Page 43 of The Scot

Chapter 18

Though Terric had not wanted to leave the dinner table, he’d noticed his retainers were getting restless. They would stay as long as he did, and so he officially ended the meal and excused himself.

He took a moment to speak to Gilbert, his marshal, and a few of the men, but his gaze continued to stray to Roysa, who sat with Idalia and Lance in the same corner of the hall where he and Roysa had sat on that snowy afternoon, drinking more than they should, learning neither of them fit the other’s initial expectations.

He had thought her beautiful then, but tonight, in that lilac gown, laughing with him as if they had known each other for years . . .

Well, he found himself thinking of Guy, the friend who’d vowed never to marry. Guy had done things the wrong way around, of course—he’d married Sabine to save her from her unscrupulous guardian, and to keep her from divulging his secrets, and the two had fallen in love as an unintended consequence of their marriage.

He’d asked Guy, of course, how such a thing had happened. His response had been to clap Terric on the back and say, “I fell in love.”

A simple answer—too simple, indeed, given Terric himself had been in love before. Or had, at least, believed himself to be.

His sister had, in fact, warned him against the laird’s daughter. Despite it, he opened himself to her. To Isobel’s sweet words and stolen kisses. It was only when Cait very deliberately told her of the possibility of Rory someday becoming chief that he’d learned the truth. She loved the thought of being the chief’s wife.

But not him.

He wanted to love his wife in the way Guy loved Sabine, and Lance loved Idalia. Something else had struck him tonight, looking at Lance and Idalia together. His friends’ wives were a part of the order. While Sabine was an actual member, who bore the same mark they all did, Idalia was an honorary one. He could marry.

He was not ready yet, but neither was Roysa, just recently widowed.

However . . .

“Lady Roysa,” he said, approaching his friends from behind. He did not wish to sit with them. What he had to say was for her ears alone.

When she spun in her seat, looking up at him, a prickle ran through his shoulders and arms. Terric focused on the single purple jewel that hung from her forehead, a favored headpiece he’d once thought pretentious but now adored. It gleamed up at him, as did Roysa, her eyes bright and welcoming.

“A word?”

She did not hesitate.

Gathering fistfuls of her gown, Roysa stood and smoothed out the soft purple fabric.

Terric avoided looking at Lance and Idalia, knowing both of them were staring at him. They likely misunderstood his intentions. Of course, he’d not blame either of them. His intentions had not been honorable when she’d stumbled into his bedchamber the previous night. Even now, as she took the arm he offered, Terric was tempted to guide her back there to finish what they had started.

What he had ended.

“There is an alcove . . .” He pointed through the hall with his free hand.

“I worried for a moment you meant to abscond with me back to your chamber.”

“The idea worries you?”

Terric could not remember ever having felt such contentment as he did with Roysa on his arm. And on the precipice of a battle his own marshal and captain likely doubted he could win.

“Nay,” she admitted. “It does not.”

Grabbing a standing candle just before they stepped out of the hall, Terric guided her toward the most private place he could think of that was not his bedchamber. Or his solar. Both were too private, and Terric didn’t trust himself.

Nodding to a watchman who passed them on the way to his station, Terric led Roysa toward their destination.

“This way.”

Reluctantly, he released her arm and stepped in front of her. The stairwell was dimly lit, and she’d need his light to guide them.

“I’ve not been in this section of the castle before.”

“Chapel Tower,” he said, arriving on the first floor.