“A simple accident,” was all he said.

“Sit, Greylen. Now,” Gwen ordered when he didn’t move.

Once he settled, Gwen worked expertly with covered eyes. She found the edge of the gauze and unwound it, then carefully brushed her finger over the surface of his skin. She mentally counted each of his twelve stitches, then tested the skin for swelling before reaching for fresh gauze and the jar of ointment. In seconds, she had his arm wrapped again.

“Are you in pain?” Gwen asked. “I know how to get my hands on some pretty good potion as you call it, and I’m willing to share,” she teased with another grin.

“The only pain I have will be fixed on the morrow,” he promised, grabbing her quickly around the waist and pulling her back on the bed. She shrieked in surprise and laughed as she snuggled against him.

“Greylen?”

“Aye, Gwen?”

“If this is a dream, don’t wake me. It’s the best one I’ve ever had.”

He spooned her body, then wrapped his leg over her. “’Tis no dream, Gwen,” he promised, “just a matter of time, love. Just a matter of time.”

Greylen had just fallen asleep when he heard footsteps outside his chamber door. He knew he’d not like the information his first-in-command found necessary to disturb him with.

“What troubles have you?” Greylen demanded.

“The king’s men wait in the great hall.”

Gavin’s voice was grave, so Greylen knew he’d not be pleased with the news. “Their purpose?” he asked. At his hesitation, Greylen pressed harder. “Out with it.”

“There was an attempt on our sovereign’s life. The offender’s to be tried two days hence.”

Their king had taken the habit of not judging for high treason unless his barons were present. Greylen, being one, was honor bound to appear.

“They came by ship?” Greylen asked, knowing already ’twas the only way they’d arrive in time.

“Aye. You’re to leave within the hour,” Gavin told him gravely as if anticipating what was to come.

“Fetch the priest, Gavin. I’ll be wed before I go.” Greylen felt his stomach turn when Gavin didn’t move. “I said fetch the priest. I promised to marry Gwendolyn on the morrow and I’ll not leave until I do.”

“’Tis not possible,” Gavin stated, his expression sickened.

“Explain,” Greylen ground out slowly through his teeth. “Your life depends on the answer.” And right now, Greylen meant every word.

“Father Michael was called to administer last rites. He knew to be back by dawn, and Duncan and Kevin went with him to ensure he’d not be delayed. ’Tis three hours before dawn, the king’s men leave within the hour.”

Greylen felt as if he just received a fatal blow. He rubbed his hands against his head, noxious pressure threatening to overpower him.

“How close are our ships?” ’Twas his only hope now.

“They’re still in port.”

“Nay!” He grabbed Gavin’s shoulders, shaking him as if the action could somehow change the facts. “They’re to be on their way.”