Page 19 of The Scot

“For its remoteness, Dromsley has done well,” she continued.

“I graciously accept the compliment.”

The voice belonged to her host. She would have known he was coming had Idalia reacted in any way to his approach, but her sister had not. No doubt she’d controlled her expression, knowing Roysa was likely to make her excuses rather than speak with the chief.

She would not know Roysa may have softened toward him. Acknowledging he made her breath quicken did not mean she would be forced to consider him as anyone other than the dear friend of her brother-in-law.

Without turning, she mumbled, “Chief.”

“You may call me by my given name,” he said, not for the first time.

“Very well, my lord.”

Why did she continue to goad him?

He pulled up a wooden chair between them as if they were old friends. He did not sit in it, however, but stood behind it, laying his arms across the back.

“Is she always as such?” he asked Idalia.

He knew well she was not. Roysa had been extremely courteous when he’d shared his story earlier that day.

Her sister looked back and forth between the two of them. “Nay. I do not know what’s come over her.”

“The object of your conjecture is sitting betwixt you,” she reminded them.

It struck her that the chief was freshly dressed. She noticed other things as well but did not wish to dwell on them.

“Has your afternoon training session ended so soon?” Idalia asked.

This time, the voice from behind her was a welcome one. “Terric finally relented for the day when the snow began to fall in earnest,” Lance said.

When he came into view, he leaned down to capture Idalia’s hand, which rested on the carved handle of her chair. The little signs of affection between them were still sweet to behold, but Roysa worried for her sister. Part of her wished she’d fallen in love with a less dangerous man. Or that they were both spinsters back in Stanton.

“You’ve finished with your game?” Lance looked at the board. “Well done, Roysa.”

She smiled at her brother-in-law. “Thank you. Do you play?”

“I do and will challenge you to a match, perhaps this evening.” He gently lifted Idalia’s hand from the arm of the chair. “At the moment I plan to abscond with my wife.” He stopped short of saying where they would abscond to, but Roysa had a feeling she already knew.

Idalia grinned, making Roysa suddenly feel like the younger sister. So she truly found pleasure in the act? For there was no mistaking Lance’s intent.

“If you will pardon us?”

Roysa stared after them, unable to become accustomed to the idea. Her sister . . . her younger sister . . . was a wife in truth.

Startled from her reverie by the sound of the chief’s chair scraping against the floor despite a layer of rushes, she asked, “I don’t believe I invited you to sit, chief.”

That she continued to push him away was no longer out of desire to do so, but necessity.

“I don’t believe I need permission to sit in my own hall. And here, in England, it is lord.” He grinned. “Or Terric, if it pleases you.”

Roysa’s eyes narrowed. “Why are you being so polite?”

“I am always polite.” He waved his hand to summon the maid. “To women.”

So he was one of those men. Very much like Walter, as she suspected. Her husband’s roving eye manifested very shortly after their exchange of vows.

This man’s looks and status would likely have ladies similarly scrambling to make a match with him. It was surprising he wasn’t already married.