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Chapter 13

Darron had entered his bedchamber unannounced and stood at its entrance, staring.

“Kind of you to bathe and dress so finely for me,” he said, his mouth twitching. “But I assure you, I’ve already set my sights on someone.”

Admittedly, Rory did not usually put so much effort into his appearance, but he did not wish to be called on it. Not when he couldn’t offer an explanation. Although Rory could not remember when he’d last kept anything from Darron, he was reluctant to speak of Cristane just yet. There was much to consider, and her place here was already precarious enough.

“Very funny,” he said, pushing his way past his friend into the corridor.

“Who is the woman you seek to impress?”

Light from the wall torches flickered against the stone walls as they walked past. He felt his friend’s gaze on him but shrugged off the question. “I seek to impress no one. What word from Kerr?”

“None yet.”

“You’ve sent a messenger to Dromsley too?”

“Aye.”

“If McKinnon thinks to expand his holdings on the back of an unstable English monarch and a French prince, then he has underestimated the borderers once again.”

“Is he not, in fact, a borderer himself?”

Rory’s answer was immediate. “Nay. He will never be one of us.”

Although his holding lay just northeast of Bradon Moor, which made him a borderer by definition, McKinnon broke the rules the others held sacred. He’d covered his attack on Clan Kerr’s cattle by making it look like it had been done by reivers. An act disrespectful to the Kerrs and the reivers. Which gave him an idea. “Tomorrow send another message. To Aaron Dunn. Tell him McKinnon is planning an attack.”

Darron whistled. “Will they involve themselves, do you think?”

The reiving family would hardly intervene without the right provocation. But Rory might have it.

“Tell them about the cattle and how they disposed of them.”

“That they used reivers to cover for their misdeeds?”

Rory nodded. “Aye. ’Twill be enough of an insult, I believe, to bring him here. If Dunn so wishes it, give them safe passage.”

He stopped then, having reached the doorway to the ground floor solar.

“Thank you, Darron.”

“Are you going to work through the meal, then?” his friend asked, raising his brow.

“I’m taking supper privately this eve.”

Darron looked him up and down, as one would when assessing a mare.

“Not alone, by the looks of it.”

“Go,” he commanded. “We will speak again in the morn.”

Darron didn’t move. Instead, his eyes narrowed.

Rory did not budge, despite the scrutiny. He could guess the direction of his friend’s thoughts and did not desire to speak on the matter. But Darron did not seem to care.

“You’re in love.”

He’d been expecting suspicion, but never that.

“Nay,” he immediately protested, but Darron wasn’t listening. With a smile and a shake of his head, he left Rory standing there attempting to shake off his friend’s words. What did Darron know of love? Less than he, to be sure.

His attention turned to the door. Would she be in there already? There was just one way to find out.

Rory pulled on the iron handle, opened the wooden door to the solar, and stepped inside.