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It seemed the arrival of Shenworth’s forces had convinced Lord Hathawaye what nearly four hundred men outside his walls had not. ’Twas time to concede.

“Rory.” His uncle Bryce forced Conall and his cousin to stop. “When it is time, I will bring her myself.”

Rory nodded. Much to Conall’s dismay, his cousin’s new bride waited for the outcome of the battle just across the river from them, in a camp secured by Haydn and men from Kenshire. Rory adored the woman, but her insistence on coming, on making it necessary to secure the camp at all, was one reason Conall would not be getting married anytime soon. As if any would have him after learning what he’d done. No light was bright enough to overcome the darkness in his soul.

Instead, Conall would leave securing their father’s line to his older brother, Breac. That was, if the poor man had an opportunity to so much as look upon a woman. His brother’s duty as Lord Warden had kept him occupied of late, even more so than usual. When they were finished here, Conall would head east to check on his brother’s well-being.

For now, however, there was a castle to secure.

“I will do nothing more than announce my presence,” their uncle Geoffrey said. “You will negotiate with him?” he asked Rory.

“There will be no negotiations. The brother will relinquish all claims to Edyington, sign a document stating as much, and leave immediately, the king’s men with him.”

Rarely did anyone speak so forcefully to the earl. He may be their uncle, but of all the Waryn men, and perhaps also those of Conall’s own clan, it was Geoffrey who the others looked up to. Where Conall’s own father was the patriarch of Clan Kerr, the earl was, of sorts, patriarch of their combined family forces. Of the Brotherhood. Even if no such title existed.

“Have I told you,” Geoffrey said to Rory, “how very much you remind me of your father?”

Rory smiled despite the fact that they now walked into the enemy’s camp. “Aye, Uncle. Many times.”

“And you,” he said to Conall, surprising him. He’d hoped to remain out of the conversation. “Of your father as well.”

“Aye,” Conall agreed. “We are both very good-looking men,” he said as they walked through the gates, surrounded by men-at-arms with weapons still in hand.

“You are both as stubborn as men come,” Uncle Geoffrey said. “And fine warriors.”

It was the first time Conall could remember receiving such praise from the earl.

“I find it difficult to think of a time the two of you were enemies,” Conall said.

“As do I,” his uncle admitted.

Though a small force of men followed them, if the entirety of Edyington’s retainers were to attack, his father’s strength, the lessons he’d imparted to Conall, would matter naught. It was always the trickiest part of a negotiation, and they were, of course, at a disadvantage here. But with so many sitting outside these walls, if Conall and company were to be killed by Hathawaye’s men, the swift fall of Edyington would follow their demise, and with it, the promise of death for every man who held a sword now.

They were ushered into the hall, where a man sat as if he were accepting guests rather than surrendering. Though he slightly resembled Freya, the brother was also shorter, perhaps the same size as his sister. He had the look of one defeated.

Conall glanced at his cousin. He knew full well the promise he’d made to Freya. But Rory had always acted first and thought second, sometimes to his own detriment. In many ways, though, he’d changed since meeting his new wife. And so Conall kept his sword arm down, confident he would not find it necessary to stop the brother’s guards if Rory attacked him. Besides, he’d not known his cousin to ever attack a man who had surrendered already.

Though he’d also never known him to be in love with a woman after Alys either. These were strange times indeed.

“I am Geoffrey Waryn, Earl of Kenshire,” his uncle said without waiting for the steward to make introductions. “These are my nephews, Conall of Clan Kerr and Sir Rory Waryn, son of Sir Bryce Waryn of Bristol Manor.”

“We are here to accept your full surrender of Edyington Castle,” Rory said, his voice teeming with a loathing Conall had never known in his cousin before.

“You are now my brother-in-law, I’m told,” Hathawaye said.

“I am married to your sister, aye. But we are not brothers.”

Hathawaye did not seem to be deterred. “The law says otherwise.”

Rory moved so quickly, no one, neither Conall nor his uncle nor Hathawaye’s guards had time to realize what was happening. Rory had ascended the dais and was now poised behind the man with a dagger to his throat.

By now, Conall and his uncle stood just below the dais, with guards on both sides of Rory and Hathawaye having all drawn their swords. Conall planned his attack, decided who he would go for first. Then second, and then third. In addition to Hathawaye, at least five men would be killed before the three of them could be overtaken.

Goddammit, he did not yet wish to die. But if he did so defending Freya’s honor and by his cousin and uncle’s side . . . well, Conall could think of worse ways to leave this world.

“There is only one reason I do not slit your throat,” Rory growled for them all to hear. “One reason I do not accept your surrender and take you with me to Bristol to wait out the remainder of your days in a cell there. There is but one reason you will be allowed to leave England, never to return, after you sign those documents, Sir Eustace. Your sister is more merciful than I am. And I made a promise to her to allow you to live. Now sign those damn papers in front of you and leave without a sound. Or it will be your last, and I will find you in hell to torment you for forcing me to break my word to your sister.”

Rory pulled the knife away and stood back.