Page 13

At that, she allowed herself a victory smile. It seemed a reasonable compromise to her and would be quicker than waiting for her grandmother to send a missive to Walter and then for him to find a way for Freya to receive it.

Now, to survive the journey with Sir Rory Waryn by her side.

Chapter Nine

Conall whistled as they strode up to the men. Freya’s obstinance aside, this mission had in fact gone more smoothly than Rory could have imagined. “Well, I’ll be a blacksmith’s chisel, you did it.”

Introducing Freya to the men, and them to her, Rory did not waste time explaining the series of events to his cousin. “We made it inside the gates easy enough, courtesy of our merchant’s wagon. I trust he recovered?”

All three of the men, including his cousin, were staring at Lady Freya. Rory cleared his throat.

“Aye,” Conall finally answered.

To say being mesmerized by a woman was unlike his cousin would minimize the current situation. Whereas Rory very much enjoyed women—looking at them, touching them, kissing them, making love to them—Conall was more like Galien. The old Galien, before Reina. His honor prevented him from all but the safest of dalliances. Serving women, widows . . .

“Recovered from your ministrations, I assume?” Freya asked. The men once again all looked at her as if they’d never seen a woman before. Her unusual deep red-brown hair, no longer braided, flowed down Freya’s back. She’d removed her hood after riding through the gates, as the October day was unseasonably warm.

Even Rory found himself staring at those full lips. A fine sight with Freya framed by the forest, but it would be an even finer one if she were lying beneath him in nothing but a chemise. She was watching him, waiting for his reaction. One he decided not to give her. Rory would not be goaded by the woman. Instead, he addressed Conall. “One injured and one dead guard, and . . .” He peered at Freya. “And one bit of difficulty. Lady Freya, would you care to explain?”

She blinked. “Nay. I would not.”

“Nay? You’d not share with my cousin how you nearly foiled the rescue and had me captured and killed?”

“’Twas not as dramatic as that,” she countered. “A mere inconvenience to your plan.”

“Incon . . .” When he realized Conall and the others watched their exchange with some measure of amusement, he forged ahead. “I will be escorting Lady Freya to Shenworth Castle to speak with her grandmother there. When you return to Bristol, tell my father I will send word as soon as I am able.” To Hamon and Isaac he said, “Which of you would like to accompany us west?”

“Shenworth?” Conall would not relinquish the old plan for a new one so easily. “Could you not more easily send a missive to the baroness?”

“In fact”—Rory offered a sweet smile to Freya—“we could do so, my lady. ’Tis a splendid idea, do you not think? Reunite with your men at Bristol and write to your grandmother from there. A solid plan indeed.”

If he’d thought his mother and sister possessed the most dangerous tempers in Scotland, Rory had clearly not met Lady Freya. He would be a pile of cinders were that fire able to shoot from her gaze at him.

“Nay.” She pulled her mantle around her. “I do not, in fact, believe that plan to be feasible.” She addressed Conall. “I refused to leave with Sir Rory, as I did the day my father’s men escaped. By doing so, I’ve abandoned Edyington and, more importantly, its people. As I am certain you know already, your cousin is . . . persuasive.”

All three of the men burst into laughter as if they stood here with no care for the king’s men who might have discovered Lady Freya missing. Or the dead guard. Or whether the other finally woke from his slumber.

“Persuasive,” Hamon repeated. “He once had the French princess feeding him—”

“I believe Lady Freya above such talk,” Rory interrupted. “In fact, perhaps you should come with us, Isaac.” Hamon tended to speak a bit too freely at times.

“As you wish, my lord,” Isaac said, though his tone was more amused than deferential.

“He agreed to escort you to Shenworth in exchange for your acquiescence,” Conall correctly surmised.

“Indeed.”

“Hmm.” His cousin did not seem pleased by the prospect, but he nevertheless came to terms with the new plan quickly. “Then it seems we part ways, cousin. I will tell your father to wait for word, or your presence, at Bristol after you’ve installed Lady Freya at Shenworth.”

This bit would get tricky. He braced himself for Freya’s next words.

“I do not go to Shenworth Castle to live there,” she said.

“Nay?” Conall was curious now.

Rory squeezed his eyes shut and waited. He opened them just in time to see his cousin’s expression when she blurted, “I go to raise an army to take back my home. To punish and root out the king’s evil and my brother, the head of the snake responsible for the death of more than one hundred good men, my father included.”

Predictably, his cousin’s jaw dropped. It was no small matter to openly declare war against the king of England, which was precisely what Freya proposed. Even in their support for the Scottish cause, his family and Clan Kerr had carefully skirted doing just that.