The Scot

by Mecca, Cecelia

  Am I really as weak as that?

  Roysa pulled away. She couldn’t think in his arms.

  “We’ve not spoken since yesterday morn.” Turning, she walked toward the table, knowing it had been the center of the council’s discussions. Picking up the corner of a large map, she looked back at him. “I know only what Idalia tells me.”

  Terric joined her.

  “What would you have me tell you?”

  “Everything, since you ask.”

  Terric exhaled. “Everything?” He pointed to the map. “Neither my mother nor sister care to hear talk about battle. My mother, especially, forbids talk of it at meals.”

  Roysa did not wish to insult his family. “Father and I spoke often of such things,” she said, lifting a silver coin from atop the map. “What is this?”

  “A marker, for my mission.”

  There was something in his voice.

  “The one Idalia had to tell me about?” And because she could no longer hold it inside, she asked, “And what did you tell my father?”

  Terric’s smile made him appear almost boyish.

  “Which question would you like me to answer first?”

  She thought of another.

  “And why have you not come to me these past few days?”

  “Any others?”

  “Aye, but you may start with those, my lord.”

  “My lord. I thought we’d agreed my given name would suffice. Or do you address all those you’ve kissed so formally?”

  “I’ve kissed few men,” she admitted. “But I’d expect you cannot say the same? That you’ve kissed few women.”

  “Is that another question?”

  “Nay.”

  She ignored the grunt Terric made, concentrating instead on the remaining questions.

  “Well, my lord?”

  “Shall we begin with the last? I’ve not come to see you because I’ve been here in this chamber. Planning, as you know, for the upcoming battle.”

  “At night . . .”

  A little smirk crept across his face. “Aye, I’ve thought of visiting you at night. Of waking you, climbing into your bed and courting you with my body, as unseemly as that might appear to your sister.”

  She tried to imagine what courting her with his body might entail, but as always with Terric, it did not leave her with the ability to think straight.

  “But it would have been highly improper.”

  “More so than stealing me away to the buttery? Or bringing me here unaccompanied?”

  “Circumstances have changed.”

  Roysa’s heart fell into her stomach. What did that mean, precisely? Was he speaking of the mission Lance had mentioned?

  “Which leads to your second question.”

  He reached across the table and took the silver coin from her hand, his fingers caressing hers before pulling away.

  “I leave immediately for here.” He placed the coin onto the map. “Watershed Bridge. If Ulster intends to march on Dromsley Castle, as we suspect, he and his allies will need to cross it. Without it, they will face a delay. Long enough for your father’s men, perhaps even my own, to arrive. The snow has finally stopped. And though it does not yet melt . . . we cannot wait any longer.”

  “Without the bridge? Do you mean . . . ?”

  “I will burn it.”

  “You?”

  “Aye.”

  “Surely you have many men who could complete such a task. You are the earl. Your clan’s chief. What does your marshal say of this plan?” she asked, beginning to panic. “What would your brother think of it?”

  “Rory knows what Gilbert does not. Once I have made a decision, I will not be swayed.”

  “But why put yourself at such risk? If they are closer than we believe, if you’re spotted by their scouts . . .”

  Roysa couldn’t continue. Surely he did not mean to do this himself. It was madness.

  “I would trust no one, with the exception of Lance, with a task of this importance. But even he did not offer. Lance knows me too well. He knows that I would never have accepted.”

  “No, Terric, you cannot.”

  Panic welled within her, as if time had ceased to move forward. If he did this, he could be killed. She would lose him before she’d even had the chance to properly have him.

  “As for your father?”

  Terric moved around the table, sidling up to her with a decidedly wicked glint in his eye.

  “I asked him the same question that I asked you.”

  Which was what she’d assumed.

  “He agreed. Reluctantly.”

  He stood so close Roysa could lean forward and kiss him easily. She forced herself not to. There was still much she needed to know.

  “So why are we here? Surely you must be leaving soon,” she said, reluctant to accept the idea.

  “Very soon. But I’m here—we are here—because, as I said, things have changed.”

  She swallowed. “Such as?”

  “This mission, your father’s permission. I would not walk into danger without tasting you, Roysa. Without ensuring you wait for my return as a hunter waits for the perfect shot. Eagerly. Anticipating each moment.”

  Oh dear.

  Excitement unfurling inside her, she asked him a final question. “How, my lord, do you propose to accomplish such a thing?”

  Chapter 24

  He’d meant to court her.

  To act honorably.

  Her sister, the wife of a dear friend, was just downstairs in the hall. Her father, likely no farther than the outer castle walls.

  But Terric simply could not stay away from her any longer. Something about Roysa tugged at him in a way he’d never experienced before. It was insistent, painfully so.

  Terric tried to be gentle when he pulled her toward him. Attempted to move slowly, coaxing her mouth wide as his tongue plunged into her sweet depths. But he knew time worked against them—and so did his lack of patience. His desire for Roysa had become so consuming, Terric feared his judgment suffered for it.

  He had stared at the strings of her kirtle so hard, he knew the direction of the ties. His fingers moved nimbly to undo them, not pausing once for contemplation. Once the ties were freed, he tore himself away so that he might lift the heavy gown free.

  Terric paused, both fists grasping a handful of fabric, and caught her eye. He cursed inside at what he saw there. Desire, aye. But she worried too, and he could imagine the cause. Thankfully, the bastard who’d hurt her was already dead—otherwise, Terric would gladly have done the deed.

  He opened his mouth to tell her, to explain. But he knew a better way.

  In one swift motion, he lifted the gown and tossed it onto the ground.

  Terric didn’t know if he’d hoped for an undertunic or not. This certainly made things simpler, but they still did not have much time. Not enough for him to fully love her. Besides, he had no intention of getting killed and leaving her with a wee babe.

  But that did not mean he could not pleasure her.

  “My gown!”

  Roysa turned toward the table and looked at the pile on the floor at her feet. The view of her backside proved too enticing to ignore. Stepping forward, he grasped both breasts, pressing against her.

  Roysa’s gasp, and the way she gripped the edge of the wooden table in front of her, was simply too much. He wanted to hear that sound again. Needed it like he did air. Pressing into her, Terric whipped the hair at her back to the side, kissing her neck with the fervor of a man deprived.

  “Terric,” she breathed, tilting her head to the side to give him greater access. “I can feel you against me.” He pressed harder. “I . . .”

  She didn’t have the words yet. He would give them to her. Another day.

  Reaching down, he lifted her chemise and very swiftly pushed aside the last remaining fabric that separated him from his goal.

  “You will think of me,” he demanded, slipping his fingers inside without warning. “When you wake.” He be
gan to move his fingers. “When you sleep.”

  Her firm grip on the table pleased him.

  “I want you to close your eyes. There, now feel the evidence of my need for you.” He circled his hips. “Imagine me inside you, as I will be when I return.”

  From the way she moaned and clenched around him, he knew Roysa was desperate for release, though she’d never known it before. Had no idea how close she was to the blissful taste of heaven she was about to experience. Just thinking of it made Terric realize he had to finish this quickly.

  Or risk coming inside his trewes. He was hard. Ready.

  “Can you feel your own wetness on me?”

  He used his thumb then, and knew she was close.

  “This is for me, Roysa. For me alone. And when I return”—he licked and nipped at her ear, tormenting both of them—“you will know more of me than what I’m able to give today.”

  She screamed his name. Not my lord or Chief but his given name, so blessedly sweet on her lips. He stopped then, allowing her time to enjoy. To recover. To understand . . .

  This was the pleasure she should have known as a wife.

  This was the pleasure he would give her when he returned.

  Groaning at the loss as he pulled away, Terric looked down. He could not go marching into the hall to announce his departure on a mission to save Dromsley . . .

  “Your . . .” Roysa had turned. And was staring at his hardness with wide eyes.

  “Cock, love. Aye, I know.”

  He couldn’t look at her.

  “If you’ll give me a moment.”

  “Shall I . . .”

  Damned if he didn’t look up, groaning.

  “Nay,” he said, trying not to think of her hands on him. Or worse, her mouth. Closing his eyes, he saw a vision of her bent slightly over, hands gripping the table as she pressed her backside into him.

  “Talk to me,” he blurted.

  “Of?”

  “Anything. Anything but this.”

  Terric took a deep breath.

  “Once, when I was a girl, my baby sister, Tilly, peed on my leg. I thought she had a covering on her bottom, but I was mistaken.”

  Terric’s eyes flew open.

  “Your sister peed on your leg? Whatever made you think of that?”

  Roysa shrugged. “You seemed to be in pain. It was the first thing I thought of to distract you.”

  “Being peed on?”

  “Nay, my sister. As a babe. That particular memory just came into my head. But I assume ’tis difficult to have”—she pointed to his cock—“that. When thinking of a babe.”

  It was the most outrageous of moments to realize it, but he could no longer deny it was true.

  I love this woman.

  Chapter 25

  “Halt!”

  Terric hadn’t wanted to take any men with him, though his advisors would not hear of it. So he agreed to take one man to aid him. Though the bridge was only two days’ ride from Dromsley, the delay would cost the approaching men more than a fortnight. Unless they decided to risk crossing it anyway.

  Terric did not believe they would.

  “Do you hear it?” A rumbling in the distance, barely discernable.

  “No, my lord.”

  James was a capable warrior, but he’d not chosen him for his sword arm. No other man at Dromsley could ride like this young man could. His father had been a marshal at another castle, and James had practically grown up in the stables.

  “We go on foot,” he said, dismounting.

  Terric’s father had taught him to trust his instincts. And at this moment, they were telling him they should tie up the horses and get to the ridge. Grabbing the bag attached to his horse’s saddle, Terric motioned for James to follow.

  They were lightly armed, wearing the padded gambesons typically favored by reivers for the ease of movement they allowed.

  He’d not think of Roysa now, as the moment of danger had approached. He had done plenty of that these past two days. From elation over their last meeting to apprehension at the thought of Lance’s parting words. His friend still did not believe he was ready to commit to a wife.

  But Terric aimed to prove him wrong.

  If his friends could marry in the midst of their mission, so could he.

  Right now, his only commitment was to eliminate this bridge.

  Terric reached the ridge just before James. Which meant he saw the problem first. The only cause for celebration was the dense brush hiding them both. For now.

  Because their worst fears had just been confirmed by what he saw beyond the river.

  “We must go back,” James whispered.

  His voice was tinged with panic, and Terric could hardly blame him. The sight of so many men, of Ulster’s bright gold and blue banners alongside what he assumed were Stokesay’s red and black ones . . .

  He did not blame Lance for insisting they wait for morn. It would have been madness to travel in the dark on this terrain, with snow and ice still under their feet . . . but he should have left immediately. At dawn.

  He should not have delayed with Roysa.

  There was only one way for their plan to still work.

  It had to work.

  “James,” he said, forcing the young man to look at him. “We will go down there, and you will carry through with our plan. And when the bridge is burned, you will return to Dromsley and tell them. Do you understand your orders?”

  James blinked.

  “There is no time. They’ll be upon us before I can burn it.”

  “Aye, lad. You can do it. I will delay them. Do you understand?”

  “But, my lord? If you cross the bridge to delay them, and I burn it . . .”

  He did not have time for this. “Do you understand your orders?” he said more firmly.

  James opened his mouth, closed it, and nodded.

  “Very good. Leave your horse here. Without it, they are still far enough away not to see you.” Terric handed him the bag he’d retrieved from his horse’s saddle. “When you return to Dromsley, tell them what has happened here. Now go.”

  Running to his mount, Terric ignored James’s calls.

  “Who do I tell? How will you return? Lord Dromsley?”

  But Terric could not waste another moment. He rode as fast as the hill beneath him would allow, taunted by the sight of the bridge and the men beyond it.

  The wooden planks creaked under their weight.

  If he could not delay them, James would be lucky to escape with his life. Well, his scouts would warn Dromsley even if James could not. Terric tightened his grip, cursed himself for a fool for allowing this to happen, and rode directly toward the enemy.

  “Your sister does not seem herself this morn.” Lance clearly had meant the comment only for Idalia’s ears, although Roysa could still hear him.

  They sat in morning mass, Dromsley’s chaplain urging them to pray for Terric’s safety.

  None were supposed to have learned of his mission. But the knowledge had spread, as information does, and his absence had been noted. Gilbert had finally told the men. Who had told their wives. Who had told the servants. In just two days, all of Dromsley knew, which was just as well, according to Gilbert.

  By now, they’d have reached the bridge. If all had gone well, they would be returning home.

  “Aye, ’tis very much Roysa,” Idalia whispered back. “She does this when worried.”

  Roysa assumed this meant her gown. And headpiece. The extra care she’d taken with her appearance this morn. Unfortunately, it was the only thing under her control. Since she and Terric had not even announced their betrothal, Roysa had no purpose at Dromsley. She could not handle the castle’s affairs or take inventory of their stores. Even at Stokesay her duties had kept her mind from her dismal circumstances and hope for a possible escape from it. There was nothing except endless days and nights of waiting.

  And worrying.

  “I can hear you,” she whispered back. “Both.”

>   Finally, when she thought she could bear the sitting and listening no longer, mass ended.

  But something odd was happening. At first she thought it happenstance, that the chamberlain should look at her so, but others were staring at her too.

  As they filed out of their seats, she said, “Idalia. They are looking at me.”

  Her sister put a finger to her lips. She only spoke once they were well beyond the chapel. “Lance, I will meet you in the hall.”

  He lifted Idalia’s hand, kissed it, and bowed to them both. It struck Roysa that he most certainly did not look like any blacksmith she had ever known. Lance’s grey and deep blue surcoat draped down to his knees. And while it was not overly ornate, he did look very much like the lord that he was. With manners to match.

  “Come,” Idalia said, pulling her hand.

  Although Roysa did not know where she wished to take her, she had another destination in mind.

  “This way.”

  Taking a candle from the wall, she led Idalia to the lovely window seat in Chapel Tower. When Idalia spotted the window, Roysa bit back a smile.

  “’Tis lovely, is it not?”

  “Aye.” Idalia sat, gesturing for Roysa to join her. “How did you . . . ahh. Terric brought you here.”

  “I cannot deny it.” Nor did she want to. Those memories were sweet, and she wished she had more of them to keep her company while he was away.

  “Roysa, what you said in the chapel . . .”

  “I was simply being silly. I worry for Terric. For us.” Except her sister’s expression—was that pity?—indicated she had not been wrong after all. “Tell me.”

  “There are rumors.” Her sister shrugged.

  “Idalia?”

  “I did not want to mention it, but neither do I wish for you to be unaware.”

  Roysa folded her hands on her lap.

  “It seems someone has been whispering.” Idalia hesitated. “That you and Terric . . . as Dromsley prepared for battle . . .”

  Roysa put up her hand. She did not need Idalia to continue. They had been discreet—but not discreet enough. And she understood what people likely thought.

  There could not have been a worse time for them to meet. For many reasons.