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  Roysa sat up straighter. “Why are you here? Idalia, are you in danger? You said Lance was a good friend of the chief’s, and that he was hosting you for an extended stay. . .”

  Her words drifted off as Idalia bit her lip.

  “Idalia,” she said. Although she had not intended to sound quite so matronly, protecting sweet-natured Idalia was something she had done for one and twenty years. Until she had left Stanton to marry.

  Well, perhaps not that entire time. She’d only been little more than a babe when her sister was born.

  “I am waiting.”

  Mimicking her, Idalia yawned. “I would not keep you after such a long day. We will talk tomorrow.” Bounding from the bed, her sister moved toward one of the dwindling fires. Stoking it, she spoke quickly. Too quickly. “I’ve arranged for a maid to attend to you. Get some rest.”

  She turned, and Roysa did not even attempt to stop her. Getting her sister to talk now would be as easy as convincing Langham to admit he’d murdered his brother.

  Even so, she couldn’t allow her to get away this easily. “We will speak tomorrow,” she said.

  Idalia ignored her tone and smiled as she moved to the door. “I am glad you are here. Safe.” But she only closed the door partway before sticking her face through the crack. “And I know ’tis much too soon, but he is not promised.”

  “He?”

  With that, Idalia slammed the wooden door closed.

  He is not promised.

  She would dearly love to feign ignorance, but only a fool would deny that the only thing unpleasant about the lord of Dromsley Castle was his personality. As for everything else . . .

  Nay, she could not deny it to her sister. Surely even a happily married woman could appreciate looking at such a fine man. Aye, he had a disposition none would envy, but he was a handsome brute.

  And not promised.

  Chapter 6

  “I love the snow.” Idalia had just walked into her room, but she’d paused at the window, looking down at the tufts of white collecting beneath them. It reminded Roysa of their childhood, of the snowstorms they’d played in together, only to run inside and drink warm beverages by the fire.

  Oh, she’d missed her sisters.

  “As do I,” she agreed. “Thankfully, it held off for my journey.”

  Idalia crossed the room to her. “You missed the morning meal.”

  “Aye.” Roysa and her father had always been the first to rise at Stanton. Of the three daughters, she probably had the closest relationship with him because of all of their early morning discussions. But neither Idalia nor Tilly had ever resented the fact.

  “I still cannot believe you’re here.”

  She looked at her sister with fresh eyes. Something had changed about Idalia—and then the truth struck her.

  “You are happy.” Her sister had told her it was so in her letters, of course, but now she was seeing it for herself.

  Idalia smiled. “Aye, very much so. You will adore Lance as much as I do.”

  Roysa already liked him. The former blacksmith looked at her sister in a way she’d never seen her parents look at each other. And they’d had a long, mostly happy union.

  But their love was the kind that grew from companionship, from being forced together. Her sister’s was a different kind of love entirely.

  She hugged her then, so very happy that Idalia, at least, had not been fooled about the man she was marrying. If only one of them could have happiness, she would have gladly given it to her sister. Closing her eyes, she rested her head on Idalia’s shoulder.

  When Roysa finally pulled away, she allowed her sister to wipe an errant tear from her cheek.

  “’Tis I who should be caring for you.”

  Idalia turned back to the window. “You’ve done so for many years. But with mother’s illness . . .”

  Roysa winced, anger at Walter bubbling inside her. He’d pretended to care for her, but the illusion had faded quickly. No man who truly loved a woman would not allow her to visit her gravely ill mother. She could never forgive him for that. Dead or nay.

  “It was not your fault.”

  She disagreed but knew better than to say so. “I should have been there,” she said simply.

  Idalia reached out to touch the glass. “Your duty was to marry.”

  Roysa placed her fingers above her sisters, pressing the pads to the cold glass. “Father would never agree to such an expense.”

  They both dropped their hands at once.

  “Nay. He would sooner incur the expense than agree to allow you a choice of suitors.” Idalia looked straight at her. “You never had a choice, and because of it, convinced yourself you were in love with Walter. I’m sorry for it, but please do not blame yourself. For mother, for your marriage. For any of it.”

  “Not even for feeling relief at Walter’s death?” She let the words hang between them.

  “Not even for that.” There was no surprise in Idalia’s voice—she’d guessed at her feelings if not the reason for them.

  They watched the flakes cover the castle walls, the ground below.

  “So . . . why are you here?” Roysa asked.

  Idalia took a deep breath as if preparing for a long story. “You know how many of the barons, including father, are displeased with the king?”

  “Of course.” She probably knew as well as anyone her father’s opinion of King John. Of the cruel taxes that had forced some of his people to give up their ancestral land. Of his failed campaign at Bouvines, a battle none of his men had wanted. Her father had said it was King John’s single worst decision—one that ensured some of his staunchest supporters would desert him.

  “Opposition has been gathering for months. An order of knights was formed. Lance, Terric, and two men you have not met.”

  Unbidden, the chief’s face flashed before her. She pushed it firmly aside.

  “You’ll have heard of the Earl of Licheford.”

  Roysa thought for a moment. “Aye, but I know very little about him.”

  “And the other is a mercenary. Guy Lavallis.”

  “The swordsman?”

  Idalia appeared confused. “You know of him?”

  She nodded. “Father mentioned his name before. After the last Tournament of the North, I believe.”

  “Which is where they met, years ago. The four of them have been gathering support, and last fall, they met with some of the other barons who felt the same way. And they all swore allegiance to one another.”

  Roysa’s eyes widened. The meaning of what her sister had just told her finally penetrated.

  “Do you mean . . . ?”

  “Aye. An allegiance against the king.”

  “But . . . ’tis treason.”

  Idalia did not seem overly bothered at all by the fact that her husband was one of the leaders of a plot against the king.

  “Idalia . . .”

  “There’s more.”

  This is why the tone of her missives had been so suspicious. Roysa had been too bent on keeping her own secrets to press her, but that had clearly been a mistake.

  “They have father’s support. Along with some other very powerful men, including the archbishop of Canterbury. After swearing their allegiance to the cause, the archbishop brought a message on behalf of the order to the king, demanding a meeting.”

  Roysa did not know what to say.

  “He was furious, of course. Imprisoned the archbishop and two of Lord Noreham’s men. They are out now but . . .”

  Roysa was stunned into silence.

  “But?”

  “He did agree to treat with them come spring. None of us know if he plans to honor his word or”—she cleared her throat—“or if he is planning to move against those who defy him. Perhaps he merely wished for more time to assemble his men. But the rebellion began in the north, so if John decides not to negotiate, likely he will begin here as a show of force in one of the north’s more fortified strongholds associated with those who defy him.” />
  Roysa’s hands flew to her cheeks. Her sister was married to one of the leaders of a revolt against the king. “This is why you are not at Tuleen?”

  Her sister nodded once.

  “How could Father have possibly allowed this?”

  Idalia’s look held a warning. One Roysa was inclined to ignore.

  “He allowed it because it was my will to be here, with Lance.”

  “Does John know the identity of the order?”

  “He does.”

  “And you believe he may come against them.”

  “Us. Come against us.”

  She liked this less and less.

  “Idalia . . . you are in danger.”

  “As are you. Which is why you cannot stay here. As soon as the storm passes—”

  “No.” She used her best big-sister tone this time. “I will not leave you.” Roysa pursed her lips, waiting for Idalia to contradict her. Thankfully, she did not.

  “The king knows the identity of most, if not all, of the rebels. His response so far has been tempered, aside from FitzWalter’s imprisonment, and he released him before too long. ’Tis said he did so for fear of the pope’s reaction.”

  “Does the pope support John or the rebels?”

  Idalia frowned. “John. But only after the king pledged himself to the Crusade. Still, his rule is so detested, the pope’s support has had less influence than we assumed it would. None of the barons who pledged their support have withdrawn it. There’s hope the king will do as he says and treat with them in the spring.”

  Roysa shook her head. “He is delaying.”

  “Aye. Which is why I am here and Guy Lavallis and his wife are with Conrad at Licheford.”

  In response to her questioning look, Idalia explained further. “We are preparing for a possible attack.”

  “Saint Rosalina” she exclaimed, earning a disapproving look from her sister. “I cannot say I was expecting all of this.”

  A pounding at the door interrupted them.

  “Lady Roysa?” a voice called.

  “Or him. ’Tis the lord, is it not?”

  Idalia nodded. “Though I cannot imagine what would bring him to your door at this hour. And he sounds angry.”

  After all she’d learned, Roysa was a mite angry herself. Her sister had embroiled herself in a plot against the King of England. She’d dearly love to know how a blacksmith had earned a pivotal role in such a plot.

  But first she had to deal with the brute on the other side of the door.

  Chapter 7

  “How may I be of assistance, my lord?” Roysa said, letting more than a touch of ridicule flavor her voice. “Or do I call you chief? ’Tis so rare to meet a man with both titles.”

  “Roysa,” Idalia hissed behind her.

  “I would speak with you a moment, my lady.”

  “Be kind,” Idalia said, pushing her way out of the room.

  “You’re not staying?” she asked, eyeing the rude, though admittedly handsome, man standing at her door. She hated the way he looked back at her, with disdain that should be reserved for someone who deserved it.

  Her sister did not seem overly concerned about leaving her alone. With him. Unchaperoned. Did she not realize one of them would be likely to leave the conversation bloody? Did she care so little for Roysa’s reputation?

  Of course, she was a widow, so her innocence was no longer of great concern.

  “I must speak to Lance,” Idalia said, only pausing long enough to deliver her explanation.

  With that, Roysa was well and truly abandoned.

  She looked up to meet Terric’s very brown eyes.

  “Inside.”

  When he attempted to guide her back into the bedchamber, Roysa was reminded of the first time her heartbeat quickened when Walter stood so close to her. Of course, he was anything but the courteous gentleman he’d presented himself as before their wedding. Her opinion had ceased to matter as soon as she became the lady of Stokesay Castle.

  Never again would she be fooled by a man’s visage.

  She refused to move from the doorway. “I would prefer to speak here, my lord.”

  He attempted to guide her backward again. It was no firm push but enough of a nudge that she stumbled slightly.

  “My lady, please,” he said, his fingers wrapping around her upper arm. To save her from falling? To ensure she understood who was the master here?

  It did not seem to matter. He’d already nudged Roysa into the bedchamber, and he stepped away to shut the door. That done, he strode right past her and stood directly in front of the larger of the two fires.

  “You will get us killed.”

  Roysa rolled her eyes but did not move.

  “Killed, standing in the corridor? Do you fear we will be done in by an errant stampede of servants?”

  Was that a smile?

  Nay. She just could not see his face clearly from such a distance. Roysa moved a bit closer.

  “By inviting the enemy to stay within our walls.”

  He grabbed the fire iron, though the maid had already tended to the fire just before Idalia’s arrival.

  “The enemy?” She took another hesitant step toward him.

  “Langham’s men.”

  When he turned, she noticed the way the tips of his dark hair brushed his shoulders. Though clean-shaven, Terric Kennaugh was not a polished lord. At least one of her questions had been answered. She knew what to call this man with two titles. He was more Scots clan chief than English earl.

  “They are the enemy?”

  There was much, it seems, she did not know.

  “Did your sister speak to you about . . . the king?”

  That was one way to discuss the matter.

  “You mean, the rebellion? Of which you are one of the leaders?”

  Ah, there was the scowl. She’d almost missed it.

  “It seems she did. So you understand the stakes.”

  “Aye, very much, Chief.”

  She took another step toward him, drawn forward by a force she did not altogether understand.

  “Then you know your brother-in-law—”

  “Former. That man is no relative of mine.”

  Roysa stood just next to him. And though the bedchamber was massive, it seemed smaller than it had before. It was not unusual to receive guests in such a style, and Roysa hadn’t given it much thought. Until now.

  “Former brother-in-law, then.” There it was again. He didn’t smile, exactly, but the corners of his mouth lifted ever so slightly. It dropped as soon as he began speaking again. “While your late husband remained neutral in this conflict, Langham has not.”

  “How do you know?”

  His look would make a weaker woman’s knees buckle. This man was supremely confident in his abilities. Or his knowledge. Maybe both.

  “We’ve suspected. But the confidence with which he claimed the barony, even after apparently murdering his own brother, suggests he is firmly John’s man.”

  “You know about that?”

  Although she’d not told her sister to keep the information to herself, she hadn’t expected it to get back to him so quickly.

  “I know everything that happens inside these walls.”

  “Everything?”

  He raised his brow, indicating he took it as a challenge. Good. She’d meant it as one.

  “Everything.”

  Ugh.

  “Then you’ll know why I would like you to leave this chamber. Thanking you, of course, for your hospitality in offering it to me.”

  “You are very welcome, Lady Roysa,” he said, his tone suggesting otherwise. “And aye, I can guess. ’Tis likely the same reason I am glad to leave it.”

  He began to do just that and then turned back.

  “I have asked your escorts to leave. If you do happen upon them before they do so, kindly do not give them any information.”

  Did he think her an idiot?

  Apparently so.

  “You mean I should
not tell them to report to their lord that Dromsley Castle is home not just to its ill-tempered earl, but also to key players in a rebellion against the king?”

  He looked as if he would murder her.

  “Good day, Lady Roysa.”

  “Good day, Chief.”

  Then, thankfully, he was gone.

  Chapter 8

  Cold, wet, and interminably restless after training, Terric made his way toward the keep. Instead of turning toward the Northeast Tower and main hall, something caught his attention.

  She was lost.

  “My lady?”

  About to comment as he might have had Isobel been standing before him, something in her expression stopped him.

  Scared.

  Lady Roysa was scared, and he liked it not.

  “I want to show you something,” he said carefully.

  Though she continued to watch him, Idalia’s sister said nothing as they continued past the mostly empty inner ward toward the stables. After greeting the marshal, Terric led her straight through to the middle tower.

  Opening a small door, Terric stepped inside.

  “A storeroom?” she guessed.

  A good supposition. Crates and wooden boxes lined the cold, stone-walled chamber.

  “Aye.”

  Terric sat on a rope-handled chest. Roysa did the same.

  “It was my mother’s private chamber once. She was raised here.”

  This time, he could tell he’d truly surprised her. He tried to remember not all women who wore the finest silks were conniving liars.

  “So far from the hall?”

  Terric pointed to the wall, waiting for Roysa to see it.

  “A . . . is that a secret passageway?”

  He smiled, thinking of the few times he’d been through that door. “Aye. The only one in the castle, that we know of. Which was why my mother stayed here while in residence.”

  His hands balled into fists.

  “King Henry once took Dromsley for his half-brother. My grandmother was devastated. This had been her home. Built by her grandfather.”

  Why am I telling her this?

  “The dispute raged for years. Lord Longespée never set foot inside this castle, never met the people here, but the king had given it to him all the same.”