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But before she could ask her grandmother if she intended to help Freya reclaim Edyington, Lady Miriel turned to Rory. “How did the Brotherhood become involved?”

Rory might be surprised by her grandmother’s astuteness, but Freya was not.

“Sir Walter and his men came to Bristol. A council was called, and it was determined Lady Freya should be rescued with minimal involvement. They sent me, and here we sit, my lady.”

If only that was all there was to the story.

Rory neglected to mention she refused to go with him or that he’d pinned her to the bed, a circumstance Freya wantonly wished they could go back to. He also did not mention Pucker’s Mark, of course, or the devastating effect of his charms, which her grandmother so casually mentioned, even against a woman prepared not to let them disarm her.

Freya ate in silence then, as Rory did. They waited for her grandmother to respond. Instead she appeared thoughtful. Every so often she asked a question. After some time, after both her and Rory’s bellies were full, she sat back in her wooden chair so that Freya could fully see him.

Her grandmother turned to Rory. “Please give my thanks to your family,” she said. “I assume you return to Bristol on the morrow?”

“I do.”

She nodded, as if pleased. “Very good.”

Nay, it was not very good at all. Rory’s eyes caught hers.

Did not her grandmother’s blood flow through her veins? What did Freya wait for precisely? She sat up, emulated the very woman beside her, attempting unsuccessfully to put Rory from her mind even for a moment, and said, “Will you help me, then? Will you help me take back Edyington Castle?”

Her grandmother did not seem surprised by the question. Freya’s heart pounded in her chest as she waited for an answer. Even Rory seemed anxious and uneasy, his eyes finally meeting hers. There was a regret there which Freya understood. He was leaving. Likely never to be seen again.

She tore her gaze from him. Freya had not come on this journey to fall for a man who collected women as one might old coins. She’d agreed to come for this moment, and her grandmother was taking an excruciating amount of time with her answer.

Finally, she turned to Freya.

Rory’s was not the only look of regret now. Freya’s shoulders dropped as her grandmother gave her answer.

“No, Freya, I am sorry that I cannot.”

Chapter Nineteen

He had known what her answer would be. But hearing it said aloud, seeing the look on Freya’s face . . . Rory turned away, coward that he was, and looked instead at the harpist. The lilting sounds betrayed the violence of a war that raged outside these walls. The one that had been brought to the keep of Edyington and soon would come to them all.

It was a sorrowful tune, fittingly.

Rory pushed away the trencher, no longer hungry.

“Grandmother . . .”

“We will not speak of this now, Freya.”

Her disappointment hidden, though he knew it was not gone, Freya had the same look about her as she did that first night. The surprise, and disappointment, of Lady Miriel’s response had given way to a passion he could admire.

“I refused his escort at first,” she said. “Convinced you would answer my call.”

“That would have been foolish, my dear, to stay under the same roof as the man responsible for my son’s death. He will use you as a pawn for the king. Will try even with you here.” Lady Miriel, pleased with herself, said, “I will not allow it, of course.”

Freya caught Rory’s eye but then glanced away quickly as she spoke. “You will refuse the king’s bid for me to marry a man of his choosing.” Her words were deliberate, punctuated by the pain of a loss Rory could not imagine. “But will not raise an army against him?”

“Against the king?” Lady Miriel seemed appalled. “I will be thankful to keep my head in choosing a man for you to marry myself. Eustace will be forced to accept it. And Edward will not risk losing my support over such a trifling matter. It is all I can do, Freya.” She stood abruptly. “As I said, we will not speak on the matter now. Tomorrow, when he is gone, we will talk more.”

Rory cared less for Lady Miriel’s treatment of him than of Freya. He’d heard the woman was a cold fish, but Freya had so pinned her hopes on her. He’d thought, just perhaps . . .

“The meal is ended,” she said.

Rory stood, as did Freya. It was their cue to leave. But he’d not do so like this.