Page 55 of The Scot

“Nay, Father. Terric—”

“Lord Dromsley.”

“Asked for permission to court me, not to marry me.”

“Permission only I can give.”

“I am a widow,” she shot back. “One who fled, in fear for her life, and who will not be forced to marry again. Unless it is of my own choosing.”

For a long time, he said nothing. Her father had always had two ways of being angry—loud and eruptive or deadly silent. Roysa hated the silence. Lesser men had nearly fallen to their feet in repentance under her father’s scrutiny.

“’Tis unseemly,” he said at last. “I would take you with me were it not so dangerous.”

Roysa’s chest rose and fell as she held back the many retorts vying to be spoken. Anything she said to him now would go unheard.

“Father, I do not believe it is unseemly at all,” Idalia said.

This time it was Roysa’s turn to regard her sister in shock.

Idalia had never, ever spoken back to their father.

Who was this woman standing beside her?

“You approve of the match?”

Had they all gone mad while she was at Stokesay? This was the first time Roysa could remember their father actively seeking out Idalia’s opinion. Though it pleased her immeasurably, Roysa worried about how her sister might respond. After all, she did not seem altogether thrilled with the match.

“I approve of Roysa’s right to make her own decision. As I did. She is a widow with more rights than I had when you allowed Lance and I to marry.”

She could tell the moment Father softened.

Just slightly.

“I must go.”

“Of course.” She nodded, not daring to embrace him in front of an audience. She hadn’t noticed before, but both Lance and Terric had joined them, though each stood far enough away so as not to intrude on their conversation.

“I will say to you what I told Lord Dromsley.”

Roysa looked at Terric without intending to, wondering when he’d approached her father. And what, exactly, he had said.

“If the other wills it . . .”

Had she just heard him correctly? Had her father just given them permission? Maybe even his blessing? Being curt was his way, but he never relented unless it was his will to do so.

“Be safe,” he said, walking past them. “I will be back.”

He had given them his permission.

And from the way Terric was looking at her, she suspected she’d finally have an opportunity to speak to him.

“Come with me.”

When he passed by her, Roysa stopped breathing. This was the Earl of Dromsley, the chief of a clan she’d never met. A hard man, as she’d always suspected. By the time Roysa realized where he was heading, it was too late to question the sanity of what they were about to do.

His solar.

“Do you think it wise—”