Page 66 of The Scot

“Lady Roysa, daughter of the 3rd Earl of Stanton and sister to Lady Idalia.” She nodded toward her sister’s disappearing shape. “I believe you know her husband—Lord Tuleen, Lance Wayland of Marwood.”

Lady Cait pulled down the hood of her mantle, and Roysa resisted staring. It was a difficult task. Terric’s sister had a face so lovely one could stare at it for hours. Her hair was brown, with just a hint of auburn, and her wide eyes were honey brown. But there was something behind them . . .

“I believe the others are gathering in the solar chamber,” she said.

Terric’s sister did not move.

Silence held between them for a moment before Lady Cait said, “They talk of battles and sieges. I would refresh myself first.”

Roysa understood. When she’d first arrived at Dromsley, she’d been desperate for sleep. Such a long, difficult journey was draining.

“Of course. Although . . .” She peered around her, looking for the steward. “I do not know this castle well enough to know where you will be installed.”

When Lady Cait smiled, Roysa felt the power of it—it reminded her of Terric, the way his smile always gleamed in his eyes.

“Anywhere we might sit for a moment will do.”

That, Roysa could manage. Taking off her mantle, revealing a vibrant green riding gown similar to one Roysa’s mother had helped her sew, Lady Cait handed it to a maidservant.

She led Lady Cait to the very spot where she’d sat with her own sister earlier. The delight on her face assured Roysa that she had not seen it before. If Terric had spent little time here growing up, Cait had spent even less.

“Such a large window. And so much light.” Lady Cait closed her eyes as if the velvet cushioned seat were the queen’s throne. “My backside thanks you,” she said, opening her eyes at last.

“So will you tell me. About my brother?”

“Of course.” Roysa watched as Lady Cait stripped off her leather gloves. “You know of the order?”

Cait rubbed her hands together. “Lance and Guy . . . and Conrad.” She sighed. “I know it well.”

Of course she did. They had met because of her.

“And of their mission?”

“I do.”

They could see all the way to the stairwell, of course, and only bedchambers lay in the other direction. Roysa felt comfortable to speak freely.

“John agreed to treat with them, but not until spring. They’ve since heard rumors that the men who remain loyal to the king are moving against the men who signed the charter.”

“Including Terric?” Lady Cait asked softly.

“Beginning with him, it would seem, as a symbol of the Northern rebellion on one of the order’s members.”

“And somehow my brother devised a way to delay the conflict and put himself in danger?”

Roysa thought it a remarkably accurate account of what had happened.

“Aye. He felt a siege would only bolster John’s support. After learning the king’s men here in the north move against Dromsley”—she lowered her voice, to be safe—“he rode out to burn down a bridge. One that would delay those marching against us.”

“Alone?”

“With one man. He trusted no one with the mission, save Lance, who remains here at Terric’s insistence.”

Roysa thought the news might upset Lady Cait, but she took it with remarkable calm.

“When is he due back?”

Roysa knew the answer, to the hour. She’d thought of little else in the interim. “In two days’ time.”