“You’re a true delight, Gwendolyn. I count myself lucky to gain a daughter such as you.”

“That’s yet to be seen, Lady Madelyn.”

“Do you doubt my son’s intentions, Gwendolyn?”

“Nay, Lady Madelyn.” Gwen sighed. “I doubt life itself.”

“Oh, Gwendolyn, you mustn’t worry so. Whatever happened before you came to us was meant to be. Just as is your being with us now.”

Gwen rested her head on Lady Madelyn’s lap, feeling a mother’s love for the first time as Lady Madelyn stroked her head and hummed to her softly.

After a while, Lady Madelyn spoke again. “When Greylen returns, you’ll be mistress of this castle, Gwendolyn, and I think you shall have an idyllic life. Though there is the matter of your strong wills.” She laughed softly. “I fear you’ll come to blows many times over.”

After her short time with Greylen, Gwen worried that Lady Madelyn’s words couldn’t have been truer.

Chapter 11

Greylen stood with Ian and Connell as his soldiers advanced in the distance. He’d left Stirling Castle two days after his missive had been dispatched to Seagrave. Then rode three more to the area where they made their camp. Though he’d wanted nothing more than to return home himself, he had matters to discuss with his king and knew if he stayed to see to them now, his presence wouldn’t be required until at least summer’s end. That is, barring any situations such as the one they now found themselves in.

By the time the men were settled and had finished discussing their plans, ’twas well past midnight. Twelve days had passed since he’d left Seagrave and Greylen was anxious to hear what had taken place in his absence. More than anxious. He waited patiently for the men to bed down, then saw personally to the placement of guards around their encampment.

At last able to speak to his men-at-arms, Greylen walked with them to the lake at the base of their camp. The moon’s reflection shone brightly atop the water casting a glow as they stood beneath a canopy of trees. They formed a close circle, Ian and Connell by his side and Duncan in front of him.

“I will have details, Duncan. Now,” Greylen ordered, crossing his arms over his chest.

“All’s well at Seagrave,” Duncan said quickly. “I’d have informed you earlier otherwise.”

“Those are not details, Duncan. You’ll tell me how Gwendolyn fares,” he demanded.

“Lady Gwendolyn fares well. Though, at times, she does make a run for the brandy.”

Greylen raised a brow. “Think you she has a problem?”

“With spirits, nay.” Duncan scoffed. “A small shot she calls it.” Then he smiled. “’Tis enchanting.”

“Explain, Duncan,” Greylen bit out, irritated by Duncan’s enchantment with his lady.

“Well, first, your lady becomes unsettled. ’Tis the only time she reaches for it.”