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Chapter 4

“You won’t come down?” Roysa asked, dejected.

“Nay, I’m not hungry,” Cait said, which was true enough.

“But you’ve not eaten since this morn.” Also true, although her stomach would not hold down any food. She felt quite sure of that.

Cait played with the ties on her kirtle, avoiding the other woman’s gaze. Roysa had refused to sit, so the two of them stood in the middle of Cait’s chamber, unmoving. What it lacked in light, the small but beautifully decorated room made up for in finery. Everywhere she looked, scarlet and gold dominated. The bed curtains, the tapestries. It was as fine as any lady’s chamber, and Cait could not help but wonder who resided here normally.

“Well, if you aren’t hungry,” her friend said, “will you at least tell me why you were looking at the Earl of Licheford as if he were the first course in a splendidly delicious meal?”

They had been installed in separate chambers, but Cait was just two rooms away from Roysa and Terric, in the same tower. Despite its size, the keep at Licheford Castle was fairly easy to navigate. A square with four towers, and they were both guests in the one facing west. Unfortunately, it was also the closest to the outer wall, which meant no large windows, but there was plenty of light from the hearth and the candles spread about the room for her to see Roysa’s very determined expression.

But Cait was even more so.

Until she spoke to Conrad, she simply did not wish to discuss her feelings for him.

“I thought at first you seemed unsettled just to see him, and his scar . . .” Roysa trailed off. The scar along the right side of his face, from cheek to chin, had been the price he’d paid for saving her. “But I can tell there’s more to it. I know you too well to think otherwise, though not as well as I would like.” Roysa paused, then added, “You came back to England for him? For Conrad?”

So accustomed to avoiding questions, to changing topics, whenever discussion turned to the tournament, Cait’s instinct was to do the same right now. But her sister-in law seemed so eager to help her, to know her better.

She could give her at least this much.

“Aye,” she said simply, and instantly regretted it when she saw the pity in Roysa’s eyes.

“Do not look at me that way. This has naught to do with the attack.”

And yet she felt weak again. Helpless. She’d felt so brave following Rory to Dromsley. For not allowing herself to be sent back home.

But now that she was here . . .

She couldn’t go down to the great hall to join the others. Not yet. She wasn’t ready.

“Come,” Roysa urged, motioning to the door. “It will be a joyous reunion, all four of the men. You can meet Sabine.”

“We met briefly earlier.”

“You need to eat.”

Roysa’s shoulders sagged when Cait shook her head.

“I am not hungry,” she insisted again. “Go, tell Terric I will speak to him on the morrow.”

Roysa arched her brow. “And the others?”

“Do you mean Conrad?”

Roysa blinked. “Perhaps.”

There was no message she could offer to explain her actions. She needed to speak with him, but not tonight. Not in front of the others.

“Nay.”

Roysa must have sensed she’d say no more. With one final frown, she turned toward the door. “Shall I have someone sent to assist you?”

Cait glanced down again at the ties on the sides of her kirtle. “Nay,” she repeated. But just before her sister-in-law shut the door, she added, “Thank you.”

“Good eve,” Roysa murmured, closing the door behind her.

Roysa’s warm smile reminded Cait of her closest friend back home. She missed Cristane dearly and hoped they would soon be reunited. Cait stared at the closed door for a moment, taking note of the vines that had been etched from the top of the door all around its edges. It took a skilled woodworker to create such a thing. Her chest heaved as Cait imagined those vines coming to life, winding past the door and around the stone walls. Closing in on her.

Pushing the thought from her mind, Cait removed her kirtle and undertunic and washed using the basin of rosewater that had been set out for her. She pulled her hair back, tying it off with a white satin ribbon, and sat in front of the hearth in her robe. It was warm, aye, but still a shiver ran down her back as she thought of him.

Just belowstairs.

It had been foolish of her not to go with Roysa. If her purpose was to avoid Conrad, she could have easily done so by staying in Scotland.

You would be married by now.

Closing her eyes, Cait took a deep breath and then another. She willed herself to stand, to make her way to bed, but decided she would sit for just a moment longer, rest her eyes for a bit.

Cait jumped from her seat, one glance at the fire telling her she’d fallen asleep.

A knock landed on the door, heavy and sure.