by Tarah Scott
“There is no sense in fighting,” St. Claire said. “It is best we follow tradition.” He extended his right arm and Rhoslyn wanted to box his ears.
“We canna’ dance just the two of us,” she said.
“Others will join once you begin,” her grandfather said.
She shot him a fulminating glance before placing her hand on St. Claire’s arm. He led her forward, and the guests parted. He stopped, took two steps away from her, then bowed as if he truly was in King Edward’s court. Rhoslyn curtsied, then rose as he grasped her fingers in time with the music. He surprised her by turning in a tight circle, then gliding gracefully to the left. St. Claire released her and they danced several steps right as if skirting other dancers. Guests took the hint and three couples joined them, Lady Isobel being one of the ladies.
Rhoslyn stepped back from St. Claire and the women fell into line alongside her with the men opposite. Lady Isobel, Rhoslyn noticed, had placed herself at the far end where, Rhoslyn estimated she would pair with St. Claire for a dance down the center of the other dancers.
They all danced forward to within inches of one another, then back. Rhoslyn glided to the middle where the man to her opposite left met her and grasped her fingers as they turned a tight circle. The ladies faced one another and bobbed around each other, back to back in a circle, then fell back into line. The men did the same and Rhoslyn caught St. Claire’s eye. A corner of his mouth ticked up and he shrugged. She couldn’t help a laugh and the smile reached his eyes.
A nervous flutter skittered across the inside of her stomach. This man was the Dragon. The dragon Duncan said would aid his king in bleeding Scotland dry. The same dragon who only this afternoon chased a goat and rescued a peasant’s wedding dress. Rhoslyn startled at the unexpected memory of his hips between her thighs when she’d straddled him.
Her stomach flipped as the men fell into line. St. Claire and Lady Isobel stepped back on opposite sides when the rest of the dancers clasped hands and began circling. From the corner of her eye, Rhoslyn glimpsed Isobel’s gaze pinned on St. Claire. Ire whipped through her. She took a step too wide, causing the dancer to her right to stumble. The woman righted herself, and they came to a stop full circle, then separated into two lines.
St. Claire grasped Isobel’s hand and they skipped down the center of the aisle formed by the other dancers. Isobel looked up at him from beneath her lashes as they separated in front of Rhoslyn and the man opposite her. Isobel’s gaze remained on him. Rhoslyn stuck out her foot beneath Isobel’s swirling skirts. Isobel pitched forward with a cry. St. Claire whirled amidst screams and scooped her up before she hit the floor. The other dancers rushed to surround them as Isobel wilted against him. St. Claire started toward the nearest table.
“Are ye all right?” one woman asked.
“Poor thing,” Margery Kincaid said. “That was well done, Sir Talbot. She would have had a nasty fall if no’ for ye.”
Rhoslyn stared, stunned at her actions, and furious with Isobel—and St. Claire—all in one. What had gotten into her? A woman brushed past her and hurried after the group. Rhoslyn forced her legs into motion and followed. St. Claire stopped at one of the tables. Isobel looked like a small, fragile bundle in his arms. Her sky blue dress a soft contrast against his frame. He surely couldn’t help but notice the dainty fingers that fisted his shirt.
He lowered her into a chair, but she shook her head and clung to him. Rhoslyn rolled her eyes. Isobel was acting as if he had saved her from falling off a cliff instead of a tumble to the floor. He settled her on the chair, but she didn’t release his surcoat and he was forced to crouch beside her. He pulled back and she looked at him with tear stained eyes.
Rhoslyn hurried to the far end of the table where sat pitchers of ale. She filled a mug, then pushed through the crowd gathered around Isobel and St. Claire.
Rhoslyn wanted nothing more than to splash the ale in Isobel’s face, but instead, thrust the mug toward the hand that gripped her husband’s shirt.
“Drink,” she ordered.
As expected, Isobel released St. Claire and reflexively grasped the mug with both hands. St Claire rose and Isobel’s gaze jerked up to Rhoslyn, eyes stormy. Recognition flickered and the pique vanished.
“Thank ye, Lady Rhoslyn.” She took a tiny sip of ale and Rhoslyn had to refrain from rolling her eyes.
St. Claire stepped back and the ladies closed ranks around Isobel, cooing as if she’d been snatched from death’s door. Rhoslyn turned and found St. Claire beside her. He slid an arm around her waist and started walking. Rhoslyn hoped he couldn’t hear the pounding of her heart.
“Are ye sure Lady Isobel will be all right?” Rhoslyn asked.
“She is well tended by the ladies,” he replied.
Rhoslyn snorted. “The ladies’ attention isna’ what she wants.”
“What does she want?” he asked.
“Dinna’ be naive,” Rhoslyn said.
“She does like the attention of men,” he commented.
“And they do no’ mind,” she shot back.
“Lady Rhoslyn, you sound jealous.”
“Jealous? Bah! I am sickened by such behavior. This is our wedding celebration, yet she fawned over ye as if you were a stable boy for the taking.”
“I would not go that far. Though I am pleased you remember this is our wedding celebration.” He navigated around a cluster of men. “Did your cousin remember that as well?”
Rhoslyn snapped her head up to meet his gaze. “What?”
St. Claire looked down at her. “Did he wish you well in your marriage?”
“He isna’ happy with the match.” There was no use denying the obvious.
“He was not happy when I forced him to vacate Glenbarr Castle,” St. Claire replied.
Rhoslyn stopped walking. “Ye forced him to leave? This has been his home for twenty years.”
“Would you have me keep an adder in my home?”
What had Duncan done to reveal his true feelings to St. Claire?
“You are very free with calling my home yours,” she said.
“Our home, then. Would you rather he lived here at Castle Glenbarr?”
The truth was, she wouldn’t. She had never been overly pleased to have Duncan living with them when Alec was alive. But, as he’d said, he’d helped manage Alec’s affairs. Given his hostility toward St. Claire, she would have send him on his way if St. Claire hadn’t.
“He would no’ be happy,” she said.
St. Claire started forward again. He pulled Rhoslyn close and squeezed between two groups of men. “I imagine he would like to kill me.”
Rhoslyn stumbled. His hold around her waist tightened and she caught herself.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
“Aye.”
“I hit the mark, then?” he said.
“Hit the mark?”
“Duncan wants to kill me.”
It wasn’t a question. The man was too discerning. “If ye suddenly died, he would no’ shed a tear.” Rhoslyn caught sight of Andreana seated at the main trestle table and surrounded by several of St. Claire’s men. “I told ye that I didna’ want your men taking up with my women. That includes Andreana. A pack of your dogs have her cornered.”
He slowed and his gaze shifted to the group. Rhoslyn expected him to shrug off her concerns, but his eyes darkened and he steered them toward the group.
They reached her, and the men stepped back.
St. Claire released Rhoslyn, and said to the men, “You have better things to do than speak with Lady Andreana. Remember that in the future.”
The men scattered. Rhoslyn sat on the bench beside Andreana. St. Claire sat beside Rhoslyn. She glanced sharply at him, then turned her attention to Andreana.
“You should no’ be spending time with St. Claire’s men.”
St. Claire began pouring ale into three mugs. Discomfort sent a ripple of awareness along Rhoslyn’s arm when his arm brushed hers.
“They were on
ly talking to me,” Andreana said. “We sat in plain sight of all your guests.”
St. Claire set ale in front of Rhoslyn, then Andreana. “Your mother is right.”
Andreana frowned. “They did nothing untoward.”
“Aye, they did,” he said. “They know it is improper to approach you. Not a one of them is in a position to win your affections.”
“Because they are mere knights?” she asked.
He laughed. “Most are not even knights, Lady. They are simple men-at-arms. They should not deign to look in your direction.”
“There are some who say the same of you and Lady Rhoslyn.”
“Andreana,” Rhoslyn cut in, but St. Claire interrupted.
“When a king bestows land upon one of them and then betroths him to you, I will agree he is worthy.”
Andreana frowned.
“You will not encourage them,” Rhoslyn said. “Do you understand?”
“I gave them no encouragement.”
“A smile is encouragement enough for any man,” St Claire said.
His mouth twitched with amusement and he looked at Rhoslyn. She smiled before realizing the reaction and his smile broadened.
He returned his attention to Andreana. “A simple smile, my lady. Nothing more is needed.”
Chapter Twelve
It was true. A woman’s smile was enough to encourage a man to commit even murder. Tonight, however, Talbot was fortunate that Lady Rhoslyn’s smile had simply haunted him, which was enough to make him once again curse his brother to hell. If Talbot knew where Dayton was, he would ride an entire month to lay hands on him, then kill him. Talbot gave a private laugh. It would seem her smile had incited him to murder after all.
The reverie showed no signs of abating as Rhoslyn disappeared into the kitchen. She remained animated and busy, clearly intent upon staying up until the very last guest retired. But Talbot recognized the fatigue in the corners of her eyes and knew he was the reason she hadn’t sought her bedchambers.
He wondered if she might try to avoid the hunt tomorrow and sleep while he hunted with the guests. That he wouldn’t allow. Neither would he allow her to be so exhausted she fell from her horse.
Talbot finished the last of the wine he was drinking, then rose. He skirted the guests until he reached the kitchen, and went inside. The bustle in the room came to a halt and Rhoslyn looked up from the platter she was filling with meat.
Her brow furrowed. “Is there something ye need, St. Claire?”
“Aye.” He came to her side and cupped her elbow. “It is time we retired, Lady Rhoslyn.”
Her eyes widened, then her brows dove down in ire. Talbot easily guessed she wanted to tell him to go to the devil, but she was a highborn lady, and such ladies didn’t bare their feelings before servants...feelings that included the memory of a man who had violated her days before.
Mistress Muira entered from the pantry. She took the room in at a glance, then said in a clipped voice, “Back to work, lasses.”
The room jumped to life and Talbot plucked a piece of pork off the plate Rhoslyn had been filling and popped it into his mouth.
“Are ye hungry, St. Claire?” she asked.
“Nay. It just smelled too good to resist.” He shifted his gaze onto her. “Like you, my lady.”
To his surprise—and satisfaction—a pretty blush crept up her cheeks.
“Ye may go to your bedchambers, if you like,” she said. “I will join you there later. We have many guests still celebrating. I must see to them.”
Talbot poured a cup of wine from a pitcher. “You must see to them?”
“Of course. It is my duty.”
He emptied the glass and sat it on the counter. Then he pulled her close. Her head snapped up and Talbot bent and brushed his lips across hers in a gentle kiss. When he pulled back her eyes smoldered with fury.
“Come along, Lady Rhoslyn. Mistress Muira is capable of handling kitchen tasks.” He looked at the older woman.
“Aye, laird. I have things in hand.”
“Please send up wine to my chambers, Mistress.” Arm still around Rhoslyn, he led her across the room to the servants’ stairs.
He caught the furtive glance she cast at the women who, though bustling about their business, kept one eye on her. They reached the stairs and he urged her ahead of him. She marched up the stairs. Aye, he would never have to guess what this woman was thinking. There was some comfort in that knowledge.
Minutes later, they reached his chambers and she whirled on him. “What sort of barbarian are ye to maul me like that in front of the servants?”
He closed the door with a soft click. “Forgive me if I embarrassed you, my lady. I thought it best we assure everyone our marriage is not affected by your kidnapping.”
She frowned. “Ye could have said something.”
“Servants, maids in particular, can hear through stone walls,” he said. “I could not chance any of them overhearing.”
“There was no need for us to retire so early.”
“Early?” He lifted a brow. “Dawn is but three hours away.”
“Oh,” she said.
She stood as if rooted to the spot, and he had the suspicion she would stand there all night if it meant they didn’t have to share a bed.
A rap sounded on the door. Talbot put a finger to his lips and hurried across the room to the bed. He sat down and called “Enter,” as he began tugging off a boot.
A maid entered with a pitcher and two mugs. She set them on the small table near the hearth, then hurried out.
“Would you pour us some wine, Lady Rhoslyn?” he asked as the door clicked shut.
She remained frozen for a moment, then jerked into motion and crossed to the table. A moment later, she appeared beside him and extended a goblet. He dropped his second boot on the floor and took the wine. Rhoslyn took a quick step back and then crossed to the window. She opened the shutter and gazed outside.
“It is a beautiful night,” he said.
“Aye,” she replied, her voice wistful.
Talbot wondered how receptive she would be tonight if not for Dayton. He finished the last of his wine, set the goblet on the table beside the bed, then stood and unfastened his belt. He tossed it onto the bed, then pulled off his surcoat. Rhoslyn glanced his way, but said nothing. His shirt and undershirt followed, and she finally faced him.
Her gaze shifted to the markings on his right arm.
“How old was your sister when she died?”
“Fourteen,” he replied.
“I am sorry. How did she die?”
“A fever.” He crossed to the table with the wine and refilled his goblet.
She joined him and he froze when she lifted a hand and traced a finger over the picture of his sister on his arm. Her light touch sent a skitter of gooseflesh along his skin.
“It is so smooth,” she said. “The skin isna’ marred at all.” She looked up at him. “It is as if the picture is a part of you.”
“It is,” he replied.
She stared for a moment before tearing her gaze from his and taking two steps back. “I have no sisters or brothers,” she said. “It canna’ be easy to lose a loved one.”
“You lost two loved ones.”
She nodded and took a sip of wine. “How long ago did your sister die?”
“Ten years,” he replied.
Her eyes lifted to his face over the rim of her goblet “Do ye ever forget?”
“Nay. But the pain does ease.”
“The shock has subsided,” she said as if speaking to herself.
“That is a start,” Talbot said.
“Do you still miss her?”
“Aye.” More often than he liked to admit. Talbot finished his wine in two big gulps and set the goblet on the table. He went to the door that adjoined the solar. “I will see you in the morning, Lady Rhoslyn.”
She frowned. “Where are you going?”
“To sleep in your bed.”
“But I tho
ught...” She glanced at the bed, then frowned. “Are you going to leave your clothes strewn about your room?”
He shrugged. “What better way to make your maids think we were occupied with consummating the marriage?”
“But they will see my mussed bed.” Her mouth twitched in amusement. “St. Claire, you willna’ get a wink of sleep in my bed.”
“Why is that?”
“Because ye are very large—too large to sleep comfortably in my bed.” Her amusement vanished and he was startled when pain flared in her eyes. That emotion, too, disappeared as quickly as it had come, and she said, “Mayhap I should sleep in my own bed.”
Talbot recalled the cradle that had occupied a corner of the room when he’d arrived and remembered thinking the room had seemed oddly unused. Suddenly he understood. The babe had died in this room. In all likelihood, her husband had taken his last breath in that bed. How in God’s name was he to bed a wife in the very room where she had lost husband and son? How did a man bed his wife after his brother had raped her?
“As you wish,” he said. “Sleep in your own bed.”
She crossed to the door connecting to their private solar, then stopped and looked at him.
He nodded in the direction of the door. “Go, Lady. Rest well.”
Her brows drew down in uncertainty.
Talbot met her gaze steadily. “I may be English, but I am no barbarian.”
* * *
Rhoslyn awoke to a tap on her door. She burrowed deeper into the bedding. The door opened and she discerned the light pad of feet on the stone floor, then the carpet. The scrape of metal across stone followed, and she yawned at realizing one of the maids was tending the fire, which meant it was morning. She didn’t want to rise, but cracked open an eye anyway. Today was the hunt, which meant she couldn’t dally in bed. She looked through the open curtain at the foot of the bed, surprised the curtain was open. Hadn’t she pulled it closed last night?
Alana tossed two logs on the embers, then rose and faced the bed. She smiled, her gaze moving to Rhoslyn’s right. Rhoslyn followed her eyes and started at seeing St. Claire beneath the covers, his exposed back to her. For an instant she could only stare at the broad expanse of muscled flesh, beautiful, despite the scars, then Alana giggled and Rhoslyn jerked her gaze onto the girl. She grinned, then scampered from the room. When the door closed, Rhoslyn braced her feet against St. Claire’s back and shoved.