by Tarah Scott
She stepped to the left where a fourth basket sat on the counter and began counting. Rhoslyn reached twelve before her thoughts turned to the wedding ceremony planned for tomorrow morning. A tremor rippled through her stomach. In less than a day, her marriage to Sir Talbot St. Claire, a man she’d known for two days, would be blessed by the church.
Nay. She met him two days ago, and had spent less than a day with him. She knew him not at all.
Perhaps, that wasn’t wholly true. She knew he was strong of body and mind. Physical strength was expected in a knight deserving of his king’s favors. Wasn’t that what she was, a favor bestowed upon a man for loyal service? Despite knowing such things were the way of the world, the thought galled her.
She’d married Alec because her grandfather believed he would be a good husband. His wealth, she had to admit, was no small consideration, but he’d been a good man who died too soon. She sent up a silent prayer of thanks that he had died before their son. He would have been devastated to know his son had lived only two months. Sadness poked at her heart and she ruthlessly pushed it aside. She couldn’t give into sorrow. She had retreated to the convent in sorrow, and look where that had gotten her.
Mistress Muira gave a small cry and Rhoslyn looked up from the eggs. Her stepdaughter Andreana entered the kitchen and stopped a few paces inside. Rhoslyn set the egg she held back in the basket and rushed forward. When she reached the girl, she threw her arms around her. Andreana stiffened. Rhoslyn’s heart squeezed. It had been too long since she’d seen her stepdaughter. Rhoslyn drew back and Muira crowded in to give Andreana a hug.
“Och, ye have grown in the two months since I last saw ye.” the housekeeper said.
The other half dozen women working in the kitchen crowded around and each hugged her as well, then Muira shooed them back to work and Rhoslyn grasped Andreana’s hands and looked at her. In the fourteen months she’d been gone, Andreana had gone from being a gawky girl to a young woman. Her hair had softened and grown lustrous, her face had lost its roundness, appearing longer, with more pronounced cheekbones, and her breasts accentuated a small waist.
“Ye are beautiful,” Rhoslyn said.
Andreana’s eyes fixed on her face and Rhoslyn detected uncertainty. Ah, so along with the woman’s body had risen a woman’s uncertainty. And Rhoslyn had been absent during this crucial time when the girl who had known her as her mother entered this new phase of life.
“Why just look at your hair,” Rhoslyn said. “So long and soft. I do believe ‘tis a darker shade of black than it was when I left.”
Andreana’s eyes brightened. “Grandfather says it is darker than a raven’s feather.”
Rhoslyn drew back and studied her hair more closely. “He is right.” Rhoslyn held her at arm’s length. “And ye have grown into a woman’s body.”
A blush crept up the girl’s cheeks.
“I am so glad to see you,” Rhoslyn said. “Who brought ye?”
“Grandfather.” She hesitated. “He said it was time I returned home.”
“He is right,” Rhoslyn said, although she would have given anything not to be there herself.
St. Claire and her grandfather entered, with Sir Baxter close behind. Rhoslyn pulled Andreana aside.
“Andreana,” her grandfather said, “this is your mother’s new husband, Sir Talbot.”
Something strange stirred in Rhoslyn’s stomach at hearing St. Claire referred to as ‘her husband.’
Andreana gave a pretty curtsy. “Sir Talbot.”
He acknowledged with a nod. “Andreana.”
Rhoslyn caught the appraising look Andreana gave him from under her lashes, and read the appreciation in her expression. St. Claire seemed oblivious to her inspection, but Rhoslyn had the feeling he simply pretended not to notice. That, she grudgingly admitted, spoke well of him. No doubt, Andreana had broken a heart or two in her absence, and it was no small matter for any man not to respond to a beautiful young girl’s admiration. So St. Claire wasn’t one to rob the cradle—at least not the one at home.
“This is Sir Baxter, Sir Talbot’s captain,” Rhoslyn’s grandfather said.
“Lady Andreana.” Baxter gave a slight bow.
Andreana’s eyes shifted onto the knight and Rhoslyn was startled to see a blush creep up her cheeks. Sir Baxter gave no indication he noticed Andreana’s reaction, but he wouldn’t. St. Claire wouldn’t allow it.
Muira stepped up beside Rhoslyn. “Mayhap Andreana would enjoy helping with preparations for tomorrow’s wedding celebration?”
Rhoslyn started. “Wedding celebration?” She swung her gaze onto St. Claire. “We only just agreed to have the wedding tomorrow. How can there already be plans for a celebration?”
“Once we decided, I asked Mistress Muira to make the arrangements.”
Panic started her heart to beating fast. “But a day is no’ enough time to plan a proper celebration. Surely, we need more time? What of your father?”
“I sent word to my father, as well as Edward, that we will say the vows tomorrow. My father can come at his convenience, if he likes.”
“Ye dinna’ waste time telling Edward,” Rhoslyn’s grandfather said.
St. Claire shrugged and Rhoslyn wanted to box his ears.
“He will want to know,” St. Claire said.
“Did you inform him of your brother’s actions?” Rhoslyn demanded.
“I did. It is best he is prepared in case Dayton pursues his claim that you and he are married.”
Rhoslyn’s heart fell, though she couldn’t say why. Whether now or a month hence, it made no difference when the marriage celebration took place. Except, she realized in a moment of honesty, that the celebration announced to the world that she was well and truly married to this man. And, he would claim his husbandly rights.
“Can I really help with the preparations?” Andreana said.
Rhoslyn nodded. “Aye. Though I canna’ think we can do much in less than a day.”
Andreana’s eyes lit. “I can do much.” She looked at Rhoslyn’s grandfather. “Can I plan as I please?”
“St. Claire is who ye must ask now, lass. Not me.”
Andreana shifted her gaze onto St. Claire and smiled shyly. “What would ye have me do, laird?”
“You and your mother may do as you please,” he replied.
“Dinna’ forget the hunt planned for the day after the celebration,” her grandfather said.
“Hunt?” Rhoslyn blurted. She looked at St. Claire. “Ye are planning a hunt?”
“It was your grandfather’s idea.”
She sent a narrow-eyed look at him. “You are full of surprises.”
“I havena’ been in a good hunt in too long. I hear your husband is a skilled hunter.” He looked at St. Claire. “Mayhap a wager would make things more interesting.”
“I never wager with my money,” St. Claire said, and Rhoslyn wondered how much of her money he would wager.
“I dinna’ need your money,” her grandfather said. “I saw that beautiful destrier ye rode when you came to Longford Castle. I could use a horse like that.”
St. Claire’s brows rose. “When have you need of a war horse?”
Her grandfather scowled. “I am no’ in my grave yet. I have a fight or two left in me. Are ye game or no’?”
“I am very attached to that horse.”
“Then ye are willing to admit defeat before the hunt even begins?” her grandfather said.
“I am willing to admit that fate is sometimes cruel. There are any number of challenges that could arise, none of which are a reflection of my skill.”
“Bah! Either ye have the bollocks or no’. Which is it?”
“Spoken like a true Highlander,” St. Claire said.
Her grandfather lifted a brow. “Aye, for we know what we are capable of.”
“What do you have that I could possibly want?” St. Claire asked.
“Ye already have what I value most.” Her grandfather cast a glance at Rhoslyn.
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She rolled her eyes.
“Aye,” St. Claire’s eyes shifted onto her. “What more could I want?”
Rhoslyn startled at the intensity of his gaze, then something fluttered in her belly.
“There is Grandfather’s claymore,” Andreana said.
Everyone looked at her.
St. Claire crossed his arms over his chest and Rhoslyn forced her gaze from the sight of his muscles bulging against the linen of his sleeves.
“That idea has merit,” he said.
Rhoslyn’s grandfather scowled at Andreana. “Ye are no’ helping matters, lass.”
She blushed.
“Afraid?” St. Claire said.
“It is a bet,” her grandfather replied.
St. Claire nodded. “You thought you would marry your granddaughter to another man. You were wrong then, too.” With that, he strode from the room.
* * *
Talbot had insisted the vows be spoken, but he wished mightily they could delay a week. Lady Rhoslyn appeared pale as a ghost. She was well in body, of that he was sure, but her spirit had been damaged. However, she would be far more damaged if Dayton’s plans came to fruition.
Morning sun streamed through the chapel’s small window to the right of the Christ. Talbot stood alongside Rhoslyn in front of the dais, with Seward beside her—his determination thick enough to cut—and Baxter flanked Talbot—his distrust in equal measure and opposition to Seward. English and Highlander crowded the hallway outside the chapel to witness the final blessing, Ralf and Ingram in the forefront.
Father Crey instructed Talbot to place the ring on Rhoslyn’s finger. When he grasped her hand, the ruby wedding ring she still wore glinted in the sunlight. Her eyes flew up to his, apprehension and regret mixed in her expression. Talbot smiled gently and covered her hand with his while discreetly slipping the old wedding ring off her finger.
Compared to the ring Alec Harper had given her, the band Talbot placed on her finger was modest: blue topaz and green peridot inlayed on a thick silver band.
Rhoslyn looked up at him, eyes wide. “I have no ring for you.”
Her grandfather leaned close and whispered, “Of course ye do.” He took her free hand, placed a ring in her palm and closed her fingers around it.
She frowned. “Grandfather—”
“Put the ring on your husband’s finger,” he urged.
She seemed uncertain, then nodded and grasped Talbot’s left hand. Her cool fingers felt almost fragile against his larger ones, but he found them pleasant. Roped carvings decorated the gold band she fitted to his finger. Rhoslyn pushed it down, shoving the ring past the knuckle.
Talbot grasped her hands with both of his and the priest pronounced them man and wife. To his surprise, Rhoslyn didn’t drop her gaze, but looked him directly in the eyes as he bent and brushed his lips across hers. Still, he detected a tremble in her body and tasted the salt of tears on her lips. Desire rose to fold her in his arms and assure her all would be well. But how did a man restore a woman’s trust?
Talbot slid an arm around Rhoslyn’s waist and turned. Cheers went up and the guests parted before them as they walked down the aisle.
At last, they reached their private chambers, and Talbot closed the door on the well—wishers in the hallway. Lady Rhoslyn crossed to the stool at the small table near the window where she kept her accounts and sat down. She absently fingered the wedding ring.
“This is not what I had planned,” he said.
She lifted her face to meet his gaze. “You come here at the behest of an English king, take possession of my home before meeting me—you even kidnapped me. What did ye expect?”
He studied her for a moment. “You want me to believe that had I awaited your pleasure at Dunfrey Castle you would have come to me of your own accord? Or perhaps I should have gone down on one knee to your grandfather and begged him to accept an English king’s decree to marry his granddaughter to an English knight?”
Her mouth thinned, but she shrugged. “At the very least, you could have gone to Dragon’s Lair instead of Castle Glenbarr.”
Dragon’s Lair. So she knew the name the Highlanders called Dunfrey Castle.
“Who knows what might have happened had you spoken with my grandfather?” she said.
“I did speak with him—though not on bended knee.”
Her brows dove down in a frown, then she shot to her feet. “So he tried to marry me to Jacobus. What did ye expect? Sweet Jesu, you took possession of my home before even meeting me.”
“That is not why Seward tried to marry you to Melrose,” he replied. “Nothing I could have done would have changed things for the better. You know as well as I that had I not reached you in time, Edward would have viewed your marriage to Melrose as a defiance that could not go unchecked.”
“So your brother kidnapping me was to be expected?”
“Nay. I had no idea he was even in Scotland. Had I known...” Talbot released a breath. “Perhaps over time, you will be able to forget, but I do not expect you to forgive me.”
Her mouth parted in obvious surprise.
“Aye, Lady, I know this is my fault.”
“I-I didna’ say that,” she whispered.
“You did not have to.”
She sat back down, and he caught the flick of her eyes toward his chambers. She worried he was about to claim his husbandly rights. That was something he had yet to deal with. Thankfully, a hard rap on the door interrupted.
“Enter,” Talbot called.
The door opened and Baxter stepped into the room. “Lady Rhoslyn has a visitor.”
“Another visitor? Who?” Talbot demanded.
Baxter’s gaze cut to Lady Rhoslyn. “Her intended husband.”
“Speak of the devil,” Talbot murmured.
“Jacobus?” Rhoslyn asked.
“Aye,” Baxter replied. “The Earl of Melrose. You remember him, the man you tried to marry while you were married to Talbot?”
“You will remember that Lady Rhoslyn is my wife, Baxter,” Talbot said.
Baxter’s eyes jerked onto him. His mouth thinned, but he gave a brusque nod.
“What does Melrose want?” Talbot asked.
“He is demanding to see Lady Rhoslyn. Her grandfather is with him in the great hall.”
Rhoslyn rose. “I will speak with him.”
“I will speak with him,” Talbot corrected.
“I do no’ want him harmed,” she said.
“As long as he causes no trouble, he will not be harmed.”
She heaved a sigh. “I am in no mood to argue.”
“Good.”
She shook her head. “Ye misunderstand. I am in no mood to argue, but I doesna’ mean I will take orders. Jacobus came peaceably through our gates. I will see him.”
Talbot started to point out that she had said the same thing about Dayton, then stopped. She knew Jacobus Auenel, and he was, after all, just a pup.
They went to the hall. Many of the people who had witnessed the marriage blessing milled about the room, along with Highland and English warriors. Preparations for the evening’s party were underway and women bustled between the great hall and kitchen, cleaning and preparing food.
Seward, Ingram, and Ralf, stood with Melrose at the hearth. The two Highlanders had made themselves at home, Talbot noticed. Baxter separated from Talbot and Rhoslyn, and continued on his way to the wall to check on the men as Talbot had ordered. Ingram and Ralf lifted quizzical brows when Talbot and Rhoslyn approached. Young Melrose’s gaze latched onto Rhoslyn like a lost dog. By God, he really was nothing more than a boy, and a lovesick boy at that, despite his twenty-one years. Talbot remembered himself at that age, already under Sir Hugh’s tutelage for thirteen years and knighted.
“Lady Rhoslyn,” Melrose said when they reached the group. “Are ye well?”
Talbot read genuine concern in his tone and a grudging sliver of respect surfaced.
“I am fine,” she replied.
“Yo
u would never say otherwise.” The boy turned his gaze onto Talbot. Ire flashed, which revealed more backbone than Talbot thought the lad capable of. “Less than a day under your care and she comes to harm. Ye dinna’ deserve to look her way, much less marry her.”
He had a point. Still...
“Yet we are married with a priest’s blessing,” Talbot said.
Shock registered on Jacobus’s face and he looked at Rhoslyn. “My lady, say it is no’ true.”
“When I didna’ reach Longford Castle, ye must have guessed, Jacobus.”
“I had hoped that when his brother kidnapped you that meant—” His eyes cut to Talbot. “Ye dirty dog. You have no right to marry her after what happened.”
For an instant Talbot thought Melrose knew the truth, then realized he was referring to Rhoslyn being kidnapped, which was, in truth, sufficient fuel for his anger.
“Ye canna’ blame the lad for being right,” Ralf said.
Talbot shot him a dark look, but Ralf only grinned.
Rhoslyn intervened. “Why are you here, Jacobus?”
His mouth thinned. “I wanted to be sure you were well.”
“I just said I was well,” she replied.
But Melrose clearly wasn’t convinced, for his hand fell to his sword hilt.
Chapter Ten
“Jacobus,” Rhoslyn cried.
She stepped forward, but St. Claire yanked her back and behind him as the remaining men drew their swords. The nearest warriors leapt to their laird’s aid. St. Claire lunged and drove a fist into Jacobus’ belly.
“Hold,” St. Claire shouted to the men as Jacobus doubled over, then dropped to his knees, wheezing loudly.
St. Claire seized his sword, yanked it from its sheathe then threw it to the floor. Metal clanged against stone in the now silent room, and rushes kicked up as the claymore furrowed a path across the floor, then skidded to a stop.
Her grandfather sheathed his sword. “Have ye lost your mind, Jacobus? You are lucky I dinna’ run my sword through your belly just to teach you a lesson.”