He kicked the stool out from under his sleeping squire’s feet. “I have something for you to do,” he commanded as he removed his velvet jacket and slung it across the bed. “There’s an old Scotsman named Angus lying about somewhere. Look for him and bring him to me. You’ll probably find him wherever the drink is flowing freely. And then bring me half a hogshead of ale. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, my lord,” the boy said, backing out of the doorway, rubbing his drowsy eyes.
When Angus appeared in the doorway, he was already half drunk. He worked for Sir Thomas in some sort of capacity, but generally he did little except drink. His hair was dirty and tangled, hanging well past his shoulders in the Scots manner. He wore a long linen shirt, belted at the waist, his knees and legs bare.
Roger glanced at the man and his heathen attire with a brief look of disgust.
“You wanted me, my lord?” Angus said, his voice a soft burr. His eyes followed the small cask of ale that Roger’s squire was carrying into the room.
Chatworth dismissed the boy, poured himself an ale, sat down, and motioned Angus to do likewise. When the filthy man was seated, Roger began. “I’d like to know about Scotland.”
Angus raised his shaggy brows. “You mean where the gold is hidden? We’re a poor country, my lord, and—”
“I want none of your sermons! Save your lies for someone else. I want to know what a man who is to marry the chief of a clan should know.”
Angus stared hard for a moment, then he closed his mouth with his mug of ale. “Aneponymus,eh?” he mumbled in Gaelic. “ ’Tisn’t easy to be accepted by the clan members.”
Roger took one long step across the room and grabbed the mug of ale from the man. “I didn’t ask for your judgments. Will you answer my questions, or do I kick you down the stairs?”
Angus looked at the cold mug with desperate eyes. “Ye must become a MacArran.” He looked up at Roger. “Takin’ that you mean that particular clan.”
Roger gave a brief, curt nod.
“Ye must take the name of the laird of the clan, or the men can’t accept ye. Ye must dress as the Scots or they’ll laugh at ye. Ye must love the land and the Scots.”
Roger lowered the ale. “What about the woman? What must I do to own her?”
“Bronwyn cares about little else except her people. She would have killed herself before she married an Englishman, but she knew her death would cause war within her clan. If ye make the woman know ye mean well for her people, ye’ll have her.”
Roger gave the man the ale. “I want to know more. What is a clan? Why was a woman made chief? Who are the enemies of Clan MacArran?”
“Talking is thirsty work.”
“You’ll have all you can hold, just as long as you tell me what I want to know.”
•••
Bronwyn met Roger Chatworth early the next morning. In spite of her good intentions, she’d been so excited about the prospect of a ride in the woods that she’d hardly been able to sleep. Morag had helped her dress in a soft brown velvet gown, all the while issuing dire warnings about Englishmen bearing gifts.
“I merely want the ride,” Bronwyn said stubbornly.
“Aye, and what mere trifle does this Chatworth want? He knows ye’re to marry another.”
“Am I?” Bronwyn snapped. “Then where is my bridegroom? Should I sit in my wedding gown for another full day and wait for him?”
“It might be better than chasing after some hot-blooded young earl.”
“An earl? Roger Chatworth is an English earl?”
Morag refused to answer, but gave the gown a final straightening before pushing her from the room.
Now, as Bronwyn sat atop the horse, Rab running beside her, she felt alive for the first time in many weeks.
“The roses have returned to your cheeks,” Roger said, laughing.
She smiled in return, and the smile softened her chin and lit her eyes. She spurred the horse to a faster pace. Rab with his long, loping strides kept pace with the horse.
Roger turned for a moment to glance at the men following them. There were three of his personal guards, two squires, and a packhorse loaded with food and plate. He turned and looked ahead at Bronwyn. He frowned when she glanced over her shoulder and spurred her mount even faster. She was an excellent horsewoman, and no doubt the woods were full of men from her clan, all eager and willing to help her escape.
