Taken aback, Gavin returned her smile. He’d not seen this side of her. With her guard down, she was quite different. He wanted to ease her, perhaps help her to see the rightness of her being here. “I swore my allegiance to Greylen fifteen years ago,” he began. “From the first, there’ve been but a handful of days I’ve not been with him. The most disturbing of which, the days a betrothal was set before him. I never understood his reluctance to marry but witnessing the events that occurred each time…” Gavin shook his head, pained by the memories. “Greylen wasn’t hasty in his refusal, but he’d demand that his intended be brought before him.” Gavin looked directly to his mistress, imploring his words. “In all those years, I’ll never forget the look on his face as he held each woman’s shoulders and stared into her eyes. He carried an emptiness for days after such occurrences.”

“But if the prophecy foretold my coming, why would he look to someone else?”

Gavin gave a crooked smile. “We’re all open-minded, Lady Gwendolyn, but we are speaking of a prophecy,” he reminded her. “We know not who wrote it, or for that matter, when.”

“Did he ever believe in it?”

“You misunderstand. He always believed. On occasion”—Gavin qualified with a shrug—“he thought mayhap to outsmart the prophecy and find you sooner.”

His mistress snorted. “Talk about arrogant.”

“Aye.” Gavin smiled. “He is that.”

“Is there more?”

“Greylen told me of the writings five years ago,” he explained. “I believed as well, lady,” Gavin said quickly. “And he told me.” He hesitated before revealing yet another confidence. “He told me he’d know you at once. He said he’d had a dream of you for years. The same dream each night—”

“I had the same dream.”

Gavin was surprised, not only at her words but also by the tears she quietly wiped away. “Upon the eve of his thirty-second year, we told the rest of our men: Duncan, Ian, Connell, Kevin, and Hugh. We’ve planned for your arrival every day since.”

“Does anyone else know?”

“Aye, Lady Madelyn, Isabelle, and Anna. Rest now,” he ordered. “You’ve had a taxing morn.”

“Will you stay? I don’t want to be alone. Please.”

“Should I call for Lady Madelyn? Perhaps Isabelle?” he asked, alarmed by her tone.

His mistress sat up at once. “Given the choice, who do you wish I’d have with me?”

The way the question was spoken shocked him. Did she bait him? “I’ve no idea your meaning, mistress,” he returned, masking his expression.

“Humph.” Her facial expression matched her verbal disbelief.

“Get some rest, now,” he ordered, unnerved by her perception—and the brow she aggravatingly raised. Then he heard her response as he walked to the fireplace.

“‘Oh what a tangled web we weave…when we first practice to deceive.’”