“Explain, we’ll sort it through.”

Greylen gave a wry laugh before turning. “Aye, thank you, Mother.”

“Have you a better idea?”

“Nay.” Greylen sat again and repeated Gwendolyn’s account of what happened to Gavin. The truck accident, the explosion of airbags, and windows with jagged glass. He spoke of her English dialect. Though easy enough to understand, ’twas far different from the one he’d heard. More to the point, the way that she spoke was strange. With authority. Forthright, to be exact.

“And her forthright manner bothers you?” Gavin asked.

“Of course not,” Greylen quipped. “I’ve endured your impertinence for years.” And he had. Fifteen years to be exact. They’d fought side by side in service to their king. And shortly after, Gavin gave him his allegiance. They’d forged an unwavering bond over the passing years. Close as true brothers could be, perhaps more so, as they chose their alliance. They antagonized each other continually with caustic remarks and barely veiled insults. But, in truth, one would not be the same without the other. “Nay, ’tis not a bother,” Greylen confessed again. “But, what of the other things?”

“What of them?” Gavin offered in a dismissive tone. “The prophecy spoke of—”

“Another time. I know, Gavin.” Greylen rubbed his hands through his hair. “’Twould account for her strange clothing, the accident she spoke of, her dialect and manner as well. I…” He cursed instead of continuing.

“I’ve other news, Greylen,” Gavin said as Greylen walked back to the window. Greylen raised a brow in wait, and Gavin continued, “Our southern border was breached before dawn. Five cattle were slaughtered.”

Greylen shook his head. Just what he needed right now. Damn.

Resigned ’twould be night before he could return, he gave Gavin his orders. “Kevin and Hugh will remain. If Gwendolyn’s somehow able to move about, they’re to shadow her.”

“They assume their posts outside your chamber,” Gavin informed him.

“Then we ride. I wish to see the carnage myself.”

“Your plans…for Lady Gwendolyn?” Gavin asked.

“Nothing’s changed, Gavin. I’ll not wait.”

Greylen considered the significance of the question as he watched his first-in-command leave. He rubbed his hands through his hair, the scene playing in his mind.

The one in which he informed Gwendolyn of the role she would assume.

Instead of the courtyard, Greylen found himself within his chamber. ’Twas the last place he should be at the moment, yet there he was. Loath to admit it, he was anxious to see Gwendolyn. And, oddly, as soon as he laid his eyes upon her, the tightness within his chest subsided. She seemed to be resting fitfully beneath the covers while Isabelle sat beside her.

“Leave us,” Greylen commanded, standing at the bedside.

Gwendolyn rolled over but waited until the door shut before she spoke. “You sound angry, Greylen.”

“I thought you to be asleep.”

“Just resting. Is something wrong?” she asked, sitting up. “Or when you said leave us,” she mimicked in a deep voice, “was I supposed to go too?”