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“His head is harder than a block of iron though.” Holt took another swig and turned toward the maid. They both laughed when she nearly dropped a wooden tray of stew and bread.

“You distract her.”

“She is easily distracted,” he said. But now Phillipa knew that look. Before, she’d not have understood completely. Some women were likely unlucky enough never to truly understand, as would have been her fate if she’d married most of the prospects that had tried to claim her hand.

Instead, she was married to a man that had showed her a passion she’d never be able to explore. Was it better, she wondered, not to have known it all? It would have been easier that way, certainly.

“You are in love with Haydn,” Holt said suddenly.

In response, she reached into the folds of the mantle that now sat beside her. Gripping the parchment, knowing what it represented, how things might change once she finished it and found a messenger to take it to her father, Phillipa paused. And then looked into the eyes of a man that was like a younger version of the one she loved.

She’d made the only decision she could. And Phillipa would not back away from it.

As she pulled it from the folds, the corner of her letter caught on a bit of wool. She tugged at it, setting it free, and then slid it across the table to her brother-in-law. No words were needed. He would understand soon enough.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Built on a river basin just two days’ ride south of the border, Bristol Manor was once nothing more than a single defense tower with an attached hall. Surrounded by a curtain wall, an addition his grandfather made before it was captured by Clan Kerr, it now included a solar block, storerooms, and a stable. A handsome and well-fortified structure, though not as vast as Kenshire Castle.

Not surprisingly, he didn’t make it to the stable when his cousin approached. Before he even reached the gatehouse, the guards knew he’d been coming. Glad to see Rory was here—he’d been worried since the priest made mention of Wallace—he immediately dismounted. Handing a stablehand his reins, he embraced his cousin, only letting go when Rory slapped him on the arse as he often did to everyone.

Men. Women. Family. Strangers. Rory was his uncle Bryce through and through. Although Haydn had never actually seen his uncle do that.

“You will get yourself into trouble putting your hands where they don’t belong.”

Rory, as always, was unapologetic. “I’ve found my hands get me out of trouble more than into it.”

Haydn shook his head, looking around the courtyard. Arriving so late, well after sundown, it was a quieter scene than usual.

“Surely you don’t travel alone?” Rory asked.

They walked past the well toward the front entrance of the manor.

“I have one man with me. He is speaking with one of the guards and should be along soon.”

Although the resemblance wasn’t as strong as with Haydn and his brothers, he and Rory shared the same black Waryn hair and blue eyes. And while some did mistake them for brothers, Haydn thought Hugh looked more like his cousin than any of them.

“’Tis good to see you, cousin,” he said in earnest. “I worried with all that has been happening.”

Usually Rory would brush off his concern. That he did not was telling. Haydn held out a hand to stop him before they entered the keep. He liked less the look Rory gave him now. Something was afoot, and he sensed the danger was close to home.

“Tell me,” Haydn said. As always, her face intruded on his thoughts. It shouldn’t. Not now. Not when he, finally, had something to distract him. For there was no doubt it was worry etched on his cousin’s face.

“Galien is within.”

That alone should not be cause for concern. Instead, a visit from their Scots cousin would be, if not for one simple fact.

Wallace had been spotted in England.

He thought it must have been a rumor. Even when the priest claimed to have seen him, Haydn had been skeptical. But that fact, coupled with Galien being at Bristol, had the hair on his arms standing straight. It was a good thing he’d come so quickly.

“Haydn!” a female voice called. They had just barely entered the hall when he was nearly tackled. Aside from his mother and Haddie, his cousin Rylee was his favorite female in all of England.

Stop. Thinking. Of Phillipa.

“’Tis good to see you,” he said as Rylee’s arms went around him. By now the servants were accustomed to the show of affection that he knew was not very common. Especially in a place as public as the hall. Supper had ended, it seemed, but at least ten or so people lingered.

“Where are your parents?”