The Scot
Page 17
“Terric,” Cait began.
“’Tis well enough,” he said, sitting against the physician’s orders. “The others took up my cause, and we were victorious.”
She watched him carefully, but there was no anger. Or bitterness. Only sincerity, and she wasn’t the only one to understand the significance of it. Cait’s eyes filled with tears, but she quickly wiped them away.
Terric closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and then swung his legs over the side of the table.
“I must go,” he said, reopening his eyes. His gaze suggested they should not attempt to stop them, and indeed, they did not.
Before he walked away, he leaned toward Roysa, pulling her to him for a kiss that was soft and filled with promise. The kiss of a man who had just lived through a battle that others, including Gilbert, had not survived.
“I’ll find your father,” he said, nodding to Idalia as he left.
And with that, he was gone.
Chapter 38
“Your men will be surrendered after the king meets with his barons.”
This time, Ulster wore no helm. Unhorsed, standing just inside the gatehouse, the thin man with a slender nose to match responded with a sneer. “He will never do it.”
Terric was inclined to agree.
“Then your men will rot inside Dromsley’s dungeons.”
In truth, Dromsley’s dungeons had not been used, in Terric’s memory. He had no intention of changing that now. The men would not be chained up, but they would be kept as prisoners. Best for Ulster to assume the worst, however—it would work to their advantage.
“By nightfall, any men who remain in the vicinity of my land will join the others.”
Terric did not clarify if he meant the prisoners or Ulster’s men who had died in battle.
“You are a traitor to your sovereign.”
He felt Rory stiffen beside him.
“William is my king,” his brother said.
Ulster snickered. “You fight for a cause not even your own.”
“And you fight for a man who has no cause save his own,” Terric replied.
Ulster was no longer looking at him. Instead, he had shifted his attention to Berkshire, who stood next to Rory. Terric hadn’t seen him during battle and had been gratified to learn he still lived. His men, though few in number, had fought well.
“Traitor.”
Berkshire said nothing, and Terric admired him even more for doing what he could not, refusing to let Ulster goad him.
“Where is Langham?” Terric asked.
The question surprised Ulster. “Langham? That coward will answer to the king.”
It was all he said, but it was enough for Terric.
“Nightfall,” he said, turning from the man who, in attacking Dromsley, was ultimately responsible for the death of his marshal.
Terric feared Ulster’s attack on Dromsley might have also been the end of Lord Stanton—news he was loath to share with Roysa and her sister if it proved true. Something truly remarkable happened then . . .
Stanton strode toward them with an easy confidence that made him question if a battle had truly taken place. Although his mail was covered in blood, Roysa’s father appeared as calm as if he were sitting in his hall, awaiting a meal.
“Bastard,” Stanton spat at Ulster, who did not respond. “Kind of you to remain alive.” Stanton stopped in front of them. “Berkshire. I saw your colors and must confess to my surprise. I thought you were John’s man.”
“Not since Bouvines,” Berkshire responded.
“I would speak with you, Lord Stanton.” Terric clasped his brother on the shoulder then, telling him without speaking what would happen next.
“About Roysa? You’ve my approval, brother. Though you do not need it.”
“No,” he agreed. “I do not. But am glad for it anyway. ’Tis a decision that may well alter both my course and your own.” He watched as injured men continued to be carried past them through the courtyard, wishing to say more. To tell Rory he may well stay here, at Dromsley, relinquishing his position as chief to his brother. But he needed to know Rory was, indeed, ready.
“I will finish here,” Rory said.
Terric nodded his thanks.
Once he and Stanton were separated from the others, Terric didn’t hesitate. It would be a long night, and much needed his attention. “What happened?”
“I fell ill,” Stanton began. “I thought to send the men ahead but did not trust any to lead the group in my stead.”
An affliction Terric could understand.
“When I came upon Ulster’s men, I could not get a message through. I would not have attacked, but it became necessary.”
“You were spotted?” he guessed.
“Aye. By then, the only message was my captain’s dead body and the hope that you’d be reinforced enough to engage.” Stanton crossed his arms. “You were under siege.”
“We were.”
Stanton did not ask about the change in his plans.
“Thank you for your assistance.”
“And for yours.”
Terric might have chosen siege, but a quick victory was always preferable. With the help of their allies, they had accomplished just that with minimal loss of life.
Except for Gilbert and several others.
Terric clenched his fists. King John was playing games with them. The order needed to meet again, to discuss their course of action.
“We will likely be going to war against the king.”
“Aye,” Stanton agreed.
“One that could be drawn out for years.”
Again, his ally agreed.
“Then there is no reason to wait. No time will be better.”
“For?”
He should ask the man for permission. He’d surely give it, considering he’d already granted Terric’s request to court his daughter. But he would take no chances, including giving Stanton the opportunity to say no.
“To marry your daughter.”
Stanton’s eyes widened.
“Tomorrow.”
Chapter 39
“’Twas a bit strange having a wedding amidst so much death.”
Roysa had a difficult time believing she had just walked into her chamber, with her husband.
“Unfortunately, death will be our constant companion these next few months. Or even years.”
Squatting in front of the hearth, Terric tended to the fire, having relieved the chambermaid. Though thankfully not the one who fancied her husband. She was one person Roysa would not miss when they finally left Dromsley.
“To think, I did not like you.”
Roysa liked him very much now. He wore nothing but a long linen shirt, one she was eager to remove.
Because it was her wedding night, Idalia had insisted on helping Roysa dress in the lady’s chamber, as if she were not capable of doing so with her own maid.
Once Idalia had left, satisfied with her appearance, Roysa had opened the door connecting her chamber to that of her husband—this, she knew, would be her true chamber. Terric had just been crouching down to the fire. Two goblets of wine awaited them, though she had eaten and drunk her fill at their wedding feast.
The one that had also served as a victory celebration. Unlike this morn, when they had buried the fallen, including Gilbert, the mood at their wedding had been almost lighthearted.
Wives and their children had been brought back into the castle, and the only evidence of the short siege and ensuing battle was the large bump on Terric’s head, which could be felt though not seen. And the freshly dug graves. Even her father had smiled more than normal, his acceptance of her new status coming much more easily than she would have expected.
Her father had posed only a half-hearted objection last eve, saying her mourning period was not yet over, but Terric had declared firmly, “’Tis over.”
Not the flowery proposal the old Roysa would have liked. But she’d learned not to place too much value on appearances. Althou
gh she’d never expected her second wedding would take place on the same day as a funeral . . .
Naught mattered except her very handsome husband, who stood and made his way toward her.
“Do you think it odd,” he said, slipping his finger down to the sole tie on her shift. Pulling it, he let the two long strings hang down. “That we are man and wife?”
Her core began to pulse.
She wanted him to kiss her. Now.
“And not one time . . . ,” Terric continued.
He didn’t kiss her, as she’d hoped. Instead, Terric lifted his shirt over his head, standing gloriously naked in front of her. The fire’s light flickered on his backside, and Roysa was sure she’d never seen anything so appealing in her life.
“Did I . . .”
He gripped the sides of her soft linen shift and lifted it over her head, letting it drop to the floor. One more step, and they would be touching.
“Tell you . . .”
She couldn’t help but look down. Terric, hard and obviously quite ready, still did not touch her. Roysa could not seem to move herself.
When he did take a step, she did the same—although she moved backward. Right up against the door.
“That I love you.”
Her heart skipped a beat.
“Do you say it now?”
Terric reached over and ran his fingers down her arm.
“I thought to show you.”
She swallowed. “Aye?”
Terric nodded slowly, his hand moving over her hip now.
“Aye.”
When it moved to her inner thigh, Roysa struggled to stay standing.
“I’ve something to confess,” she managed.
His fingers moved closer. So close.
“I already know.”
His fingers entered her then, and Roysa could feel the throbs of pleasure coming already. With just that one touch, she exploded, crying out his name.
One moment, she was against the door, standing of her own volition. The next, Terric had hiked her legs on each side of his body, lifting her up from the floor.
He guided himself inside, and kissed her. Hard.
She didn’t care that the wood scratched her back. Or that it must be hurting him to hold her up this way. Roysa cared only about the sweet sensation of his hips and mouth moving in tandem.
No sooner did the climax abate than Roysa felt it building again.
Harder and harder he pumped, and she held on until . . .
“Roysa,” he breathed. And with a final jerk, he cried out her name. Again she came, panting and attempting to say his name in return. Nothing came out but “T—”
Leaning his head back just enough that she could see his face, Terric moved a strand of hair away from her eyes, smiling. “I love you.”
Epilogue
“You’re looking at me oddly.”
Terric chuckled, wishing Roysa were riding with him as she’d done the past sennight. He’d even considered leaving her horse at the last manor they’ve visited. The only reason he had not was because Roysa seemed partial to the mare.
They’d been riding all day, their pace slowed by the mud that had resulted from the snowmelt. Much too long for him not to feel her. Touch her. Make love to her as he’d done every day since their quick wedding weeks ago. Thankfully, Licheford Castle finally rose up ahead of them.
Terric looked back. Lance and Idalia rode side by side behind them, and his clansmen followed his two friends. Nay, he corrected himself. No longer friends. His brother and sister through marriage.
He was looking forward to seeing the look on Conrad’s face when he learned of it.
“Why?” Roysa asked.
“Why do I look at you oddly?”
The sight of Roysa rolling her eyes at him made him grin. “Nay, why do the clouds insist on dropping rain on us every single day?”
It was one of the things he enjoyed most about her. That she could ask such questions without even the hint of a smile. “Of course I want to know why you are looking at me so oddly.”
“I looked at you that way,” he explained, slowing his mount in response to the horse’s cues. The terrain was, indeed, becoming rockier. “Because I was remembering the day we met.”
Roysa hated being reminded of it, which was likely the reason he did it so often. When her eyes flashed in mock anger, she said all manner of things. Many of which made him laugh. And with all that was happening around them, Terric needed to laugh.
“I really did dislike you.”
Roysa’s eyes narrowed. “I believe I disliked you more.”
He pretended to consider it. “No, that could not possibly be true.”
Her mouth dropped. “You . . . you, sir, are a boar.”
“And you, my lady, are unkind.”
“You are both making our heads ache,” Cait called from behind them.
“Fair payment for the worry you’ve caused.”
When he looked back, his sister scrunched her nose in annoyance.
Well, if she was annoyed, he was more so. He hadn’t wanted her to come along—and Rory had agreed with him that it was much too dangerous for her to attend the order’s meeting at Licheford Castle. Of course, she had proceeded to recruit Roysa and Idalia to her cause. They’d insisted that if it was safe enough for them to attend the meeting, surely Cait could go too. A logical argument, and so he had agreed—on the condition that she would explain why she had come to England after all these years.
Cait had said something about it being her fight too, and Terric had nodded, knowing right along it was a lie. Roysa had argued it didn’t matter—she was accompanying them, and that was that. And so she had.
Terric wrapped the leather reins around his hands and looked up at the castle they approached—an even more impressive structure than Dromsley.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen a castle so big,” Roysa said as they approached the enormous gatehouse.
“Are you speaking to me?” he asked her playfully. “I thought you were vexed at my recounting of our meeting,” he teased.
“I am vexed,” Roysa admitted. “And will be vexed every time you mention that very unfortunate incident.”
On this, he disagreed. “Unfortunate?”
The men who’d ridden ahead of them were already speaking to Licheford’s guards.
“’Twas one of the most fortunate days of my life, finding Idalia’s sister battling with my guards. I just did not realize it then.”
Though she laughed, Terric did not. In this, he did not jest. He loved her so much, it was not natural. Surely no one person should dominate one’s thoughts in such a way. Especially not as the order prepared to declare war against the king.
“Mine as well,” she said, her horse dancing under her.
Dammit.
He dismounted, less inclined to get through Licheford’s gates than he was to touch his wife. Handing his reins to Rory’s squire, the one his brother had insisted on bringing so he could get the experience he needed, Terric reached her in just a few strides. She seemed to understand his intent and began to dismount as he got to her.
“They will tease me for this,” he said, “but I don’t care.”
When her arms encircled his waist, Terric wondered briefly how he had allowed hate to rule him for so long. This, Roysa’s love, was much, much sweeter.
The men cheered when he kissed her.
“I didn’t expect to find a lusty Scotsman at my gates.”
He took his time breaking apart from his wife, finally turning toward the voice. Toward Conrad, the man who had begun this rebellion and who would help guide them through its darkest days.
His friend looked every bit as shocked as Terric had expected. But Conrad wasn’t looking at him or Roysa. Following his gaze, Terric finally realized who he was staring at.
And why his sister, after all these years, had returned to England.
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