“Ye are Erik Ross?”
“I am. Ye are James Rose?”
“I am. What is yer business here?”
“What’s my—” Erik frowned. “Ye didna receive the missive I sent ye? My man said he handed it to one of yers. Days ago.”
“I’ve seen naught from ye, lad.”
Lad? Was that any way to address a fellow laird? Erik reined in his exasperation. It would do him no good here. “That explains yer lack of an answer. I’ve an important matter to discuss with ye, if ye’ll allow it.”
“What matter?”
“A betrothal.”
Silence reigned for several heartbeats. Erik wished he could read the Rose laird’s mind. His eyes had widened, but he leaned against the crenellation at his side, his casual air making Erik fear he’d received many such, or had lied about reading Erik’s and was playing some game, looking for advantage.
“Ye and two of yer men. The rest remain outside my gates.”
“For now,” Erik answered, refusing to concede too easily.
“Aye, well, that will depend on what ye have to say.”
“Fair enough,” Erik agreed, and nodded to Finn and Neill to accompany him. “I’m no’ here to cause trouble.” He turned backto his men. “The rest of ye set up camp in the glen,” he added as one of the gates began to swing open.
“Laird,” someone objected.
“Do as I say,” he ordered, turned forward in his saddle and rode into Rose.
Rose came downthe steps from the wall walk as Erik dismounted. His men stayed on their horses, anticipating trouble. Erik allowed it for the moment. He wanted a sense of Rose’s temperament before he gave up what little advantage his mounted men held inside the Rose gates.
Rose approached, nodded and offered a hand. Erik gripped his forearm. “’Tis good to meet ye,” he offered.
“Is it? What brings ye? Surely no’ a betrothal. Or a missing missive. What are ye after, Ross?”
“We’ve barely met and already ye doubt my word?” Erik didn’t dare appear weak before this man.
“Who of my people received it?”
“I was told it was given to a guard at yer gate to deliver it to ye. My man wasna invited inside yer walls.”
Rose frowned. “How long ago?”
“Ten days past.”
Rose’s frown deepened and he called over one of his men. “Find out who took a missive at the gate ten days ago,” he ordered, then turned back to Erik. “Ye waited for a reply that never came, so ye decided to come yerself.”
“As ye see.”
“Come inside and tell me what ye wrote.”
“’Tis simple enough, though the consequences are no’ so simple.” At Rose’s frown, Erik continued as they entered the keep. “I’m here to offer for Fiona Rose.”
Rose didn’t answer as they crossed the great hall to his solar. He gestured Erik to a chair by the hearth.
Erik looked around while Rose poured a cup of wine for them both from a bottle on a small table set away from the hearth. This was a laird’s solar to be proud of. Glazed windows admitted sunlight from the bailey. Sturdy, well-used furnishings such as the chair he occupied provided a space to speak casually with only one or two others. A large table served as the laird’s desk, a large chair serving as the laird’s seat while smaller ones on the opposite side made others working at it with him possible. Someday, he would have a solar like this, Erik vowed. And the keep to go around it.
Rose handed Erik a cup, and he had a moment to enjoy the warmth from the crackling fire before Rose seated himself, raised his cup in a silent toast, and then spoke.
