Page 9

Haydn looked back, and though he could hear them in the distance, around the bend as they made their way through dense forest, the rest of their party was nowhere to be seen.

“I don’t think you realize just how dangerous she could be,” he said, not for the first time.

Not just because of how she looked when Haydn first approached her at the foot of the chapel steps. Enchanting. Like the calm before a storm. Beautiful and serene, but he knew better. The maid confirmed it. When he’d approached her to ask for the woman to pack his wife a small trunk as well as her own belongings, as they would both be leaving after the ceremony, the young woman had startled. And complied. But not before she muttered something Haydn heartily agreed with.

“So it begins.”

Aye, he’d wanted to say. And so it did. As usual, his thoughts meandered to the predicament their family had found themselves in these past few years.

“Breac will not be able to mitigate Galien’s action,” he said. His cousin Breac had only taken over the position as Lord Warden of the Eastern Marches this past summer, and already his biggest problem was reining in his own family members. “At least Uncle Toren was more discreet.”

Though the Kerr Clan Chief supported the Scottish cause, Toren did not do so as openly as his son. It was Galien’s rumored involvement with Wallace that had attracted the English king’s notice, even if he’d never been caught with the outlaw.

“I worry less about Breac than Rory.”

Haydn agreed. He’d been headed to Bristol Manor to talk some sense into Rory when he’d been waylaid with the king’s plan. The one that earned him a wife. Haydn had been there when his uncle Bryce attempted to dissuade Rory from fighting, against his own king and country, and with his Scottish cousins, in Galloway.

He was brought back to the present, watching the darkening sky. He’d hoped to make it farther north, but it seemed they’d be camping in the elements this eve. Thankfully they travelled along the river, so any flat spot would do. They were on unmarked land now, the road evidence of it. It was unfortunately not paved with stones or even covered with gravel to temper the mud beneath them. Not ideal for travel, and indeed they’d slowed their pace since turning east, but less travelled also meant less trouble.

“Perhaps you can talk some sense into him. I certainly could not.”

Holt had been to Bristol recently and apparently had little success convincing Rory to back down. Like his father, Bryce, his cousin very rarely listened to reason. But everything changed with the king’s decree for this marriage, and Rory needed to understand they were clearly targets of Edward’s wrath. Once he deposited Lady Phillipa, he would head to the border next.

They rode in silence, Haydn looking for a spot to camp, wondering how his wife would receive the news that they’d not reach their destination and would be spending their wedding night in a tent. At least, she would be spending it in a tent he’d brought just for this purpose. Haydn would sleep under the stars, with his men.

Likely she’d accept the fact with an “Aye, my lord,” as she had every other turn of events.

“She’s a competent rider,” his brother said after they slowed to allow a group of pilgrims to pass. On foot, likely on their way to London, they looked as if they’d been travelling for weeks. It was not unusual to see such a group on the road, but their presence did surprise him on this particular, less known route.

“More than competent,” he acknowledged. The way she’d handled her mount said much about the lady, and he could not help but be impressed both with her treatment of the animal and the confidence with which she carried herself on the mare.

“She’s beautiful too. I hadn’t been expecting that.”

Haydn had wondered when his brother might comment on the fact. He was surprised it took him so long. His brother’s tastes in women were akin to his own. “Aye, she is that.”

“Perhaps. . . ” Holt cleared his throat. “You should speak to her.”

He slowed, spying a clearing in the woods ahead. “About?”

Aye, this was where they would shelter for the evening.

“About your future? Her future? Maybe she will not prove as dangerous as you believe.” Holt looked in her direction as Haydn’s wife rode with the men toward him.

“And perhaps,” he ventured, ignoring his body’s response to the woman he had every right to claim, “she will prove more dangerous than either of us realize.”

Chapter Eight

They likely thought her sleeping.

But how could Phillipa possibly sleep? Though the sky was dark, the evening warm for October with the blankets her husband provided keeping her more comfortable than she’d have imagined on a bed of pine needles, this was her wedding night. Which meant Lord Waryn could arrive at any time to claim her.

She knew from Amice it could be a pleasurable experience, or just the opposite. What would marital relations with a man such as Lord Waryn be like? He was large and unforgiving, every movement of his deliberate. But he was also a very attractive man. So much so that, when she looked at him, Phillipa could almost forget for a moment that he had not spoken a word to her all day, beyond their vows.

If she could have imagined her wedding day, never could Phillipa have imagined that she’d be sleeping, for the first time in her life, out of doors. With a borderer who looked more ready for battle than even King Edward, who was known by all as their warrior king. Flipping onto her side, she listened to the men sitting around the fire, speaking softly. One of them, a young knight named Isaac, had spoken to her, at least. Asked her questions of the king and court. She’d responded, glad for the kindness, until they’d stopped for an extremely brief respite earlier in the day. Afterward, Sir Isaac had avoided her, which was when she realized her husband had likely ordered him to do so.

“Will you go to Bristol?”

She strained to hear them, and indeed, it seemed her husband’s voice was hushed most of all. If her father thought to receive any information about the Waryn family from her, she was afraid he would be sadly disappointed.