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Surprisingly, the merchant did not immediately agree. “I . . .” he stuttered. “If the tanner does not receive these hides . . .” He glanced at his wife, clearly worried for their livelihood.

“He will receive them,” Conall said. “You have my word.”

The word of a man may very well be attempting to fleece the merchant of his transport. Rory rolled his eyes. Unfortunately, neither the husband nor wife knew his cousin as he did. They could not know that if anyone alive was more a man of his word than Conall, a bolt of lightning should strike Rory dead on this very spot. More principled than any, he was relentless in pursuit of a justice this world sometimes did not uphold.

Rory, on the other hand, was grounded more in the real world than Conall. “I will deliver it myself,” he said, “because ’tis in my interest not to draw any undue suspicion upon my person. A cart full of undelivered hides serves me little.” He addressed the wife, “What say you, mistress, to our proposal?”

“Of course we shall take them.” She moved to stand when her husband stopped her.

“We know not your purpose at Edyington.” He looked suspiciously, rightly so, at them both.

“Our purpose is our own, but I can assure you it is not a nefarious one,” Conall said, attempted to sway the man. “In fact, ’tis the opposite. We aim to help someone in need of it.”

The wife wished to make the trade, but the husband was not convinced. Rory could see by his narrowed gaze he would continue to question them.

“Bloody hell,” he muttered under his breath before moving so quickly to the side of the cart where the husband sat, the man did not even have time to let go of the ox’s reins. By the time he did, Rory’s sword was drawn. The wife screamed as he jumped up, held onto the cart with one hand, and with the other, hit the merchant on the side of the head with the hilt of his sword. Catching him with his body, Rory promptly sheathed his sword and pulled him down enough for Conall to grab him.

As his cousin dragged the merchant’s body to the side of the road, Rory turned his attention to the woman. He put his hand on her shoulder and forced her to look into his eyes. “He is not dead,” Rory assured her. “He will wake soon with a headache, and you will both be two fine Spanish palfreys richer for it. Two of our men will remain with you to ensure your safety in the meantime.”

She’d stopped screaming, thankfully, but was clearly still afraid. “He is not—” She glanced toward her husband. “—dead?”

“Nay, he is not. But you will both be if you attempt to follow us into Edyington.”

Her eyes widened. “You would—”

“Kill you both,” he lied. Rory had not, nor would he ever, harm a woman. But she did not need to know that particular fact. “You may return after a sennight, but no sooner. Do you understand?”

She swallowed and nodded. In response, Rory raised her hand to his lips. It was gloved to keep the chilled October air at bay, but he kissed it anyway. “Treat the animals well before you sell them,” he said. “Good day, mistress.” He dropped her hand, jumped from the cart, and nodded to Isaac and Hamon. “Stay with her. When he wakes, repeat my warning to the husband and see they travel north or east, I care not which. Just as long as it is away from Edyington.”

Hamon nodded. “Aye, lord.”

As they moved to secure the cart, and its mistress, Rory joined Conall.

“I could have convinced him,” his cousin said, predictably.

“Aye, and a party of king’s men could have happened upon our impromptu gathering and become interested in our purpose.” Rory reached out his hand. “This is where we part ways, cousin. I will meet you in this very spot with Lady Freya in two days’ time. Godspeed.”

Conall looked at his hand in amusement. “You think I will let go of my argument to join you that easily?”

“I do, because you know there is no one in either of our families more cunning or able to complete this task. I was chosen for a reason and ask you to trust me in this, Conall.”

The glare he received was worth the price. With a grunt, his cousin stuck out his hand and shook his. “Godspeed, Rory. I would wish you luck in the task, but I know none will be needed.”

“Indeed,” he agreed. “It will not. I will see you back here in two days.”

Chapter Four

“Lady Freya, a word?”

Still seething for having been dragged into the hall this way, Freya continued to smile as her brother commanded. If he harmed another hair on poor Loretta’s head, however, Freya would take a dagger to his gut herself. Brother or nay.

Turning at the sound of their steward’s voice, she inclined her head. Eustace watched her as closely as he had since she’d agreed to make an appearance. But the steward was with him, had ushered her brother and the king’s men straight into the hall after the battle. Freya had little love for the man before Edyington had been taken and even less now.

Denying him an audience would go against her brother’s decree, however. A simple but loathsome one. Give any hint you are displeased and the maid will suffer. Reminding her of the time he pulled a frog’s leg off to “see if it were true he might grow a new one,” Eustace had a wildness to his eyes that told Freya her brazenness should, for once, be tamed. She had to bite her own lip not to offer the steward a retort that would send him straight to her brother with a complaint, but Freya did what was necessary as he pulled her to the side of the hall.

“’Tis good to see you about, my lady.”

’Tis not good to see you strutting through my father’s hall as if nothing were amiss.