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It worked. One final grunt, and he walked away.

“I trust you are not staying long,” he called back, eliciting looks of pity from those servants who’d been brave enough to remain in the hall. The same looks she’d been receiving her whole life. But their lot was surely worse than hers. They served her father, just as she did, although with no recourse but to do his bidding and accept his verbal abuse.

Do I really have any more recourse than they?

Nay.

But she did, at least, have a plan.

Chapter 2

“Tell me,” Gillian insisted. Her episode with the chamber pot had done nothing to divert her attention from her question about Theffield and Aidan. She would not stop until she had answers. Ones he was not eager to give.

“’Tis nothing,” he equivocated, directing his attention to Graeme. “We do not yet know Douglas’s true purpose in being here. Shall we—”

“Nothing?” Gillian cut in, finished with the cleaning cloth and bowl of lavender water. “What is it about Theffield that you’re not telling me?” When he stayed silent, her gaze shifted to Graeme.

Graeme would never answer her. It was not his story to tell.

If anyone but Gillian had asked for an explanation, Aidan would have kept silent. But he felt a special kinship with Gillian and her sister Allie that he’d previously only had with Graeme. He loved both women as a brother would, and had vowed to protect them always. The look of disappointment on her face was his undoing.

“Theffield’s father,” he said, returning to the seat he’d occupied earlier, “was granted Sutworth Manor in the Treaty of York.”

So much had changed that day, thirty years ago, when border lines had finally been drawn. Lands changed hands, the Day of Truce was instituted, and though none had expected the terms to last, they had.

Until now.

“When he died, his son became earl, and Theffield the younger allowed his Scottish estate to languish. Unlike many of the border lords with property in both countries, Theffield had no interest in navigating the complicated landscape of Scotland’s border politics. He hardly visited, and when he did, he never took his family. Only once, when I was ten and five, and our father took Graeme and me to meet him . . .”

This is where the real tale began. He’d not spoken of it aloud for two years, and if the pang in his chest were any indication, it would be difficult to do so now.

No more difficult than carrying a child inside your belly as Gillian is. ’Tis simply a story. Tell it.

“There was a girl . . .”

To call her such was imprecise, of course. An angel, he’d thought her at the time. When they’d arrived at Theffield, the young Lady Clarissa had peeked out from behind her father and was rewarded for her efforts with a stern glare. Aidan had disliked him instantly.

The little lady’s round face had stared up at him, innocent bright brown eyes framed with long brown hair. Aidan had wanted to take one of her demurely folded hands and pull her with him, leading her out into the courtyard and beyond. He’d wanted to run as fast and far away as possible from the man who stood by her side . . .

Instead, he’d merely stood beside his father and brother, waiting for the moment when they would be away from the prying eyes of their parents.

“I will see to the preparations for Douglas,” his brother said as Aidan realized how long he’d paused his story.

With a final glance back, his brother abandoned him to the tale. Graeme knew well what happened next, for he had been there the entire time.

“There was a girl?” Gillian prompted.

“Aye, Theffield’s daughter.”

Aidan leaned forward when Gillian moved her hand to her stomach, worrying she was about to have another bout of sickness, but she waved him away.

“’Tis nothing. Go on.”

Bringing himself back to that day, he thought of how quickly he’d developed a dislike for the earl, whom his father had called “the worst sort of man.”

“Before our fathers left us to meet, alone, Theffield reprimanded her for coming out to see us and sent her away with a maidservant. Drawn to her, I followed, intending to speak to her, when the girl ran. Away from the maid and directly to the door. It didn’t take long to catch her or determine that she intended to run away.”

“Poor girl.”