by Tarah Scott
“Nay, my lady. I am only getting fresh water to change the bandage. Your grandfather is breathing well. Nothing has changed.”
Rhoslyn nodded and released a sigh. Seven days. He wasn’t dead. But neither had he woken. St. Claire had mentioned nothing concerning his search for his attackers. She had avoided him these last few days, feigning sleep when he came to bed, sleeping on the large bed as far from him as possible. Still, he would have surely sought her out if he’d found out anything? He’d promised her the attacker’s head.
Dayton had to be behind the attack. Couldn’t St. Claire see that? She wondered if he had any clues at all to his brother’s whereabouts. Fear pricked. What if St. Claire couldn’t find him? What if he someday claimed her child as his? What if he was the child’s father?
St. Claire had claimed the child. He wouldn’t change his mind would he? Her gaze caught on Ross, who stepped out onto the lane and headed toward the cottage he and St. Claire had been working on before the woman’s arrival. Who was the woman? Alec would never had entertained guests without her. What was St. Claire up to? He’d said nothing about meeting with a woman. But St. Claire had made it clear he didn’t feel he needed to inform her of his business. What business could he possibly have with a woman?
* * *
“Forgive me, my lady,” Talbot said. “My mother is dead.”
She seemed to slump in her chair. “Yes. Twenty years past. She died of a fever.”
He shook his head. “Nay, she died giving birth to my sister.”
Her eyes focused on him. “Is that what your father told you?”
“It is the truth,” he said.
She reached into a small pouch strapped to her belt and removed a scallop shell. She set it on the table, then produced a small velvet bag from the bag and met his gaze directly. “I am Lady Taresa Baliman, wife of Cailin Kenzie, the Earl of Baliman. I met him in Galicia when he made a pilgrimage to Santiago de Compostela.”
She pushed the scallop shell toward him. “He gave me this badge to always remind me that God blessed him on his pilgrimage. He married me and brought me here to Buchan. We had a daughter, Lady Peigi Baliman.”
Lady Taresa pulled the string on the velvet bag and, almost reverently, withdrew the contents. Talbot understood her care. She held a miniature painting on wood. She set the picture before him.
“She was your mother.”
Talbot looked at the painting. There, on the ivory, his sister’s face stared back with soft green eyes. The memory returned on a tide of emotion that took his breath. He’d been nineteen, she had been fourteen. It began with a simple cough and runny nose. A fever followed, then her eyes became so sensitive to light that the curtain around her bed was kept closed and only a single candle burned in her room. The red rash that spread across her body marred her beautiful flesh. Against the wishes of his father and his father’s wife, he’d held her the last three days of her life until the fever had grown so hot and the pain so great, her heart gave out.
He released a long-held breath and looked up from the painting. “The resemblance is striking, but she is not my mother. My mother died giving birth to Lilas.
“Do you remember her?” Lady Taresa asked.
He remembered a soft voice, an indistinct lullaby, but said, “Nay.”
“You do not think the resemblance between my daughter and your sister is proof enough Lady Peigi is your mother?”
“An unmarried noblewoman would never consent to be a man’s mistress,” Talbot replied.
Pain filled her eyes and he half expected her to end the meeting.
“Are you ill, my lady?”
“No more than usual,” she replied.
“My lady—”
She raised a hand. “It is a sickness of the soul that ails me, not the body. My daughter was a proud woman.” A tiny smile touched her lips. “Like me.” The smile faded. “Then she met your father.”
“My father was—is—an honorable knight,” Talbot said.
“In his way, yes. But he fell in love with my daughter, and she with him.”
“You know my father, then?”
She shook her head. “I never met him. Peigi would not tell us who he was. But that she loved him, there was no doubt. They were together many years. I did not know until she returned after my husband’s death that she bore her lover two children. It is clear he did not cast her aside. I do not doubt that he loved her.”
“Then why not marry her?” Talbot demanded.
Lady Taresa met his gaze squarely. “Because he was already married.”
Talbot stiffened. “My father would not dishonor a lady so.”
Lady Taresa gave a slow nod. “Have you ever been so in love that you would throw all caution to the wind for her?”
He recalled Sally. She had been a wealthy tavern owner’s daughter. Well-spoken and educated for a girl of her station. He met her six months after Lilas died and two months later he asked for her hand in marriage. Her father was ecstatic. Talbot’s father forbade the union. Talbot swore he would marry her without his father’s blessing. Unexpectedly, Sally shunned him. He fought and drank the next six months, until he realized it had been Lilas’ death that had motivated him and not the undying love he professed. He had felt that all-consuming love for a moment, no more. But, in the end, it had been a lie.
He thought of Rhoslyn. Would he throw all caution to the wind for her? She was his wife. He would defend her to the death. Protect her and their child, give them everything he had. Was that what Lady Taresa meant?
“I left my home, my family, for Cailin,” she said. “I gave up everything for him. Then when Peigi confessed that she had dishonored herself with an English knight and carried his child, my husband demanded to know who the man was, but she would not tell him. He banished her. When she returned after his death, I rejoiced at having her back in my life. But God took her from me less than a year later.”
Talbot couldn’t stop his gaze from returning to the portrait. “You said she died twenty years ago?”
“Yes.”
Twenty years ago, Talbot had been twelve. He recalled vividly a sudden and unexplained despondency his father experienced. It lasted months, and Talbot had often thought he’d never quite been the same afterwards. During that time, he and his father were walking one day when his father told him not to let life pass him by, and not to let the world dictate his life. That was exactly what he was trying to do now—as best as a man in his position could. Talbot laughed inwardly. When he thought he was in love with Sally, he’d reminded his father of those words. “There is a difference in not letting the world dictate your life and throwing it away,” he had said.
“You are my grandson,” Lady Taresa said, “and the heir to your grandfather’s title and property. As the Earl of Baliman and Baron Kinsley, you will one day be the richest and most powerful man in Buchan. You will be a force to be reckoned with in all of Scotland.”
Chapter Nineteen
The postern door opened and Rhoslyn jerked her head up from the wine she stared at on the table before her. St. Claire entered the great hall.
At last.
She forced herself to remain seated.
When he reached the table and lowered himself into his chair, she said, “Who was the woman you met this afternoon?”
He frowned. “Do you have spies watching me?”
“I have a window. Who is she?”
“A window? Ah, yes, the solar.” He motioned a nearby lad for wine.
“Well,” Rhoslyn said.
“She is no one,” he replied.
“Is there a reason ye are hiding another woman from me?”
He laughed. “If I intended to bed a woman, I would not meet with her in the village.”
“Are ye saying you intend to bed a woman?” Rhoslyn winced. Sweet Jesu, she sounded like a shrew.
“That is not what I said, as you know.”
She knew it was jealousy that spoke, but couldn’t halt the next words. “Wh
at I know is that ye met with a woman and will no’ tell me who she is.”
The postern door opened and Ross entered.
“St. Claire, I warn you,” Rhoslyn said. “I will have my answers.”
Ross reached the table and halted. “Good evening, Lady Rhoslyn.” He looked at St. Claire. “Lady Taresa sent this back for ye.” Ross held up a small, black velvet pouch.
“Lady Taresa Baliman?” Rhoslyn blurted.
St. Claire looked sharply at her. “You know her?”
Rhoslyn realized her mistake and shook her head. “Nay. I know of her. She hasna’ visited this part of Buchan since I was a child. What did she want with ye?”
“She claims my father knew her daughter.”
Rhoslyn stared. Sweet Jesu, was it really possible?
He nodded to Ross. “You could have waited to give me that. Return it to the lady with my thanks. You deliver it, Ross. It is irreplaceable.”
“What is it?” Rhoslyn demanded.
St. Claire abruptly rose and strode to the stairs. She watched until he disappeared up the staircase, then looked at Ross to ask what was in the pouch, but he turned and strode toward the door.
* * *
Rhoslyn saw Lord Lochland enter the gates two days later and made sure she was in the great hall when he entered.
“I have come to see St. Claire and will have no argument from ye,” he said without preamble.
“As ye wish,” she replied. “But the men at the gate must have told you he isna’ here.”
“He is in the village. Someone has gone to fetch him.”
“Will ye sit in the solar?” she asked.
He shook his head. “I will remain in the great hall.” He started toward the table nearest the hearth.
She hurried to keep up with his long strides. “I will have wine brought.”
They neared the kitchen door and she veered away from him. She secured goblets and a flagon of wine and took them to the table.
“Ye are well, laird?” she asked as she poured the wine.
He grunted. “Well enough.” He took the wine she offered and drank half the goblet in two swigs.
Rhoslyn made small talk—much to his obvious annoyance—and she was sorry to see St. Claire arrive minutes later. He must have ridden with the devil on his tail. He probably feared what she might say to the earl.
“My lord,” St. Claire said when he reached Lochland.
“I will speak with ye, St. Claire, and I want no interruptions from your wife.”
“Rhoslyn?” he said.
She nodded and the earl reached into his tunic, produced a parchment, and set it on the table.
“This is Lady Andreana’s annulment. I have betrothed her to De Quincy.”
Rhoslyn gasped.
“Dinna’ bother arguing, Lady Rhoslyn,” he said. “The deed is done. Ye of all people understand duty.”
“Aye,” she snapped. “I understand duty, and I have been sacrificed for that cause twice.” St. Claire’s gaze sharpened and guilt knotted her insides, but she ploughed on. “But I will no’ hand over Andreana to a cruel man.”
“Then it is good ye have no say in the matter.” He turned his attention to St. Claire. “You understand the need to honor a betrothal as well as any man, and ye will honor this one. De Angers will be amply rewarded for his trouble.”
“Trouble?” Rhoslyn cut in before St. Claire could reply. “A man has his wife torn from him and ye call that ‘trouble’?”
“Rhoslyn.” St. Claire’s sharp voice startled her. He looked at Lochland. “Lady Andreana is not here. Sir Baxter took her to his home in England.”
“What?” the earl exploded. “This is a trick. Ye sent her away on purpose.”
“I do not deny knowing that you might annul the marriage,” St. Claire replied. “But it was Baxter who decided to take his wife back to England. He is not an indentured servant. He is free to do as he pleases.”
“Aye,” Lochland replied. “He is. Lady Andreana, on the other hand, is not free to do as she pleases. By order of the bishop, she is no’ married to Sir Baxter. She will return and honor the betrothal to De Quincy.”
“You are free to try and enforce the betrothal, my lord, but I wager Baxter has already confirmed the validity of the marriage with a bishop in England. You may petition King Edward, if you like.”
Lochland’s face reddened in anger. “Ye know an English king isna’ likely to dissolve an English marriage in favor of a Scottish one.” He rose. “I will no’ be thwarted by a lowly knight.”
“Then send an army to take Lady Andreana from Baxter,” St. Claire said. “But, beware, that lowly knight is no fool.”
“I was no’ speaking of him,” Lochland snapped. “I speak of you. Ye will obey me, St. Claire.”
“I am not disobeying you, my lord. I cannot force Baxter to give up his wife. However, I am under no obligation to obey you.”
“Ye are under Seward’s rule, and therefore under mine,” Lochland said.
“I am not under Seward’s rule,” St. Claire replied. “I am married to his granddaughter. Nothing more.”
“Beware, St. Claire,” Lochland said in a low voice. “Ye dinna’ have the power to defy me.”
“Perhaps not. But neither do I have the power to force Baxter to give up his wife.”
For an instant, Rhoslyn expected the earl to leap to his feet, sword drawn.
“In fact, ye do have the power to force Sir Baxter to give up Lady Andreana,” Lord Lochland said. “I will send fifty men to Castle Glenbarr. Ye will accompany them to England and bring her back. I expect her here in a week.” With that he left.
Rhoslyn waited until the door closed before saying to St. Claire, “He is right. Ye do no’ have the power to defy him.”
“I am gratified at your confidence in me,” he replied.
“Dinna’ be a fool. He has twice the men you have, even with my grandfather’s men.”
“Winning is not always about how many men you have, Rhoslyn.”
They were interrupted when the postern door opened and Ross entered. His gaze locked with St. Claire’s and he started across the room. Uneasiness prickled at the back of Rhoslyn’s nape. Something was wrong. Dear God, was there no mercy from heaven?
Ross reached them and said to St. Claire, “One of our scouts spotted two hundred of Jason Boyd’s men north of Colliston Gorge.”
Rhoslyn drew a sharp breath and she couldn’t halt her hand from going to her belly. The babe was but a month inside her. If Castle Glenbarr was attacked, she could be killed along with her unborn child. Her grandfather, too, she realized with horror. He was in even greater danger, for he could not defend himself.
“Take fifty of my men and escort Lady Rhoslyn to Dunfrey Castle,” St. Claire said to Ross.
“Nay,” she interrupted.
“Rhoslyn—”
“I would be no safer there than here, and I will no’ leave my grandfather.”
“She is right,” Ross cut in. “Men are riding in the direction of Dunfrey Castle as well.”
“Take her to the convent, then,” St. Claire said, but she was already shaking her head.
“There is another way,” Ross said.
He frowned, then understanding spread across his features.
“Enough men-at-arms to ensure a victory can be here in an hour,” Ross said. “Ye need only ask.”
Rhoslyn looked from one to the other. “What men? Ye have two hundred men of your own, St. Claire, why can you not defend us?”
“I can,” he said. “But I do not want you here.”
“I will no’ go,” she said.
“Aye, you will.”
Panic raced through her, but she forced a calm voice. “We must send Lady Saraid home before the men reach the castle.”
“Ross, come with me,” he said. “You, too, Rhoslyn.” He didn’t wait for her compliance, but grasped her arm and hurried her to the stairs.
Minutes later, they reached his chambers. He orde
red her to sit at the bench near the fire, then sat at the table where his pen and seal were, and began writing. He quickly finished the letter, then sealed it and handed it to Ross.
“If anything happens to me, you know what to do with this missive.”
Ross nodded.
“Lady Rhoslyn and her grandfather are to be protected at all costs,” he said. “Send fifty men with Lady Saraid. Make sure they are back here within the hour.”
“Aye,” Ross replied.
“If I didna’ know better, I would think Lord Lochland had a hand in this,” Rhoslyn muttered.
“Aye,” St. Claire said. “But he would not attack until after he learned I had defied him.” He grasped Rhoslyn’s arms. “I will not see you until the battle is finished.”
“Who is the missive for?” she demanded.
“You need concern yourself with that only if I do not return.”
“Where are these men ye are getting?” she demanded. “Can you no’ command them to come to you? Why are you going after them? It is safer to stay within the castle walls.”
“For you, yes,” he said.
Then she realized his intent. “Ye mean to attack the men from their rear.”
“It is our best chance for success.”
“It is madness,” she said. “What if they beat you and break through the walls?”
“They will not.”
Before she could say more, he kissed her, long, hard and with a hunger that took her breath. He hadn’t touched her since her grandfather had been wounded. Her body flared to life and she suddenly wished they were alone. What would she do if he didn’t return from battle? She thought of his brother and shivered.
Rhoslyn sat with her grandfather until their attackers were spotted from the battlements. His breathing was strong and even, yet guilt washed over her when she left him and sought out Ross. There was no sign of St. Claire or the men he had gone for, and Ross offered no answers as to who the men were. She kept the household busy, until their attackers neared the trees beyond the castle.
When a young squire skidded into the kitchen, Rhoslyn looked up from the vials of herbs she inspected.
“They are coming,” the boy said in a breathless pant.
“Who is coming?” she demanded.