Page 38 of The Scot

Chapter 16

Her heart sped up as she stepped into the hall.

He was there.

Sitting exactly where he would be had an impending battle not demanded his attention. Perhaps he was not so much like her father after all.

Terric and Lance stood as they entered the room. The hall seemed to grow quiet, which did nothing to quell Roysa’s growing sense of doom. Nothing good could come of this attraction. Idalia had warned her away, and she would do best to heed her sister’s warning.

And yet . . .

There was no denying she’d decided to wear her favorite lilac gown tonight in the hopes he’d see it. Made of Italian silk, it had been a somewhat extravagant purchase—a gift from her mother for her wedding.

The gown was a single color, from its long split sleeves to the embroidery winding its way from her shoulders down the center of the dress to the low vee that hit below her waist. Cut just above the elbows, the sleeves’ slits allowed for the fabric to hang well below her hands. When lifted, her arms peeked out easily. When lowered, they were completely hidden.

The gown had been meant for her wedding.

Roysa had decided not to wear it the morn of the wedding. It had felt . . . wrong. She hadn’t precisely understood why, but that feeling of wrongness had been strong enough that she’d risked upsetting her mother by changing their plan. Now, with the benefit of hindsight, she understood part of her had, even then, understood the marriage was a mistake.

She’d taken the dress with her to Stokesay, but she’d never worn it.

Until tonight.

“He’s staring,” Idalia whispered.

Roysa did not need to be told. Her eyes had locked with his as soon as she stepped into the room. Looking at him, she could not help but remember the feel of those lips moving against hers, that hand on her flesh. In truth, she hadn’t stopped thinking of either since the night before.

“Lady Roysa. My beautiful wife,” Lance greeted them.

At first, Roysa had thought her sister’s blacksmith a touch too dour, but the man did know how to smile, she’d learned—he just did it so rarely, each smile felt like a gift. He was the husband her sister needed, and she loved him for it.

“Lord Tuleen,” she said with a nod, acknowledging his status as the new lord of Tuleen Castle, even though he and his new wife had not yet taken up residence there.

As she approached the table, she took note of the table setting. Her seat had been moved to Terric’s left, with Lance and Idalia to his right. She wasn’t the only one to notice.

“I would speak to you this eve,” Terric said, watching her. “But if you’d prefer to sit next to Idalia, I understand.”

It was no simple thing, the placement of guests. The most important people in attendance at a meal sat next to the lord. She knew it. Lance and Idalia knew it. Even those seated below them, looking up at the dais, knew it. Their stares were so pointed, she felt them.

Was she reading too much into Terric’s gesture?

Rather than respond to him, she simply moved to the side of the high-backed chair and sat. Terric had waved away the servant who should have assisted her and pushed in her seat himself.

She smiled into the hall, at no one in particular. Just as she’d thought, most everyone was staring. Finally, after what seemed like a very long time indeed, the hundred or so men, some with their wives and others alone, turned back to their first course.

“Surely they think it odd a stranger is seated next to you?”

Roysa looked at him head-on.

And wished she hadn’t.

Terric made no attempt to hide the desire in his eyes. And her body made no attempt to temper its reaction. Warmth flooded her, a joy that extended from her feet up to the very top of her head.

“They know you are the sister of my honored guest.”

“Who should be seated next to that same sister,” she countered.

They stopped conversing when a girl, no more than eight and ten, poured each of them wine from the pitcher that had sat in front of them. When she caught the girl’s eyes, Roysa was surprised to see unhappiness there. Had she offended her in some way?