The day she wed Burnell was burned in her memory. She could never forget it. “I had little choice. I did what I was ordered to do.”
“Something we all did,” Royden said, his anger far from subsiding, though it wasn’t directed at her. He was angry at himself for failing to protect her, keep her safe, keep her from being forced to wed another. It was all his fault.
“Royden,” she said softly and ached to reach out and touch him, feel his familiar strength and the comfort it always brought her, and offer him comfort.
“Do you know what happened to my sister?” he asked, his tone brusque.
It hurt more than she ever thought possible that he dismissed what had been between them, appearing not even willing to discuss it, as if it was over and done or would never be again. It was like losing him all over again.
Because of a promise she had made, she did something she’d never thought she’d do. She lied to him. “No, I know nothing about Raven.”
“She couldn’t have just disappeared,” he said, shaking his head. “What about my da? Did you hear anything about him? And your da, Oria, how is he?”
Oria’s heart went out to him. At least she knew what went on here in the years that had passed. Royden knew nothing of what happened to his family, the people he loved, his clan, his home. He would learn all that had happened, though not all at once. The only thing she could do for him at the moment was give him hope.
“Raven’s tenacious nature no doubt got her through this ordeal. I’m sure she’ll return home one day. As for your da,” —she paused, not comfortable with having to lie to him again— “I heard he was wounded badly and managed to make it into the woods. There’s no word after that.”
“Five years and not one sign of him leaves little hope that he survived,” Royden said.
She heard his ache, his sorrow, and felt it as well, and she wished she could tell him all of it, but she had given her word and for a good reason.
“And your da?” he asked.
“He survived the battle, but not what followed. He died three years ago.” She couldn’t stop the tears that welled in her eyes, though she managed to keep all but one tear from falling.
Royden wanted to leap across the table and take her in his arms and not only hug all the sorrow and hurt out of her, but he selfishly wanted to feel what he once had with her. That feeling of comfort, warmth, love. Good, God, he ached for her love. Unfortunately, he no longer deserved it. No more was he an honorable man, since an honorable man wouldn’t be thinking how he wanted nothing more than to scoop Oria up in his arms, rush her to his bedchamber, strip her naked and do what he should have done five years ago, make love to the woman he loved—a married woman.
He offered the appropriate response. “I’m so sorry, Oria. Your father was a good man.”
“He was,” Oria said and wiped the single tear off her cheek with her finger.
Royden dropped his one hand beneath the table, not wanting her to see him clench it in anger. He hated to see her hurt and to know he hadn’t been there to help her through her da’s passing. She had faced it alone and that tore at his heart.
“What became of your land?” he asked, hungry to learn all he could about what had happened in his absence. He hoped it would help him discover who was responsible for it all.
“That’s the odd part,” she said. “A group of warriors remain there and sees to providing for the clan. My da wasn’t replaced as chieftain and when he died no chieftain was appointed. The keep sits empty, though it is maintained, as if it waits for someone.”
“That is odd,” Royden agreed. “Why were you forced to wed Lord Learmonth and not one of the warriors left at your keep?”
This was not the reunion with Royden she had imagined, endless questions and what seemed like accusations. What had he expected after five years? Neither of them were who they once were. How then was it that she loved him even more today than she did those many years ago?
Bethany entered the room with a man following behind her and Oria couldn’t be more pleased, since another lie would have slipped from her lips.
“Pardon, Chieftain Royden, but Penn wanted to speak with you right away,” Bethany said.
Chieftain Royden.
Bethany bestowing the title of Chieftain on him made him realize the loss of his father and he felt a stab to his gut, though he didn’t let his sorrow and anger show.
Penn stepped around Bethany and Royden ran his eyes over him, taking in all of him. He was a head shorter than Royden, his long hair light, not a usual color for a Scotsman, and his body solid though lean. He stood erect, his shoulders back, a stance of confidence, something Royden had learned while captive. He wore a plaid with a pale yellow shirt beneath and the only weapon he could detect was the hilt of a dagger sticking out of the top of one boot.