Page 23 of The Scot

Roysa clutched both sides of her head, turning toward the sound. She opened her eyes, groaning.

“’Tis as I thought,” Idalia said with a small smile. “Sit up.”

Though she complied, Roysa could not help but give her sister the look Idalia had always called the Scaring Stare. When they were younger, this very stare would have sent Idalia running for their mother to complain about her cruelty. In truth, Roysa knew she’d been unkind to her younger sisters on occasion, something she hadn’t realized until after she’d left home. She’d missed them so fiercely, it had made her feel empty inside.

Her admiration for her father had been such that she’d occasionally tried to emulate him as a child—to make her sisters fall into line as if they were her servants. It hadn’t taken long for her to learn that his way was not hers. Although he did quite a good job of terrifying others into submission, she had no wish to do the same.

“Do not look at me that way. I have something for you. Something that will make you feel better.”

Idalia handed her a silver cup. She sniffed it and smiled at the familiar smell. Their mother had suffered terrible head pains for years, so she and her family had had occasion to learn the various methods used to relieve such discomfort.

“I smell willow bark.” She took a sip, savoring it, then asked, “How did you guess?”

Idalia propped up a pillow behind her head.

“The first day you met Walter . . .”

Roysa took another sip, praying reverently the remedy would work.

“I was so nervous,” she offered, finishing Idalia’s sentence. “Mother did warn me about consuming too much wine, but I didn’t heed her.”

“And you woke up the next morning feeling much the same as you likely do just now.”

Her head hurt too much for her to nod. “Aye.”

“But you did not care, if you’ll remember.”

“Because I was in love.” She said it softly, almost wistfully.

How lovely it had all seemed. Now, of course, she understood that a person could not fall in love after one meeting. But Walter had been handsome in a very proper sort of way. He’d been charming too, when it suited him, and she’d let her fancies carry her away. They would have a passionate relationship, she’d told herself, one so much deeper than the quiet, loving companionship shared by her own parents.

If only she’d known. That kind of companionship would have been a blessing.

“Or believed it was so,” she clarified.

Idalia got up to stoke the fire, much as she had the previous morning. It was a strange sort of comfort, having her younger sister care for her instead of the reverse.

“You’ve told me little about what happened, Roysa,” Idalia said so quietly Roysa barely heard her from across the chamber.

It was said gently, not a rebuke but an invitation to speak. Idalia wanted to know her story, but she wouldn’t press her. And Roysa did not feel inclined to share her burden. Besides, there was nothing extraordinary to tell. The truth was simple enough: the charming suitor she and her parents had met did not really exist. Walter had been a man who cared only for his own selfish desires. His own people had barely mattered to him. She’d not been at Stokesay Castle for long before Roysa realized she had more friends there than he did.

He had not struck her, a fact one of the maids had said she should be grateful for. And she supposed it was true. Still, it seemed such an odd thing, to go from believing you loved your husband to praying he would not visit you at night, all in less than a sennight.

As the pounding in her head began to abate, if only slightly, her stomach reminded her she’d not eaten since yesterday’s midday meal.

“I would dearly love to break my fast.”

Idalia opened the trunk at the foot of her bed. She’d taken little from the castle, for Langham had not allowed them to take a packhorse. “Will this do?”

“Aye,” she said. The yellow kirtle a simple one, more akin to Idalia’s typical style than hers. “What happened yesterday?”

She got up from the bed slowly, and Idalia helped her dress. Growing up, they’d often assisted each other in lieu of a maid. A practice heartily frowned upon by their very proper mother.

“After you found your bedchamber and fell upon your bed, fully clothed?” Idalia asked. Her smile indicated she was holding back laughter.

“Nay,” she argued, turning for her sister to tie the side of her kirtle. “After I stumbled into my room after being thoroughly dismissed by Terric, I fancied a bit of rest. I only lay down for a moment.”

She did not elaborate on her feelings about his dismissal.

Idalia snorted. “A moment. Do you remember me helping you out of your gown?”

She declined to answer.

“Much has happened since then, but perhaps you should eat before we discuss it.”

Roysa did not like her sister’s tone. The humor had all leaked out of her voice. Something was seriously amiss. She spun around as soon as Idalia finished tying the fabric of her gown.

“Talk about what?”

Finished, Idalia stood back, averting her eyes. Aye, something was definitely wrong.

“Battle. Dromsley is preparing for battle.”