Page 62 of The Scot

Roysa folded her hands on her lap.

“It seems someone has been whispering.” Idalia hesitated. “That you and Terric . . . as Dromsley prepared for battle . . .”

Roysa put up her hand. She did not need Idalia to continue. They had been discreet—but not discreet enough. And she understood what people likely thought.

There could not have been a worse time for them to meet. For many reasons.

“I do not know how, or where, it began. Mayhap the day he sat you next to him? Or when we spoke a bit too loudly in the hall.”

Roysa froze.

She knew how the rumor had started. Or rather, with whom—the young maid who so clearly admired Terric. Once, the maid’s loose tongue might have angered her. But she only cared about Terric and all the people who were out there risking their lives for the order.

“It matters not. He will be back soon and—” Idalia took her hand. “I should not have been so hesitant with my approval. He is a man fully grown. As are you.”

“I am a fully grown man?”

“Shush. Lance and I worry for you. He’s known Terric much longer than I have.”

“It will all be over soon,” she said, wondering if hoping would make it so.

Idalia stood to leave, and she did the same. “Aye. Terric’s plan is good. It will work.”

Roysa held a single candle in front of her as they walked back toward the hall, moving further and further away from that lovely window and the memories it elicited.

“It will,” Roysa agreed.

It will be over soon.

She’d said the words in an attempt to convince herself they were true, not because she actually believed them. But as they reached the entrance to the hall, she saw something that made her gasp.

Could it be?

“Terric?”

It was too soon. Much too soon. But he was there, speaking to Lance.

Roysa hiked up her gown and ran to him.