“Do these Reivers come often, then?” she asked.
“Nae so often to these lands. They fear the wolves o’ Greyburn.”
The wolves of Greyburn. Did he know what the Forsrers were? Best to pretend ignorance. “I… don’t understand.”
He cocked his head. “Ye need not fear me, lady. I ken, as ye do, what manner of men the Forsters be.”
“You know?”
“Aye. They’re nae human, nor yet beasts, but sommat in between. And I ken you’re nae one of them.”
She felt an unaccustomed elation that he spoke so freely, and offered her the same freedom in return. “No,” she said. “I’m not one of them.”
He stretched long, booted legs out before him. ” ‘Tis a wonder, ye think, that wolves may raise sheep. But the wee beasties ken their masters.”
The image of wolves herding sheep flashed through her mind, but she didn’t laugh. “And the people here… do they know what the Forsters are?”
“Aye. No tenant or servant or farmer on this land ever forgets.” Isabelle sensed a new tension in him. “The Forsters have held Greyburn for generations. Their secret is safe.”
She could well believe it. She wasn’t sure she could have told another soul what the Forsters truly were, even if she’d wanted to. And she’d never seen them Change.
But it was good to know she wasn’t alone in sharing that knowledge, even with so curious a gentleman.
“How many beyond this valley guess that such beings live among us?” she asked. “Any man who spoke of it would be called mad.”
“Aye,” Matthias said. “But ye’ll see for yerself why the wolves o’ Greyburn willna be betrayed. I hear there’s an initiation this very night.”
“An initiation?”
He looked at her keenly. “Mayhap ye’ll have no part. The laird must see ye’re to be trusted.” His sweet smile returned. “Aye. I’d stake my life on it.”
He rose and held out one gloved hand. She took it without hesitation. He lifted her easily, and she saw that he was not so ridiculous as she’d guessed in his antique garments. Especially not with the sword at his side.
He followed her glance and bowed deeply. “My sword is at your service, milady. If ever ye have need of me, call my name. I shall come.”
There was no double entendre in his words, no hint of ridicule. He meant what he said. He was a stranger, and yet she had no doubt that he’d defend her to death against moss-troopers. Reivers or any other villain.
Perhaps even against the wolves of Greyburn.
“Thank you, sir,” she said, dropping a curtsy. “I shan’t forget your kindness.”
“Nor I your beauty,” he said. “We’ll meet again.”
She could feel him watching—standing guard—as she made her way down the hill. But when she reached the bottom and looked up, he’d gone as swiftly and silently as he’d come to her.
If she were one for childish fancies, she might have believed him a figment other imagination, an illusory companion for her loneliness. But she could still feel the tingle in her hand where he’d held it in his.
And she remembered what he’d said of the Forsters secrets and tonight’s “initiation.” Matthias’s words had been almost a warning. If this initiation had anything to do with Cassidy, she intended to learn exactly what it involved.
Meeting Matthias had reminded her that she wasn’t such a coward after all. And she, it seemed, was just as mad as he was.
Grandfather’s rooms were exactly as Braden had left them. Every piece of furniture, every suit of armor stood where it had the day he died, perfectly preserved by the constant attentions of servants who tended the suite like a shrine.
A shrine to the Cause.
Braden paused inside the door and listened, as he always did. Tiberius Forster was still here. He was dead, and yet his power lingered on. It was as if he’d never let go of the earldom, or leadership in the Cause.
But that was illusion. Death had loosened his grip, and his duties and responsibilities had passed on to the boy he’d groomed to replace him.
The boy. That was what Braden became, here. He had to prove himself all over again. And yet he could not stay away. Tiberius .wouldn’t let him.