Claimed

by Tarah Scott

  “You have not forgotten what we planned?” he asked.

  She shook her head.

  “You will not falter?” he persisted.

  She would, but she shook her head.

  “Tell me,” he said.

  How could she say the words?

  He grasped her hand and pulled her to her feet.

  “Say the words.”

  She shook her head.

  “Please me in this, Rhoslyn.”

  She understood why he insisted. If she said the words then it would be real. But she didn’t want it to be real.

  “You promised,” he said gently.

  “Aye. I promised. But that doesna’ mean I have to say it out loud.”

  “It does. Say it.”

  She couldn’t.

  Rhoslyn dropped her gaze. “If ye dinna’ return, I will go immediately to Lord Melrose and marry him.” The words were out of her mouth, but she couldn’t believe her lips had formed the sounds.

  With a finger beneath her chin, St. Claire tilted her face upwards. “I plan to return.”

  She couldn’t bring her eyes to meet his.

  “Look at me, love.”

  She forced her gaze upward.

  “You are not to leave the castle until I return.” Or you leave to go to Melrose, she heard the unspoken words. “If I return and find you one foot outside the castle, you will force me to punish you.”

  Rhoslyn snorted. “Beware, St. Claire, ye might return to find I locked the gate.”

  A corner of his mouth turned upward. “Good. Now kiss me before I go.”

  He was truly going. Going into a battle against his countrymen who had come to kill him. If he had agreed to go with them, would he have reached Wales or would he have died on the road by some unseen robber? Edward wouldn’t care how his assassin carried out the order, he would only care that St. Claire was dead.

  St. Claire lowered his head and covered her mouth with his. He pulled her flush against his body and Rhoslyn melted against his solid warmth. The kiss was gentle and too short.

  When he lifted his head, she said, “Ye need no’ go yet. There is an hour yet before they arrive.”

  He gave a low laugh. “Aye, but I must meet them, remember?”

  Her heart pounded. Why did he have to join the battle? He knew the assassin would seek him out. What if there was more than one? What if all five hundred had been commanded to kill him?

  Rhoslyn startled when St. Claire laid a palm on her belly. The warmth of his fingers penetrated the fabric of her dress and she closed her eyes, memorizing his touch.

  “He is quiet today,” St. Claire said.

  “Aye,” Rhoslyn replied. Perhaps he knows his father is leaving.

  “He is growing large.”

  She flushed. Her girth had increased and she had become embarrassed to disrobe in front of him. But St. Claire wouldn’t allow her to go to her room to change. He insisted she stay.

  He dipped his head and placed a kiss on her belly, then straightened. “I will see you when I return.”

  He turned and strode to the door. Rhoslyn took a step after them, then stopped. Growing weepy would only make leave-taking harder for him. She didn’t want him worrying about her when he faced the army that had been sent to kill him.

  He left without a backwards glance, which, though hurtful, was best, and she was grateful. If he didn’t return, she wanted to remember him holding her, caressing her belly and thinking of their child. Not a last look that conveyed...conveyed what? I’m sorry to leave? I will miss you...I love you?

  She sat on the bench with a thud. St. Claire had never spoken words of love. He cared for her well-being, that much was obvious. But love? That was a different matter. But whether he loved her or not, she loved him.

  Rhoslyn closed her eyes and forced back the tears that pressed like a raging tide against her eyelids. Thank God he hadn’t looked back when he left. She would have surely blurted the words while crying.

  What would happen if he died before knowing?

  How would she hide the truth from him if he returned?

  Chapter Twenty Three

  Rhoslyn lifted her eyes to the Christ in the alcove of the small chapel. “I beg you, Saint George, heed my prayer and save, protect, and defend the Dragon, Sir Talbot St. Claire.”

  Surely, Saint George would give aid, for St. Claire was fighting to save her and their child. St. George would understand that, this time, the Dragon fought for the right.

  She bowed her head and whispered the prayer.

  Her knees began to ache, but she pressed on, begging that her prayers be heard. Despite her efforts, her mind wandered to the battle that must be waging outside the castle. Here, within the chapel, she was insulated...as she had been in St. Mary’s. Yet, her grandfather’s men had shown up in the middle of the night and ripped her from her peace. Would it be St. Claire who appeared in the chapel to tell her all was well or would—Rhoslyn opened her eyes and looked up at the statue of Mary.

  “Forgive me.” She grasped the ledge of the alcove and pulled herself to her feet.

  She stood for a moment, catching her breath. Only a little more than seven months pregnant, yet she felt as if she weighed as much as a horse. Rhoslyn caught her breath and felt her legs steady, then hurried from the chapel and up the stairs to the north tower. Before she’d gone halfway up the stairs, her breathing came in heavy gasps and her legs felt as if she waded through sand. She stopped and rested.

  Twice more she was forced to rest before she reached the top floor of the tower. St. Claire had forbade her from leaving the castle, but he could not stop her from watching the battle from the north tower. And she could no longer sequester herself away from the world.

  Rhoslyn paused in the doorway, startled by the silence. Sounds of a battle this large would penetrate even the thick stone of the tower walls. She hurried to the window and drew back the shutters. Campfires dotted the field in the darkness beyond the wall. She squinted, but could discern no riders approaching in the distance. Had St. Claire decided to wait until morning to attack? He had said nothing of this to her. But then, he wouldn’t. The English army would surely have scouts watching for danger. Wouldn’t they know if St. Claire approached?

  She placed a hand over her belly and gently soothed as if to quiet the babe. Castle Glenbarr could easily withstand a yearlong siege. St. Claire had seen to that. Not that he’d believed it would be necessary. Lady Taresa had seven hundred warriors, and her grandfather, five hundred. The two hundred men inside the castle walls would stay while those three hundred who lived in the village and on his land would follow him into battle. Altogether, St. Claire would ride with at least fourteen hundred men. They would easily beat the English army back. But none of that guaranteed St. Claire would survive the battle.

  Thank God they had discovered Edward’s plot to kill him. At least, that way, he stood a chance of surviving. Rhoslyn gave a small gasp upon realizing she hadn’t thanked the abbess for warning them of the plot. She murmured a prayer of thanks and one asking forgiveness for her selfishness.

  Gratitude brought the desire to cry. The abbess was so kind to deliver the message personally. Rhoslyn could only wonder how Sister Beatrice had heard of Edward’s plan, but the abbess was a powerful woman. In the time Rhoslyn spent at the abbey, she had seen some of the Guardians visit. Even William Wallace once came in the early morning hours. Like the wee hours of the morning when her grandfather’s men arrived to take her to Lord Melrose.

  Rhoslyn had been unlucky enough for the abbess to be away the night the men came for her. How different might things have turned out if she’d been there. Might the abbess have counseled her not to go? Might she have known something that would have better guided Rhoslyn? Had things turned out so badly?

  The abbess had said she knew St. Claire would be glad for the baby.

  For an instant, Rhoslyn was back in her cell, feeling Sister Hildegard dress her. “She sent me,” Hildegard had said of Beatrice. Be
atrice had been there. Why, then, hadn’t she intervened? The appearance of her grandfather’s warriors to take her away in the middle of the night in order to avoid marriage to St. Claire was no small matter.

  Rhoslyn’s thoughts came to a screeching halt. Aside from the men sent to bring her from St. Mary’s, only her grandfather and Lord Melrose knew she would be leaving the abbey that night. Her mind jumped forward. Was it possible one of the warriors had betrayed them and sent word to St. Claire? Possible yes, but probable? More probable than the possibility that Beatrice was the one who told him?

  Beatrice hadn’t seen Rhoslyn off with the warriors because she had left for Castle Glenbarr before Hildegard came and told her the men were there.

  It couldn’t be. Beatrice would never betray her. Never.

  If not her, then who?

  Rhoslyn mentally counted through the men who had been there that night. She knew them all. Not a one would betray her grandfather. But one of them had. How could she possibly prove it? St. Claire would know. Maybe. The traitor might have sent an anonymous letter. If Beatrice stayed at the convent, why hadn’t she come to Rhoslyn when the warriors arrived? If only she could speak with the warriors her grandfather had sent for her.

  Sir Ascot. Her grandfather had left him at Castle Glenbarr to help St. Claire.

  Still no signs of St. Claire. Worry tightened her belly. Had something gone wrong? Either way, there was nothing she could do. In the darkness, she wouldn’t be able to distinguish St. Claire.

  She turned from the tower and hurried from the room. She stopped at the stairs and stared down. The climb back up would be difficult. Rhoslyn glanced back at the room, then turned and started down the stairs.

  Sir Ascot wasn’t in the castle and Rhoslyn was forced to wait as one of the lads fetched him from the wall. She ascended to her private solar and waited. At least once she was done speaking with him, she would be rested for the trip back to the north tower.

  He arrived a little while later.

  “Sir Ascot, thank ye for coming. Will you sit?” She nodded at the other end of the bench were she sat.

  “Nay, my lady. I canna’ stay long.”

  “Of course. Forgive me for calling you here. No signs of St. Claire?”

  He shook his head.

  “I expected him before this,” she said.

  “Dinna’ worry. I am certain he is safe. It may be it is taking more time than anticipated to gather his men.”

  That was true. She had no idea how Lady Taresa managed her men. “I am certain you are right,” she said.

  “Is that all?” he asked.

  “Not quite. Can ye tell me, Sir Ascot, the night you came for me at the convent, how long did ye wait?”

  “Wait, my lady?”

  “Before I arrived.”

  “It was some time,” he said. “I am of the mind that had we left sooner, Sir Talbot would no’ have caught us.”

  Rhoslyn couldn’t help a small gasp.

  “My lady, forgive me. I did no’ mean to blame you. You could not have understood the need for haste. In truth, I didna’ believe he would stop us. How could he have possibly known?” Sir Ascot paused, then his gaze sharpened and Rhoslyn realized he’d deduced that she knew something. “Have ye an idea who told him?” He went down on one knee before her. “Tell me and I will deal with the traitor.”

  Rhoslyn smiled gently. “Sir Ascot, do ye regret our current circumstances?”

  “You shouldna’ be caught in the middle of someone else’s war,” he said vehemently.

  “And if this war had been Lord Melrose’s?” she asked.

  He didn’t answer.

  She laid a hand on his arm. “I understand your fears.” And share them. “Did my grandfather no’ send you here to help my husband?”

  He bent his head. “Forgive me, my lady. I am yours to command.”

  “Continue as ye have,” she said. “When you protect St. Claire, you protect me.”

  He lifted his head and determined glint shone in his eyes. “Aye, my lady.” He rose, bowed, and left.

  Rhoslyn stared even after the door had closed.

  Abbess Beatrice had slipped away from the convent while Hildegard delayed her grandfather’s men.

  Why?

  * * *

  Talbot glanced past the warrior carrying the torch and caught sight of the approaching rider.

  The man drew up alongside the torchman and said to Talbot, “There is a company of men, about two hundred, approaching from the rear.”

  “Who are they?” he demanded.

  “They are flying the banner of Lord Lochland.”

  Talbot exchanged a glance with Seward, who rode to his left. “Have you any idea what he wants?”

  Seward shook his head. “Nay.”

  “They are riding fast,” the warrior said.

  Castle Glenbarr lay two miles ahead. Talbot found it hard to believe the earl was headed anywhere but there.

  “I will take my men and see what he wants,” Seward said.

  “Nay,” Talbot replied. “I do not want to deviate from the plan. We will arrive at Castle Glenbarr together. When Edward’s army sees that they are outnumbered three to one, there is a chance they will retreat.”

  “Ye are still intent on not killing them?” He gave Talbot no chance to reply. “They will only return with more men.”

  “I will not slaughter my countrymen for obeying their king’s command.”

  “Ye had best prepare to slaughter them, for they may no’ retreat,” Seward said.

  Anger shot to the surface. “Aye,” he said. If that happened, he would deal with Edward. “Take your men and circle around behind Lochland,” he told Seward. “But do nothing unless you hear us attack.”

  “I suppose I must obey ye, Lord Baliman.” Seward’s amused tone took the sting from the words. He called an order for his men to follow, and steered his horse to the right to circle back.

  Talbot sent a hundred of his men back around the other side. Then he turned the remaining five hundred men, faced the oncoming riders, and waited.

  Minutes later, a lit torch appeared on the road in the distance. The approaching riders Talbot didn’t slow, but Talbot knew they had to have seen the torch held by the man to his right. The thunder of horses’ hooves soon reached his ears. The men neared, then slowed and finally stopped fifty feet away. Lochland rode forward alone and halted in front of Talbot.

  “I am pleased ye had the sense no’ to attack me,” Lochland said.

  “What do you want?” Talbot demanded.

  “I understand ye have English visitors,” Lochland said. “A few of my men are anxious to meet them.”

  “I will not trade favors, Lochland,” Talbot said.

  “Aye, eventually ye will, but I am no’ asking it of you.”

  “Why do this?” Talbot demanded.

  “Edward might be a good arbitrator, but he has no right to force any of us to our knees.”

  “Do you forget that I am English?” Talbot said.

  “Nay, just as Edward hasna’ forgotten that ye are a Highlander.”

  The earl was right. Edward was all too aware of his Scottish connection, which Talbot suspected had a part in Edward’s plan to murder him. How much did Lochland know?

  “What makes you think Edward sent his men to force me to do anything?”

  Lochland laughed. “Edward does no’ send five hundred men to Scotland to ask for anything.”

  That was also true.

  “You will do as I command,” Talbot said. “If the men-at-arms retreat peacefully, I will allow them to return to England.”

  A moment of silence passed before Lochland said, “What will ye do if they return in greater numbers?”

  “Kill them.”

  * * *

  Rhoslyn once again stood in the north tower watching through the window when the door behind her opened. She whirled and startled to see Lady Taresa enter. Behind her came Mistress Muira.

  Rhoslyn hurried f
orward. “My lady, what are ye doing here? St. Claire, is he with you?” She hadn’t seen them arrive.

  Taresa clasped her hand. “No, child. He is not with me. He told me of your secret entrance and Derek brought me.”

  “Ye should no’ have come,” Rhoslyn said. “I am surprised St. Claire allowed it.”

  She laughed. “He has no power to command me. Though he did try. When I told him I was coming and he could not stop me, he instructed Sir Derek on how to enter through the secret passageway. It was necessary I come.”

  “It isna’ safe,” Rhoslyn insisted.

  “It is quite safe,” she replied. “The English army has no interest in me. I could have passed through their ranks and entered through the front gate, but to open the gate was too risky.”

  Rhoslyn shifted her attention to the housekeeper. “How did you know I was in the north tower?”

  “Ye were no’ in your apartment. It was an easy deduction.”

  Rhoslyn nodded, then said to Lady Taresa, “Come, let us sit in my solar.”

  Taresa’s gaze shifted to the window. “You can see the battlefield from here?”

  “You can see the men. The battle hasna’ begun. St. Claire has yet to arrive.”

  “Then we should stay and watch.”

  “Nay,” Rhoslyn urged. “It is cold and drafty.”

  She ignored Rhoslyn and crossed to the window. “You are wrong, child.” Taresa looked at her. “Talbot has arrived.”

  * * *

  Talbot sent Lochland to the west and Seward to the east. Sir Derek caught up with Talbot after delivering Lady Taresa safely to Castle Glenbarr. Her stubborn determination to join Rhoslyn reminded him of his sister. “Determination runs in our family, Talbot,” Taresa had said, and he’d half wondered if she’d read his mind.

  She had pointed out that he would need Sir Derek to lead the men from Narlton Keep, so it would be easy for Derek to deliver her to Castle Glenbarr first. Talbot intended to refuse, to the point of locking her in her room, until she reminded him that Rhoslyn was very pregnant, and it would be a comfort to have family nearby while he dealt with the English.

  Talbot sent Sir Derek south, while he approached from the north. Beside him, rode the warrior carrying the only lit torch amongst their ranks. As expected, when they neared the castle and the English camp, men mounted horses and met them before they reached camp.