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While it was true Stanton should have returned by now, he could tell from Rory’s expression the visitor was someone else entirely.

Someone unexpected. Which could be very good or very bad.

“A Lord Berkshire, according to your steward. His men are still beyond the gates. He is eager to speak with you.”

“Berkshire?” The name was not a familiar one.

Terric looked at Roysa, who seemed embarrassed to have been caught alone with him. He hoped she wasn’t worried about the rumors. Terric could give a shite about what anyone said about them, and besides, his brother was unlikely to gossip.

“Do you know of him?” he asked her.

She frowned. “A border lord, I believe. But I know nothing other than the name.”

“Pardon me,” he said, walking past her and trying not to inhale. But temptation got the better of him, as it often did with her. He stopped just beyond her, the scent of citrus blossoms familiar and pleasing.

He knew it was foolish—it certainly wouldn’t help him keep his distance until this was done—but he couldn’t leave without touching her. He simply couldn’t.

“I will be just a moment,” he told Rory, who nodded and left them.

Alone.

Hauling her against him, Terric lost himself in Roysa’s lips. She opened for him, and he did not hesitate. He used his mouth, his tongue, to tell her what he could not.

He loved this woman with a ferocity that made him reckless.

Pulling away, Terric continued toward the hall without looking back.

Saint Rosalina indeed.

“Welcome to Dromsley Castle.”Terric ushered the stranger into his solar, flanked by Lance, Rory, and Gilbert. The man had given up his sword without complaint, but they were all still a bit wary. With good reason. Their visitor had refused to explain his visit to any save Terric.

“I would have waited till morn,” Berkshire said as he entered the room, “but fear there is no time.”

The man’s tone gave Terric pause. As did his late-night arrival.

“Sit,” he said, nodding to the chambermaid, who had brought ale in behind them. She moved to Berkshire, extending her hands to take his mantle.

When he removed it, Terric stared at the man’s chest in shock.

“Brother?” Rory’s concern was evident.

But Terric did not respond. Instead, he shifted his gaze up to the newcomer’s face. “You.”

The man had not attempted to hide the coat of arms on his surcoat, which was the only reason Terric had not drawn his weapon. The man could have easily taken it off before coming here.

“Terric?” Lance sensed his unease and moved toward him.

“Explain. Now.”

As he spoke, the others fell in around him. Rory, Lance, Gilbert. All knew instinctively Berkshire was some sort of threat.

“I mean no harm. Would not be here, alone, if I did.”

Terric suspected that was the case, but he still needed answers. Catching Rory’s eye, he explained, “He was at the bridge. With Ulster.”

The others did not react quite as calmly as Terric had. Rory drew his sword, and he wasn’t alone—Lance appeared ready to cut the man’s throat.

“You’d best explain,” Terric said in a slow, spiritless tone. If the man valued his life, he would do so. And quickly.