Page 74 of The Scot

Chapter 30

“Saint Rosalina in Heaven!” Roysa shouted from behind him, the words bringing him to a stop.

Terric deserved her ire.

He had avoided her all day as they made final preparations for battle in his solar. When there was no more to do—the scouts had marched out and the plans had been drawn up—Rory and Lance had insisted on taking dinner in the hall, saying they were as prepared as they could possibly be.

He’d hesitated.

Where Roysa was concerned, his training, his discipline . . . none of it seemed to matter. She occupied a larger place in his mind, his heart, then he could give her just now. Riding back to Dromsley, he had decided that he would do best to distance himself from her. For now. He could not afford to be distracted. He had somehow gotten through the meal, but it had not been easy. His eyes kept straying to Roysa, and Cait who seemed just as furious with him as his lady.

Although he’d been pleased to see his brother and sister, especially since they certainly needed the warriors from Clan Kennaugh, he wished his sister were home safe. She’d refused to come to England for over ten years only to come now, when they were at the brink of war?

She had refused to explain herself. Or to tell him why she was obviously so angry with him. Except now he knew, didn’t he? Cait and Roysa had become friendly while he was away—a thought that made his heart feel fuller.

Roysa let out another little “Hmph,” and Terric turned to face her, glad they were alone in the corridor.

“I’m reminded of a woman who could not be consoled, one who nearly got herself trampled by her own horse,” Terric said.

She stamped her foot, clearly infuriated by the reference.

Oh, he loved her like this. She was a force of nature.

“You are an arse, Terric Kennaugh.”

“I disagree, Lady Roysa.”

“Did you not hear what I said to you last eve?”

Hear her? Terric had struggled to sleep because of it. To be loved by her . . .

Terric could think of nothing he wanted more. Save one thing.

“We will speak after the battle.”

The scouts had not yet returned, but they would be back any time. He needed to think on that, and nothing else. He couldn’t let himself lose his focus. Too many people depended on him, including Roysa. Her safety depended on him doing his job, and doing it well.

“Which battle?”

When Roysa put her hands on her hips, he wanted to slip his own hands between them, pin her against the wall, and redirect all her passion toward him.

“The one with Ulster? Or the next one after that? You have declared against the king, Terric. The king. Of England. There will likely be many battles ahead.”

“Precisely.” He was glad she understood.

“Pre— oh. I cannot.”

She turned so quickly she slammed into his brother.

Terric froze. He’d tried not to watch her, and Rory, at the evening meal. He’d tried not to glower as his brother made her laugh. But as Rory’s arms wrapped around Roysa’s shoulders to keep her from falling, he could not shake an ugly thought from his mind.

Of Isobel. And her disappointment that Terric was not his brother.

Roysa stepped back quickly, and Terric’s shoulders slumped in relief. He chastised himself for acting a fool, but he could no sooner have stopped the thought than he could stop the upcoming battle.

“You’ve guests,” Rory said.

“My father?” Roysa asked.