Page 10 of The Scot

Roysa bunched the coverlet around her feet to get them warm.

“Perhaps.”

Idalia shifted again, a nervous kind of movement that said she was thinking. From the way her eyes suddenly widened, Roysa knew what was coming next.

“You were in danger?”

The fear in Idalia’s voice was so apparent, she hastened to soothe it, stopping just short of lying. “Likely not. But I dared not take a chance. So . . .”

“Dromsley is closer than Stanton.”

“Aye.”

“You fled in fear for your life?” Idalia raised her voice with each word.

Attempting to comfort her—and end the discussion—she said, “Nay, of course not. I fled . . . to be safe. So, here I am. And so very tired.” She forced a yawn as she continued to rub her feet. The cold refused to leave her, it seemed.

“Oh no, Roysa. Stop it. I am not a child. And you do not need to protect me any longer. In fact, when you learn why we are here . . .”

This time it was her sister who hesitated.

Roysa sat up straighter. “Why are you here? Idalia, are you in danger? You said Lance was a good friend of the chief’s, and that he was hosting you for an extended stay. . .”

Her words drifted off as Idalia bit her lip.

“Idalia,” she said. Although she had not intended to sound quite so matronly, protecting sweet-natured Idalia was something she had done for one and twenty years. Until she had left Stanton to marry.

Well, perhaps not that entire time. She’d only been little more than a babe when her sister was born.

“I am waiting.”

Mimicking her, Idalia yawned. “I would not keep you after such a long day. We will talk tomorrow.” Bounding from the bed, her sister moved toward one of the dwindling fires. Stoking it, she spoke quickly. Too quickly. “I’ve arranged for a maid to attend to you. Get some rest.”

She turned, and Roysa did not even attempt to stop her. Getting her sister to talk now would be as easy as convincing Langham to admit he’d murdered his brother.

Even so, she couldn’t allow her to get away this easily. “We will speak tomorrow,” she said.

Idalia ignored her tone and smiled as she moved to the door. “I am glad you are here. Safe.” But she only closed the door partway before sticking her face through the crack. “And I know ’tis much too soon, but he is not promised.”

“He?”

With that, Idalia slammed the wooden door closed.

He is not promised.

She would dearly love to feign ignorance, but only a fool would deny that the only thing unpleasant about the lord of Dromsley Castle was his personality. As for everything else . . .

Nay, she could not deny it to her sister. Surely even a happily married woman could appreciate looking at such a fine man. Aye, he had a disposition none would envy, but he was a handsome brute.

And not promised.