Page 20 of The Knight’s Reward

So he felt it too.

“I . . . I don’t know what to say.”

As if he had just now realized what he was doing, Neill dropped her hand for the second time.

She felt the loss immediately.

He stood there, the sound of his breathing capturing her attention more than the distant sounds coming from inside the inn.

“To answer your question about the Kerrs, I hate them . . . and love them too,” he said finally. “Toren. Alex. Reid. Catrina. They are family now, and I love nothing in this life more than my family. But I hated them for so long that it’s hard to forget, especially when I allow myself to remember the raid. My parents were both killed that day, and although Toren and Alex did not slay them themselves, Clan Kerr men were responsible. I’m not sure I can ever forget that fact.” He took a step back. “But, like my siblings, I have forgiven them. We have moved beyond it.”

She’d asked, and he’d answered. Was he waiting for her to do the same?

After what he revealed, the lies Kathryn had been preparing would not form on her lips. Instead, she remained silent.

“Are you hungry?”

She was taken aback by the abrupt change in topic. She’d expected him to press her.

“Aye.”

He nodded toward the front of the inn.

“This is the last real meal and bed we’ll have until we arrive at Dunbar. Shall we?”

This time it was she who stopped him. It didn’t feel right to give him nothing when he’d given her so much. Kathryn could not share her secrets, but she could at least address what he had shared.

“You are a better person than I.” She shifted her weight from one foot to the other. “I do not think I could forgive, were I you. But I admire you for it.”

That, at least, was true. When she finally learned who killed her father, forgiveness would not be foremost on her mind.

“As I admire you,” he said, startling her.

“For?”

“For your strength. I know not what you are about, Kathryn, but I can tell you have undertaken a quest most ladies would not dare consider, one that requires you to leave one dangerous place to seek another. My sister, Emma, and my sister-in-law, Sara, would admire you very much indeed.”

To that, Kathryn had no response, so she followed him inside instead.

Chapter 7

Neill remembered Bo and Berit, the brothers who ran the Anvil Inn, from his youth. The inn was less than a four-day ride from Bristol Manor. The bulky brothers appeared older, understandably, and more hardened. As did all of the borderers in the months after the Day of Truce had fallen apart.

As the men on each side of him filled their stomachs, Neill put thoughts of the past behind him, wondering how Kathryn was faring. He’d attempted to secure a private room for the night, but by the time he got around to asking, his resourceful companion had already made her own arrangements. Bo had informed him, “Your sister-in-law’s cousin is already abovestairs, her room paid for.”

Catrina’s cousin. A likely story for why she was headed to Scotland, and why he might be escorting her. Since they hadn’t originally planned on stopping here, Neill had never agreed upon an explanation for their situation. He’d meant to discuss the matter outside, but he’d been distracted. By Kathryn. By the raw fear he’d seen in the unusually resilient lady. By her graceful movements, which seemed so contrary to her simple attire. By the way she held her shoulders high and straight despite the fact that she was at the mercy of men she hardly knew, traveling to a place she’d never been before.

And, if he were honest, by her beauty. Though she wore her hair in a lone, long braid at her back, Neill could not forget the one time he’d seen it loose. Not one color, but with brown and blonde strands woven together as if she’d not been stuck inside an inn all summer working for a woman who terrified knights and reivers alike.

“Caxton is the worst sort of bastard.”

The sound of the English warden’s name from the table behind them forced Neill back to the present. Immediately, Aylmer caught his eye. They wordlessly conveyed to the others to stop talking so they could listen.

“Aye. Openly taking black mal now that the Day of Truce is no longer.”

“Berit,” one of the men, a Scot, called to the innkeeper. “Have ye heard about this council? There’ll be borderers from both sides there.”

“Ah, won’t do any good,” the innkeeper said, waving him off. “Another pitcher?”