Page 44 of The Scot

“A peculiar name as the chapel is not located here.”

Terric could see their destination from the entryway. A window seat in the largest alcove in the castle. He suspected it had been built for the clergy who’d resided at Dromsley at the time.

“Oh my!”

Terric had been waiting for her reaction. A window such as this was so rare that Terric had never seen its like anywhere but Dromsley.

“This must have cost a fortune. I’ve never seen so much glass in one place before. I can see straight through it into the inner ward.”

Placing the candle on the floor, Terric gestured for Roysa to sit on the velvet cushioned seat and settled down beside her. Through the X pattern in the glass, Roysa watched as the snow fell, once again, just outside. A nearly full moon provided enough light for them to see beyond the window, but not much farther.

“And it’s warm,” she said softly, looking at him in wonder.

Terric would have brought her here earlier had he realized she would have such a reaction.

“Do you see those gaps”—he pointed to the ground beneath them—“just there?”

“Aye,” she said, lifting her eyes to see the barely visible gaps.

“Built there intentionally along this entire wall. We’re just above the only fireplace bigger than the one in the lord’s chamber.”

“Bigger than . . . oh. The kitchen?”

Terric did not want to talk about castle design. He wished to ask her a question that had been burning in his mind half the evening.

Roysa shifted, adjusting her gown. Terric wanted to scoop her up and carry her back to his bedchamber, but instead he gathered himself and said, “I will see little of you these next few days.”

She turned toward the courtyard, and just then, he could imagine having her painted. The look of wonder in her eyes, the way she was sitting so prettily on the bench, her gown impeccable. He faltered. Roysa could have any man she desired. And though she’d sent a message ahead to Stanton, she had not yet spoken to her parents about all that had happened.

Very likely, Lord Stanton would already have a suitor in mind. Of course, it would be Roysa’s right as a widow to accept or reject his suggestion.

Roysa waited for him to continue.

“The upcoming battle, if it indeed comes to pass, will be hard-won.”

“But not impossible?”

“Nay. Not impossible.”

The last time Terric had been this nervous, he’d been facing down a rival clan, hoping he could avoid a pike in his gut.

He could not resist any longer. Terric reached out and took Roysa’s hand. Pulling it onto his lap, he covered it with both of his.

“When we are able to steal a few moments, like this one . . .”

Terric decided at that moment that the scent of orange blossoms was his new favorite, replacing that of freshly cut leather. He breathed it in, pushed out thoughts of the following morning’s war council, and forged ahead.

“Roysa,” he started anew. “I have a question to ask.”