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How could he say this gently?

He couldn’t. “I am the men Sir Walter sent.”

She scoffed at him. “Surely not the only one. We have many allies along the border and—”

“Allies who outright refused to aid him, unwilling to openly defy the king? Or do you refer to the Brotherhood, who convened a council that decided the only recourse was to hie you away from Edyington, which is securely in the hands of the English king now?”

“Nay. ’Tis not so.”

“Aye, my lady. I do not, nor will I ever, lie to you. ’Tis not in my nature to do so.”

He watched as she thought on his words. Rory might have felt poorly for her if there were more time. He reached for her arm, pulling her away from the guard. “We are leaving. Now.”

“Nay.” She pulled away from him. “We are not.”

He could not resist. “How will you prevent it, Freya? I’ve told you already what awaits you if you bite me again.”

This flash of her eyes had nothing to do with anger. He knew it well, and Lady Freya was not skilled enough to hide it from him. She might fight him, but his fair maiden did desire him. The feeling was mutual. And pointless to reflect on, as they really did need to be on their way.

“I’ve written to my grandmother,” she blurted, as if the words had significance. Which they did not.

“You may have written to the pope,” he said, “but it matters naught. We must be on our way.”

“My grandmother,” she repeated, “is Lady Miriel of Shenworth.”

Rory released her arm, finally making the connection. Lady Miriel of Shenworth. Of course. Hathawaye’s mother. The Lioness of the West. She would be a countess if the king had not stripped her of the title when her husband died. No doubt afraid of the power she held along the Welsh borders. The size of her retinue rivaled Kenshire or Lancaster’s.

Suddenly, her behavior made sense. The granddaughter of a woman such as Lady Miriel would not go peacefully into the night after her home was attacked. Especially if that granddaughter believed a force of men would be coming to take back Edyington.

“Did Sir Walter know of this?”

She nodded, looking at the guard.

“He will not wake for some time,” Rory assured her. “Well after we are gone.”

Freya rolled her eyes. “We?”

“Aye, Freya. We.”

She ignored him but did answer the question. “He did. I asked for him to send the message after he finally relented and left me behind. Something you’ve yet to do.”

Bastard. When Sir Walter had said the lady had been “reluctant to leave her home,” he’d not hinted at her absolute refusal. Or stubbornness. Surely he knew Lady Freya would pose as much difficulty to the mission as getting inside the damn gates. Sir Walter must have presented her with the same arguments Rory had already, so he took a more direct tack.

“Your grandmother will not be coming to your aid.”

That did seem to gain the lady’s attention. “Pardon me?”

Two guards now missing. They really did not have time to dally. “To take back Edyington, she would be forced to send the entirety of her retinue, leaving Shenworth Castle vulnerable. King Edward would see it not only as a direct attack against his wishes here, in the North, to use Edyington as he pleases for future attacks on Scotland, but also as a weakening of the inroads he’s made in Wales. If Shenworth Castle falls, so too does his hold there. He is rumored to be preparing to name his son Prince of Wales, a title that would not serve the young Edward well if the country was, indeed, lost to him. Your grandmother did not earn the nickname of Lioness of the West by making decisions from the heart rather than the head. ’Tis naught but wishful thinking to believe otherwise.”

For the briefest of moments, he thought the lady might cry. He was sorry for the look of despondency he’d caused, but if he was to save his own life and preserve hers, the truth was warranted.

But perhaps he’d imagined it. No sooner had she soaked in his words fully than did Freya’s chin rise, as her grandmother’s might. Dammit, he was going to have to knock the woman unconscious. Something Sir Walter might have been afraid to do, but that Rory had begun to strongly consider.

She will come, Rory had insisted.

Nay, Sir Walter had said. She will not.

A crack of uncertainty had been wrought, despite her protests. Rory went in for the kill. Against his better judgement. “Stay and serve your brother. Wait for the king’s command for your husband. You will have lost your father, your home, and your own life, for all intents and purposes. Come with me and enjoy . . .”