The Scot Page 9

  “When we are able to steal a few moments, like this one . . .”

  Terric decided at that moment that the scent of orange blossoms was his new favorite, replacing that of freshly cut leather. He breathed it in, pushed out thoughts of the following morning’s war council, and forged ahead.

  “Roysa,” he started anew. “I have a question to ask.”

  Chapter 19

  This was a side of Terric Kennaugh she had not seen before.

  Granted, she’d only known the man a few days. And in that time she had despised him, gotten drunk with him, kissed him, and shared more of her life than she’d planned. All of those encounters had been quite different from one another, but they shared one common theme—Terric was a man who did not waver. All he did, he did with conviction, with the confidence of a man accustomed to leading.

  But as he cradled her hand, looking her in the eye, he seemed less like the man who was a leader in two countries. At this moment, he was simply a man holding her hand. A man who appeared almost nervous, which Roysa had not thought possible.

  “A question?” she repeated, attempting to imagine what that question could be. Would he ask her to leave ahead of the battle? After all, she had no real place here. Surely Dromsley was nearly as unsafe for her as Stokesay Castle, if battle was indeed imminent. Well, she’d not do it. Roysa refused to leave while Idalia was still here. So her answer would be a firm no.

  “Will you give me permission to court you?”

  Shock flooded her. Surely he had not asked . . .

  “Last eve,” she managed to get out, “you said—”

  “I was wrong.”

  Had she really thought Terric like her father? Her father had never, to her knowledge, admitted to being wrong about anything. Nor could Roysa imagine him doing so.

  Nay, Terric might be every bit as much a natural leader as her father, but he was a different man. Very different.

  And he wants to court me.

  “I . . .”

  What could she say?

  “I am recently widowed.”

  “But you are not in mourning.”

  Nay, she was not. Indeed, the brother-in-law of the man she’d married could very well be planning to attack Dromsley. None here would condemn her.

  “Your mission.”

  “Will not be compromised. I’m asking merely that we learn more of each other, properly. I would not dishonor your sister and Lance by dallying with you, but neither am I willing to avoid your company either.”

  She was free to make her own decisions now, even if her father or others might not approve of them. Her father had often spoken of the decisions he was called upon to make as a baron. To decide, he’d told her, was to commit oneself to something fully . . . and hadn’t she already done so?

  Terric had stolen her every waking, and nonwaking, thought. Kissing him again, taking the pleasure he’d promised . . .

  And yet, she had been wrong before. Not that she believed her sister’s husband would befriend one so dishonorable as Walter.

  But he asked to court her. Not marry her.

  There was but one answer.

  “Aye.”

  Terric tightened his grip on her hand.

  “But you understand what that means . . . ,” she said, her voice trailing off.

  “I did not ask for permission to undress you. To slide my hand”—he moved so close to her they touched, the warmth of his flesh searing her despite the layers of cloth separating them—“between your legs and make you come apart with my fingers.”

  Terric released her hand, reaching up to cup her cheek instead.

  “Or to watch your naked body writhe with need beneath me as I give you the very thing I so dearly desire. To be inside you. To love you so thoroughly neither of us is able to stand upright for a full day.”

  He moved his thumb to her lower lip.

  “I could have asked for that.”

  Tugging on it lightly, he opened her mouth.

  “I could have begged for you to join me this eve in my bedchamber, promising pleasures our bodies were designed to create.”

  He was relentless. And she wanted more.

  “I could have asked for you to touch my thumb with your tongue.” She did it the moment the words left his mouth, tasting the salt remaining there from their meal. “For you to wrap your luscious lips around it . . .”

  Again, she complied.

  “And suck.”

  Was she really doing such a thing? And did it really give him as much pleasure as it did her? Apparently so. Terric closed his eyes for a brief moment, and when he opened them, Roysa stopped.

  Her heart hammered at his expression. Such longing . . . and for her. So different from the lust in the eyes of the men who had come to Stanton to court her. A warmth in Terric’s made her glad for his question, and assured of her answer.

  “But you did not,” she managed as his hand moved from her cheek to behind her neck.

  “Nay,” he admitted. “I did not.”

  Terric looked into her eyes.

  “I asked for permission to court you. And now that you have given it, I believe I will start now.”

  He pulled her close, kissing her just as he’d done the night before. But this time she knew how to meet his slanted lips, his insistent tongue. She kissed him back, her fingers weaving through his shoulder-length hair.

  It did not last long enough. When he pulled away, she was fairly panting, her chest heaving up and down.

  Roysa wanted more.

  “We will do it the right way, out of respect for your sister and Lance.”

  The right way. Which meant . . .

  “But you kissed me,” she said, her voice much more petulant than she would have liked. To court her properly, there would be no more of that for now. But forging a marriage was the reason for courting, was it not?

  And she had said yes. She had just agreed to potentially marry, sometime in the future, a man she hardly knew. Hadn’t she made this mistake with Walter? She’d rushed into marriage with him, only to learn he was a very different man than she’d thought. And yet, she didn’t regret her decision at all.

  “A minor indiscretion. But I agree, kissing, as you just saw, is much too dangerous.” He smiled. “If we are to do this as we ought to.”

  Roysa changed her mind. Her first instinct had been correct.

  This man was quite unkind.

  Chapter 20

  “You asked her . . . can you repeat that?”

  It was the first time Terric had smiled all day. There was little to be joyful about when planning a defense against a force that might be, by their reckoning, nearly twice as large as theirs. The other men had left the solar for the evening, dismissed by Terric, but he’d asked Lance to stay back.

  “I asked for Roysa’s permission to court her.”

  “Court? As in for consideration of marriage?”

  The jest among the four men of the order was that Lance was as even-tempered as Conrad was mercurial. Lance very rarely raised his voice, and Terric took some pleasure in the fact that he’d inspired him to do so.

  “Have you ever courted a woman with the intent for anything but?”

  Lance poured himself the first ale of the day. The pitcher had been delivered to them earlier by the same maid who kept appearing, it seemed, everywhere Terric went.

  “I’ve never courted a woman,” Lance said, “and you know as much.” Giving Terric his back, he meandered toward the enormous hearth.

  This had always been Terric’s favorite chamber at Dromsley. It reminded him of the lord’s chamber at Bradon Moor. Large but not obscenely so. Well appointed, though simple.

  “Aye, thank you,” Terric quipped. “I would gladly accept an ale.”

  Lance looked over his shoulder. “I was distracted,” he said, by way of an explanation.

  Terric stood and made his way to the bright red table built into the wall. He grabbed the pitcher, poured, and waited for his friend to speak.


  “She is . . . ,” Lance began.

  Sitting back down, Terric watched Lance as he became accustomed to the idea.

  “You told me once—not long ago, if I recall—that you’d not have peace until your mother and sister were avenged.”

  “Aye.”

  Lance came back from the hearth, sitting across from him. “You know, we always wondered at the fact that you were so much bigger and stronger at each of the tournaments.”

  “As we all were.”

  “True. But you were, are, different.”

  “I am the only one with Scots blood,” he said with a grin. “And therefore, the only true man among us.”

  Lance made a face.

  “You trained harder. Longer. That summer was the last one any of us saw that boy with arms and legs the size of his sword.”

  The reminder was a sharp one. He’d been too small to help Cait, too weak. If the other boys hadn’t been there, the outcome would have been quite different.

  “Thankfully,” he said, his tone a bit hard. “But I don’t understand what this has to do with Roysa.”

  “It’s true, I was not looking for love when I met Idalia.”

  “I should think not. You could have devastated our mission by seducing Stanton’s daughter.”

  Lance ignored him.

  “I don’t believe Guy was looking for love either.”

  Snorting, Terric declined to respond. Instead, he said, “I did not say I’m in love with Lady Roysa.”

  “Only that you wish to court her?”

  “Aye.”

  “With the intent to possibly marry her?”

  “Perhaps.”

  “But you do not love her.”

  He did not answer. Terric had loved once and was unsure if he could say the word aloud again. But he had been very wrong about Roysa, so wrong that the thought of never seeing her again prompted this decision.

  “You’ve not spoken to her father.”

  Terric tapped his toe, waiting for Lance to finish his barrage of questions.

  “You’ve had only one mistress in all the years I’ve known you,” Lance said, leaning forward with his mug braced between his knees. “She is a fiery one, capable of helping you achieve great things. Of becoming the warrior you are today. Of making decisions bolder than most. But”—his eyes darkened—“she is trouble too. Even if you decide you no longer want or need her, she sometimes refuses to leave. Even after you think you’ve satisfied her. Because she’s become accustomed to your presence, as you have to hers.”

  “Just state your meaning, Lance.”

  “Her name, as you know well, is revenge. A rotten witch who will gladly curse you if you let her.”

  Terric had heard this speech before.

  Many, many times.

  From all of them. Lance. Conrad. Even Guy.

  They believed his hatred of King Henry ran so deep that nothing would ever please him but John’s complete demise. Conrad had pulled him aside at the last Tournament of the North, when they’d first formed the order. He’d feared Terric would not be content to tame the king, their ultimate goal.

  He had assured Conrad that while it was true he’d dearly love to see the monarch’s head on a pike, he did not wish to end up with his own stuck next to him. Aye, he would be content to see King John’s power diluted. To see the barons take back some control. To see him answer for his family’s evils.

  “She has been a constant companion,” he agreed. “But again, I thought we spoke of Roysa?”

  The look Lance gave him indicated he thought Terric a child who had not yet grasped the ways of the world. The way he often looked at his brother.

  “I can see you like her.”

  “There’s much to like.”

  “Desire her.”

  He did not deny it. How could he?

  “But would you really marry her, if the courtship was amicable?”

  “I would not disrespect you, or Idalia, by dallying with her sister.”

  “You are an honorable man, Terric. The most honorable among us.” He sat up straighter in his chair. “But is there room for love in your heart when your other mistress is so demanding of your attention?”

  “After this battle—”

  “There will be more. Even if he doesn’t attack, even if he does as we’ve asked, he will never, ever let us rest. We are the men who brought him to heel. How do you suppose he will treat us, his disloyal subjects?”

  Terric knew his friend was right. If they were successful, they would feel the bite of wrath as long as John was their king.

  Lance downed the remainder of his ale, saying nothing.

  “I can have both.”

  Lance shrugged. “Aye, a man can have a wife, and a mistress. But does it make for a happy marriage?”

  “It seems we may find out.”

  Chapter 21

  “Do you find it odd the meal is being presided by two strangers to Dromsley?” Roysa asked her sister.

  They sat at the head table in the hall, alone, as they had the day before.

  Idalia looked down at the empty trestle table closest to them. Normally Dromsley’s marshal, captain, and chamberlain all sat there. But not today.

  “A bit. But there are plenty of other odd things about our situation, I suppose.”

  Roysa tore off a piece of bread. “Would it not have been safer if you and Lance had gone to Tuleen?”

  They’d not spoken of Terric since yesterday, when Roysa told her everything. Idalia had been both surprised and pleased. Or so it had seemed at the time. Since their discussion, her sister had not broached the topic again, and Roysa had followed her lead.

  “Dromsley is better fortified than Tuleen, or even Stanton Castle. Lance, the order . . . they will be the first on John’s list of traitors to attack, if he were so inclined.”

  “As he seems to be.”

  Idalia sighed. “Aye. We had hoped he intended to keep the meeting. But I suppose a meeting is in itself a concession.”

  “Which the king does not readily give. Concessions, that is.” Roysa ate the freshly baked bread even though she was no longer hungry.

  “Nay.”

  Her sister was worried. And though Roysa felt the same way, it was time for her to be the older sister once again. Although Idalia had grown up quite a bit, she was still her younger sister.

  “I believe in him. In them.”

  Idalia did not appear convinced. “We have no notion of exactly who might be moving against Dromsley. Ulster? Langham? What of the rest of the king’s supporters?”

  “John has few friends here in the north.”

  “Aye, but enough to take Dromsley Castle.”

  “You said it was better fortified than even Stanton, which it appears to be.”

  Idalia took a sip of wine. “Aye, but Terric is not preparing for a siege. He and the others are planning a battle.”

  “They are preparing for both. No?”

  “I suppose so.” But her tone was doubtful.

  She could resist no longer. “Did Lance tell you much when he came to bed last eve?”

  Roysa had not seen Terric since their discussion. He’d been locked in his solar with the others all day today and yesterday, and had not taken any of his meals in the great hall. She’d thought he might come to her. But she supposed that would go against the vow he’d made. To court rather than seduce her.

  “I was sleeping when he came in. And apparently when he left as well. I’ve no memory of him in our bed last eve.”

  Roysa could not resist giving her a teasing grin. Idalia lowered her head.

  “My sister, blushing? Could it be?”

  “I am not.” Idalia turned to her. “You are incorrigible.”

  And because it was true—she was feeling rather incorrigible—she said, “Tell me. Tell me what it is like.”

  Idalia looked about, as if she feared they’d be overheard by the few retainers who still remained in the hall, and hastened her over to the firepla
ce in the corner of the hall.

  “Are you asking that I tell you”—Idalia lowered her voice as she adjusted her simple kirtle beneath her—“what it is like? Did you not . . . did you and Walter not . . .”

  Roysa took pity on her.

  “We did. But it was about as enjoyable as turning meat over an open fire all day.”

  Idalia rolled her eyes. “You are no spit boy, Roysa. Have you ever turned meat even one day in your life?”

  “Nay. But I’ve seen it done.”

  “’Tis not the same at all.”

  “You deliberately refuse to answer my question.”

  Idalia crossed her arms. “’Tis wondrous. If he takes care to give you pleasure, there is no feeling like it. Are you satisfied?”

  Nay, more like frustrated.

  “Will it be like that for me?”

  She paused as a servant walked behind them, the girl who always seemed so taken with Terric.

  “For Terric and me?” she whispered, watching as the girl walked past them.

  “Do you truly wish to marry Terric?”

  “Courtship—”

  “Often leads to marriage. You told me just a few days ago that you had no interest in remarrying, did you not?”

  She hated the reminder. Marriage, as she had known it, felt like a prison, but she also did not fancy becoming the man’s mistress. Or walking away from him.

  “I like him,” she said lamely.

  “You desire him,” Idalia argued.

  “There is more to recommend Terric Kennaugh than his looks.” She thought of his broad shoulders and thick arms. “Or his finely honed body.”

  “I agree. There is much, much more. He truly is like a brother to Lance, and Lance has few true friends.”

  Despite her new vow to live her life as she saw fit—and not to care so much about others’ impressions—Roysa was glad that her sister and brother-in-law liked Terric so much. He and Lance would actually become brothers in truth if the courtship did, in fact, lead to marriage. Had they realized the fact yet?

  But she also understood her sister’s concern. Not so very long ago, she’d thought she disliked Terric, and now she was contemplating doing the one thing she’d sworn never to do again.