Page 9 of The Guardian’s Favor

“If you refer to your clans’ boycott of the Day of Truce—”

He said the word clans as if it were an epithet.

“Because they know the proceedings are no longer fair or just,” Lawrence said.

“Know? Or do they merely believe it so?”

Theffield did not betray his emotions, and Aidan did his best to emulate the wily earl. Lawrence was not so composed. “Murderers being set free simply because they are well-positioned?” he said. “’Tis not justice.”

Theffield looked at Lawrence, his brows rising. Aidan willed his friend to remain calm, for he knew what was coming.

“It seems you are conveniently forgetting Clan Karyn’s bowyer.”

Clan Karyn’s skilled bowyer, the same man who made every crossbow for Clan Scott, had been accused of murder at an inn just across the border. He’d fled back to Scotland, and since the clans had stopped attending the monthly Day of Truce, he had faced no consequences as of yet.

“My father offered to try the man—”

“In Scotland. On his terms.” Theffield’s dry, cold laugh sent chills up Aidan’s spine. “You truly believe the accused’s family would agree to such an arrangement?”

“Enough,” Aidan said, risking Theffield’s ire.

His friend believed the bowyer had been wrongly accused, but they had not come here to argue the man’s guilt or innocence. He could not allow the incident to become a distraction.

“We are here to discuss Caxton.”

Theffield slammed his hands on the table before him and leaned forward. “Give me one reason I should oust my own man, against the wishes of our king, to help you,” he spat.

“Not to help me, or Clan Karyn. But to take our only remaining chance at peace. With Lord Caxton in power, the chiefs will not allow their clans to be subjected to one-sided justice. Without the Day of Truce, the reivers will once again be allowed free rein, and the hard-won peace of the last thirty years will have been for naught. Is that truly what you desire, my lord?”

Aidan also sat forward, meeting the earl’s defiant position with his own.

“Tell me, Theffield. Is that what you want?”

He could not understand the man. He had as much at stake in this matter as any border lord, more with lands on both sides of the border, and yet he distanced himself from it.

“Are you not Lord Caxton’s overlord?” he pressed.

The insult was intended. But surprisingly, Theffield did not appear insulted. Instead, he sat back and crossed his arms.

“What are Douglas’s terms?”

The only question that mattered.

“Force Caxton to step down. In return, Douglas will agree to move the Truce Day here.”

Theffield, known for his cool, detached demeanor, failed to contain his surprise. The Day of Truce had been held across the border, in Scotland, since its inception. It had been part of the original bargain, and such a contested term that it had nearly torn apart the treaty before it was signed. In truth, only some of the clan chiefs had agreed to these new terms, but Theffield did not need to know as much.

“Here? At Theffield?”

Aidan forced himself not to show any surprise. The bastard was actually going to agree.

A movement just outside the door caught the man’s attention before anything further was said. By the time Aidan turned to look, there was nothing there. Whatever, or whomever, it was, Theffield didn’t like it. He stood and waved Aidan and Lawrence from the room.

“We are done here. I will send word of my decision.”

It was the best they could have hoped for, and better than being tossed out before they could share their terms.

“You will understand,” Theffield said as he led them from the chamber, “why I will not ask you to remain at the castle.”