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“Many thanks,” she offered instead. “You wished a word?”

A quick dart of his eyes toward the head table told Freya the direction of his thoughts.

“I did not wish your father to die,” he whispered. “He was a good man.”

Freya’s temper flared. “He was not a good man,” she hissed. “He was a great man. Kind and fair, one who deserved little the death that befell him.”

The steward closed his eyes briefly and then opened them. “I very much agree, my lady.”

If he attempted to goad her, then the steward was winning this exchange. “You opened the keep for them,” she said. Taking a deep breath and softening, or attempting to soften, her scowl, she added, “And have welcomed the king’s men since. From what I am told.”

“They had breached the outer walls. The drawbridge had been lowered for them. There was naught to be done, my lady.”

“He brought you here,” she said. “Sent for the best physician in England when your wife was ill. And you honored him by welcoming those who would use Edyington as a base for attacks against the Scots. It will be ravaged ten times over, just as Father always feared. It will become another Carlisle.”

Her brother stood. Freya needed to end this conversation. Before she could, the steward pleaded, “Do not fight him, my lady. Your father would not wish for you to join him.”

She ignored the pang in her chest at his words. “My father would not wish to see the place where he married my mother be desecrated by those who wish to harm her people. He would fight. Indeed, he did fight. As will I.”

At that, she spun from the steward and his futile words. Resisting the urge to look at her brother in disgust, she instead bowed her head and fled from the hall. Freya found Loretta in her chamber, waiting to assist her. Immediately when she entered, she went to her, wrapping her arms around the woman who’d been her constant companion since they were children.

At four and twenty, she was two years Freya’s senior. Already married with a babe in the cradle, Loretta had made a happy life for herself and the stablemaster. At first, Freya had been shocked she wished to marry the widower, who was nearly ten years older than she, but the love the two shared was plain enough to see. Leaving Edyington would not be possible for her. Loretta’s husband had spent years rising in the ranks, once just a stableboy. Now, he was well respected and very much a part of their extended family.

A family that was being torn apart.

Loretta apologized for her tears, but Freya bid her not to do so and even found herself welling up. They’d been through so much together this past fortnight, and their nightmare was not yet over.

Freya pulled away gently and looked into the eyes of a woman afraid for her future.

“I vow to you, Loretta. All will be well.”

Her maid, understandably, looked skeptical. “Your father is gone,” she said. A fact Freya was acutely aware of. Each day the loss seemed more painful than the one before it. “Edyington teems with the king’s men and your brother has promised you as a boon to Edward. What manner of man will he choose for you? How?” she asked. “How will all be well?”

Against her better judgement, Freya held her maid’s hands and told her what none but she and Edyington’s former marshal knew. “Sir Walter has gone for aid,” she said. “He and at least twenty others escaped in the secret tunnel. They bade me go with them . . .”

Loretta’s clear, innocent eyes widened. “But you did not?”

Her maid had been in the stables that eve when it became clear the outer defenses would not stand. After just five days of siege, Freya’s brother and the king’s men brought forth two massive siege engines. When her father surrendered, the very scenario he’d tried to avoid had come to pass.

More than ten of Edyington’s men, including her father, had been hanged for nothing more than defending their home. Under charges of treason for failing to heed the call of their king in Falkirk two years earlier—a ridiculous charge, as very few of Edward’s barons, and only one earl, had fought with Edward in that fateful battle—Edyington had been overtaken with her brother’s assistance.

“I will not forsake Edyington as Eustace has. Sir Walter is gathering support from both sides of the border and”—she squeezed her maid’s hands—“has sent word to my grandmother.”

That surprised Loretta. As Freya’s maternal grandmother had long since passed, Loretta knew immediately it was her father’s mother to which Freya referred. A powerful baroness who’d spent many years ruling in her own right along the Welsh borders, she and Freya’s father had a complicated relationship. She had been incensed when he had gone against her wishes and married a Scotswoman with few connections. Though a noblewoman, Freya’s mother had little coin and even less influence. Even so, they’d met at the Tournament of the North, fell in love, and married soon after.

An action for which Freya’s grandmother never quite forgave her son.

But she had visited them throughout the years, and when Freya was two and ten, her mother died in childbirth. It was Freya’s grandmother who had consoled her, had taken her home to the Welsh borders as a “respite from her pain.”

Lady Miriel, a widow for more than twenty years, commanded more men than were now stationed at Edyington, and between the missive Sir Walter had sent to her and the support he now gathered, Freya was certain Eustace’s reign would be short-lived.

“Why have you not mentioned this before?” Loretta asked.

“I’d not want to cause you more pain if Sir Walter was not successful. Or if my grandmother decides not to send men. Or both. But,” she shrugged, “neither do I wish to see you hurt. I am so sorry for what my brother has done to you.”

“Come.” Loretta wiped her eyes and moved the bowl of water she’d prepared. “Let us speak no more of it this eve. I’ve no doubt if you do indeed have a plan then there is more cause for hope than I thought possible.” Loretta smiled. A real smile the likes of which Freya had not seen for many weeks. “’Tis been an eventful night. This eve, at least, should see no more conflict and much needed rest for us both.”

“Indeed.” Freya moved toward the hearth to stoke the fire inside it, a job she enjoyed doing herself. A bit of rest would serve both of them well. Tomorrow would be soon enough to continue the fight for her life.