The sounds of revelry reached their ears as they sat outside the stable, just inside the gates set inside the stone walls. The keep rose in front of them, candlelight blazing from the windows, shouts and laughter and music coming from inside.

“They’re having a grand time of it,” Quinn observed, drinking heartily of the mead which had been provided them. It was the least Remington could do, seeing as how he did not find them fit to sleep beneath his roof.

“Aye. Though I highly doubt she is,” Brice muttered, spitting on the ground for lack of anything more purposeful to do. There was no way to adequately express his sorrow, his fear for her, the disappointment he felt toward himself. How had he been daft enough to allow the lass into his affections?

“Ye never know,” Rodric observed, gnawing the last of the meat from a bone before tossing it to the dogs which roamed everywhere. It seemed every guest of the earl had brought at least one hairy, slobbering beast along with them.

“You’ve never been the optimist,” Brice reminded him.

“Aye, but there is something to be said for allowing the lass to find out for herself whether or not she’ll be happy in this new life of hers. Remington might not be a bad sort, at that.”

“He’s forcing us to sleep out in the stables,” Fergus reminded him.

“Does that surprise ye, knowing he’s English and we are certainly not?” Rodric countered. “I expected no better, and neither did any of ye. We’ve all developed soft feelings for the lass, is all. We’re all too quick to wish to protect those in need of protecting. She is no longer in need of that protection, and we must remember that.”

Brice did not wish to remember it, because that would mean remembering how little he meant to the rest of her life. Nothing at all, in fact.

A burst of raucous laughter rang out from inside. “I didna know the nobles enjoyed themselves so heartily during feasts,” Fergus chuckled. “I’m reminded of a tavern after the men have just collected their wages.”

“I suppose that once a man is in his cups, he stops being a nobleman and turns into a normal man,” Brice observed, and the four of them shared a wry laugh.

Servants hurried about near the keep, running back and forth with jugs and casks and such, giving instructions and passing orders to each other. Brice wondered at the sort of household Remington ran—it seemed efficient, even though those who did the work seemed rather highly strung and irritable.

He supposed he would be, too, if he were in their position.

“How long do ye think he’ll give us leave of the place?” Quinn asked, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and letting out a hearty belch.

“Not very long,” Rodric mused. “I would be greatly surprised if he allowed us to stay through the morrow.”

“I do not wish to stay,” Brice announced. “I would rather leave the moment he hands over our silver.”

“Even if there’s chance of our staying an extra night? I wouldna mind another fine meal such as this,” Quinn protested. “And the thought of not having to get on horseback for another day is almost too good to refuse.”

“Aye, my hindquarters are a bit worse for wear,” Fergus agreed. “It’s a long way back to the Anderson house.”

“With what we’re about to collect from Remington, we might be able to spend a day or two at the inn, in the village,” Brice countered.

“Do ye truly believe they would have us back, now that we’re no longer in Alana’s company?” Rodric pointed out. “I do not.”

Brice brooded to himself for a moment—why did they all insist on being so difficult? “Fine, then. The first village we come to on the other side of the border. We can take the main road this time, all the way through to Lockerbie.”

“Aye, now that we’re no longer in danger of one of our party running off,” Fergus nodded.

“We’ll find an inn by the end of the day tomorrow, I’m certain.” So long as they did not stay in the castle. So long as he did not have to be there when Alana married another man. It would be too great a pain to bear, hearing voices raised in celebration of her new life.

“Why does this matter so much to you?” Rodric asked, one eyebrow lifting.

“Because I wish to get home—and I would think you would, too, with a wife waiting for ye,” Brice prodded.

“Of course, I wish to be back with her, but I would not mind the chance to catch my breath, either. One more day will not make that great a difference.”

It was as though they were all against him. How could he be the only one wishing to get away?

Did they not see? No, of course they did not. None of them felt for her as he did.

Damn him for being so weak.

Fergus looked up at the star-filled sky, smiling. “A grand night, indeed. It is fine country.”

“Aye,” Quinn agreed with a grin. “A shame it has to be on this side of the border.”

* * *

It was the second night in a row in which he knew he’d get no sleep.

How long could a body go without sleep? He’d spent days at a time, in the army, but that had been under rather more dire conditions. A man tended to forget such things as fatigue when his life was in danger.

He’d think it would be no trouble falling asleep after having stayed awake much of the previous night, back at the inn.

Just the opposite was the case, in fact. He stared up at the planks which comprised the stable ceiling, listening as the horses shifted in their stalls.

At least the stable lads had mucked out the stalls Remington had seen fit to allow them. His contempt was clear—they were beasts. Brice was uncertain whether he looked forward to meeting the man simply to get a look at him or if he dreaded it, knowing he would want to give the bastard a piece of his mind.

No good could come of a mistake such as that.

It made him think of Alana. Had she pleased her new husband? Brice hoped for her sake that she had, and that she had managed to hold her tongue against any stubborn, foolhardy retorts.

He liked that about her, he decided, though her penchant for speaking her mind had irritated him terribly at first. If anyone were to silence her, to wear the lass down to the point where she feared speaking out, she would no longer be Alana.

His Alana, even though she was never truly his.

Rodric, Fergus, and Quinn were soundly asleep, the three of them snoring and grunting in turn. They could sleep. They were not as concerned for her as he was. He wished he shared their good fortune.

The snoring and grunting, paired with the noise from the horses, nearly concealed footsteps on the straw which covered the floor. He heard the gentle crunching, but just barely.

It was not a man walking past the stall in which he rested.

He stood, moving as quietly as possible, peering over the stall door. There was hardly any light in the stable as leaving an unattended lantern or candle would be tantamount to welcoming an accident, but his eyes were already adjusted to the darkness.

So much so that he recognized the blonde hair immediately, the curve of her cheek. The gown she wore was nothing like anything he’d seen her in up to that point, a deep purple velvet which seemed to mold itself to her body.

It reminded him of nothing as much as a little girl playing at being a grown woman.

He opened the door, stepping out of the stall, watching as she searched up and down the rows. He knew what she was looking for, and what she intended.

“Lass,” he whispered.

She jumped, throwing a hand over her mouth as she turned to look at him. Her eyes were wide above that hand, bulging from her head.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she breathed, moving her hand to her chest. “You nearly frightened me to death!”

“What do I think? This is my bedchamber for the evening,” he reminded her. “It’s what you are doing which concerns me.”

She chewed her lip, looking down at the floor. “I was looking for my mare.”

“To run away.”

“What do you think?” She shot him a defiant look. “Do not try to stop me.”

“You’re still on about this?”

“I cannot marry him. I will not!” She pointed a trembling hand toward the keep. “I tell you, I won’t.”

“Is it that terrible, lass?” He took a step toward her, uncertain whether he wanted her to confirm his fears or deny them. Did he want Remington to be a monster, so as to assuage his guilt at wanting her for himself? Or would it be better that she over-react?

“He wants nothing more than a broodmare,” she hissed. “I’m to warm his bed when he wishes and bear his children. Otherwise, I’m to keep my mouth shut, laugh at his terrible jokes, look the other way when he touches or ogles another woman, pretend to be interested in his conversation and smile through it all.”

Brice blinked. “Is that it?”

“Does there need to be more?”

“Aye, lass,” he murmured. “I believe there does.”

Her face fell. “I should have known.” Before he could react, she darted away, running out of the stable and into the night.

After muttering a string of obscenities, he followed.