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“I understand. Though I shall pray it won’t be necessary.”

Sir George ate the last bite of food in his bowl, then wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “Tell me again, Lady Fiona. Why are you turning to this Scottish earl for aid?”

“Believe me, he is hardly my first choice. But I am long past the point where I must face the facts. There is no one in England who will support Spencer’s claim to his birthright, including my own kin.”

“And you think a Scottish earl will?” Sir George asked, disbelief evident in his tone.

“He is my last hope,” she whispered, hating how weak and pitiful she sounded.

“And if he turns you away?”

Though his tone was gentle, the cruelty of the question struck at Fiona’s core. What would she do if the earl turned her away? It was almost too frightening to consider.

“The good Lord will provide,” she replied, secretly wishing her faith was that invincible, that strong. Disregarding the pain squeezing her heart, Fiona smiled up at the knight. “Now, come and have another bowl of my stew before it is all eaten.”

Momentarily distracted by his stomach, Sir George complied. They sat companionably among the others, engaging in low conversation. Spencer, unaffected by the rising tension, kept them distracted with his endless questions.

Suddenly, the thunder of horse hooves cut through the tranquility of the afternoon, the sound far louder than Fiona expected. Brushing the wrinkles from her skirt, she rose slowly to her feet, eyes widening when she caught sight of the men galloping toward them.

There were three in the lead and another dozen retainers behind them. Even at this distance, they were an intimidating force. Bare-chested, wearing a variety of fierce-looking weapons strapped to their upper bodies, they looked like a band of frenzied beasts on the scent of fresh prey.

The closer they came, the faster they rode, bearing down on the small camp with a single-minded determination. Fiona threw a hand over her mouth to still a cry of fear. What if they attacked before she had a chance to speak?

Suddenly, the plan she had so carefully conceived seemed fraught with incredible risk and danger.

Heart pounding, she turned to the knight at her side. Sir George looked uncertainly back at her, his eyes narrowing to small slits. “Hold steady, men,” he ordered. “Await my signal.”

The restless sound of shifting feet and metal armor failed to offer her comfort. Silently, Fiona held out her hand, gesturing for Spencer to stand between her and Sir George. Trying to instill a confidence she didn’t feel, Fiona rested a reassuring hand on the boy’s shoulder, not surprised to feel him trembling.

The sound of the riders grew louder. Her fingers tightened on Spencer’s shoulder as her gaze scanned the surrounding woods, searching for an escape route in case things went terribly wrong.

One of the riders pulled slightly ahead of the others, then raised his arm. The men behind him pulled up and quickly dismounted. Fiona was dismayed to discover the Scots were no less intimidating on foot.

“Yer on McLendon land,” the leader said. “Why?”

“Our lady has business with the earl,” Sir George announced, stepping forward.

The leader scoffed. “What sort of business?”

“Private business.”

“With an English lady? Not likely.”

There was a chorus of hearty chuckles and Fiona felt every set of Scots eyes shift toward her. Her cheeks heated, but she blithely ignored the sudden sense of helplessness that surrounded her, keeping her attention on the leader.

She knew this man. He was among the soldiers that had sought sanctuary on their land after the battle. But for the life of her, she could not recall his name.

“Ask her again what kind of business she has with the earl, Duncan,” one of the men jeered.

Sir George growled low in his throat and reached for the hilt of his sword. Fiona thrust her arm across his waist to keep him back, ignoring the burst of angry rumbling from the men standing behind her. If Sir George broke rank, a fight was certain to ensue.

Fiona cleared her throat delicately. “Duncan? Do you not recognize me? I am Lady Fiona, wife of Baron Arundel.”

The corners of Duncan’s lips twitched. “Wife? Widow is more like it.”

“Yes, widow.” Fiona swallowed the lump in her throat. “You must forgive our intrusion upon McLendon land, but Sir George speaks the truth. I have come to see the earl.”

“Yer not expected.”