Page 59 of The Guardian’s Favor

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“The truth will have to wait.”

If Douglas hadn’t heard what he did—the distant pounding of horses’ hooves—Aidan would have been in for a blistering retort. Instead, Douglas held his hand in the air, summoning the other four men who accompanied him to surround their chief as he turned to face the threat. Without discussing it, Aidan rode to the front and Lawrence to the back.

And they waited.

He spotted the gold and red banners first. His shoulders relaxing, Aidan continued to grip the handle of his dirk just in case. As the horses came closer, it became clear they were, indeed, Theffield’s men. He turned to indicate as much to those behind him.

The man at the front of the group, Theffield’s sergeant in all likelihood, spotted them first. He slowed as Aidan counted nine mounted knights.

“Greetings,” he called, ignoring the look of contempt on the leader’s face.

“Scots” was his only answer.

The fact that they had accepted Clarissa so easily was a testament to her standing with Clan Scott. She was one of them now, and he’d made sure Lawrence knew the lass was under his protection.

These men, on the other hand, were decidedly not.

“My friend offers a kindly welcome,” Lawrence spat. “You could do the same.”

“Or perhaps your master has yet to teach you proper manners,” Douglas growled.

For a man who spent his days negotiating peace, his temper had not diminished a whit. Between him and Lawrence, they would be lucky to leave Theffield with their heads on their shoulders.

The sergeant drew his sword at Douglas’s words. Aidan took his own off his dagger and put both hands into the air. The last thing he wanted was for a war with Theffield to begin here, on the man’s own property.

“We are under the protection of your master,” Douglas said. “Allow us to pass and no further exchange is necessary.”

“And put down your sword while you do it,” Lawrence muttered, luckily not loud enough for anyone but Aidan to hear him.

Though he looked as if he wished to argue, Theffield’s sergeant finally lowered his sword. Looking at them as if they were not good enough to clean the mud from his horse’s hooves, his eyes narrowed.

Finally, he kicked the side of his mount so hard the beast let out a weary protest. Aidan didn’t wonder at the rough treatment. Most men emulated their leader, and theirs was the worst sort of bastard, a man who cared for nothing save himself.

Had he dared hope the distraction might make Douglas forget his question, the look the older man gave him as they once again rode away from Theffield Castle told him otherwise.

“I’ll have that explanation now, de Sowlis.”