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Chapter 7

“Cait Kennaugh.”

Her shoulders sagged at the sound of her brother’s voice behind her. Cait tried to smile but could tell from Roysa’s face her efforts failed. She’d been relieved when the men hadn’t joined them for the midday meal. It had felt like a welcome respite—which had now come to an end.

“I would like to speak to my sister, if it pleases you.”

That must have been for the benefit of Roysa, who’d followed Cait out of the great hall, trying to encourage her to go for a walk, a ride, something. What Roysa really wanted was an explanation, she knew. Now she’d have to give one to her brother instead. Roysa shot her a look that clearly indicated she’d stay if Cait wanted her to. Part of her wanted to accept the offer, but it would only be a temporary reprieve. Cait nodded slightly, and Roysa gave her one last look before walking away.

It was time to confess.

She’d thought about doing so many times. But she and Conrad had stopped corresponding, and it had no longer seemed so pressing.

Until her mother had forced her to make a decision about Colin MacGregor. Marry him or else explain why not. He was the son of their closest ally and neighbor. A kind, handsome man any woman would be honored to take as a husband.

But he was not Conrad.

And so she’d fled.

Leaving her mother a note of explanation, she’d followed Rory for as long as possible without being noticed. He’d tried to send her back, of course, but she’d refused, and he’d relented. And now she was here.

“You wish to speak to me?” she said with a smile.

Terric had a weakness for smiles. Always had, even as a child. Although hers seemed more effective than most, until Roysa of course.

He pulled her into an alcove with nothing to recommend it. Just a curved stone wall, an arrowslit, and a semiprivate place to speak.

“Your smile will not soften me.”

Ah, but it would. Her brothers could intimidate her on the training field, where their raw strength was on display, but not here. Not in alcoves or drawing rooms.

“I do love you for caring,” she said honestly. “And for protecting me, always.”

Still grimacing, though not as deeply, Terric crossed his arms.

Cait took a deep breath to steady herself. Sharing did not come naturally for her. Perhaps it had, at one time. Cait could not recall. But certainly it did not now.

“It began quite by accident,” she said at last. “We sat together, you and I, breaking our fast, when Bailey was summoned.”

Terric’s brows drew together. Apparently he hadn’t expected the discussion would turn to Bradon Moor’s longtime messenger.

“You gave him a missive, for Conrad. I wanted to add a brief note, but Rory interrupted before I could ask you.”

“As Rory does.” Finally, a smile from her brother.

“So I didn’t ask you. I wrote my own note and gave it to Bailey.”

Thankfully, her mother had thought learning to write was as valuable as learning to read.

“A note to Conrad,” Terric said to himself than to her.

Another servant passed, this time with a tray of freshly baked bread. The kitchens must be located nearby. Cait had not seen much of the keep yet, aside from her chamber and the great hall.

“Aye. To thank him for”—Terric winced—“helping me.”

Her brother had likely thought she would say “saving me.” Even after all this time he had difficulty accepting that strangers, specifically Conrad, had come to her aid.

Cait did not know which of the boys had seen her first or precisely how it had happened. One moment she was using every bit of strength she possessed to attempt to forestall the wretched man’s hand from running up her thigh, and the next Terric was attempting to push him off her. The man, much older and more powerful than her brother, had given him a backhand so powerful it had thrown him to the ground. Three others had rushed forward, one grabbing his hand, another with a sword raised.