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Bryston nodded his blond head, those dark coffee-brown eyes of his, hooded and reserved and so unexpected given his champagne colored hair. “Miss Glanville.”

Hmm, she’d been Branwen for years.

Why the formality now?

She slid a surreptitious glance at the other men.

Because of his companions?

Bryston possessed a deliciously deep voice, but rather than rough or grating, his speech flowed forth with a lyrical quality. Possibly because he possessed an extraordinary talent for singing, mostly naughty ditties or soulful seamen’s ballads.

“Mr. McPherson.” Arching an eyebrow, she righted herself and returned his formal greeting before offering a sincere smile to the men accompanying him.

They gave brief, polite nods, but remained silent and alert?

One of Bryston’s eyebrows shied upward at her coolly polite tone as if he knew precisely what she was thinking.

“Roxdale?” As always, Bryston was a man of few words.

“Keane and the others are just there.” She turned to point them out, but instead, pulled the corners of her brows together.

Where had they gone to?

He followed her stare and braced one broad hand on his hip, a sudden tautness settling over him. Tattoos adorned several of his fingers, and a plain gold band encircled his little finger.

Eyes narrowed and legs splayed, his companions fingered their swords.

Unease fairly oozed from the trio.

What in the world?

“Where?” Bryston asked succinctly, scraping his astute gaze over the abbey and the other sightseers.

“They were near that pair of coffins.” Wrinkling her nose, Branwen tucked a stray strand of black hair behind her ear that was tickling her cheek. “I suppose they might’ve gone around to the other side. There’s a graveyard there. It’s quite fascinating. Some of the stones date back several centuries.”

He angled his head, sliding his attention in the direction she’d indicated. “Zhao, ye and Bayu find Roxdale and his family and escort them to the Queen’s Arms. Use caution and apprise the duke of the situation. I’ll go ahead of ye with Miss Glanville.”

According to Keane, the tavern and eatery they were to have their midday meal at was a scant half-mile away.

Wait. Situation?

What situation?

“Come along, Miss Glanville,” Bryston said without preamble, taking her elbow, all the while that keen gaze of his roved the landscape.

What did he seek? Or who?

“Why?” she asked shortly.

“Plans have changed,” he said shortly.

She dug her heels into the soft grass.

“Pray, explain yerself.” Casting a glance over her shoulder, she caught sight of his men disappearing around the priory’s other open end.

“I canna assist Keane today.” He glanced down at her, the corners of his eyes tight, and the irises so small, she felt as if she gazed into warm chocolate pools. Light blond bristle covered his jaw, and a muscle flexed there on the right side. “I must be away as soon as I ken ye and the others are safe.”

A steely inflection in his tone caused her heart to leap and flutter against her ribs.