“I need to talk to ye.Alone.”
Hew nodded.Then he clasped his hands behind him, turning his back and walking away to speak with a group of clansmen drying their plaids near the hearth.
“What is it?”she asked.
“We’ve a missive from the king.”
“The king?”
A dozen horrible thoughts ran through her head.
Had Malcolm ordered the Dunlop clan to fight for the English in Toulouse?
Did he mean to quarter English soldiers at Dunlop castle?
Had he decided her father should take a third wife, perhaps an English noblewoman?
“What does he want?”she asked.
“It seems the Rivenloch clan has been speaking well o’ ye.”
“Me?”She blinked in surprise.“But I’ve never met them.”
“I believe Sir Hew has commended ye to his laird.”
She smiled.That warmed her to her toes.
But melancholy lingered in her father’s eyes.
“Then what’s wrong?”she asked.
“The king has made ye a match.”
A flutter of excitement made her heart flip over.Somehow Hew had managed it.He’d talked his laird and the king into approving their marriage.
“But that’s welcome news,” she gushed, clasping her father’s hand even as he averted his solemn gaze.“Isn’t it?”
Why wasn’t he happy for her?Could it be he was feeling sorry for himself?Did he think she was abandoning him?
“Och, Da,” she chided him, giving his beard a fond tug.“I promise I’ll visit.’Tisn’t so far, and I’ll have to come to Dunlop to see Hamish and all the—”
He clasped her hand to hush her, pulling it away from his face.She’d never seen him so grim, not since he’d said farewell to her mother.
“Ye should read the missive.”He pulled a scroll from within his plaid.The red seal was already broken, but Carenza could see it had the royal insignia.
With trembling fingers, she took the vellum from him.
At first glance, it seemed an ordinary marriage writ.The beginning paragraph extolled Lady Carenza’s virtues as a wife.Then followed detailed language about property ownership, coin exchange, the dowry price, and the line of inheritance.As she scoured the document, her eye caught on the names of the two parties involved, the Laird of Dunlop and the Laird of Rivenloch.All seemed in order.
But when she got halfway through the text, she saw a name that didn’t belong there.
Gellir.
Gellir of Rivenloch.
She shook her head and reread the passage.
Sir Gellir of Rivenloch, the bridegroom.
