by Tarah Scott
“No one will ever harm you again, Lady Rhoslyn,” he said.
Ross appeared in the doorway. “There is a servants’ entrance, just as ye said. But we must make haste.”
St. Claire took a step toward him. “Has Dayton returned?”
“Nay, but Seward has arrived.”
“Damn him,” St. Claire cursed in unison with her “Sweet Jesu.”
“He must no’ know—” Her voice broke.
St. Claire hesitated.
“Please,” Rhoslyn begged. “My grandfather can never know what happened here.”
He nodded. “Ross, take Lady Rhoslyn out the back way and go to the inn on the way out of town. I will deal with Seward and meet you there.”
“He will want to see me,” Rhoslyn said.
“Leave him to me. By the time we meet again, you will be—” his mouth thinned “—more rested. Lust for my brother’s blood will distract him once I assure him you are safely away.” He looked at Ross. “Engage a room for Lady Rhoslyn. See to it her room is guarded at all times. No one save myself or her grandfather is allowed in.”
She fought the sudden desire to cry. Ross nodded. Rhoslyn sent up a prayer to Saint George for strength to get through the day.
* * *
It took every bit of willpower Talbot had to turn left down the hallway, while Ross and his wife turned right. He wanted to settle her on his horse in front of him and keep her close until they reached Castle Glenbarr. Instead, he must preserve her dignity. Seward wouldn’t settle for hearing news of his granddaughter from anyone save him.
Talbot neared the bottom of the stairs and Seward’s heated voice met his ears. “I know my granddaughter is here. Either tell me where she is or get out of my way before I knock ye on your arse.”
Talbot stepped off the bottom stair and turned left toward the modest sitting room. Seward looked past the man he threatened and met Talbot’s gaze.
The old man pushed past the man and reached Talbot as he entered the room. “Where is she, ye dog?”
“What are you doing here?” Talbot demanded.
“Dinna’ think to put me off with your highhanded ways,” he shot back. “I know Rhoslyn is here.”
“She is not.”
Seward’s eyes narrowed. “I will kill ye, St. Claire, King Edward be damned.”
Talbot motioned with his head. “Come where we can speak in private.”
Suspicion appeared in his eyes, but he preceded Talbot out the door and halted in the street. When he turned, Talbot said, “First, I will tell you, my wife is well.”
“Where is she?”
“She is safely away from here. For now, that will suffice. Who told you she was here?”
“If ye are asking how I knew your brother kidnapped her, that makes you a fool. I have known those at Castle Glenbarr as many years as ye have been alive. They wouldna’ dare keep such news from me. As to how I knew she was here, the innkeeper’s wife told me there was an Englishman whose wife was mad.” He shrugged. “I took a chance. What happened?”
“My brother hoped to wed Lady Rhoslyn in my place.”
“Craven bastard,” Seward cursed. “Where is he?”
“When I arrived, he was gone. Lady Rhoslyn believes he went to the docks to secure passage from Scotland.”
“Where is she?”
“On the way home. But we shall meet her on the way. Will you help me search for my brother?”
The old man snorted. “If I find him, I will kill him.”
“Nay,” Talbot said. “I will kill him.”
* * *
Ross took Rhoslyn to a quiet inn and they were seated in a corner of the inn’s tavern. Rhoslyn prayed she looked nothing more than a bedraggled traveler. Ross cast her another of the dozen furtive looks he’d already sent her way. Even in the dim candlelight, she couldn’t miss the worry in his eyes.
The innkeeper approached and she released a silent breath when he said the room was at last ready. They climbed the steep stairs to the third floor, Ross following the innkeeper and Rhoslyn following Ross, with one of St. Claire’s warriors bringing up the rear.
They entered a surprisingly large room, where a maid bustled about. Rhoslyn guessed this room to be one of the most expensive in Stonehaven. To the left, a small desk sat in an alcove, and on the same wall a few feet ahead, a short-postered bed filled another alcove. A small chest and table sat on the right wall. But Rhoslyn had eyes only for the tub sitting before the blazing fire. Washing and drying cloths had been laid out on a small table beside the tub and a kettle of water hung over the fire. St. Claire had spent a small fortune to ensure her comfort. She fleetingly wondered if he’d spent her money, then flushed with guilt. He had saved her, then made sure she was cared for.
“‘Tis the best room I have,” the innkeeper said. “I hope it pleases ye, my lady.”
“The room is lovely.”
The maid turned from pouring wine in a mug at the table, hurried forward and curtsied. “Maggie, here, can see to your needs,” the man said.
“I will not need her,” Rhoslyn said.
“I can help you undress, my lady,” the girl said. “Surely, ye need help washing your hair?”
Rhoslyn shook her head. “I will do well enough on my own. Thank you.”
The girl looked at the innkeeper.
“Go along, Maggie,” he said.
She left and the innkeeper asked if Rhoslyn needed anything else. It was all she could do to keep from shoving everyone out the door, but she politely declined and the man left.
Ross followed him to the door. When the innkeeper descended the stairs, Ross looked back, “Ye will be safe here, Lady Rhoslyn.”
“Thank you, Ross.”
“I will be outside your door.”
Heat crept up her cheeks and the urge to cry rose too close to the surface.
At last, he closed the door and the noise from the tavern below cut to a murmur. Rhoslyn almost tripped in her haste to reach the door. She grasped the key sticking out of the keyhole and turned it. Heart beating, she pulled the key free, then hurried to the tub. Tossing the key on the small table beside the bathing cloths, she yanked the ties of her bodice free, then shoved the fabric down her shoulders and arms. She scooped the dress from the floor and threw it into the fire with such force that sparks sprayed across the hearthstone. She lifted the kettle from the fire and set it atop a cloth on the table nearest the tub.
Her hands shook as she gripped the side of the tub and stepped into the water. Rhoslyn forced herself to ease down, instead of dropping and dunking her head, desperate to remove the feel of Dayton St. Claire’s sweat and blood from her flesh. When the water covered her breasts, she scrubbed her belly and thighs with a cloth until they were red, and washed the place between her legs until she was sore.
She poured the kettle of hot water into the cooling bathwater, ignoring the uncomfortable heat as the steam curled in thick ribbons around her body. Back against the tub, she slid downward until her face submerged. When her lungs neared bursting, she shoved upwards, gasping for air. Despite the blazing hearth fire, gooseflesh raced across her shoulders. She pulled her knees up to her belly and wrapped her arms around her legs, then sat until her teeth chattered so violently that her jaw ached. Still, she did not move. A thunk outside her room jerked her from her stupor.
St. Claire.
Rhoslyn scrambled from the tub, losing her balance and nearly falling in her haste to grab the drying cloth and wrap it around her body. Silence came from the other side of the door, yet she stood several long moments before accepting that no one was going to enter the room. Then she remembered the key on the table. She crossed to the small table near the window, poured a mug of mulled wine, and drank the contents in several large gulps. After refilling the mug, she went to the bed and slipped beneath the blanket, back against the wall, gripping the mug close to her breasts.
How was she ever going to remove the feel of Dayton St. Claire from inside her? What was she go
ing to do when St. Claire eventually claimed his husbandly rights? How was she going to be wife to the brother of the man who had violated her? Rhoslyn recalled her first sight of Dayton St. Claire, how the two brothers were as different as the sun was from the moon. They shared the same father, but not the same mother. St. Claire had forcibly taken her from the safety of her father’s men—and had threatened to avail himself of his husbandly rights. But he had left her unmolested and had, instead, gone to lend aid to her grandfather.
She mouthed a prayer to Saint George. God had forsaken her, and her supplications to the saints had gone unheeded these last two years. What had she done to so displease her Lord? Was it possible to atone for an unknown sin?
Rhoslyn took another long sip of wine. The liquid sent a ripple of warmth through her body. She took another sip. She longed to return to the convent. But if answers lay there, why had God allowed her to be ripped away before she found peace?
The walls at Saint Mary’s hadn’t closed in on her as did the current silence. There, she could turn her mind to God. Staring at the wall of the inn, all she saw was a child with dark hair like Dayton St. Claire’s. What would Sir Talbot do if his brother’s seed had taken root in her? Could she become pregnant so easily when it had taken nearly seven years of marriage to conceive Alec’s son?
Alec’s kindness hadn’t concealed his disappointment. He loved his daughter, but he wanted a son to carry on his name. Daily, Rhoslyn prayed to Saint Anthony, the patron saint of infertility, and Saint Anne, mother of the Virgin Mary, and begged to conceive. At last, her miracle happened, and she missed her flux. Rhoslyn dedicated the next month to prayers and supplications, and didn’t miss a single mass. The second month came and no blood appeared.
Alec joined her in daily prayers, and when the child at last moved inside her, she allowed herself to believe she was going to give her husband the son he so wanted. Then six weeks after she gave birth to a healthy baby boy, Alec became ill and died within a fortnight. Then Dougal began to cough and developed a fever. Nothing the doctors did helped the child, and Rhoslyn’s prayers went unanswered. Tears trickled down her cheeks. The months she’d spent in the convent melted away and she again sat in her chambers, desperately rocking Dougal in her arms, while his breath rattled. And then stopped.
She held him for hours, washing his face with her tears, while the hearth fire burned to ash and the room chilled. As sunlight seeped through the closed shutters, Mistress Miura entered the room, summoned the doctor, and then sent for her grandfather.
Rhoslyn didn’t fight when the old housekeeper took the babe from her arms. She allowed herself to be led to the bed and the covers pulled up over her shoulders. When she finally awoke, she called for her grandfather and begged to go to Saint Mary’s. She had gone ere’ her son was laid in the ground. She had yet to visit his grave in the family cemetery at Castle Glenbarr.
Rhoslyn drank the last of the wine and set the mug on the shelf beside the bed. Her brain muddled and the room blurred. She considered refilling the mug, but the weight of her body sagged against the mattress and she couldn’t muster the strength to move. Perhaps if she rested just a moment...
Chapter Seven
Near midnight, a sudden downpour ended their search, but by then Talbot knew Dayton had eluded him. Talbot’s anger mingled with bitter frustration. He would have to chase Dayton into England and, likely, challenge their father’s protection of the cur.
The walls of the inn came into view up ahead and Talbot allowed his shoulders to relax a fraction. The security its walls afforded meant the establishment was of a better cut than the one where they’d found Lady Rhoslyn. He slowed and Seward followed suit, as did the men riding behind them. They passed through the gate into the courtyard and Talbot spotted one of his men sitting on a bench near the door. The man rose as they brought their horses to a halt in front of the inn.
The door opened just as Talbot dismounted. A murmur of voices spilled into the courtyard as a lad emerged, and he glimpsed men inside the tavern on the ground floor of the building.
The lad stepped up to Talbot. “Can I take your horses?”
“Aye,” Talbot replied. “Have you accommodations for my men in your stables?”
“Ye can speak with John. Your men can come with me.”
“Blair,” Talbot called to the man at the head of the company, “you and the rest of the men sleep in the stables. The boy will show you the way.” The boy started around the building and the men spurred their horses to follow.
“All is well?” Talbot asked the warrior who had been seated.
“Aye. Ross himself guards your lady wife.”
“What room is she in?” Talbot asked.
“Third floor, second door on the left.”
Talbot nodded, and Seward followed him inside the tavern.
Talbot stopped a young maid as she passed a nearby table. “Have you another room?” he asked.
“I think so. I will fetch the innkeeper.”
A moment later a tall, lean man in his thirties entered from the hallway. “Good evening. Brae tells me ye are looking for a room.”
“Aye, my wife, Lady Rhoslyn is here,” Talbot said. “Her grandfather, Baron Kinsley, needs accommodations.”
“Lady Rhoslyn, yes. She is in our finest room on the third floor. I have a vacant room at the end of the hall on the second floor, the baron can have. ‘Tis a good room, though no’ as fine as the one where I put your wife.”
“That will do,” Talbot said. “I have sent my men to your stables. See to their dinner.” He turned toward the stairs.
“I expect to see my granddaughter first thing in the morning, St. Claire,” Seward said.
Talbot started up the stairs. “I will tell her.”
* * *
Rhoslyn’s eyes snapped open. A stifling heat washed over her. The glow of firelight penetrated her blurred vision. The convent was on fire! She threw back the covers and leapt from bed. She took two steps before realizing she was naked. She swung toward the fire. There was no hearth in her cell. The events of the last day crashed in around her. Rhoslyn gasped and swayed with the spinning room.
Strong arms caught her against a wall of velvety steel warmth. She snapped her head up and saw a masculine face looming over her. Her mind propelled back to Dayton St. Claire on top of her, his stubbled jaw harsh against her neck as he—Rhoslyn shoved the man’s chest.
“No!” she screamed.
The arms tightened around her. “Lady Rhoslyn.”
She beat his chest.
“It is I—”
Rhoslyn thrashed.
His arms tightened. “Rhoslyn, it is I, Talbot.”
She froze.
Shock rolled over her and tears became sobs. Rhoslyn felt herself lifted from the floor, then her body settled against hard thighs. Her mind told her to break free, but wracking sobs shook her shoulders and she could do nothing but allow the hot tears to flow.
At last, she heaved a long, stuttered sigh, too spent to shed another tear. Too tired to care.
“Are you thirsty?”
St. Claire’s voice reverberated through his chest and Rhoslyn remembered she was naked. Fear gave way to an embarrassment that sent a tremor rippling through her stomach. In truth, she wasn’t afraid. His gentle touch surprised her and, despite the fact he wore no shirt—and she was certain she felt a bulge beneath her bottom—he made no move to force or seduce her. She was however, uncomfortably aware of her breast flattened against his chest and the warmth of his muscled arms against her flesh.
“Are you thirsty?” he asked again.
Very thirsty, she realized. Her mouth felt like sand. “Aye,” she rasped.
St. Claire slid her from his lap onto the bed, then rose. He surprised her by keeping his eyes straight ahead and didn’t so much as flick a glance at her naked body. She pulled the blanket from the bed and wrapped it around herself. Her hair was still damp. The long, thick tresses would be impossible to manage into a braid i
n the morning. She might be forced to allow the maid to help her.
St. Claire turned and crossed back to the bed. When he handed her the mug, she caught sight of the markings on his arm. The face and upper body of a girl no more than thirteen years of age covered his flesh from shoulder to bicep. Long hair rippled along the sculpted muscle.
He unexpectedly grasped her chin and tilted her head up toward his. His mouth thinned and she realized he was studying her bruised cheek. He released her and sat on the bed beside her. Rhoslyn fingered her cheek and found the flesh even more tender than it had been when she went to bed.
“Does it hurt?” he asked.
She startled. “‘Tis only a little sore.” She took a drink of the wine. “How is your wound?”
“Healing well.”
“Is it deep?”
“Little more than a scratch,” he replied.
Rhoslyn took another sip of her wine. “You should no’ have attacked me.”
“You should not have tried to marry another man.”
“What was your sister’s name?”
“Lilas,” he replied without looking at her.
Rhoslyn’s gaze caught on the room key still sitting on the table near the tub. “How did you get into my room? I have the key.”
“Ross had another.”
She should have felt annoyed, but couldn’t muster the strength.
“Can you tell me what happened?”
Rhoslyn stiffened. “What do ye think happened?”
He looked at her now. “I am asking how you came to be with my brother.”
“I did no’ go with him willingly, if that is what ye mean.”
“It would make no sense to do so,” he replied. And she heard the unspoken thought, No more sense than to try to marry another man.
“He killed Sheila and your guard.” Her chest tightened. “And Mistress Muira.”
“Not Mistress Muira.”
Rhoslyn startled. “But he said—”
St. Claire shook his head. “She was found unconscious. I assume her would-be killer was interrupted before he could finish the job.”
Tears stung the corners of Rhoslyn’s eyes. She took a long, slow drink of wine in an effort to gain control. “Muira took me under her wing when I married Alec,” she finally said. “Taught me about herbs, how to manage a kitchen.” Her voice hitched. “She was more mother than housekeeper. I thank God he spared her.” But could she forgive Him for taking the other two lives? Even as the thought formed she knew it wasn’t God’s doing, but her own. She had neglected her duty and left herself and those who depended on her vulnerable. Forgive me, she mentally prayed.