Page 1 of The Scot

Chapter 1

Stokesay Castle, Northumbria, 1214

“Your husband is dead.”

That the news made Roysa curious instead of sad said much about her short marriage.

“How?” she asked her brother-in-law, who seemed no more broken up than she felt. Which made her even more curious. Roysa had been married to Walter for less than a year. This man had been his brother for two and thirty years. Surely he should be reacting with something more than a nearly imperceptible lift of his thin brows.

“A hunting accident.”

It seemed those were the only details she would receive.

Lord Langham indicated she should sit. The small wooden chair with its velvet cushion might have been inviting if she were in her parents’ solar back home. But here, like everything about Stokesay Castle, the seat felt stiff and unwelcoming, much like her late husband. And his brother.

Although Roysa would prefer to retire to her chamber, somewhere she could absorb this surprising news and what it might mean for her, she knew she could not yet separate herself from this foul man’s presence. As always, her needs meant little.

“As his widow . . . ,” the brother began.

I am a widow.

Roysa had always been in possession of an active imagination, but this was one role she’d never imagined herself playing.

Walter had sat opposite her in this very chamber, chastising her about her “too lenient” treatment of the servants, mere days ago. And now he was dead. The finality of it was shocking.

“Lady Roysa?”

She snapped back to the present. “He is truly dead?”

Langham did not hide his impatience. “I assure you, the death of my brother is not a matter I’d trifle with, my lady. He is, in fact, deceased.”

Why are you not upset?

Of course she’d not ask such a question, but it sat there on her tongue like a blackthorn berry, bitter and unfit for consumption.

“You will, as is customary,” Langham said, looking at her as if she were the least significant person in the castle, “have forty days to vacate. A dower manor will be arranged.”

Roysa had some idea of where he planned to install her.

“Holton Manor?”

Her guess did not please the new baron, the twitch of his brows reminding her of Walter.

“Indeed.”

“As per the marriage agreement, you will also receive Holton for a term of one hundred years, along with rent collected from its tenants. Over five hundred marks per year.”

Something in his tone gave her pause.

The new baron sounded . . . hopeful. Those were indeed the terms of the marriage agreement, and though she was glad he planned to honor them, she also knew Holton edged the northernmost border of their land. The border was a tumultuous place at the best of times—and this was most certainly not the best of times.

“Is it safe?” she blurted before realizing she should not have done so. How could she expect an honest answer from the man who’d just delivered the news of his brother’s death as if he were discussing the day’s weather? She watched his eyes carefully but could glean nothing from him.

“Of course,” he said, too smoothly. “If you will pardon me, Lady Roysa.”

A dismissal. One she would gladly accept.

Barely conscious of what she was doing, Roysa dragged herself to her bedchamber. Sitting on the bed she’d occupied for the past year, she contemplated what was to come.