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In truth, Lady Freya of Edyington was well beyond what he’d expected. Sir Walter’s men had called her “spirited” and “lovely.” Both undersold the truth. As was evidenced by her reaction this very moment as he stood behind the door, sword in hand, ready to dispatch yet another of Edward’s men to hell.

“I heard nothing,” she claimed falsely. “But ’tis highly inappropriate for you to be standing at my chamber door as I am in such a state of undress.”

Rory bit his lip, thinking of her beneath him. If the guard at her door was inappropriate, the fact that he’d covered her with his body, Lady Freya dressed in nothing more than a chemise . . . well, the woman may never recover. If she indeed stayed alive long enough to be offended.

“Apologies, my lady.” Despite the words, the guard did not move. Rory listened, waiting for him to retreat. “You are certain you heard nothing?”

Rory did not care at all for the man’s tone. He was hedging. Likely ogling her in the interim, as Rory had done. But there was a difference between them. Namely, in the leaders they served. Rory, his father. His uncles. Even Wallace, who fought for something more than wealth and power. This man served a king who cared for power more than any other. A ruthless man who would compromise the knightly virtues he swore an oath to uphold.

“I did not,” she repeated, stepping back. “Good eve, sir.”

The door stuck just before she closed it. Rory could not see what was happening, but he could guess as to why the door was not yet shut. “You are more beautiful, Lady Freya, than I had heard. ’Tis a shame you’ve kept yourself in your chamber, hiding from view.”

I am going to kill him.

“I am grieving,” she said in response, attempting to close the door again. “For the loss of my father,” she added.

“A traitor to the king,” he hissed.

Rory could take no more. He pushed Freya back and pulled the guard into the chamber so swiftly that it was only as he held the sword to his throat that the man realized it was not Freya who assaulted him.

“Close the door,” he said to her. And then to the guard, “You would taunt the woman after taking her home and killing her father?”

The man’s beard hid some of his expression, but not his eyes.

The door clicked shut.

“Who,” he croaked out, “are you?”

“I am the justice the second Lord Hathawaye of Edyington deserves,” Rory replied. “When you wake, know this message is the only reason you are alive. Your new lord may look for his sister, but he will find only blood and fury around each bend as he does. His life will pay the price of his search.”

Before giving him a chance to call out or ask questions, Rory showed the man more mercy than he deserved by bashing him on the head with the hilt of his sword, as he had done with the merchant, knocking the man to the stone floor beneath him.

Standing, he turned to find Lady Freya staring open-mouthed at him.

“A noise, one dead guard, and a second lying on the floor of your bedchamber,” he said. “It will not be long until I am discovered, my lady.”

“Then leave,” she said, her eyes darting from him to the guard on her chamber floor. “You simply . . . he is . . . not dead?”

“Not yet.” Rory sheathed his sword. “Your man said you refused to leave, not wishing to relinquish Edyington to your brother. Are you really so foolish as to make such a stand knowing what he will do with you? That any man believes he might speak to you as”—he gestured to the ground—“this one did, in your own home . . . if you were my wife, his blood would flow freely from his neck even now.”

“Your wife.” She recoiled. At the thought of being married to him? Or blood seeping from the bastard’s throat? Surely the second. Rory had yet to meet a woman who would not give all she owned at the prospect of the first. “What a woman she must be.”

Unsure of her meaning, not wishing to understand it, he spat. “There is no such woman, as I do not plan to marry. Ever.”

“Sir Rory—”

“You may call me Rory,” he said. “All of the women I rescue use my given name.” He was so startled at her laugh, Rory forgot what he’d planned to say.

“I am sorry you will not have the opportunity to add me to your long list of ‘rescued women.’ Rory,” she added.

The sound of his name on her lips reminded him of the feel of the woman’s hips against his groin. A pleasant memory, that. “So you will stubbornly remain here, Freya,” he said, knowing well she had not given him leave to drop her title. But he was becoming annoyed at the delay and well beyond ready to be on his way. “With men who do not honor you. With a brother who betrayed you. To what end, precisely? To wait for Edward’s choice of husband to arrive on the steps of your keep to take you from here anyway? ’Tis beyond foolish.”

The flash of her eyes reminded him of his twin. Rylee and Lady Freya had much in common.

“I would wait for Sir Walter to return with men to take back my home.”

He stared at her. “Uh . . .”