Page 78 of The Scot

It was unlike Cait to disagree with him for the sake of it. She’d always been more apt to do so with Rory. For that reason, Terric listened. “Go on.”

“You are simply too stubborn to realize, in this instance, you are wrong. Although I suspect part of you does know—’tis why you sit in here, hesitating to give the order.”

Cait never raised her voice, but it had the might of an army of thousands—something that imbued her every word with deeper meaning. It had always been that way.

“Your refusal to allow John this temporary victory jeopardizes your men.”

“Cait,” he warned.

“As well as Roysa.”

He opened his mouth to argue, thought better of it, and closed it again. One did not win an argument with Cait. The only way to emerge victorious with her was to stop engaging.

“She loves you.”

The only problem with that particular solution . . .

“Continue to push her away, and you very well may prove successful.”

Was that Cait would never relent.

“You’ve no obligation to me,” she said so softly Terric almost missed it. “Nor mother.”

“Cait,” he warned again, “I’ve serious matters to consider.”

“Aye, you do. And this is one of them.”

Cait stood, placing her now-empty mug onto the table more gingerly than her mood would reflect.

“The king’s father took our home once. And his man tried to take my innocence.”

Pain at the back of his throat prevented him from answering. It was as if his tongue had suddenly swelled at her words.

“And because of it, you’ve become this.” She waved her hand at him. “The strongest, most honorable man I know. A chief. An earl. A good son. And a brother that I’ve missed dearly these past months.”

She walked toward him, extending her hand.

“But it is enough. You are enough.”

He stood and took it. Tears welled in his eyes like unwanted guests he could only get rid of after entertaining them for longer than he wished. She wrapped her arms around his waist, but still he stood rigid—until he heard the sound of her crying.

Terric had not even cried when they’d buried his father, a man he’d loved above all others. But he did now.

“I couldn’t protect you,” he whispered.

“You were a boy. And you did protect me, Terric. It does not matter that you were not alone.”

He hardly heard her words. Terric could remember the way the man, the soldier, had knocked him down with one push. His shoulder had been bruised and sore for days.

He’d been useless, worse than useless. But Conrad and the others had saved her.

“You owe me nothing more than what you’ve already done, brother. Can you hear me?”

I hear you.

She pulled away, wiping her face with both hands and sniffling.

“Why are you here, Cait? In England.” He didn’t ask it because he was angry anymore, or because he was worried for her safety, although he was. He asked because maybe now that she’d stripped him bare, his secretive sister would do the same.

“I will tell you, someday. As you said, you’ve grave matters to consider. But please think on what I’ve said.”

The pleading in her eyes reached that dark, hidden part of his soul that he’d always refused to acknowledge. One which assured him that he was never enough—that he’d failed her and can never make up for it.

He could do that much for his sister. He could question himself—he could admit that he might be wrong.

“I will do so. Now”—he stood back—“tell the others I will be down to the hall soon. Either way, an announcement must be made.”

“The hall was already filling when I left it.”

“Good.”

Cait’s smile reminded him of their mother more and more.

She left without another word, and Terric refilled his mug and sat in the chair she’d just vacated. The advice she’d just given him swirled around in his head, along with that of his advisors. Terric was not too stubborn to acknowledge that his marshal, his captain, and the others who advised him had more experience than he did. Their input was useful. But every time he thought of John celebrating the decapitation of his northern rebellion, if only temporarily, rage boiled from his gut upward until it threatened to strangle him.

In the end, there was only one decision he could make.