The Scot Page 13

  She should have at least tried to stop him, although she knew him better than to believe it would have worked.

  For what had to be the hundredth time, or the thousandth, she imagined him attempting to delay hundreds of men. Sitting atop his horse, a proud and valiant warrior, the chief of an entire clan with an earldom under his command. Alone. Knowing he faced death but doing it to save his people.

  The sobs eventually faded, and her shoulders stopped shaking. Even so, Roysa could not force herself to get up. She was more tired now than she’d been when she woke.

  “Roysa?” her sister said softly.

  “Tell Cait”—her tongue felt as if it was two sizes bigger than it should be—“tell Cait I am sorry.”

  She might need the woman Roysa wanted to be, but certainly Terric’s sister had no use for the one who could not even gather herself enough to leave her bed.

  “I am sorry.”

  Idalia didn’t move. Roysa wanted to tell her sister how grateful she was for it, but she didn’t have the strength to lift her head. Instead, she kept her eyes shut, hoping, wishing for sleep to take her.

  “Roysa.”

  She opened her eyes reluctantly, not recognizing the voice.

  “Roysa?”

  Groaning, she turned toward Terric’s sister, mortified to be seen in such a state by a woman she hardly knew.

  “I’ve a tray for you.”

  Breathing in the smell of freshly baked bread, Roysa realized she was actually hungry. But hunger wasn’t the reason she sat up. If Cait could collect herself enough to come here, surely she could at least sit up in bed.

  “I should be in your chamber with a tray of food.”

  Cait stood and fetched the tray from her bedside table. Settling it on her lap, Roysa eyed the bread and pottage hungrily.

  “Please eat.”

  She did not have to be prompted, but even if she were not so hungry, Roysa would have listened anyway. Cait was small, but her resolve was not.

  “’Tis night already,” Roysa commented as she tore off a chunk of bread. “Idalia was here this morn.”

  “Yesterday morn.”

  “I slept through the whole day. And night?” Was it possible?

  Her next question was answered before she could ask it. Cait shook her head. “There’s been no word of Terric. But neither,” she hurried to add, “has there been any tidings from Ulster or Langham. A scout returned this morn with no word of any movement.”

  Understandable considering the bridge had been destroyed.

  “Did Terric tell you,” Cait said softly, “about when he met the others?”

  Her hand froze partway to her mouth. “He told me some,” she admitted.

  “It was a hot day. The hottest in many summers. And my first tournament. I was so excited to be there, with my brothers.”

  For a woman who had never returned to England after the event she was about to describe, Cait appeared remarkably calm.

  “I should have never left the tents unchaperoned, but I did.” Cait looked up, meeting Roysa’s eyes. “Terric had never competed in the tournament before, and he was smaller than others his age.”

  Finished with the bread, Roysa attacked the pottage. Her mother would be appalled at her lack of manners, but she was so very hungry.

  “I’ll admit I wasn’t confident he could win . . . I could not summon the will to watch. He was not yet old enough to joust or participate in the melee, but even one-on-one with the sword . . .”

  She tried to imagine a small Terric and simply could not.

  As if sensing her thoughts, Cait sighed. “Young Terric and the man you know are very different, but the boy and the man do have one thing in common. My brother never let anyone keep him down—no matter how many times he was knocked to the ground, he’d get up again. Even as his opponent laughed at him.”

  Roysa wanted to cry for the boy Terric. And for the man who was missing. But she didn’t think she had any tears left. Her insides were simply . . . empty.

  “He would never admit defeat,” Cait continued.

  Roysa understood her meaning, but surely this was different. Whether one wished to admit defeat or not, sometimes defeat was inevitable. Inescapable.

  “James said there were over a hundred men. Terric was . . .” She couldn’t say it. She cleared her throat and tried again. “Terric was alone.”

  “My brother is alive.”

  She said the words as if Cait knew something everyone else did not. Roysa could almost believe her. She wanted to believe her.

  “You’ve endured much these past weeks. This past year. I think”—Cait leaned toward her—“having spoken to your sister . . . I believe you needed to allow your emotion to be released. When I returned home after the tournament that year, I carried on as if nothing had happened. Most of my friends and family back at Bradon Moor never knew about it. In fact, it was years before I confronted it. And maybe I never truly have.”

  Roysa finished her pottage.

  “My mother was married before she wed my father. For love,” she blurted out. Even as the words left her mouth, she was unsure why she was sharing them. Surely Cait did not care about her mother’s past. “Her father forbade it, but she married the man anyway, and broke her betrothal to my father to do so. Her husband died, and my father agreed to honor their previous agreement.”

  Roysa pushed the tray from her lap.

  “She cares for my father. But she does not love him the way she loved her first husband.”

  Cait looked at her with the same intensity with which she’d regarded her the first night they met.

  “Does she wish they had never met? Your mother and her first husband?”

  “I do not know,” she said darkly, only then realizing why she’d spoken of the match. “But I wish it for her.”

  “Roysa, Terric is alive.”

  “If it’s so—”

  “It is so.” Cait’s eyes burned with belief, so bright and strong it couldn’t help but be catching.

  Roysa felt a weight lift off her. Although part of her still wished to stay in bed until they heard word of him, a larger part wished to take a bath. To dress. To wait for him to return.

  If Cait, who knew him so well and had been through so much, could believe he’d survived, then so could she. Perhaps their mutual belief would have the strength to make it so—or so she imagined in that moment.

  Anchoring herself to Cait’s strength, Roysa tossed the coverlet from her legs.

  “’Tis time for me to get out of this bed.”

  Cait’s chin lifted. “Aye, Roysa. It is.”

  Chapter 29

  “Roysa.”

  She dreamed of Terric calling to her from beneath the ramparts. Roysa stood with her sister and Cait, looking down and trying to find him, but she could not see him anywhere.

  “Roysa.”

  His voice was getting louder, too loud for him to be below her. It tickled her ear, and surely that was his hand on her shoulder . . .

  “Wake up.”

  It was no dream.

  Roysa’s eyes flew open, adjusting to the candlelight. Was she still asleep? Surely her eyes were deceiving her.

  “Terric?”

  She sat up as if she’d not been in a deep slumber just moments before.

  “Terric!” Roysa threw her arms around him, squeezing to assure herself he was real. “You’re alive.”

  She needed to understand how he had come to be here, how he had survived, but she wouldn’t let go to allow him to explain. He held her as tightly as she held him.

  Afraid this really might be a dream, though it seemed very, very real, she asked, “Are you really here?”

  “Aye,” he murmured into her ear, “I am here. I am alive.”

  Her chest exploded and her hands began to shake. She clung to his tunic, tears coming quickly and freely. Cait had been right. Somehow, unbelievably, he had survived. And he was here. In her bed.

  “Shhhh.” His voice was the most pl
easant sound Roysa had ever heard in her life.

  She pushed him back then, needing to see his face. It appeared . . . unharmed, although her tears had rendered it quite blurry. She wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand. “You are alive.”

  His thumb assisted in the task, tenderly brushing against her lashes as Roysa closed her eyes and let him brush away the remainder of her tears. “Very much so, it seems.”

  Roysa didn’t understand what he meant at first. When she did, her eyes flew to his. She’d thought of their interlude so many times. Every time her mind wandered back to that dark place Idalia and Cait had pulled her from, she thought instead of Terric’s lips. His hands and fingers and what he’d done to her. She willed herself to believe it would happen again.

  And now, he was here.

  “Your sister and brother . . .”

  “I just left them.”

  Roysa cupped his face. His strong, handsome, noble face.

  “Terric . . .”

  She wanted to tell him she loved him, that she’d been worried sick. But when he put his hands over hers, something stopped her. Roysa saw relief in his eyes, and maybe even love, but something else flickered in his gaze. Could it be regret?

  “What happened?” she said instead. “And how have you already seen Rory and Cait?”

  “Gilbert spotted me and woke them before I even entered the hall.”

  “And Lance?”

  “Rory is telling him now. I will speak to him after I leave your chamber.”

  Pulling her hands from his face, Roysa pushed away the coverlet and sat so close to Terric she was nearly on his lap. She needed to touch him still. To assure herself he was very much real.

  Grasping both of his hands, she said, “Tell me what happened.”

  He took a deep breath. “You know that James was successful.”

  “Aye,” she reprimanded, “but only because you found yourself on the wrong side of the river.”

  “Indeed.” He smiled, as if they weren’t talking about the fact that he’d nearly died, and squeezed her hands. “There were around one hundred and fifty men. Led by two men, I believe. Ulster was one of them—”

  “And Langham, the second?”

  “I thought it was him at first, but no, not Langham. He never spoke or took off his helm, but I didn’t recognize the banner. Red and black with three snakes in the center.

  “Who was it?”

  Terric shrugged. “I still do not know. Nor does Rory, but I’d not expect my brother to know as he’s spent less time here than I have.”

  “Your twin brother,” she pointed out.

  “Aye.”

  That fact did not seem to please him. Roysa would ask him about that, and why he had chosen to withhold the information, at another time.

  “How did you get away?”

  She’d thought so many times of Terric facing down an entire retinue of men, alone. And could not imagine how he could have possibly managed to free himself.

  “I don’t know.”

  “You don’t . . .” That was certainly not the answer she’d expected.

  “As I told the others, I delayed them as long as possible. But eventually, they saw the smoke.”

  “And realized what you had done?”

  “Not precisely. But it did bring an abrupt end to our conversation. Ulster suggested taking me captive. ’Twas what I would have done.”

  “To bargain with later.”

  “Aye. But the other man said something to him, and then I was set free.”

  Her eyes widened. “Did they say anything to you?”

  Terric appeared as confused as she felt. “Ulster told me to prepare for a siege. He said we’d meet again soon.”

  “And he simply let you go?”

  “Aye. I rode ahead of them, and only saw them once. A man alone travels much faster, and I suspect they spent a bit of time assessing whether the bridge could be saved. But I never did recover my sword.”

  “You were . . . you faced them without a weapon?”

  “Not by choice.”

  It made little sense. “Why does he believe Dromsley will hold up under siege?”

  “This castle was designed for it. I would expect the same.”

  “But you will go to battle instead.”

  Terric’s eyes narrowed. “The king thinks to show our supporters how easily we can be overcome. I will not allow him the satisfaction.”

  “I still do not understand why they let you go.” She paused. “Terric.”

  “Roysa.”

  They said each other’s names at once, and something about his tone told her the joy she felt at Terric’s homecoming was about to be tempered.

  “What do you wish to say?” she asked softly.

  “I missed you, craved you. Even now I can think of nothing save the feel of your lips on my own.”

  Roysa wanted to kiss him more than she wanted to breathe. But she held back, dread welling up inside her stomach. She knew he had more to say and sensed she would not like it.

  “But it seems I am unable to control myself when I’m with you.”

  The answer was simple. “You needn’t.”

  He groaned, his eyes softening. Roysa’s core clenched in anticipation—the way he was looking at her said more than any words possibly could.

  Terric desired her. Wanted to lean into her as much as she wanted him to do so.

  But the look was there and then gone.

  “I asked you for permission to court you. And I asked the same of your father.”

  She remembered clearly.

  “Aye, you did,” Roysa said.

  “I would proceed with this, but slowly.”

  “Proceed with . . . this? What are you saying?”

  “Ulster’s men are one, perhaps two days, behind me. We must prepare.”

  “Terric? What are you saying?”

  “The king must be defeated.”

  Roysa’s heart began beating faster, and faster yet.

  “Aye, of course, but . . .” She had no words. He was here, alive, but she felt him slipping away from her.

  He released her hands.

  “You should rest.”

  “Rest? Terric, I don’t understand.”

  He stood. “I care for you, Roysa.”

  “I love you, Terric.”

  There, she’d said it. Just as she’d wanted to—needed to—from the moment he woke her.

  “I love you,” she repeated, “but I do not want to be courted by you. I wish to be with you. This night and every night.”

  She was no longer afraid of her feelings. The fear of losing him had opened her eyes. She loved him, and he was here. Alive. Did anything else truly matter?

  “Terric . . .”

  “I am sorry, Roysa. Truly. I am.”

  He left as quickly as he’d come. Roysa sat staring at her door as it closed. Tears welled in her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. She’d done enough of that already.

  Terric was as afraid, maybe more so, than she had been.

  Nay, not afraid. Distracted. Understandable, given the circumstances. But he did care for her, and there was no question he desired her. She would not become upset simply because she could not control this situation. She would stay calm and give Terric the time he needed.

  Chapter 30

  “Saint Rosalina in Heaven!” Roysa shouted from behind him, the words bringing him to a stop.

  Terric deserved her ire.

  He had avoided her all day as they made final preparations for battle in his solar. When there was no more to do—the scouts had marched out and the plans had been drawn up—Rory and Lance had insisted on taking dinner in the hall, saying they were as prepared as they could possibly be.

  He’d hesitated.

  Where Roysa was concerned, his training, his discipline . . . none of it seemed to matter. She occupied a larger place in his mind, his heart, then he could give her just now. Riding back to Dromsley, he had decided that he would do best to di
stance himself from her. For now. He could not afford to be distracted. He had somehow gotten through the meal, but it had not been easy. His eyes kept straying to Roysa, and Cait who seemed just as furious with him as his lady.

  Although he’d been pleased to see his brother and sister, especially since they certainly needed the warriors from Clan Kennaugh, he wished his sister were home safe. She’d refused to come to England for over ten years only to come now, when they were at the brink of war?

  She had refused to explain herself. Or to tell him why she was obviously so angry with him. Except now he knew, didn’t he? Cait and Roysa had become friendly while he was away—a thought that made his heart feel fuller.

  Roysa let out another little “Hmph,” and Terric turned to face her, glad they were alone in the corridor.

  “I’m reminded of a woman who could not be consoled, one who nearly got herself trampled by her own horse,” Terric said.

  She stamped her foot, clearly infuriated by the reference.

  Oh, he loved her like this. She was a force of nature.

  “You are an arse, Terric Kennaugh.”

  “I disagree, Lady Roysa.”

  “Did you not hear what I said to you last eve?”

  Hear her? Terric had struggled to sleep because of it. To be loved by her . . .

  Terric could think of nothing he wanted more. Save one thing.

  “We will speak after the battle.”

  The scouts had not yet returned, but they would be back any time. He needed to think on that, and nothing else. He couldn’t let himself lose his focus. Too many people depended on him, including Roysa. Her safety depended on him doing his job, and doing it well.

  “Which battle?”

  When Roysa put her hands on her hips, he wanted to slip his own hands between them, pin her against the wall, and redirect all her passion toward him.

  “The one with Ulster? Or the next one after that? You have declared against the king, Terric. The king. Of England. There will likely be many battles ahead.”

  “Precisely.” He was glad she understood.

  “Pre— oh. I cannot.”