not yet taken up residence there.

  As she approached the table, she took note of the table setting. Her seat had been moved to Terric’s left, with Lance and Idalia to his right. She wasn’t the only one to notice.

  “I would speak to you this eve,” Terric said, watching her. “But if you’d prefer to sit next to Idalia, I understand.”

  It was no simple thing, the placement of guests. The most important people in attendance at a meal sat next to the lord. She knew it. Lance and Idalia knew it. Even those seated below them, looking up at the dais, knew it. Their stares were so pointed, she felt them.

  Was she reading too much into Terric’s gesture?

  Rather than respond to him, she simply moved to the side of the high-backed chair and sat. Terric had waved away the servant who should have assisted her and pushed in her seat himself.

  She smiled into the hall, at no one in particular. Just as she’d thought, most everyone was staring. Finally, after what seemed like a very long time indeed, the hundred or so men, some with their wives and others alone, turned back to their first course.

  “Surely they think it odd a stranger is seated next to you?”

  Roysa looked at him head-on.

  And wished she hadn’t.

  Terric made no attempt to hide the desire in his eyes. And her body made no attempt to temper its reaction. Warmth flooded her, a joy that extended from her feet up to the very top of her head.

  “They know you are the sister of my honored guest.”

  “Who should be seated next to that same sister,” she countered.

  They stopped conversing when a girl, no more than eight and ten, poured each of them wine from the pitcher that had sat in front of them. When she caught the girl’s eyes, Roysa was surprised to see unhappiness there. Had she offended her in some way?

  “Conventions are not so stringent where I’m from. None would think it odd for you to be seated next to me.”