Page 20 of The Scot

“How very courteous of you.”

“A flagon of wine, if you please,” he said to the maid. She was young, no more than five and ten. Curtseying, the young girl scrambled off.

Roysa caught him staring at her—the kind of penetrating look that made her feel as if she’d peeled off her gown little by little. Ugh. Definitely that kind of man.

“I’ve been somewhat relentless with the men. We’ve agreed to give them an afternoon of rest”—he nodded toward her goblet—“so I may as well do so in truth.”

Their eyes caught.

And much as she wanted to deny it, Roysa’s pulsed quickened.

“Your wine, my lord.”

“Many thanks,” he said as the maid placed both the flagon and an additional goblet on the chess table between them.

So he was courteous to his servants. Walter had been very much the opposite.

“A fine gown,” he said, pouring wine for both of them.

Roysa looked down, her fingertips tracing over the bodice of her kirtle, the lovely cream fabric shot through with gold. She knew what he thought of her. This man considered her fanciful. Vain.

“Stanton is a market town,” Roysa said softly. “The first time I accompanied my parents to market, I had not yet seen ten summers. In my rush to see the very first stall as I dismounted, I fell headfirst into the mud.” She took a sip of wine, remembering the yellow gown that she had completely ruined. “A fabric merchant took pity on me and handed my mother the most beautiful yellow damask. My first market day had ended promptly, my father escorting me back to the castle.”

Roysa sighed. “He can be a difficult man, my father. But I’ve always understood him. He feels the weight of all the people who rely on him for their livelihood. You may be surprised to hear that’s one of my favorite memories from childhood. I will never forget riding back to the castle with the man I so idolized, the beautiful fabric tied to the back of his mount. A powerful border baron, reduced to escorting his daughter in her muddy gown.” She shrugged. “He always seemed more . . . human after that. We turned that damask into my first May Day gown, and I’ve had a weakness for fine gowns ever since.”

Something in his expression had changed. It struck her that he might be thinking of his own father, the one whose roles he now occupied. She knew little about him from Idalia, only that they had been quite close.

“I am sorry about your father,” she said.

“As am I. He was a fine man and chief. Beloved by all.”

“It must be difficult to fill such a role. Or roles. Chief. Earl. How do you do it?”

Refilling his goblet with wine, the chief—and earl—swirled the deep red liquid in his cup.

“It is my life now.”

Roysa turned to the fire crackling beside them. The hall was completely abandoned now—the midday meal had long since ended, but supper was still a ways off. Though the common space was not as large as one would expect in a castle of this size, it was nevertheless comfortable, clean and well maintained with tapestries on every wall. The steward was obviously a capable man.

At Stokesay, the steward, like most of the servants, had been afraid of Walter courtesy of his poor treatment of them. Their work, not surprisingly, had reflected as much.

“And the rebellion.”

Roysa looked up. There it was again, that look of interest. Of possibility. It had been a long while since Roysa had been noticed and admired as a woman. That look forced her to remind herself she was newly widowed.

And that the man sitting across from her was even more handsome than Walter had been. Her reaction, stronger.

“They are one and the same.”

His voice was so deep, so full of resolve. The tone suggested the words were significant to him, although she did not understand how or why.

“How do you mean?” she blurted out.

She almost wished she hadn’t asked. Pain had flickered in his eyes, there and then gone.

“A long story.”

Roysa waved her arms around the hall. “It seems we’ve naught but time today.”

“One you don’t wish to hear.” Lifting his goblet, he offered a toast. “To not murdering each other, Lady Roysa.”

She hesitated then relented. Langham was enough of an enemy—she did not require more. She’d be staying here for a fortnight, at least. Best to make peace when it was offered.

“Roysa,” she replied.

And then he smiled. A slow, lazy, sensual smile that made Roysa wonder if her sister had been right about him all along. Perhaps her view of him had been too narrow. Her father was a difficult man at times too, was he not? She understood his sharp edges had been rendered so by his responsibilities. Could that not be true of Terric as well? And he had two properties to guide and manage, not just one. Besides, she had been a bit awful on that first night.

He continued to smile. Not a complaisant or polite smile, but one that sent a flutter from her stomach to her very core.

“To new beginnings, my lord.”

They both finished their wine, placing the goblets on the table at the same time.

“Terric. My name is Terric.”