Page 5 of The Scot

Chapter 3

Roysa sighed as she looked down at the ruined hem of her favorite gown. It was as black and muddy as her mood. Nudging her mount forward, she was thrilled to see Dromsley Castle before her but worried at the reception she might receive.

Idalia, please be here.

Though Roysa’s last letter from her sister had come from this castle, it was entirely possible Idalia had moved on. Her sister had become much more secretive since meeting Lance. Indeed, she’d never actually explained why she and her new husband had not wintered at Tuleen. Her mother had been nearly as coy in her last missive, leaving Roysa to wonder if something was amiss.

By all accounts, however, Idalia was still wildly in love with her husband, something that pleased Roysa beyond measure. She would not wish her own unhappiness on anyone, especially not her sister.

Langham had not taken kindly to her decision to visit Dromsley. Leaving Stokesay, he’d insisted, was akin to forfeiting her claim as the dowager of Holton Manor. To his mind, she’d do better to make the visit once she was safely established in her new home.

She believed him no more than she trusted the two men he’d sent as her escorts.

Lisanne had urged Roysa to leave without informing the new baron of her plans, but such a feat would be impossible, or nearly so. A woman traveling alone would be in constant danger, a fact she’d considered many times of late. And so she’d declared her intentions to Langham, but she’d taken care to protect herself.

When he’d argued that she should at least delay her trip until the weather cleared, speaking slowly as if she might have difficulty understanding his words, Roysa pretended to be weak. Confused. A stronger woman was more likely to end up on the other side of the baron’s spear.”

“If I wait, my lord, will my father not come here after me?”

Langham’s brow had furrowed then, much like it had after she’d asked him if her husband was truly dead.

“Why would he do such a thing?” he’d demanded.

“I informed him, of course, of the circumstances.”

“No messengers have left Stokesay Castle since my arrival,” he argued.

“I did send one,” Roysa insisted, taking care to make the lie sound true. “The day you returned.”

She’d looked up at him with big eyes, feigning stupidity. Mayhap he would be satisfied with getting rid of her—enough so that he would not feel the need to make it a permanent arrangement. Or he might decide he didn’t much feel like waiting to murder her and do so then and there.

Instead of brandishing his sword and slicing her open, Langham had merely stared her down. When he finally relented, offering two men to accompany her, Roysa nearly crumpled to the ground with relief.

If she had known then how miserable the journey would be, mayhap she would have asked Langham to end her torment early.

Idalia would roll her eyes if she ever said such a thing in her presence. Her sister had always been more practical—Roysa was known for being dramatic, or so their mother had always said. Tilly was the baby of the family, still at home with their parents.

Oh, she needed her family. She needed Idalia. Besides which, the thought of continuing on to Stanton, her parents’ home, with her two unwilling guards was unconscionable. Although the men had not touched her—thank God for that—they hadn’t been pleasant companions. She didn’t wish to spend several more days and nights in their company.

They approached the gatehouse just before dusk. Roysa hoped the earl, a Scotsman according to her sister, was not as intimidating as his fortress. Concentric and surrounded by a water-filled moat, its inner walls were higher than the outer ones they’d just passed. The four towers, two hugging the sides of the gatehouse and two more at its back corners, looked even taller than the ones at Stanton.

Impressive.

“Dismount and present,” one of the guards demanded from above in the tower. Her companions did as they’d been requested. She looked between the two, wondering why they did not take exception to the man’s tone.

He’d sneered at them as if they were enemies and barked the orders more forcefully than her husband had ordered her to undress.

“I am Lady Roysa, daughter of the third earl of Stanton.” She deliberately left any association with Walter out of her name.

“Dismount,” the guard repeated.

She heeded the order this time, feeling rather out of sorts, but as soon as her boots stepped onto the ground, she realized she was too close to the horse’s hindquarters. Either the animal sensed her disquiet or it was merely uncomfortable after the very long journey, for it kicked out, startling everyone present. Another of the castle guards rushed forward, drawing his sword.

Whatever he had intended, all he accomplished was startling the already-skittish horse.

Roysa hurried away from the horse, but the mare shied away from the guard, charging toward her. She dove out of the way, only to slip on the snow-covered ground, her heel catching an errant rock just before she felt her head hit, hard.

Everything went black.