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“Not accepted,” she said, unsurprising given his moniker for her, though she did smile at Rory. “I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Sir Rory.”

“And yours, though I do wish it under better circumstances.”

That look, the appreciative one he’d just given Reina, was the precise reason, of all his family members, Rory was the last Galien would have wished to meet Reina. As his mother was Scottish, Rory fought for the cause, as Galien did, but not as openly. Or as fervently, leaving more time for exploits of the. . . gentler nature. Much to his aunt and uncle’s consternation.

In short, Rory was a bit of a scoundrel. He made no apologies for it, driving Galien’s Aunt Catrina mad. Rory had been involved in more than one scandal and would have no qualms taking Reina to his bed, were she agreeable.

Unless, of course, Galien claimed her for himself. Which he could not do.

“Tell us all you know before you go inside,” Galien said. At that, the front door of the inn swung open, and three men stepped outside. Reivers. They exchanged glances, one of the men mumbling a greeting to them. Scottish reivers. Rory bid them a good night.

Waiting until the men stumbled away, toward the stable, Rory spoke quickly.

“They came this morn, looking for Anbarth’s daughter.” He winked at Reina. “You.”

“Dammit,” Galien said, ignoring his cousin’s flirtations. For now.

“Apparently she had been taken by,” he cleared his throat, “a companion to Wallace. One of three men captured even as William himself got away.”

“A companion?” he repeated. “They did not name me?”

“No, they did not.”

Galien expelled a deep breath.

“What does that mean, precisely?” Reina asked.

He answered. “It means your father’s men are searching the border, but they still do not know my identity.”

“And,” Reina added, excited, “they said I’d been taken.”

Galien had caught that as well. “I’m not surprised it is the story they’re telling. Whether your king will believe it, or if word leaks to the contrary. . .” He shrugged. “But aye, ’tis a good thing.”

Rory looked back and forth between them. “My turn. What the hell is going on?”

Despite that no one was about, the inn’s shutters closed, Galien moved them farther away from the building, just to be safe. “William received word that the Stone was being temporarily housed at Rockborowy Manor.”

“It is well on its way to Westminster by now, cousin.”

“Perhaps. But ’twas more than a just rumor, though it matters little now. We were ambushed. William escaped,” he shrugged, “but I was not so lucky.”

“He did not simply escape,” Reina added. “Galien sacrificed himself so that your rebel was not caught.”

“Not my rebel, Lady Reina. I am as English as you.” Evidently seeing the look that passed between Reina and Galien at that, Rory asked, “There is more to this?”

“Aye,” Galien said. “Much more. But that story can wait until we are inside. Tell me what Anbarth’s men said, precisely.”

Rory muttered something about his temperament. Galien knew his cousins, like his own siblings, disagreed with how closely he fought by Wallace’s side. And maybe they were right. But he’d vowed to fight for a cause that was bigger than any of them alone, and that’s what he intended to do.

“They asked if we’d seen a noblewoman pass through Bristol looking for shelter. One possibly with an. . . unsavory sort of companion.”

“Unsavory.” Reina smiled, seemingly enjoying this. “They are correct by some accounts.”

He darted her a look and then asked Rory, “But never named me?”

Rory rolled his eyes. “Oh, did I fail to mention? Now that I think on it, I believe they did ask for you by name. Just before they vowed to return with Edward’s own men to raze Bristol Manor to the ground for the sins of our dear northern relatives.”

Managing to tease and chastise him all at once, Rory’s point was well taken. “You fight for the same cause, Ror. Our clan’s cause.”