"Take me to see Marcus."
"Your father would not permit it. 'Tis too dangerous for you to cross the border to the village, not with the fighting going on, my lady."
She narrowed her eyes at him. "This is all your fault." She didn't mean him personally, but she knew he would not want her wedding the Highlander any more than her father would.
When Lord Wynfield did not deny it, she knew then—her father had given him the order, and he had given word to the men who had escorted Marcus out of the keep.
"How bad is he?" She fought valiantly to keep the tears at bay, to believe he was not wounded badly, and that the man who did this to him would pay with his life.
"He is recovering, so I am told, from the little word that we could get concerning his condition."
"Has father's physician seen to him?" Considering that Marcus was injured on her father's land while being forced to leave the castle through no fault of his own, and now the Scots had retaliated, wouldn't peace come easier if in good faith her father sent his own physician to care for Marcus?
"I have had word that a healer has seen to his injury."
"I want to see him for myself." And she would, no matter the obstacle that stood in her way.
"'Tis not possible, my lady."
She would make it possible, one way or another.