Page 41 of The Scottish Bride

“Ladies, aye. But he takes a dim view of Scotswomen,” the man countered, sliding another glance toward Tamsin.

She felt Seton’s hand tighten on hers. Feeling ill at Parsley’s implication, she wanted to run as fast as she could from this place.

Finley lifted his cup in salute. “Many good Scots are loyal to the king, sir. Your commander among them, I vow.”

“Of course.” Parsley addressed Liam again. “What brings you north? ’Tis a long way from Carlisle and Lanercost, if you came north with king’s orders.”

“A royal errand can take a messenger far,” he answered. “For now, we are waiting out the weather, just as you are.” Tamsin saw a muscle jump in his lean cheek.

“Bad enough to drive even rats indoors,” Finley said.

The soldier placed a hand on the dagger at his belt. “Best prove you bear orders from the king, sir.”

Slowly, William Seton reached inside his blue surcoat to pull out a folded packet that Tamsin had not seen before. Crinkled ribbons dangled from the royal seal of England. Tipping it to show the soldier the seal, he did not hand it over.

The man grunted. “Well then.”

Tamsin frowned, remembering that the harper—his other self—had come to Lochmaben with a message for her from the king. Was that the order? If so, why had he not given it to her? Sir Malise had had a similar document.

She eyed him, awash in uncertainty again.

“Enough? Then let us finish our meal in peace and we will continue our journey,” said her false groom, her false knight.

“Understand me, sir. Many Scots cannot be trusted. We are on constant alert against rebels. They could be anyone.” He looked at each of them in turn. “Anyone.”

“Oh, we know,” Gilchrist said. “We have been hunting for Bruce and his parcel of rogues for months.”

“Ah.” Parsley took a step back. “Well then. I still need your names.”

“Seton,” her pretend husband said. “Sir William Seton and his wife with a king’s escort. Be sure to tell that to Malise Comyn.”

Tamsin took a quick breath. John Parsley might not recognize his meaning, but Comyn would know it as a gauntlet thrown down. A dare.

“Seton?” The man frowned.

“Sir William Seton of Ettrick Forest. Tell your commander I will see him soon.”

Tamsin frowned. The vast forest that stretched from the Border area well into central Scotland belonged to no single estate or man. Under a single sheriff—King Edward’s man, Aymer de Valence, Lord Pembroke, whom she hoped never to meet—the massive forest tract covered dozens of miles in all directions. Its canopies, clearings, and gullies sheltered outlaws who had, so far, proved near impossible to find. And Seton said he was from that tract. Sir Malise would likely be furious.

“Very well.” Parsley had little reaction. Did he not know of the great forest? Perhaps he was new to his duty in Scotland, she thought.

“My only concern now is my wife’s comfort and wellbeing. You understand.”

My wife.False though it be, the statement rang true somehow, bringing her a sense of comfort and purpose. She let out a breath, unaware she had been holding it.

“I just wondered what brings you lot out on such a day,” Parsley said.

“Now you know. And you? On patrol?”

“Sir Malise sent us in search of his betrothed. Fool woman ran off after a squabble, and he wants her back, see. It is a miserable day to be riding after a woman in a snit of temper.”

“Indeed, it is. A woman in a temper is a formidable thing.” He wove his fingers with Tamsin’s, pressed tight.

“They say this missing lady is small and fair. Like your lady.”

“We will watch for her as we travel.”

“Dear sirrah. Take me home, do,” Tamsin said then. Her heart pounded. Liam’s eyes caught hers, a flicker of amusement in the blue.