The Scot Page 6

  His suggestive tone was not what she’d been expecting.

  “Some would disagree.”

  When he walked toward the chairs arranged in front of the fire, Roysa followed. She sat opposite him, clutching the pewter tankard between both hands. Engraved with roses climbing up from the bottom, it felt as cold as the fire was warm.

  “My father brought them from Scotland.”

  She looked up.

  “He enjoyed having something in nearly every room”—he pointed to the tapestry just behind where she sat—“that reminded him of Scotland.”

  She knew so little of his family.

  “Tell me of him.”

  Even if she hadn’t known his father was no longer with them, Terric’s expression would have given the fact away.

  “There was no man, or woman, alive who could offer a bad word about my father. He loved our family nearly as much as he did our clan.”

  She cocked her head to the side. “Should it not be just the opposite?”

  Terric took a sip of ale. “Not for the chief.”

  “Not for you,” she clarified.

  “Nay.”

  “You never married.” She blurted that without thinking.

  “I did. My wife is back home, waiting patiently for me to return from England.”

  Her mouth dropped. “But . . . you are . . .”

  He was married?

  It took her a moment to realize Terric had been teasing. By then, it was too late. Her reaction had been telling, indeed.

  So was the fact that she’d come here alone.

  “I could not resist.”

  “It was just unexpected. You do not seem the kind of man to tease.”

  She took a sip, a long one, wishing it were wine but glad to have something to do with her hands.

  “What kind of man do you suppose I am, Lady Roysa?”

  His tone did not match his easy smile. Roysa thought carefully before answering.

  “Although you are not quite as serious in disposition as my brother-in-law, I can tell your duty weighs on you. You remind me of my father, who wakes early each morn to serve Stanton and lies down each night wondering what else he might have done. You’re not arrogant, as I first believed, but you are more confident than most. And loyal. I know that from what Idalia told me last eve. Of the order. Of how you met.”

  He simply stared at her, his smile slipping away. She didn’t blame him.

  The story was a brutal one—the kind that forges a bond to last a lifetime. Terric had met Lance and the other members of the order, Conrad and Guy, at the Tournament of the North when they were but boys. They’d come upon his sister, Cait, while she was being attacked by one of the king’s guard. The man had pushed her down onto the riverbank and hiked her gown to her waist. If they’d come along a few moments later, he would have raped her.

  She knew little of the details, but somehow the four young boys had overpowered the king’s guard, a well-trained knight, and killed him in the ensuing scuffle. Fearing retribution, they’d dumped his body in the nearby river, keeping only the hilt of his broken sword as a reminder of the horrific event.

  Hence the Order of the Broken Blade.

  According to Idalia, Conrad was the only one of them to bear a physical scar, on his cheek, but Roysa imagined all of them carried the event with them. Terric and his sister most of all.

  Idalia had also told her that Terric blamed himself for not being able to protect his sister. He’d been the smallest of the four at the time, and he’d been knocked to the ground first.

  And relentless. She thought of Idalia’s story. Relentless in his pursuit to become stronger than any others.

  He was no longer smiling.

  Roysa hadn’t meant to dampen the mood between them, but she was curious about her host, curious also about the event that had brought the four men of the Order of the Broken Blade together.

  “Did you know the others before”—she stumbled on her words—“before it happened?”

  Instead of taking offense to her question, Terric leaned back further in his seat, crossing his legs in front of him. “I knew Conrad, but not well. Cait actually met him first.”

  “Your sister.”

  “Aye, she is just a year older than I am. She was much too young that day.”

  His tone sounded relaxed almost, but his expression was anything but.

  “I do not say this because she is my sister, but a sweeter woman could not be found in Scotland. The opinion is not mine alone—all who have met her think the same. Cait is kind, mayhap too much so.”

  “’Tis possible to be too kind?”

  “Aye.” He did not hesitate. “When the bastard approached her, Cait had an uneasy feeling. She knew it was wrong for her to be there alone, by the riverbank. She’d taken a walk, you see, and ventured too far from the tents. It was her first tournament.”

  The Tournament of the North was also the first one Roysa had attended. She’d found it quite overwhelming, really. It was like the busiest marketplace imaginable stuck in the midst of a battle. The place teemed with activity from sunup to sundown.

  She could imagine easily wanting a moment of respite.

  “Conrad and I went looking for her. Lance and Guy came upon the scene at nearly the same time we did. They were strangers to us, as they were to Cait, but they did not hesitate.” His jaw clenched. “They did not hesitate. The four of us attacked a fully trained knight with the type of vengeance that could only be wrought from boys of ten and four knowing they are severely disadvantaged.”

  Terric stood abruptly. He took his time filling his tankard, and she felt sure he was seeking a respite from the horrible memory. When he sat back down, his hands no longer clenched the poor tankard as if he were attempting to choke the life out of it.

  She attempted to shift the tone of their discussion.

  “What kind of woman do you suppose I am?” she asked, mimicking his earlier words.

  It worked. Terric’s slow smile did something to her insides. But he was no longer angry, at least.

  “When I first met you, I thought you the worst sort of woman, if I am speaking truly.”

  Though she’d sensed as much, his words still stung.

  “The kind of woman who cares about her appearance, but not to impress others, as I first believed. In truth, I loved such a woman, who later became enamored with my brother when she realized it was possible he would someday be chief.”

  The fleeting stab of pain at Terric’s admission he had loved a woman scared her.

  “Become chief? ’Tis such a thing possible?”

  And why? Though she kept that question to herself.

  “It seems unlikely at the moment, but if he matures,” Terric shrugged. “In order to properly care for our clan, and the people of Dromsley . . .” He stopped. “But we were speaking of you.”

  Terric leaned forward, “And why you sought to impress your father.”

  She sucked in a breath.

  “At least, ’tis why, I believe, you concerned yourself with your looks at first. Now it has become a habit. You play the role of a dutiful daughter, the sort of woman who will one day manage a castle of her own, and you do it quite capably.”

  His words were painfully accurate, so much so Roysa suddenly regretted asking the question.

  “You are also devoted to your family. A quality I can admire. You are fierce and self-contained and have no need to seek the opinion of those around you.”

  Roysa tried not to let him see how the words affected her.

  “You are the sort who is so beautiful others almost fear speaking to her.”

  He believes me beautiful.

  She hid her embarrassment at the compliment behind the tankard, sipping slowly and trying to untangle his words.

  “Have I missed the mark, my lady?”

  When he stood, Roysa thought she might faint. She’d never done so before in her life, and this would be a poor time to start. The fire she’d thought made the
chamber quite comfortable now seemed stifling.

  Too soon, he stood at the foot of her seat. And held out his hand.

  Chapter 13

  Terric had made many bad decisions in his life.

  Allowing Rory too much control as his second before he was ready.

  Not moving against King John sooner.

  But this? Kissing the sister of his friend? It was a poor idea, indeed, and Terric knew it down to his bones. He’d known it before he’d invited her inside.

  But he extended his hand anyway, merely because he wanted to. He wanted her.

  She looked at it a moment, Roysa’s expressive eyes not failing her now. Despite all the reasons she shouldn’t take it, she clearly wanted to.

  And so she did.

  Her hand felt so small and soft in his much larger palm. A perfect fit, really.

  He took the tankard from her other hand and leaned down to place it on a nearby table. He’d never admit it, of course, but he was nervous. It had been some time since he’d kissed a woman.

  Unlike his brother, Terric did not dally with the servants. Since coming to England, he had been focused on their cause and not much else.

  And Roysa was no ordinary woman.

  Releasing her hand, Terric slid his hands up either side of her neck, his fingers quickly becoming entangled in hair so soft he groaned before thinking better of it. He considered warning her of the dangers of what they were about to do, but it was clear she already knew.

  They were two unmarried adults who desired each other, and nothing else much mattered at the moment. When he leaned forward, their lips finally touching, Terric tightened his grip on her head, pulling her even closer.

  When she opened her mouth for him, Terric took full advantage. He moved much more quickly than intended, his tongue finding hers and tangling with it as if they had done this before. He kissed her as if he’d wanted to do it from the moment they’d met. And perhaps he had.

  When her arms moved to his back, Terric finally acknowledged to himself that the simple kiss had become anything but.

  He tore his mouth from hers, knowing two things.

  That kiss could make him forget all else that was important to him.

  And he did not care.

  “You’ve not kissed that way before?”

  She’d known to open for him, but from there it had been as hesitant as a virgin’s kiss.

  “Nay.”

  They were close enough for Terric to smell the combination of ale and mint on her breath. Too close for them to carry on a conversation without him succumbing to temptation. He moved back slightly but kept his hands locked around her head, unwilling for her to move too far from him.

  “How is that possible?”

  She had the fullest lips he’d ever seen. Lips made to be kissed.

  “My husband was . . .” She blinked.

  “He kissed you, surely.”

  Roysa nodded. “But not in that way, precisely.”

  He could see she was embarrassed, but Terric wanted to understand.

  “Did he abuse you, Roysa?”

  Please do not say aye.

  “He did not abuse me. But neither did he kiss me that way. As if . . . as if he cared for my pleasure.”

  Terric understood, although he would have gladly pummeled Stokesay, were he not dead. The man had been a blind fool.

  “I do not mean for you to be embarrassed.”

  “I am not,” she lied.

  “Aye,” he disagreed. “You are, but should not be. There is nothing more natural than this.” He pulled her back toward him. “You say he did not care for your pleasure when he kissed you . . .”

  “Or at any time. He came to me rarely and always after drinking heavily.”

  To beget an heir.

  Not unusual in an arranged marriage, but very much so when the woman looked like Roysa. Even now the thought of his hands on her bare skin was enough to make Terric forget they were preparing for a possible battle. A fight for his home, for his life . . . for vengeance.

  “Enough talk of him,” he whispered, lowering his head again. “I will do what he did not. I will show you pleasure, Roysa.”

  He kissed just under her ear, holding her hair back and taking advantage of the long swathe of neck he’d revealed.

  “Starting here.”

  This time, he used his tongue. Little by little, he teased his way from her neck toward her cheek. When he’d just reached her lips, he stopped. Heart racing, cock pulsing, he did nothing. When she opened her mouth, presumably to ask why he had stopped, Terric held nothing back.

  He kissed her, hard.

  Tilting her head with his hands, Terric showed Roysa everything a kiss could and should be. This was no gentle lesson. He wondered if she could feel the evidence of his need pressed against her. It would be such a simple thing to part the heavy material of her robe, let it fall to the ground between them and continue his exploration of her luscious body.

  Especially when she made that sound. It was his undoing.

  But through the haze of lust, Terric felt the certainty it would lead to more than a few simple touches. Still, he could not help but reach inside her robe to find a perfectly shaped breast. He lifted it, rubbed his thumb across her nipple, and nearly came in his trewes when he found it already hard, as if awaiting his touch.

  Congratulating himself for being an even better man than he’d thought his parents had raised, Terric stopped. He stepped away.

  His hands felt empty, as they did every time he handed his sword off to a squire. As if a part of him were missing.

  “I did not intend to do that—” He stopped, recognizing the lie, and told her an unshakable truth. “That was going to lead down a path neither of us is ready for.”

  He dared her to disagree. And was disappointed when she didn’t.

  “Aye. ’Tis unseemly for me, so recently widowed.”

  Terric had not meant that at all. “Nay, Roysa. Being widowed by a man like that is a blessing, not a cause for mourning.”

  But she felt guilty even so. He saw it on her face.

  “I only meant”—he frowned—“I would very much enjoy showing you all of the pleasures of the flesh. Not just the ones that come from kissing.”

  Endearingly, she blushed at the word.

  He would incite that blush for a more tantalizing reason next time.

  There should not be a next time, you fool.

  “And it might be hard to explain to Idalia and Lance why we should find ourselves alone, unchaperoned, in my bedchamber.”

  She did not flinch. “Is such an explanation necessary?”

  Oh God, no. Do not, Roysa. I am not strong enough.

  “I am no virgin.”

  “And I am no saint. But you do not understand.”

  Roysa’s chest rose and fell, the tantalizing sight calling to him like a siren’s song.

  “I believe I do. You are not prepared to take a wife.”

  He winced. “My duty is to my family. To my clan. The people of Dromsley. And to the order.”

  She frowned. “And to England, no? Is that not the battle cry of the order? To save your country from a tyrant’s rule?”

  Terric shook his head. “Nay. It is Conrad’s goal. One that’s shared by Lance and Guy, and all the men who signed their names to the document that declared them traitors.”

  “But not yours?”

  Terric was, if anything, aware of his flaws. And this was certainly the biggest of them all.

  “Nay, not mine. My only other duty is to vengeance.”

  He silently thanked her for the reminder.

  “Which is why this”—he motioned between them—“cannot be.”

  Chapter 14

  “Tell me,” Idalia insisted.

  Roysa and her sister watched from the parapets as preparations were made. Just a few days earlier, there had been little activity in either the inner or outer ward. Getting from one place to another had been a chore due to the snow.
<
br />   That had changed. The men were moving with purpose; she and her sister were the sole exceptions. Both of them had wanted a bit of air, despite the cold, although Roysa now regretted that she’d come out here with Idalia. It made her sister’s questions more difficult to escape. She’d begun her inquiries earlier, at breakfast, and hadn’t stopped.

  “There is naught to tell. I am tired. Worried, of course. The reason should be evident.”

  They had a clear view of the training yard.

  “You are not yourself.”

  Nay, she was not.

  Roysa looked at her sister, head hooded, cheeks pinkened with the cold. She looked younger than normal. As if they were girls still. If only the problems that had seemed so monumental to them then—getting out of lessons early and being shooed away from the kitchens by their mother—were their only worries now.

  “He kissed me,” she blurted.

  Idalia clearly did not understand. “He . . .”

  She waited for Idalia to realize who she spoke of, and it struck her that her sister did not look well pleased. Well, that made two of them. Roysa was not very pleased with herself either.

  “I did not realize . . . well, of course Terric is a very handsome man. And you sat together in the hall for quite a while the other day. But . . .”

  Roysa had to laugh at Idalia’s expression. She looked . . . scandalized.

  “I know,” she conceded. “I am so recently widowed—”

  “By a man who had sexual relations with his sister-in-law? Who was very likely murdered by his own brother? Do you really believe you should be mourning such a man?”

  Nay, Roysa did not. “Then why are you so displeased?”

  Idalia did not attempt to deny it. Instead, she said, “I’ve gotten to know Terric quite well over the last several months.”

  The idea that Idalia might tell her something terrible about Terric . . .

  Please do not.

  He’d told her they could not be, which she understood, but she could not shake the lure of what he’d said before that, about showing her pleasure. She’d thought of that all night long, tossing and turning as she did so.

  She wanted to know such pleasure.

  “He is a hard man,” Idalia said at last.