Page 4 of The Rogue’s Redemption

“You mean she has a sister,” he said, staring at the face of the very woman Toren had pulled him away from a few evenings prior. For the first time that day, he smiled.

“Ugh. You are . . .”

Reid immediately flattened his lips. His amusement would only infuriate her further. “Despicable?” he finished for her.

“Predictable,” she said.

He winked to soften the blow, and it worked. Juliette merely cast an ill-humored glance at Toren, shook her head, and returned to her meal.

“More importantly,” his brother said, “is all readied for tomorrow?”

Reid drank deeply, watching both the maid Toren had deprived him of as well as her sister. Both tried, unsuccessfully, not to look his way. Where had they come from, anyway?

Not that it mattered.

“Reid?”

“Aye, Toren,” he said, looking at his brother. “All is ready. Though I hardly think four men—”

“I’ll not argue this again.”

“Aye, Chief.”

Toren glared at him, quite a statement given they were seated next to each other, while Juliette ignored them both. When she winced, Reid initially thought it was on account of him—until he noticed how quickly her hand moved to her stomach. He and Toren both shot up at once, and the next moment, they were kneeling beside her, one on either side.

“What is it?” Toren fairly shouted.

“Jules?” Reid watched helplessly as she took a deep breath. After what seemed like a lifetime, she smiled.

“Both of you,” she admonished, “sit back down. ’Tis just the wee one letting me know she’s there.”

Reid and his brother exchanged a glance.

“Are you sure—”

“Aye, love,” she said, splaying her fingers over Toren’s hand on her stomach.

“Now sit,” she said to Reid. “And eat. You’ve both a long journey ahead.”

He glanced back down one last time, gauging her sincerity, and then returned to his seat.

“Do you suppose Linkirk will be in attendance?” Toren asked. Though the words were addressed to Reid, Toren continued to dart glances at his wife. They would all feel much better once the babe was safely delivered.

“You mean Clave?”

Toren took a bite of stew. “Linkirk, Clave. Though if you ask me, a man with an earldom in two countries is bound to be forced to choose his true loyalties eventually.”

They all knew the current situation at the border between England and Scotland could not stand. For thirty years, a monthly Day of Truce, overseen by a warden chosen by each side, had ensured criminals on both sides of the border were brought to justice when needed. Over the last year, a series of escalating feuds, attacks, and other events had shaken that tried-and-true system. The Scottish warden had called a council meeting at Highgate End, a last effort to save the carefully cultivated peace, and Reid had agreed to attend in his brother’s place. They hoped it would help shore up the peace, but he had doubts.

Every day the possibility of battle loomed larger. If it came to that, Clave would not be the only man forced to choose sides. Both of his brothers had married English women, and his sister an English lord . . . a folly he would be sure to avoid. Though they also had loyalty to their clans, their personal lives certainly complicated matters.

“The choice is not between Scotland and England,” Juliette said. “’Tis between order and lawlessness.”

“And when laws are broken?” He should not enjoy goading his sister-in-law. Despite his disdain for the English, even he had to admit they were not all bad.

“Justice should prevail.”

“Hmm.” Should. But it did not always. Which was precisely why the warden had called the council. The problem of a very crooked English warden was one that, unsolved, would doom the borderlands to the same unrest as before the Treaty of York.