Chapter Eight
Braya walked alongthe riverbank close to her home just after noon and listened to the birds calling from tree to tree. She’d been working since morning but still had much to do, thanks to Galien taking up so much of her time questioning her about Sir Torin and how much time she spent with him. She had told him that she was trying to keep peace. Sir Torin regretted what he’d done. She’d told her brother the knight wasn’t so terrible. He was only trying to protect Carlisle’s guards that night.
But talking to Galien was useless. He wanted revenge. Braya was worried about him going after Torin. Should she warn the knight? No! That would be like preparing him. Galien might not stand a chance. She had to speak with her father about it. He was going to have to step in if Galien did not accept his decision.
She didn’t want to think of any of it now. She’d slipped away from her chores so that she could think clearly about…things. Not her rash brother, or preparing meals, washing clothes, or hanging them to dry.
She would return before she was missed. Now, she simply wanted to think and walk.
She wore her skirts and pulled them up over her ankles while she leaped over rocks and puddles of water, eager to be away from her village.
She’d regretted her decision not to accompany Torin to Wetheral yesterday five breaths after she’d declined.
She’d enjoyed her day with him so much that she was having a hard time keeping her mind off him and on her family last night when her uncle, Roger, and his wife, Cecily, showed up for an unexpected visit.
Thoughtfully, they had brought with them black bread and three different kinds of pie. There had been enough stew to go around and, after supper, they ate pie and talked about their lives. It seemed the Robsons were causing trouble for Uncle Roger. Braya’s father promised to come to his aid with at least sixty men. His one condition was Uncle Roger had to do the same if he was needed for fighting.
Braya hadn’t wanted to hear talk about her family in battle against Carlisle. Especially over something Torin Gray had done. She had excused herself and gone to bed, only to dream of him, his smile, his voice telling her…that his mother was screaming and seeing his father dying at the hands of the Scots.
She had wanted to go to him when he told her. She’d wanted to comfort him. He needed comforting. She could see it in his soulful, smoldering eyes. He’d seen much in his life. He’d most likely done much. It took a certain kind of heart to kill one, let alone four at once. She’d watched him practice and it thrilled her and frightened her at the same time. He looked wild yet precise, as if he were fighting living men, cutting down every one of them. His movements were graceful yet savage, a feast for her eyes. Was she falling for one of the warden’s men? One who’d killed her cousins?
He’d agreed to apologize. He’d agreed to speak to Rob Adams. If they both apologized, they would avoid war.
She smiled and looked up when she came to the end of the tree line…and saw him sitting upon Avalon in the clearing. Her heart skipped so hard it made her want to cough. He looked like some legendary hero on his great warhorse. His shoulders were straight and wide, his hair painted gold by the sun. His thigh, draping Avalon’s side, was long and muscular. She could hear her own breath, feel her blood flowing through her veins.
As if he could hear her breathing as well, he turned. When he saw her, his smile lit his eyes from within. She blushed and dipped her chin for just a moment, liking that he found her presence enjoyable. She found his presence just as pleasing.
“Miss Hetherington,” he greeted and moved closer on his magnificent steed.
“Sir Torin,” she said, looking up again, “What are you doing here?”
He stopped and swung his leg over his saddle and slipped his booted feet to the ground.
She looked behind her to see if Galien was there. The movement made her dizzy—or was it the rushing of her blood through her veins at the sight of the man she had dreamed of all night?
“I wanted to give you this.” He handed her a parchment.
She took it from him and looked at it. It bore the warden’s seal. “What is it?”
“’Tis an invitation from the defender to you and ten of your closest family members to dine and dance in Carlisle’s great hall tonight. ’Tis meant as a show of peace.”
A show of peace. Aye. This was what she wanted. Torin and Rob Adams were going to apologize and there would be no fighting. The warden had insulted her father and was now offering a show of peace.
“Did you have something to do with this?” she asked, continuing her walk along the banks.
“Just a bit, perhaps,” he admitted, letting go of Avalon’s reins. Catching up to Braya, he walked beside her. “I do not want to fight you or your family.”
“Why not?” She didn’t know why she asked him. She had a feeling she knew what his answer would be.
“Because I do not want to hurt or kill any of you,” he told her in a low voice.
He was arrogant and thoughtful and he made her head spin. “Thank you,” she managed. “And please do not worry about hurting or killing any of us. You will not.”
She ignored the slant of his mouth and stuffed the parchment into a pocket hidden in the folds of her mantle.
“How did you know where I lived?” And what was he still doing here? He’d delivered the warden’s invitation, but he was strolling with her as if he had nothing else to do all day.
“I asked Bennett. He directed me in which way to go.”
