Page 103 of Ruthless, But for Her

West Ford at Norham on the Day of Truce would have been a dangerous place for him even without the accusation of murder hanging over his head.

“Do not tell them.”

Margot had been just about to close the door when she paused.

“We cannot afford to lose all three of us on the morrow. They will attempt to come when they are unsuccessful in stopping me.” She sighed.

“Perhaps that they would do so and risk defeat at the Reach should tell you something,” she added.

It did, but Ashton was going anyway.

“I have no plans to reveal myself. Or even speak with her. But I will ensure her safety while she’s there and after, depending on the outcome.”

When she inclined her head and pulled the door shut, he thanked her for the second time that eve. Ashton wasn’t certain if she heard him.

Nor did he know if she would do his bidding.

Which meant he had little time to lose.

He could be at Norham by daybreak if he rode all night.

He dressed, headed down the outside stairwell and found his horse saddled, packs tied behind the saddle and enough provisions for the night’s ride.

It wasn’t until Mere’s End disappeared into the night, the prospect of Ryker and Sorren learning of his plan and following fading away, that he allowed himself to dwell on one important thing.

Ashton would see Cassia on the morrow.

CHAPTER 57

Cassia

“Lady Heron.”

Her name sounded different, as if it were someone else being spoken to.

Cassia stood.

The hall at Norham was not as large as she had imagined it would be. Men crowded the benches and stood along the walls, English and Scottish alike. Some were armed, despite the truce that had brought them there. The hall smelled of damp wool and too many bodies pressed together against the lingering spring cold.

She saw de Grey immediately.

Silas de Grey sat at the English table. Broad shoulders, his dark hair grey at the temples and beard trimmed close, his clothing was finer than most of the people in the hall. But it was his expression, and that he was already watching her, that Cassia noticed most.

Cassia looked away from him.

There were others she recognized. Lord McGarron sat among the Scots, the Scottish warden's expression giving nothing away. Toren Kerr, Chief of Clan Kerr, stood farther back, near the wall. She'd never met him, but his name was whispered from one man to the next as soon as he'd entered the hall.

She had not expected either man, though she supposed she should have. Men came to a Day of Truce carrying grievances from every corner of the Border.

But not Ashton. She didn't expect him. A wanted man was more likely to be hanged on sight than he was to get a fair trial.

Cassia walked forward.

A clerk sat at one end of the table with parchment before him. Beside him were men coming with their own claims—cattle stolen. Abductions. Coin owed. She'd heard of the violence at the Border but never realized what that actually looked like, until now.

“You are Cassia of Grantchester, widow of Sir Roland Heron?” the sheriff asked.

“I am.”