“Exactly.”
Her grip on his arm relaxed. “Well done, fine sir. Well done, indeed.”
A sudden horn blast from the southwest tower startled them both.
“Someone approaches.” Elspet frowned at the tower as if wishing to silence it.
“Get inside.”
“I will not.” The indignation in her voice stopped Valan partway down the stair. “I never ran from the English. I willna run from whoever approaches.”
“Elspet—”
“Nay, Valan. Now, leave off.”
A spindly lad loped toward them, dodging chickens, geese, and milling townsfolk as he crossed the courtyard. “Lady Elspet! ’Tis Himself a comin’!”
“Euban Maxwell is notHimself.” She hit the wood railing with her fist. “Ye will address him as Master Euban, ye ken?”
The youngling’s face flushed red, and he backed up a step, bowing as he did so. “Aye, m’lady. Beg pardon.”
She shooed the lad away with a flip of her hand. “Find Lady Beitris. Bring her to me. Make haste!”
The boy took off, running even faster than before.
“A day early.” Elspet fisted both hands atop the railing. “’Tis just like him.” Her gaze darted all over the courtyard.
Excitement hummed through the space. The people murmured and chatted as they gathered, craning their necks to see the man many of them thought should be their next laird.
Valan wished he had time to thrash some sense into them. Make them appreciate the woman who had given them her life. But there was no time. Instead, he took his place at her side and covered her trembling fist with his hand. “This is even better, my own. The bastard will witness the delivery of the king’s message.”
Her rapid breathing seemed to slow, but she still chewed on her bottom lip and didn’t reply.
“Hold fast, m’love. Ye dinna face this bastard alone.” Valan wished he could get word to Marcas and Roland but felt sure the two would know what to do when they saw Maxwell and his men approaching.
Lady Beitris, with William on her heels, emerged from the base of the southeast tower and ran across the courtyard. Valan noted that she, too, had set aside her armor and donned attire more befitting a laird’s daughter. And she, like her mother, had not covered her coppery curls, but left them loose and streaming down her back. With both hands fisted in the dark green folds of her skirts, she held them up out of the way as she sped up the steps. Eyes wide, color high on her cheeks, she bared her teeth like a cornered animal. “Mama—he is nearly here.”
Elspet wrapped an arm around her and hugged her close. “William and yerself are to act surprised by the order of marriage when it arrives. His mother and the king’s mother have orchestrated it, not because the two of ye wish to marry, ye ken?”
Lady Beitris bobbed her head with a nervous jerk, then turned to William. “Understand?”
“Aye.” William scowled at Valan. “Can we not just kill the bastard and be done with all these games?”
“That is not the lady’s wish.” While Valan agreed with William, he trusted Elspet to know her people better than they did. So, it was best they do as she asked.
“Thank ye for seeking yet another escape from marrying me, William.” Lady Beitris shot him a seething look.
The young warrior glared right back at her. “I would still marry ye, ye vicious wee hen. I canna imagine life without yer thorns in me arse. I’ve grown used to yer sting.”
“Truly?” Lady Beitris’s fiery facade melted, and she reached for him.
“None of that. Not yet.” Elspet stepped between them. “Surprised. Do ye hear me?”
Both stepped apart with obedient nods.
The slow, steady clopping of horses echoed from the gatehouse tunnel as, single file, Euban and his men poured into the courtyard. At a glance, Valan reckoned at least a dozen. Maybe more. The interior of the castle strained to hold them. Valan assumed that the smug, barrel-chested man at the front was Euban.
Dressed all in black, dark hair and beard streaked with gray and disgusting in its greasy stringiness, the man dismounted, looking all around as if he already owned Caerlaverock.
