Page 92 of The Scot

“To answer your earlier question, Ulster has surrendered. And aye, it hurts like the devil.”

When he tried to sit up, the physician pushed him back down. “Lord or no, you’ll be staying that way until the stomach settles.”

Terric frowned but did not argue.

His stomach? Looking closer, Roysa realized he was quite pale. And did not appear well.

“Did we take any prisoners?”

“Aye, though they’ve not been counted,” Lance answered. “The wounded are still being brought inside, the dead . . .” He stopped.

“Father is alive,” she said, saying it with as much conviction as Cait had possessed when she declared Terric was alive after the incident with the bridge. Surely she would sense it if it were otherwise. And Idalia needed to hear as much. Her sister looked decidedly ill.

“Rory—” Terric began.

“Has taken command. You’ve nothing to fear.” Lance turned to leave. “He will be glad to hear you’re alive.”

Terric groaned. “Felled once again.”

He said it so quietly, Roysa didn’t think anyone else heard him. The physician had moved on. Lance was gone. Only she and Cait remained by his side.

“Terric,” Cait began.

“’Tis well enough,” he said, sitting against the physician’s orders. “The others took up my cause, and we were victorious.”

She watched him carefully, but there was no anger. Or bitterness. Only sincerity, and she wasn’t the only one to understand the significance of it. Cait’s eyes filled with tears, but she quickly wiped them away.

Terric closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and then swung his legs over the side of the table.

“I must go,” he said, reopening his eyes. His gaze suggested they should not attempt to stop them, and indeed, they did not.

Before he walked away, he leaned toward Roysa, pulling her to him for a kiss that was soft and filled with promise. The kiss of a man who had just lived through a battle that others, including Gilbert, had not survived.

“I’ll find your father,” he said, nodding to Idalia as he left.

And with that, he was gone.