Page 60 of The Scot

Chapter 25

“Halt!”

Terric hadn’t wanted to take any men with him, though his advisors would not hear of it. So he agreed to take one man to aid him. Though the bridge was only two days’ ride from Dromsley, the delay would cost the approaching men more than a fortnight. Unless they decided to risk crossing it anyway.

Terric did not believe they would.

“Do you hear it?” A rumbling in the distance, barely discernable.

“No, my lord.”

James was a capable warrior, but he’d not chosen him for his sword arm. No other man at Dromsley could ride like this young man could. His father had been a marshal at another castle, and James had practically grown up in the stables.

“We go on foot,” he said, dismounting.

Terric’s father had taught him to trust his instincts. And at this moment, they were telling him they should tie up the horses and get to the ridge. Grabbing the bag attached to his horse’s saddle, Terric motioned for James to follow.

They were lightly armed, wearing the padded gambesons typically favored by reivers for the ease of movement they allowed.

He’d not think of Roysa now, as the moment of danger had approached. He had done plenty of that these past two days. From elation over their last meeting to apprehension at the thought of Lance’s parting words. His friend still did not believe he was ready to commit to a wife.

But Terric aimed to prove him wrong.

If his friends could marry in the midst of their mission, so could he.

Right now, his only commitment was to eliminate this bridge.

Terric reached the ridge just before James. Which meant he saw the problem first. The only cause for celebration was the dense brush hiding them both. For now.

Because their worst fears had just been confirmed by what he saw beyond the river.

“We must go back,” James whispered.

His voice was tinged with panic, and Terric could hardly blame him. The sight of so many men, of Ulster’s bright gold and blue banners alongside what he assumed were Stokesay’s red and black ones . . .

He did not blame Lance for insisting they wait for morn. It would have been madness to travel in the dark on this terrain, with snow and ice still under their feet . . . but he should have left immediately. At dawn.

He should not have delayed with Roysa.

There was only one way for their plan to still work.

It had to work.

“James,” he said, forcing the young man to look at him. “We will go down there, and you will carry through with our plan. And when the bridge is burned, you will return to Dromsley and tell them. Do you understand your orders?”

James blinked.

“There is no time. They’ll be upon us before I can burn it.”

“Aye, lad. You can do it. I will delay them. Do you understand?”

“But, my lord? If you cross the bridge to delay them, and I burn it . . .”

He did not have time for this. “Do you understand your orders?” he said more firmly.

James opened his mouth, closed it, and nodded.

“Very good. Leave your horse here. Without it, they are still far enough away not to see you.” Terric handed him the bag he’d retrieved from his horse’s saddle. “When you return to Dromsley, tell them what has happened here. Now go.”