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English queen indeed.

“Shall we?” Lyndwood extended his hand. After nodding to his men, indicating they should follow the steward who’d introduced himself to them in the midst of the family greetings, he indicated for Graeme to follow.

Lyndwood ushered him into a small but well-lit room off the hall—a steward’s office? He sat across from his host at a well-used desk, waiting for the man to speak.

“That business at the Day of Truce. It was regrettable.”

“Regrettable?” Graeme’s jaw twitched. He’d remain calm only because he had been trained to do so. And because this man was, unfortunately, Gillian’s father.

“I had no choice but to speak on Blackburn’s behalf.” He said it with such conviction, Graeme almost believed him.

“Did you believe the words you spoke that day?”

Lyndwood’s eyes narrowed. When last they’d met, the man had betrayed him at the Day of Truce. That the baron defended himself now told Graeme almost everything he needed to know.

Almost.

“No.”

It was the only answer that offered hope for the future. But it angered him nonetheless.

“I’ll remind you Clan Scott land was raided. People were killed. If you did not believe he was innocent, why did you do it?” He forced his hands to remain still. “Revenge?” he guessed. He’d thought long and hard on the matter, and it was the only answer he could come up with.

Lyndwood actually laughed.

“Tell me, my lord,” Graeme asked. “What is so amusing to you? That the healer who’d spent her life saving others was killed?” His voice rose with each word.

“I am sorry for the loss of such a woman,” Lyndwood said. “But the idea that I would let a bastard like Blackburn walk free, risk my reputation by aligning with such a man—”

“And Covington,” Graeme reminded him.

“For revenge? Against my daughter’s husband?” Lyndwood no longer looked amused.

Graeme leaned forward, impatient with the man’s innuendos and pretty speeches. “Then why don’t you tell me exactly why you did it.”

“I did it . . .” Lyndwood leaned back in his high-backed chair and folded his arms. A defeated man. “To save my family.”

Graeme waited, not so patiently.

“Two years ago, a distant relative of my father’s”—he crossed himself—“thought to dredge up a tired old claim. He meant to take Lyndwood from us. So I paid two thousand marks to the Crown to resolve the dispute, certain it was the easiest way to put the matter to rest. Unfortunately”—he frowned—“it did not happen that easily.”

Graeme wasn’t sure what he’d expected from Gillian’s father, but a story about his recent history was not it.

“Instead, the ruling was split. I would retain the title and land, but a large portion of Lyndwood’s coin was awarded to the bastard who hasn’t stepped foot in this country in two decades.”

Graeme tried to understand the implications of Lyndwood’s lost wealth. It explained quite a bit—the betrothal to Covington, the bride price the man had charged him.

“And so you raised coin by attempting to collect an overly large dowry for Gillian’s hand—”

“Despite the man’s age and reputation, yes,” Lyndwood finished. Continuing to defend himself, he added, “He’s not known to be a cruel man.”

Graeme rolled his eyes. “What better candidate for a woman such as Gillian?”

Her father at least had the decency to look embarrassed. They both know Covington did not deserve her. And if her father didn’t know that, then he did not know his daughter.

“None of which explains your support of Blackburn.” Graeme sat back, crossed his arms again, and waited, more than a bit surprised at Lyndwood’s forthrightness, if not his haughty attitude.

For a moment, he thought Lyndwood would not answer him. As if he were more comfortable talking about selling his daughter to the highest bidder than admitting to why he’d supported a man he knew to be guilty.