by Tarah Scott
“St. Claire and I think it is best if ye stay at Castle Glenbarr until we catch his brother,” Seward said.
“What?” Rhoslyn cut her gaze to Talbot. “That could be months, maybe longer.”
“He will not wait long before striking,” Talbot said.
“I will no’ be a prisoner in my own home.”
“I will catch him.”
“What if he was no’ behind the attack?” she asked.
“Who else could it be?”
She hesitated.
“Perhaps your cousin?” he asked.
“Duncan?” she blurted.
“Why would Duncan attack you?” Seward asked.
“Ask your granddaughter,” Talbot said.
The old man frowned. “What is this about, Rhoslyn?”
“He is angry St. Claire forced him to leave Castle Glenbarr.”
“Duncan can be an ass,” Seward said, “but he isna’ capable of orchestrating such an attack.”
“You know your kin better than me,” Talbot said. “But to rule out other possibilities when nothing is known is a fool’s mistake.”
Seward snorted. “It isna’ that he is not capable of hating ye enough to do it. The truth is, he does not command enough respect among men to gain their loyalty, and he can no’ afford to hire mercenaries. Look for something more underhanded from Duncan.”
So Talbot had been right.
“Grandfather,” Rhoslyn admonished. “Duncan was loyal to Alec. He never stole a single silver piece from us.”
Seward laughed. “Only because he believed he would one day be master of Glenbarr.”
“That is ridiculous,” Rhoslyn said. “Alec and I had a son, and there is Andreana. At the very least, the castle would pass to her.”
“And her husband,” Seward said. “But that doesna’ matter. Duncan wants you.”
Rhoslyn’s eyes widened. “He told you that?”
“He didna’ have to say it,” Seward said. “He was more anxious than he should have been to know where ye had gone. It does not matter. I do not believe he was behind today’s attack, but it doesna’ matter. You will not leave Castle Glenbarr until Dayton St. Claire is dead.”
“I will not remain in the castle,” she shot back.
“Aye, lady, you will,” Talbot said. “I will take no more chances with your safety. You will remain at Castle Glenbarr until I say otherwise.”
She opened her mouth to reply, but Seward spoke in an obvious attempt to quiet her. “’Tis a shame none of your attackers survived. Ye might have learned something.”
Talbot agreed. But he didn’t regret killing every last one of the bastards.
* * *
Minutes later, St. Claire left Rhoslyn alone with her grandfather. It would take some time to wash the grime and blood off his body.
The door clicked shut behind him before she asked her grandfather, “Do ye not think you are making too much of this?”
He gave her a thin-lipped look. “Men died today.”
Guilt crashed over her. She hung her head.
“Your husband is right. His brother willna’ wait to try and abduct you again. He will grow more desperate with each passing day.”
“Use me as bait. Lure him to us,” she said.
Her grandfather snorted. “If St. Claire allowed that I would kill him. But I dinna’ think he would.”
Rhoslyn didn’t think so either.
“I see why Edward chose him to marry ye.”
“You do?”
“Not since your great uncle Liam have I seen such an archer. What was he like in battle?”
“Fearsome,” she said, and recalled the cold detachment with which he wielded his blade. Then she remembered the fury on his face when he’d discovered her tied to Dayton’s bed. The contrast between cold and hot sent a shiver down her spine. Was this the same man who had chased a goat in order to save a wedding dress?
“I wish I could have seen him,” her grandfather said.
“Ye may yet get a chance,” Rhoslyn replied. Then remembered what she wanted to ask. “Have you seen the picture of his sister on his arm?”
He shook his head. “Nay.”
“The girl’s face is familiar. Ye remember Lady Peigi?”
He nodded. “Cailin Kenzie’s daughter.”
“Aye. The picture on St. Claire’s arm is the spitting image of her.”
Her grandfather shrugged. “There are often resemblances between strangers.”
Rhoslyn shook her head. “Nay. When I say she is the spitting image, I do no’ exaggerate. I was young, but I remember when she returned to claim her father’s title after his death. She created quite a stir when she claimed the title.”
He gave a short laugh. “She did do that. He hated her for leaving and swore he would outlive her. Many thought he would succeed. He lived to eighty-two.”
“Do ye remember that Lady Peigi’s mother is no’ Scottish?” Rhoslyn asked.
“Aye, Kenzie brought her to Buchan from Galicia. He met her while on pilgrimage to Santiago de Compostela.”
“Her features betrayed her heritage,” Rhoslyn said. “Her face is longer and her eyes more slanted than ours.”
He nodded, eyes unfocused as if remembering. “She was very beautiful, even as she aged.”
Rhoslyn leaned closer. “I am telling you, the face is the same. Do ye no’ think that strange? Perhaps, if they looked very much the same, and had been of Scottish descent, it would not be so odd. But how is it St. Claire’s sister looks like a woman who is also not of pure Celtic blood?”
“It does seem strange,” he agreed. “I would like to see this marking. Can ye arrange some way for me to see it?”
“Perhaps if he works outdoors he will take off his shirt.” The thought sent a shiver through her. What had come over her? She couldn’t once remember experiencing a shiver at the thought of Alec’s naked chest.
Chapter Fourteen
Rhoslyn opened her eyes and lifted them to the Virgin Mary in the nook of the small chapel. “Four more days have passed and still my flux has no’ come. Please, Holy Mother, beg your Son no’ to punish me in this way.” Desire rose to obtain the herbs to abort the possible pregnancy and guilt twisted her belly. “Forgive me,” she whispered while a voice inside her cursed her grandfather and St. Claire for imprisoning her in Castle Glenbarr. They were right, it was too dangerous to leave. Four of St. Claire’s guardsmen had died in yesterday’s attack. She couldn’t ask more men to die to protect her. But being confined meant she had no chance to find the needed herbs.
“Is it so wrong not to want this man’s child?” she asked, but silence was her only answer. “Have you also deserted me, good lady?”
Fear stabbed soul deep. She as much just told the Holy Mother she was beyond God’s grace. Sweet Jesu, God was sure to punish her further if he found her guilty of sloth. She racked her memory. What was the prayer for forgiveness for committing one of the seven deadly sins?
Rhoslyn prostrated herself on the stone floor and began to pray.
At last, Rhoslyn tore herself away from the chapel. If St. Claire noticed how much time she spent praying, he might ask what was wrong. She started across the bailey toward the storeroom and caught sight of her grandfather striding from the stables. He slowed and they met near the stables.
“We need to talk,” he said without preamble.
Unease prickled down her spine. “Is something wrong?”
He turned her back toward the castle and began walking.
“I was going to the storeroom,” she said.
“Later.” He waited for a group of men to pass, then said, “Ye are not living up to your wifely duties.”
Rhoslyn stopped short and stared. Two women passed carrying baskets and Rhoslyn started forward again, but waited until she was certain they were out of earshot before saying, “I wonder not only how you came to this conclusion, but what emboldens you to think ye have the right to speak to me of such personal matters.”
> “I am your grandfather. That gives me the right. As to how I came to the conclusion, I have eyes. I can tell when a husband and wife are no’ sharing a bed.”
“If you doubt that St. Claire slept in my bed, ask Alana. She saw him there.”
“Sleeping in a woman’s bed isna’ the same as bedding her. The man doesna’ strike me as being anything like his brother. But if ye tell me he is cruel to you, I will kill him and face Edward’s wrath.”
“I think you have interfered enough, Grandfather.”
He barked a laugh. “Are ye saying that because I took you from the convent, your troubles are my fault?”
“Nay,” she grudgingly replied. “But you havena’ helped matters, either.”
“I disagree,” he said, “but that does not matter. What matters is now. Do ye despise him for what happened?”
“Nay.”
“Then why has he not bedded ye?”
“This is none of your affair,” she warned.
“Aye, it is. Since we are stuck with the man, I want great grandchildren while I am still able to teach them what it means to be a Highlander.”
Her heart twisted. She wanted that was well. What if it was Dayton St. Claire’s son she bore instead of Sir Talbot’s? Would her grandfather reject the child? They reached the postern door. He opened it and motioned her to enter. He followed and she veered right, toward the table at the far end of the great hall. He grasped her arm and steered her toward the stairs.
“We are no’ finished,” he said, and urged her up the stairs.
They reached the third floor and entered her private solar. “Why are ye doing this?” she asked when he closed the door. “You were the one who was most against the marriage. You even tried to marry me to Jacobus.”
“Aye, but that opportunity passed.” He met her gaze. “I know Dayton St. Claire did more than kidnap ye. I saw it in your eyes the day I met you in the inn.”
Rhoslyn startled, but managed to check the panic that shot through her.
“St. Claire has accepted you as his wife and he wants ye,” he said.
“What do you mean?” she blurted. “That is ridiculous.”
“Is it? I see the way he looks at ye.”
Her heart beat painfully fast. “All men see is lust.”
He grunted. “I am still vigorous enough to understand and recognize desire when I see it.”
“Grandfather!”
“Dinna’ act like a thirteen-year-old virgin. Ye were married eight years, and I made sure ye understood the reality of life from the time you were a child. He wants you, which is to his credit. Many men would blame a woman for what happened to ye and hold a grudge. ‘Tis not so with St. Claire. What will ye do if you find yourself pregnant with his brother’s child?”
Rhoslyn drew a sharp breath before catching herself.
Her grandfather’s eyes narrowed. “Ye are no’ already carrying his child, are you?”
“I am no’ pregnant,” she snapped.
“Have ye had your flux?”
She stared in horror. “That is none of your business.”
He gave a succinct nod. “Just as I thought. ‘Tis time ye got down to the business of bedding your husband.”
“Business? Is that how ye see my marriage?”
“In this case, yes. You did no’ marry the man out of love.” His expression softened. “I say this for your own good. You canna’ allow what happened to paralyze you. You could have done worse than Talbot. Ye could have gotten a man like his brother.”
She shuddered. Worse, his brother could have succeeded.
When Rhoslyn neared the stables that afternoon, male laughter coming from the side of the building caused her to slow.
“Go on, lad, you can catch her,” came a deep English voice she didn’t recognize.
Another round of laughter went up, even more boisterous than the last. She crept forward and peered around the edge of the building. St. Claire and several of his men stood facing the far side of the building. Sounds of a scuffle ensued, and St. Claire threw back his head and laughed. Rhoslyn startled at the sound of his rich laughter amongst the guffaws of his men. Although she watched him in profile, she noticed a softening of the normally hard lines of his face. He looked ten years younger.
His broad shoulders shook with laughter. “Have you not the bollocks to tame her, lad?”
“Is that how you let a female treat you?” a third said, and more laughter erupted.
“She willna’ obey me,” a young male voice replied.
Rhoslyn recognized John Forster’s voice, eldest son of the most prominent freeman who worked their land.
“You cornered her,” a large man said. “Now you must bring her to heel or she will never obey you.”
“Show her who is master,” another said.
“Give her a good swat on the rump,” one said. “That will teach her you mean business.”
“That never works,” another said. “Mount her, lad. Do not give her a chance to get away.”
A hard bump against the wall was followed by a woman’s cry.
“Ina, I didna’ mean to hurt ye,” John said. “Hold still, damn you.”
The sound of a body knocking hard against the wall came next.
Rhoslyn froze.
Some of the men darted from view around the building.
“You have her, John,” St. Claire said. “She cannot get past us.”
“Want me to hold her?” another said.
John grunted, then shouted, “I did it.”
Was he panting?
“You would think he cornered a lion,” one man said.
St. Claire chuckled. “She did put up a fight.”
Rhoslyn broke from shock and lunged forward, nearly tripping in her rush to reach them. St. Claire’s head snapped in her direction. Amusement seemed frozen on his face. In that instant, his unguarded expression confused her, and she couldn’t reconcile the man who had tenderly freed her from the bed where her rapist had tied her with the man who cheered on a wisp of a boy while he raped a woman. The look vanished and she jarred from her confusion when his eyebrows dove down in a fierce frown.
He started toward her. “What is it, Lady Rhoslyn?”
She pushed past him and around the building, then stopped cold at sight of John with—
Iron fingers closed around her arm and swung her around. “What is amiss?” St. Claire demanded.
“I—” She cut her gaze back to John.
“Rhoslyn.”
She looked back at St. Claire. “I—”
John halted in front of her, gripping the reins of the horse their stable master had recently broken. Ina sat astride the animal.
“Look, my lady,” Ina said. “John has given me this horse. He is teaching me to ride.”
The young man blushed, for he was sweet on Ina and everyone knew it.
No one laughed or teased him this time. They all stared at her. St. Claire’s gaze sharpened and she read understanding in his eyes.
He released her and said to John. “Lead the horse around the bailey for your lady’s first ride, John. Let them both grow accustomed to the saddle.”
The boy’s blush deepened and he started toward the courtyard.
When John had passed, St. Claire turned to her. “Will you walk with me, Lady Rhoslyn?”
Inwardly she cringed. But she nodded and they began strolling in the direction John had gone.
Once they were well out of earshot of his men, he said, “Do you really think I would stand by and watch a man abuse a woman?”
Shame flushed her cheeks. “I am sorry.”
“I have not gone in pursuit of Dayton,” he said.
The abrupt change of subject startled her.
“I wanted—want—nothing more than to look under every rock in Scotland for him. But I made the mistake of not protecting you as I should have and I feared...” His words trailed off, and Rhoslyn found she couldn’t speak. He looked down at her. “Mayhap my not going gave
you the impression—”
“Nay,” she cut in. “I never thought that.”
“Until now.”
She lowered her eyes. “I truly am sorry.”
A group of men approached and St. Claire cupped her elbow and steered her around them. His gentle finger pressure sent a strange heat through her and she nearly snatched her arm away once they passed the men.
“I do know ye are no’ the kind of man to allow anyone to harm a woman,” she said.
Odd that he should be so gentle with her, and such a ruthless killer at the same time. She had known other warriors. Few men survived who had not killed in their lifetime. But St. Claire killed as easily as most men breathed. Yet she saw no cruelty in him. Not even brutality. He killed...efficiently—and without emotion. Was that how he made love? She startled at the thought and snapped her head up to meet his gaze. He stared down at her expectantly.
“I can do nothing more than ask your forgiveness,” she said.
His expression softened. “You need not ask forgiveness. You are allowed doubts.”
Hers had been more than a doubt, but she was grateful for his kindness. “I have no’ seen Ralf and Ingram today. Have they left?”
He nodded. “I sent them back to Stonehaven to continue the search for my brother.”
They were halfway across the bailey when a woman and three men rode through the gates.
“Elizabeth,” Rhoslyn murmured.
“Do you not wish to see her?” St. Claire asked.
Rhoslyn released a breath. “She is a childhood friend.”
He chuckled. “She is a rival, then?”
“Nay. She is a friend.” Rhoslyn said no more and felt his eyes on her, the question still hanging in the air. “I had better greet her,” she said.
“We might as well greet her together.”
She started to disagree, then realized a husband and wife greeting guests was natural. Her stomach began to churn. Husband and wife. Their marriage still seemed like a dream. St. Claire, however, was no dream. He was a flesh and blood man walking alongside her.