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He’d asked her to wait.

And she would.

20

Nearly a week had passed since the council. Since he’d seen her.

Clave ran as smoothly as ever. Garrick’s men benefited from the tactics they’d learned overseas and trained hard despite the cold, making him proud to be their leader. And his allies had all communicated their praise and ready acceptance of him after the meeting of the council.

Better yet, news had arrived just this morn indicating one of the men who’d been captured following the attack on Garrick’s men had been turned over to the English warden, per Garrick’s agreement with Graeme. The man had finally started talking. He’d admitted to being sent to waylay Garrick specifically, though he claimed not to know who’d hired him. The warden intended to hold the man prisoner until the next Day of Truce, at which point he’d be brought to trial for his crimes.

Another messenger had arrived. Garrick had hurried back to the castle from the training yard, eager to see if it was a missive from his mother. But instead of seeking the steward out directly, he found himself drawn to the same exact spot where he’d last seen her.

He returned to this place each day to feel closer to her.

“Pardon, my lord.”

He closed the shutters. Mable had found him instead of him having to seek her out.

“A missive from the men you sent to Scotland.” She held out the letter.

He quickly read the message and glanced up at her. The eagerness in her eyes told him she’d be reluctant to leave until he relayed the message. He knew why—Mable and his mother were nearly as close as sisters.

“The men are on their way back.”

Mable waited.

“To England.” He tried not to smile. He really had missed teasing their steward.

“I know, my lord, to England. When? With whom?”

“Posthaste. With each other, of course. Why, do you believe any of them would stay—”

“Lord Clave, you’ve got too much of yer father in you,” she scolded.

He rather hoped so. “I would expect them within the week. And my mother travels with them.”

“Very good, my lord.”

Without another word, Mable snatched the missive from his hands. The edges of her mouth had tipped up just slightly enough to form a smile, though someone who didn’t know her would not have noticed.

The sound of footsteps preceded Conrad’s voice. “Mistress Mable, you are looking quite fine—”

“Save yer compliments for the ladies who think ye sincere,” Mable said to him as he turned the corner and walked into the room.

Garrick chuckled, delighted to see there was at least one person who would not fall prey to his friend’s charms.

“Mable is wise to your wicked ways,” he said, knowing full well she could still hear.

“The men said you’d left training early. After you knocked every last one of them on their arses. Their words, not mine.”

Garrick had seen the rider and hadn’t wanted to wait for the news. But if he told Conrad as much, his friend would chide him for a fool.

“So your mother’s coming?”

“God’s blood, is there nothing you don’t know about what happens around here?”

“You forget, great Earl of Clave and master of men, I know all. About everything.”