Page 84

An English prison would be preferable to what he would be forced to endure now. Toren’s disappointment. He’d meant to impress his brother, and Allie, but instead he’d only proven, yet again, that he could not be trusted. He’d given the elders another reason to deny his appeal.

Toren strode directly toward the sheriff, who spoke and stopped the proceedings, and though Reid was too far away to hear what was said, he had never seen his brother look so angry. He pointed at Reid, and then across the field to where the English officers stood, and before long, each of the clan chiefs or representatives moved to stand beside him.

In Caxton’s absence, his sheriff presided in his place. Reid had planned to demand the handwarcelle, a wager of battle, which could be his only chance at escaping this day. But it seemed such would not be necessary. With one wave of the sheriff’s hand, Reid’s chains were removed and he was roughly shoved toward his clansmen. As he approached, Toren’s expression become clear.

And it was worse than he had thought.

His brother was not angry, nor did he even appear disappointed. Instead, he looked at him the way he had only once before, when Reid had first refused to accept Alex’s former position.

Toren was sad. How his brother had secured his release, he did not know. Nor would he ask. Instead, Reid stood beside Toren and watched the remainder of the proceedings, unsure of what to say.

And though he should remain quiet, when it became apparent the proceedings were over, he thanked his captors loudly enough for all to hear.

“Tell Lord Caxton,” he said directly to the sheriff, “the border clans will not be goaded. We are here as agreed, in good faith, despite every attempt to undermine the very process that has maintained peace since the treaty was signed.”

Toren slapped him on the back to indicate they should leave after his parting words caused the beginnings of an uproar. He had disappointed everyone that day, including the one person he’d never cared to impress until now.

Himself.

28

He needed to see her.

After a hellish ride back from the border, Reid was in a foul mood. Toren was furious with him, his clansmen none the less so, and the few words they had spoken on the ride back had not been pleasant ones.

In the past, Reid would have consoled himself with a willing woman, a tavern, or both. He’d have silently railed at his brother for failing to listen to him, even if he was in the wrong. The downward spiral would have lasted for days, if not longer.

But not tonight.

After fetching a tankard of ale, Reid made his way to Allie’s bedchamber. He stopped outside of her door, suddenly unsure. Would she want to let him in?

He did not deserve this woman, but neither could he stay away from her.

Reid knocked.

He waited and listened.

Nothing.

Another knock. More silence.

He’d already looked for her in the hall, so he knew she was not there.

“Allie?” he called.

With his free hand, he pushed the door open.

She was not there.

His heart skipped a beat. Had she left Brockburg? Who would have given her escort? Though the trip was mostly on either Kerr or Scott land, that no longer seemed to matter. The recent raids had been pushing north and hitting much closer to them than they had in years.

He put the tankard down on a table and left the room, practically running back down the stairwell and out into the night. He earned a few odd looks when he burst back into the hall moments after leaving it, but nothing more. Allie was nowhere to be seen.

He looked everywhere . . . the wall-walk, the kitchen, each room in the great keep. He considered stopping to ask one of the servants whether she’d left, but Reid was too afraid of the answer.

“Reid?”

He spun around to face Father Simon. The courtyard was nearly empty but for the priest. Two young girls scurried past them, their giggling echoing long after they had left.