Page 27 of The Scot

“Not for you,” she clarified.

“Nay.”

“You never married.” She blurted that without thinking.

“I did. My wife is back home, waiting patiently for me to return from England.”

Her mouth dropped. “But . . . you are . . .”

He was married?

It took her a moment to realize Terric had been teasing. By then, it was too late. Her reaction had been telling, indeed.

So was the fact that she’d come here alone.

“I could not resist.”

“It was just unexpected. You do not seem the kind of man to tease.”

She took a sip, a long one, wishing it were wine but glad to have something to do with her hands.

“What kind of man do you suppose I am, Lady Roysa?”

His tone did not match his easy smile. Roysa thought carefully before answering.

“Although you are not quite as serious in disposition as my brother-in-law, I can tell your duty weighs on you. You remind me of my father, who wakes early each morn to serve Stanton and lies down each night wondering what else he might have done. You’re not arrogant, as I first believed, but you are more confident than most. And loyal. I know that from what Idalia told me last eve. Of the order. Of how you met.”

He simply stared at her, his smile slipping away. She didn’t blame him.

The story was a brutal one—the kind that forges a bond to last a lifetime. Terric had met Lance and the other members of the order, Conrad and Guy, at the Tournament of the North when they were but boys. They’d come upon his sister, Cait, while she was being attacked by one of the king’s guard. The man had pushed her down onto the riverbank and hiked her gown to her waist. If they’d come along a few moments later, he would have raped her.

She knew little of the details, but somehow the four young boys had overpowered the king’s guard, a well-trained knight, and killed him in the ensuing scuffle. Fearing retribution, they’d dumped his body in the nearby river, keeping only the hilt of his broken sword as a reminder of the horrific event.

Hence the Order of the Broken Blade.

According to Idalia, Conrad was the only one of them to bear a physical scar, on his cheek, but Roysa imagined all of them carried the event with them. Terric and his sister most of all.

Idalia had also told her that Terric blamed himself for not being able to protect his sister. He’d been the smallest of the four at the time, and he’d been knocked to the ground first.

And relentless. She thought of Idalia’s story. Relentless in his pursuit to become stronger than any others.

He was no longer smiling.

Roysa hadn’t meant to dampen the mood between them, but she was curious about her host, curious also about the event that had brought the four men of the Order of the Broken Blade together.

“Did you know the others before”—she stumbled on her words—“before it happened?”

Instead of taking offense to her question, Terric leaned back further in his seat, crossing his legs in front of him. “I knew Conrad, but not well. Cait actually met him first.”

“Your sister.”

“Aye, she is just a year older than I am. She was much too young that day.”

His tone sounded relaxed almost, but his expression was anything but.

“I do not say this because she is my sister, but a sweeter woman could not be found in Scotland. The opinion is not mine alone—all who have met her think the same. Cait is kind, mayhap too much so.”

“’Tis possible to be too kind?”