Page 41

“Mother had a headache,” Rory said, his sister laughing at the way he said it. It was common knowledge that Aunt Catrina’s headaches were anything but, and Haydn loved to tease his cousins about it.

“She is still getting those, aye?”

“Ugh.” Rylee slapped him on the arm. “Would you care for me to speak about your parents thus?”

In fact, he would not. So Haydn smartly said not another word. Instead he let himself be led to a table in the hall after handing his mantle to a servant. A chess board had been abandoned on the table. “I disturbed your game,” he guessed as his cousins sat down. He waved to those he knew, thanked a servant who promised to bring him a meal, and sat down alongside his cousins.

“You did nothing of the sort,” Rory said.

With a quick look at the board, he realized Rory must be on the losing side. Rylee confirmed it.

“Saved by Haydn’s arrival,” she said.

He was about to sit when he noticed someone walking toward them. Haydn waited until Galien was upon them and embraced him as he did the others. Galien Kerr was taller than most, except perhaps his father. The chief’s son looked like Haydn’s uncle Toren too. With brown hair to his shoulders, the man was an intimidating figure, and Haydn was glad to call him family rather than foe.

“A family reunion of sorts,” he said as Galien joined them. “I didn’t know who I’d find here.” A simple meal of roasted chicken and warm bread was placed in front of him.

“My apologies, Lord Waryn,” the serving girl said. He didn’t recognize her but she clearly knew him. She was pretty. At least, he’d have thought so once. Now there was just one woman whom he wished was standing beside him instead. “It was all the cook could manage—”

“No apologies necessary, thank you,” he said, dismissing her.

“Sit,” Rylee said. “Tell us why you are here.”

He wanted to ask the same of Galien but refrained. That was not a discussion for the hall where others were present.

“I’m afraid this is not merely a social call.”

“When is it ever?” Galien asked. One spring, Galien had been visiting Kenshire Castle when he heard a female servant say Galien’s voice was like walking so deep into the forest you could not see. An unusual description, but one he understood easily. It was just one of the reasons everyone gathered when Galien spoke. He could make waking up in the morning sound like a grand adventure if that was a tale he chose to tell.

“These days?” he asked, wondering the same of his Scots cousin. “We’ve much to discuss,” he told them. “But not here.” Galien and Rory exchanged a glance that confirmed something was, indeed, afoot. He took a bite of bread, which was still warm.

“What can you tell us about your visit?” Rylee asked.

“Well,” he said, chasing the bread with a swig of ale and pretending to think. “Ahh, yes. There is the small matter of my wedding.”

Rory nearly spit out his ale. “Pardon? I thought you said ‘wedding.’”

He tore off a piece of the chicken in front of him. “I did,” he said, popping it into his mouth and enjoying his cousins’ expressions.

“You are. . . married?” Rory asked, appalled, which earned a harsh look from his sister.

“I am.” He lowered his voice, though it would be common knowledge soon enough. “To the Earl of Sherfield’s daughter.” If he thought to shock them with news of his marriage, the name of his bride left them all gaping. Despite what little joy was left in him, Haydn laughed, ignoring the pang in his chest at the thought of Phillipa. “As I said, we have much to discuss.”

Chapter Twenty-Six

It was just him and Galien as Rory shut the door behind him. Rylee had gone to bed long ago, but despite the hour, and his travels, Haydn was not tired. He’d drunk enough ale to fill a barrel, and Galien wasn’t far behind.

“A pair of us,” his cousin said, his accent not as thick as some Scots but noticeable all the same. They sat comfortably in a solar chamber on the ground floor of the manor, behind the hall. Despite the size of the manor, the solar was as large as Kenshire’s, built for discussions such as this one. Haydn stared into the fire as if it would help to solve the many problems they now faced.

“Aye,” he agreed. “Though I’d not trade places with you, Galien. You’ve a target on your back that grows larger each day.”

They all knew Galien fought for Wallace, as had other of his cousins and members of their clan. But with Uncle Toren never officially or openly declaring for him, or Comyn or Bruce, Kerr loyalties remained firmly to themselves alone, as it was with many of the border clans.

“We all do,” he agreed. “Though if Umphraville can survive, so can we.” No one changed sides between the English and Scottish more than the newly elected Guardian of Scotland. “Umphraville also does not have an English family to protect.”

Galien narrowed his eyes. “No reminders of our duty are necessary, cousin.”

“’Tis not a reminder but a fact. He stands to lose holdings in England, but nothing more.”