Oh, Braya could not believe how blind and unfair her brother was. “And Mr. Adams?” she asked him. “Since when has he lied to us? You saw how angry he was that our lads had attacked him.”
His eyes smoldered with anger as his gaze found hers. “It seems you forget that five of our cousins are dead. Five, Braya. Are you not loyal to your family?”
“I am, Galien,” she said through clenched teeth. “I’m concerned for the rest of us if we fight the warden and his men. Gather all the Hetheringtons you want, but when the battle is over and everyone returns to their homesteads far away, we will be left here with no extra protection from other reivers. Remember we are no friends with the Armstrongs. We will lose the support of the other wardens. We could lose everything…everyone. And for what? Pride? Revenge?”
Galien’s face grew redder, making his eyes shine like burning flames. “Our family must be—”
“Galien!” Rowley Hetherington roared out the thunderous command, draining the color from his son’s face. “She is correct. Sir Torin has asked for forgiveness. If he and Adams ask it of me, I will grant it.”
Galien looked about to speak, but his father held up his hand. “I will not sacrifice more of you. You will do as I say and let this punishment go unfulfilled if ’tis what I wish. Do you understand?”
Galien reluctantly nodded, then stormed out of the cottage.
Braya’s father turned to her without sparing a glance after her brother. “Send word to Mr. Adams tomorrow. Invite him and Sir Torin to meet me in the town hall in two days. Tell them,” he instructed, his steely eyes hard and merciless. “If they do not come, I will bring battle to Carlisle and every one of them will die.”
Braya sighed. Both sides believed themselves to be unbeatable. She was a bit more sensible. Everyone was beatable, even the most renowned leader, a raider for over twenty years. Her father was strong and experienced, but she wasn’t sure if that was enough to triumph over a young man, who, if he had spoken the truth, had killed four men at once.
Galien’s brute force could possibly take Torin down, but what if it didn’t? She didn’t want to watch another brother die. What if her father brought war to the fortress and Torin killed four more of her family members at once—before even more of them perished?
What could she do to stop it? The answer wasn’t killing Torin. It was getting him to ask the forgiveness of her family. “I will do as you ask, Father.”
“Hmm.” He picked up an apple and examined it. “What changed your mind about him, Braya?”
Now? Now he saw fit to ask her opinion on something? “He was orphaned by the Scots at the tender age of five. He had a difficult time. You can see it in his eyes. But somehow, I do not know, perhaps God shows him favor, but he survived and he became a very skilled fighter, one whom the Earl of Rothbury recommends. And yet…”
“And yet?” her mother repeated in the same quiet tone.
“When I found him, he was smelling a flower. When I spoke to him, I found him to be genuine.”
“We shall see,” her father said, then set his gaze on the table. “For now, I must decide what to do with this food.”
“There is not much,” Braya noted without being asked, “but I would like two apples for Millie, please.”
He handed them to her without quarrel and then placed the other two into separate pouches. He did the same with the grapes, bread, and cheese. He would hand them out tomorrow to whatever families needed it most.
When he was done, he took his wife’s hand and bid Braya goodnight.
After a supper of cooled rabbit stew, Braya cleaned up and left the cottage to deliver Millie’s apples.
Her friend walked with her in the moonlight to the tree-lined riverbank, unafraid of attack. Her family still had the protection of the border guards. If reivers attacked, they’d meet the defender’s soldiers first. Braya didn’t want anything to change.
They sat together on a large rock and dipped their toes in the water.
“I’m still unsure if he did not plan out the entire thing to make himself appear the hero to the guards,” Braya confessed to her friend. “If that is the case,” she said, shaking her head hopelessly, “then he is truly ruthless and deadly.”
“Well, what do you feel in your belly?” Millie asked and then took a bite out of her apple.
“He is charming.” Braya smiled before she could stop herself. “His countenance is perfectly crafted and his tongue is as smooth as a serpent’s. But I believed him when he asked for my forgiveness. I believe he is innocent of murder. Do not ask me why, because I cannot tell you.”
Millie curled her arm around Braya’s waist and pulled her close. “I trust you, Braya. If you believe him, then so do I. But will he agree to your father’s condition of seeking forgiveness in the town hall?”
“I will have to make him.”
“But how? What if…” Millie stopped and cast Braya a nervous glance. “What if he demands a kiss?”
A kiss? Would she grant him his desire? He would be the first. “I…I’m not certain what I would do.”
Millie giggled. Braya joined her.
“Every time he came nearer to me today,” she said, sobering, “my heart beat madly in my chest and my head felt light. I do not know if I would push him away.”
“All the more reason you must make him come to the town hall,” Millie insisted, chewing her apple. “If there is something between you, he cannot be an enemy.”
Was there something between them? They had met twice. The second time, they ate together and opened up a little to each other. Did it mean anything? Of course not. The moment he saw her fight, he would recoil with hurt pride. “There is nothing between us,” she promised her friend. “He is handsome and he seems to want peace. ’Tis beguiling. That is all.”
She stayed with Millie for a little while longer and then returned home and went to her small room at the far end of the house. She undressed down to her chemise and climbed onto her straw mattress. She closed her eyes to sleep, but thoughts and images of Torin invaded her mind. What kind of man was he behind his restrained smiles and thoughtful gazes? A man who knew stories about legendary kings and magic islands and who had named himself after the clouds. He wasn’t what she had expected. In Carlisle’s great hall, he had seemed arrogant, but today he had been calm and quietly confident.
Would Torin come and humble himself before her father and the families of the victims? It was a beginning. More than she had this morning. This morning, she had wanted Torin Gray dead. Now, she thought it would be nice to see him again tomorrow.
She closed her eyes and finally fell asleep thinking about a man who smelled flowers and rode a horse called Avalon.
