“I always knew the Montgomerys were smart men,” laughed a man standing a few feet from Bronwyn. A thick tapestry hid her from his view. “Look at the way the eldest married that Revedoune heiress. He’d hardly got out of his marriage bed when her father was killed and he inherited the earldom.”
“And now Stephen is following in his brother’s footsteps. Not only is this Bronwyn beautiful, but she owns hundreds of acres of land.”
“You can say what you like,” said a third man. His sleeve was empty, his left arm missing. “But I don’t envy Stephen. The woman is magnificent, but how long will he be able to enjoy her? I lost this fighting those devils in Scotland. They’re only half human, I tell you. They grow up learning nothing but plunder and robbery. And they fight more like animals than men. They’re a crude, savage lot.”
“And I heard their women stink to high heaven,” the first man said.
“For that black-haired Bronwyn I’d learn to hold my nose.”
Bronwyn took a step forward, a feral snarl on her lips. When a hand caught her arm, she looked up into a young man’s face. He was handsome, with dark eyes, a firm mouth. Her eyes were on a level with his.
“Allow me, my lady,” he said quietly.
He stepped forward to the group of men. His strong legs were encased in tight hose, his velvet jacket emphasizing the width of his shoulders. “Have you nothing better to do than gossip like old women? You talk of things you know nothing about.” His voice was commanding.
The three men looked startled. “Why, Roger, what’s wrong with you?” one asked, then stared over Roger’s shoulder and saw Bronwyn, her eyes glittering in stormy anger.
“I think Stephen had better come soon and guard his property,” one of the other men laughed.
“Get out of here!” Roger ordered. “Or shall I draw my sword to get your attention?”
“Deliver me from the hot blood of youth,” one man said wearily. “Go to her. Come, the outside is cooler. The passions have more room to expand in the out-of-doors.”
When the men were gone, Roger turned back to Bronwyn. “May I apologize for my countrymen? Their rudeness is based on ignorance. They meant no harm.”
Bronwyn glared at him. “I fear it is you who are ignorant. They meant great harm, or do you consider murdering Scots no sin?”
“I protest! You’re unfair to me. I have killed few men in my life and no Scots.” He paused. “May I introduce myself? I am Roger Chatworth.” He swept his velvet cap from his head and bowed low before her.
“And I, sir, am Bronwyn MacArran, prisoner to the English and, of late, discarded bride.”
“Lady Bronwyn, will you walk with me in the garden? Perhaps the sunshine will take away some of the misery Stephen has foisted upon you.”
She turned and walked beside him. At least he might keep the guards from tossing rude jests at her. Once they were outside, she spoke again. “You speak Montgomery’s name as if you know him.”
“Have you not met him yourself?”
Bronwyn whirled on him. “Since when have I been afforded any courtesy by your English king? My father thought enough of me to name me laird of Clan MacArran, but your king thinks I have too little sense to even choose my own husband. No, I have not seen this Stephen Montgomery, nor do I know anything about him. I was told one morning I was to marry him. Since then he has not so much as acknowledged my presence.”
Roger lifted a handsome eyebrow at her. Her hostility made her eyes sparkle like blue diamonds. “I’m sure there must be an excuse for his tardiness.”
“Perhaps his excuse is that he means to assert his authority over all the Scots. He will show us who is master.”
Roger was silent for a moment as if he were considering her words. “There are those who consider the Montgomerys arrogant.”
“You say you know this Stephen Montgomery. What is he like? I don’t know if he’s short or tall, old or young.”
Roger shrugged as if his mind were elsewhere. “He is an ordinary man.” He seemed reluctant to continue. “Lady Bronwyn, tomorrow would you do me the honor of riding into the park with me? There’s a stream running across Sir Thomas’s land, and perhaps we could carry a meal there.”
“Aren’t you afraid that I’ll make an attempt on your life? I have not been allowed off these grounds for over a month.”
He smiled at her. “I would like you to know there are Englishmen with more manners than to, as you say, discard a woman on her wedding day.”
Bronwyn stiffened as she was reminded of the humiliation Stephen Montgomery had caused her. “I would very much like to ride out with you.”
Roger Chatworth smiled and nodded to a man passing them on the narrow garden path. His mind was working quickly.
Three hours later Roger returned to his apartments in the east wing of Sir Thomas Crichton’s house. He’d come there two weeks ago to talk to Sir Thomas about recruiting young men from the area. Sir Thomas had been too busy with the problems of the Scots heiress to talk of anything else. Now Roger was beginning to think fate had brought him here.
