Page 2 of The Chief

“Aye, my lord.”

Confident his orders would be carried out, Rory nodded for Darron to follow him back down toward the keep.

“Ties to France,” he muttered, thinking.

Terric was part of an order of knights that had successfully forced the English king to sign the Treaty of Lambeth, after which Prince Louis of France had sent a contingent of knights to help protect London. The knights had remained in the city throughout the winter, which the king saw as an act of rebellion. But others, thankful for Louis’s support, saw it as insurance against unstable times.

Either way, there had been definite repercussions—even this far north, leaders who had ties to France, tenuous or tight, felt emboldened. Including the bastard McKinnons, apparently.

“Send men to Dalrigg Manor,” he told Darron. Although his friend had no official title, Darron had become Rory’s closest advisor in Terric’s absence. “Tell them to bring my mother here.”

“She will not come. Not today, anyway.”

Rory cursed. He’d nearly forgotten. His parents had been married on the Feast of St. Valentine many, many years ago. She’d moved out of the main keep years ago, assailed by memories of the man she’d loved and lost. The torment would be even worse for her if she returned on the feast day.

“Send them,” he said, “and bid them stay with her until she agrees to come.”

Though the small manor was not so far away as to cause concern, Rory would feel better to have his mother safely in the keep if McKinnon threatened an attack against his neighbors.

“And you will warn the horses?” Darron teased as Rory stepped away, making for the stables.

“Aye,” he shot back, “they need to be prepared as well.”

He did not go a day without visiting them, and if this morn were any indication, he might not have another opportunity. One quick stop before he spoke to the other men. Besides, the stables were as good a place as any to avoid the cloying St. Valentine customs sure to plague him all day.