“He has already chosen,” she whispered. “This time, you are wrong.”
A cheer went up, bringing an end to their conversation. They watched as Terric made his way to the dais.
If he’d struggled with his decision this eve, none would know of it.
He really was magnificent.
A magnificent, bullheaded arse. But magnificent nonetheless.
Holding up a hand, Terric waited for the noise to quiet. When it did, he spoke, his voice booming from the back of the hall to its entrance.
“A force of over one hundred men makes its way to Dromsley Castle. With the aid of my clansmen”—he nodded toward them—“as well as Lord Berkshire, whose forty knights fight alongside us as allies in our cause against the king, we can defeat Ulster in battle.”
A cry went up, of men prepared to fight. Of knights and warriors who had trained their whole lives for this very moment.
She glanced at Cait, who looked at her brother, straight-faced.
In battle.
Roysa’s heart skipped a beat at the implications of his words. This would be the first of many battles to come. The first in a long, bitter fight against the king.
“But we will not be marching to battle today.”
What had he just said?
“Though I’m grateful for your willing sacrifice, today is not the day you will give it. Dromsley is prepared for a longer siege than Ulster will be able to withstand. And while they languish outside our walls, our order’s fight will continue against a king who cares more about the papal crusade in Wales and France than for his own people. And it will be victorious.”
Cait smiled.
“Prepare for siege. Our enemy will be outside our walls too soon.”
Prepare for siege.
Everyone moved at once. Some running, others shouting orders. But she stood still, watching as Terric stepped down from the dais and headed their way.
When their eyes locked, she asked the silent question.
The very corners of his mouth lifted, crinkling his eyes. He nodded.
To her.
And was swallowed up by Gilbert and Rory and Lance.
“I am wrong about many things,” Cait said, reaching out to squeeze her hand, “but I know my brother.”
Chapter 33
Terric sat for the first time in two days.
They’d needed to hasten to burn the area outside the outer walls so Ulster’s men could not forage for supplies, but otherwise they were well prepared for this siege.
Too prepared.
The presence of his clansmen and Berkshire meant there were extra mouths to feed. Even so, they could hold here well into the fall, if necessary.
And Terric did not intend to lose.
“The archers need to be resupplied.”
Gilbert crossed his arms. “You’re the only one who has not yet rested.”
Terric gestured to the bed upon which he sat. Not his bed, to be sure, but he didn’t dare leave the gatehouse. He needed to be on the front lines, near his men.
“Am I not attempting to do so?”
Gilbert shouted a command over his shoulder.
“Attempting. You’ll sleep as well in the gatehouse as you would on the drawbridge, my lord. A proper sleep. They’ll not be building any more bridges this night.”
Courtesy of the wet moat, their attackers had been faced with the choice of building a bridge or filling in sections to cross, given they did not appear to have brought a barge with them. Guards had been posted not just in every tower, along both the inner and outer walls, but also at positions between them. If any of Ulster’s men attempted to fill in parts of the moat, they would know.
Bridges, it seemed, would be the key to winning or losing this conflict.
“No man can survive on will alone, my lord.”
“Gilbert may be too kind to say so, but what he really means is you need to get your arse into the keep for a real sleep. Now,” Lance said, approaching from behind the marshal.
“You will resupply the archers?”
“Aye, my lord,” Gilbert said, “already being done.”
“And will post new guards at all the stations?”
Gilbert and Lance exchanged a glance.
“Go. To. Sleep. Little will change until morn,” Lance urged, his tone insistent.
Rory walked up to them then, his presence ensuring Terric would find no sleep here. He clapped Lance on the back, grinning. “You’ve the singular pleasure of being able to order my brother about. For that, I like you above all others,” he said.
Terric stood, grumbling, and pushed his way past all three men.
“Remember the archers,” he called from the stairwell, making his way out of the gatehouse and through the inner ward. More exhausted with each step, he stumbled into the keep. Circumnavigating the hall, which would be filled with sleeping servants, he spotted a maid.
“A bowl of hot water and cloth. In my chamber.”
She curtsied. “Aye, my lord.”
About to climb the stairwell, Terric stopped.
His thoughts turned to Roysa, but surely she would be sleeping. He had so much to tell her, and he was hardly coherent at the moment. It would be better to visit her in the morning, surely.
“Cait?”
She’d just exited the chamber she’d claimed, just down the hall from his own.
“Terric. Look at you!”
Judging from her tone, he assumed she did not mean it as a compliment.
“Have you slept since the siege began?”
She walked toward him, but Terric stopped her. “I’ve a chambermaid attending. Go to sleep, as I plan to.”
Cait cocked her head to the side, appearing ready to argue with him. Thankfully, the maid appeared, confirming that he had, indeed, secured assistance. “Good eve, little sister.”
He didn’t wait for Cait to respond and neither did she appear to move. Instead, she watched as he stumbled into the chamber, tossed his mantle atop the chest at the foot of his bed, and waited for the maid to leave. Except she didn’t. She stood next to the bowl of clove-scented water.
“I can attend to myself.”
Still, she did not move.
Terric realized he had seen the woman before, although he did not know her name.
“You are tired, my lord.” She picked the cloth back up. “Allow me to assist you.”
Terric closed his eyes, overwhelmed by a wave of exhaustion. The sight of the bed had made him feel every bit of sleep he had not gotten. He struggled with his tunic, but could not get it free—until he did.
Because the maid had helped him.
Though it was not unusual for a chambermaid to assist someone in such a manner, there was just one woman he wished to see him unclothed. And it was not the chambermaid.
“I can attend to myself,” he said more forcefully.
Bowing her head, the maid reluctantly handed him the cloth. Somehow, he’d missed her look before. He escorted her to the door. “Good eve.”
Terric opened it.
And no longer yearned for sleep.
Roysa stood there, in a thick, fur-lined velvet robe. Her hair fell in waves, everywhere.
She looked at the maid, who raised her chin in defiance and fled.
“Roysa.”
She didn’t need to inquire about the maid. Or ask if his decision about the siege meant what she thought it did. The look Terric gave her, the thickness in his voice as he said her name . . .
She stepped through the door, took the cloth from his hand, and waited for him to recover. When he did, he closed the heavy wooden door behind him, latched it, and stood next to the bowl. Next to her.
“Take off your shirt.”
He did not hesitate. “With pleasure.”
He continued to study her. But as soon as he removed his linen shirt, it was she who studied him. Every muscle, every indentation. Somehow she remembered to dip the cloth into the water.
“Come closer.”
> “Also with pleasure.”
“I assume this is what the maid had planned to do?” When the cloth first dipped down to touch his chest, his muscles twitched as if in welcome. Roysa cursed the cloth for separating her fingers from his flesh.
“Apparently so. Though I’d not have allowed it.”
Roysa continued to move the cloth along his chest and shoulders.
“Why?”
She had not waited for two days to act coy. Roysa wanted to know what Terric was thinking, and this might be her only opportunity to ask him. She wasn’t about to waste it.
“Only one woman will touch me.”
She dipped the cloth back into the water, took it out and squeezed. Somehow, her hands remained steady.
“Only one woman will know the intimacy of this chamber. Of my bedchamber in Bradon Moor.”
Scotland.
“I will know one woman this night, and every remaining night of my life.”
Her heart skipped a beat as Terric stopped her ministrations, covering her hand with his.
“There is only one woman I would court . . . until we have sufficient time to wed.”
She moved her hand once again, wanting to feel every ridge of his chest.
“I’m not sure I want to be courted.”
Terric’s eyes narrowed.
“I do believe I would like to be bedded instead,” she said boldly.
“Oh love, I will bed you. Mayhap just once this night, for if I don’t get some sleep, my men are as likely to kill me as they are to follow me.”
She blushed.
“But know this, Lady Roysa. Once will be enough. Of that you can be sure.”
Chapter 34
His kissed her harder, longer than ever before. Terric loved her with his lips, begging for forgiveness he didn’t deserve. Had he truly been tired before? Before her arrival, thoughts of his bed had overpowered all others. But now, a rush of exuberance claimed him.
He wanted to touch her everywhere.
To see the woman who would be his wife.
Court her, indeed.
Terric would claim her. Make love to her.
But not with so many clothes between them. He tore open her robe, tossing it to the ground so that she was left wearing only a thin shift. “Oh God, Roysa.”
Never had he wanted to be rid of something more than the remnants of fabric that separated them. But as he reached for her, Roysa stopped him.
“Let me.”
Something about the words, and the way she’d said them, alerted him to a subtle change in her manner.
“Wait.”
Had he really said the vile word?
“Something about you is different.”
He hadn’t meant for it to sound accusatory, but he wished to know her better than anyone. He wished to understand her better than anyone.
“’Tis a long story.”
“I’ve all night.”
She laughed, the sweet sound a welcome respite from the whoosh of arrows whipping through the air, and from men’s screams—it did not matter that they came from the other side of the battlements.
“Nay, you do not.” She nodded to the bed. “Sleep, remember?”
“You will tell me when we do have time.”
“Out there”—she indicated the door—“you may order your men about. But here, in your bedchamber—”
“Our bedchamber.”
“In here, in our bedchamber . . . we are equals.”
She defied him to deny it.
“Not equals,” he said, much to her surprise.
Terric closed the distance between them. “You are lovelier”—he reached for the hem of her shift—“more clever.” Lifting it over her head, he gave her robe a companion on the floor. “And in every way, you are my master.”
If he’d intended to say anything else, he lost track of it. She was blessedly nude, and Terric could talk no longer. He divested himself of his clothing and kissed her. Swallowing her gasp of surprise as their bodies touched for the first time.
He needed sleep, aye. But he needed Roysa more.
They stumbled toward the bed, falling onto it, their bodies melding together as if they had been intimate many times before. Even though this was not her first time, Terric treated it as such. He gave equal attention to her breasts and the vee between her legs, his hands everywhere at once.
Though he positioned himself above her, Terric had no intention of making love to her just yet. He sat up, his body protesting at the loss. But he needed to see her. He needed Roysa to understand.
“When I said you are the master here, I meant it. Anything you want, ’tis yours, lass.”
He ran his hand from her calf to the inside of her thigh, his eyes on her thatch of curls.
“Tell me what you want, Roysa.”
When his fingers found her, she opened for him. Her trust humbled him.
“I want what you did to me before.”
He liked that she wasn’t shy, and Terric gave her exactly what she requested. He leaned over her, propping himself on his elbow with his free hand as he plunged his fingers into her, tickled and teased.
“Like this?”
In a perfect position to lave her beautiful breasts, Terric used his tongue to caress an already-hardened nipple. When Roysa grasped the back of his head, he smiled against her. Pleased and very much awake.
“I’ve wanted this, craved this, for so long,” he murmured.
Listening to her breathing, Terric knew she was close.
“Like this?” he asked, lifting his head to watch her as she climaxed.
“Aye.”
“Tell me, Roysa.”
“Faster.”
Faster. Harder. He would give her anything she wanted.
“You. Terric, I want you.”
Including that.
Pulling away his hand, he positioned himself over her. He paused for a moment, determined to erase every memory of the bastard she’d been married to.
Terric tried to move slowly, to give her time to accommodate him, but Roysa was not allowing for it. As soon as he slid himself inside, his eyes closing at the sheer pleasure of having the one thing he’d been craving most, Roysa thrust her hips upward.
Terric’s eyes flew open in surprise.
“I thought to move slowly, to give you time to adjust.”
He began moving his hips when Roysa lifted one of her legs, giving him greater access.
Surely he would die this eve.
“In here, I am master.”
He laughed, accepting the challenge.
“I said it but”—Terric circled, his buttocks clenching—“is it true, I wonder? Or are those roles reversed just now?”
Roysa’s control was slipping—he could see it in her eyes. When her mouth opened, he claimed it, slipping his tongue inside. Her moans only encouraged him.
But when she grasped both of his buttocks with her hands and squeezed, Terric was lost. Having Roysa beneath him, being inside her. He could not hold on much longer.
Reaching down, he guaranteed he’d not have to, circling her nub with his fingers but not letting up anywhere else.
When she squeezed harder, Terric smiled against her lips in victory. One final thrust and Roysa came, tearing her mouth from his for the sole purpose of making a deep, guttural sound, which pushed him over the edge.
His body tensed and then released into her, Terric pushing one final time to ensure it.
He could not collapse without crushing her, so when he could no longer hold himself up, he rolled to the side. For just a moment he closed his eyes, reveling in the feeling of being with her, and then he opened them and turned to face her.
“I never knew,” she said softly, reaching up to touch his cheek.
Terric had no words in response. He’d not mar the moment by mentioning the man who should have shown her, though Terric was glad he had not.
“Come here, Master Roysa.”
Pulling her against him, along with
the coverlet, which she lifted over them, Terric closed his eyes.
Chapter 35
“Roysa.”
Fully dressed, Terric sat on the edge of the bed, whispering her name. He didn’t want to wake her, but he knew it was unlikely he would see her for the remainder of the day. It might even be longer. He could not leave her without saying goodbye. Without kissing her.
“Roysa.”
“Do you have permission to use my given name?”
Despite all that was happening around them, Terric smiled, remembering their second meeting.
“I do not remember asking,” he said, repeating his own line.
Her eyes, barely open, began to flutter shut. Terric, reluctant to leave but knowing he must, touched her one last time. Laying his hand on her bare shoulder, he felt a wave of possessiveness.
“Mmmm.” She turned onto her side, pressing against his hand as he rubbed the back of her shoulder. She seemed to enjoy it, so he was loath to stop.
“I’ll gladly do this every morn,” he said, Roysa acknowledging his words with a low moan of pleasure. She had completely flipped onto her stomach. Terric tried to ignore his increasing discomfort as he ran his hand from her neck downward.
“I woke you for a reason.”
“Mmmmhmmm.”
“Stay here. Do not worry about what anyone will think, or say.”
No response.
“You are not a maid, and we will be married.”
“Mmmmm.”
“I will return as soon as I am able. Roysa? Do you hear me?”
“Mmmmhmmm.”
She wriggled beneath his hands, clearly enjoying his touch. Would that Terric could stay. Sadly, he could not. Leaning over her, he kissed her shoulder, pulled the coverlet over her back, and stood.
He’d already added a log to the fire, so he gathered his belongings and turned to leave—only to find he could not. He stood by the door, watching her.
He had made the right decision, he realized. The only decision.
Terric just prayed they would stay alive long enough to enjoy each other.
The Scot Page 15
