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He was about to answer—it seemed the perfect segue to a conversation about the border—when he saw her.

Lady Emma ran up to Sara, knelt down beside her, and joined her in laughter. He’d avoided her thus far, but it seemed the fates would not be kind to him today. She was even lovelier than she’d been at their last meeting. And the reason for it stood behind her. The Earl of Clave knelt down to give her something. She took it and beamed up at him as he stood and walked away.

Seeing her reminded him of the other woman he’d almost married . . . “Where is Catrina? And Bryce? I’m surprised to not see them here.”

“She is with child,” Geoffrey answered. “And unable to travel.”

He looked at his host, considering Geoffrey’s casual reference that Catrina was with babe. Eventually, Graeme turned to watch Sara and Emma once again.

“Congratulations to your family,” he said. “Brigid has been kind to them.”

“Damara here in England,” Geoffrey said. “Though I doubt either goddess is responsible. My brother and his wife—” He cut himself off abruptly. “My apologies. I’d forgotten for a moment.”

“As I said when I courted your sister, Catrina and I were promised to each other as children. We loved . . . love . . . each other as brother and sister. I’m glad that she’s found love, and happiness, with Bryce. She deserves no less.” He mostly meant it.

Geoffrey looked at him. “Catrina. Emma. You’ve not had much luck with the women in our family.” Blunter than most men would be, but Graeme appreciated him more for it.

“I’ve not had much luck with women.”

Geoffrey laughed, loud enough to cause notice. “That, my friend, is simply untrue. Every maid here is either looking at you now or has done so already.”

And he enjoyed looking back at them.

“I should have said, ‘with marriageable women.’” He turned to the earl. “Though I came to talk of war, not women.”

The men moved to the side, allowing a group of young girls to pass.

“Tell me.”

“An ally of ours was attacked by English reivers.”

Geoffrey ran his hand through his hair. “Not so unusual. You have many allies, and attacks occur every day.”

“This was different.” He tried to explain. “In the last year, there have been many such attacks. But the reivers grow bolder. Their unwritten code, not to kill unnecessarily, no longer seems to matter. In the last month alone, I’ve been called to three separate incidents. A young girl was almost killed at this last one.”

“What does Douglas say?”

“As Lord Warden of Scotland, he’s been to every Day of Truce for ten years. And he agrees. These attacks we’ve seen lately are different. We both believe they’ll continue to get worse if something isn’t done.”

“I agree.”

Graeme had never been happier to hear those two words. He hadn’t dared hope it would be this easy to convince him.

“There’s been more talk of bribes,” Geoffrey continued, “which undermines the process. Many believed that electing Matthew Hedford as the new Lord Warden of England would calm the tensions. And while I agree it was a strong choice, his appointment does not seem to have made a difference.”

“Then we are in agreement?”

“We are. Consider Kenshire an ally to Clan Scott. And to peace. From what I’ve heard about you, Kenshire could not have a more loyal ally in the north.”

It was enough, for now. Though soon they’d be forced to move beyond talk.

Graeme put out his hand, and Geoffrey shook it. No sooner had their hands dropped than he saw her.

The girl from the garden last night. The one who’d watched him.

But this was no girl. She was all woman. Approaching Sara and Emma with another woman, she knelt beside them, her hair a shade lighter than Emma’s raven black. Her face was perfectly proportioned and sweet, much too innocent to have been watching him with such frank interest from the shadows.

“Who is that?” he asked Geoffrey.