Page 61 of The Scottish Bride

“My dear, it could work. What do you say?” the abbot asked.

“Not marriage.” She blurted out what came next. “Betrothal. A man cannot marry another man’s betrothed.”

“He can,” Liam said. “But it might be enough.”

“The banns of betrothal, once posted, are not easily dissolved,” she argued.

“Banns are posted for at least a fortnight, giving others time to protest.”

“But it would provide time that you may need,” the abbot interrupted.

“Wait.” Tamsin felt unable to meet Liam’s gaze just then. “If I marry—Sir William, then he could claim what I own. The Rhymer’s work. Dalrinnie.”

The men exchanged glances, and Liam shook his head slightly. While Tamsin waited in silence, the fire crackled and the dog woofed in his sleep.

“I do not follow English law,” Liam said at last. “Your things are your own.”

“What do you say, my dear?” the abbot asked. “You could say vows tonight or in the morning. If not marriage, betrothal vows if you choose. But this should not wait. Liam leaves early tomorrow.”

“You are leaving?” She felt as if the floor wavered under her.

“An assignment from the king,” he said quietly.

She stood. “I must think.”

Turning, she opened the door to step out into the evening light, and ran.

Chapter Seventeen

Hearing the steadypeal of the compline bells as he walked toward the cottage tucked at the far corner of the palisaded walls, Liam passed a line of monks streaming out of the chapter house toward the rectory. Holyoak housed thirty monks in all, and he saw his brother among them now. Liam had just left Gilchrist and Finley in the rectory after a late bite of supper and an explanation of the abbot’s suggestion; Gideon, hearing the plan as well, had left to escort their uncle to the chapel too. The older man suffered with trembles and weakness, yet did not complain. The work, he said, was good for him.

Liam felt impatient with the time spent here. Overfull with peace, prayers, and discussion, he ached to move, ride, do what needed done. He had promises to meet, help to give some, others to hold to account. Above all, he wanted what was not easily obtained—peace for all. For Scotland. For Dalrinnie. For Tamsin Keith.

Even more, he wanted her. The ache had a deeper layer, an urge to be with this woman, hold her, be the man for her needs, the heart for her heart. Wanting it so fiercely—and recognizing his greater need—was unlike him. He had locked up such feelings long ago. Somehow the lass found a key.

Days ago, he would never have anticipated this turn in his thinking. She had caught his attention keenly enough, a beauty, a puzzle. But this revelation had come suddenly. She was morethan a golden lure. She was a golden strike of lightning in his life, undoing, remaking.

Compline silence or none, he had to see her before this night was out. Betrothal, marriage, or parting forever—whatever happened, he owed her some truth.

At the cottage door, he knocked. Waited. Knocked again. Finally, the door cracked a handspan and she peered up at him. Candlelight haloed her hair and its fat lovely braiding, with no veil to dull its soft gleam.

“May I come in?”

“It is late. We must be silent,” she murmured.

“They can be silent. We must talk. Let me in.” He flattened a hand on the door. “Please.”

She stepped back, and he entered. The room was nearly dark but for a pool of light on the table, spilled by the honeyed flame of a fat beeswax candle.

In the sweet-scented light, he saw that she had been working on a parchment page spread out on the tabletop beside a small inkpot and quill.

“Lady, my apologies for the late hour. Would you prefer to walk outside while we talk?”

“It is chilly outside, and private in here. We will not be overheard.”

“Do you plan to shout?”

“I might.” She turned away. “Sit down. I am heating water in the hob—I wanted a hot drink to help me sleep. My sister used to prepare it for me with lavender, chamomile, dried cherries, and I believe she adds all-heal too. Will you have some?”