Wicked Highland Heroes

by Tarah Scott

  “I will never understand men,” Andreana said. “They seem to love a hard tumble.”

  “Aye, they do.” Rhoslyn smiled. “‘Tis one of the things we most like about them.”

  “Are ye saying you like St. Claire?” Andreana asked.

  Rhoslyn caught her dry humor.

  “‘Tis just an observation,” she said.

  “An observation about your husband.”

  Rhoslyn ignored the astute remark and watched St. Claire catch up with Colin, who was now surrounded by his teammates as they hit the ball across the grass. St. Claire charged past Colin, jabbing him in the belly with an elbow as he passed. The younger man faltered. The ball whizzed past St. Claire. He changed course and an instant later, reached the ball as one of his opponents and a teammate did. St. Claire dodged in front of his opponent, giving his teammate the chance to hit the ball.

  The man whacked the ball while several other teammates raced alongside him toward the far end of the field. The opposing team rushed after them. St. Claire weaved past two of their opponents and shot past his team as they neared the goal. His teammate with the ball hit it toward St. Claire, and he swung hard, sending the ball across the goals as Colin tackled him.

  The crowd roared and several men jostled in front of Rhoslyn. She jumped to her feet and pushed past the men in time to see St. Claire clap Colin on the back. St. Claire noticed her and grinned. She shook her head. Andreana was right. Men liked being knocked to the ground.

  The sun grew warmer as the day wore on and many of the men stripped down to their kilts. St. Claire wore dark breeches and, like the others, was now bare-chested as they lined up for a footrace. He had refrained from competing in the archery contest, for Andreana had pointed out that he had proven his archery skills by killing the boar that attacked Rhoslyn.

  He cast Rhoslyn a grin, and her heart warmed as she smiled back. The man was having as much fun as the boys. She laughed inwardly. He was little more than an overgrown boy himself. His attention returned to his competitors and she allowed her gaze to slide across his chest. A boy with the body of a full grown man. A tremor rippled through her at the memory of that broad chest poised over her as he thrust into her last night.

  Lady Isobel stepped into view beyond St. Claire. She stopped in the shade of a large ash tree, her attention fixed on him. Ire flared at sight of her open appreciation. Grandfather was right. Isobel would seduce St. Claire without guilt. As if sensing her scrutiny, the lady shifted her gaze to Rhoslyn. Isobel started forward, and Rhoslyn quickly realized she was headed her way.

  Isobel reached them. “Lady Rhoslyn. Lady Andreana.” She lowered herself onto the blanket beside Rhoslyn. “Such a perfect day for the games.”

  Rhoslyn nodded. “It is.”

  “Sir Talbot is doing well,” Isobel said. “His team won the shinty match due much to his efforts.”

  “He is a skilled athlete,” Andreana said, though Rhoslyn noticed her gaze fixed on Sir Baxter, who stood talking with a group of men to their left.

  “That he is,” Isobel agreed.

  “How is Lord Herbert?” Rhoslyn said.

  Isobel looked at her, brows lifted. Embarrassment washed over Rhoslyn when even Andreana cast her a curious glance.

  “He is well,” Isobel answered. “He will be pleased that you asked about him.”

  He would be pleased if his wife didn’t openly pursue another woman’s husband.

  “The race is about to begin,” Andreana said.

  They looked at the men.

  “The markings on Sir Talbot’s arm is a picture of his sister, if I recall,” Isobel said.

  “Aye,” Rhoslyn replied.

  “The face puts me in mind of Lady Taresa.”

  Rhoslyn jerked her head in her direction. “Lady Peigi’s mother?”

  Isobel cocked her head. “I am surprised ye remember her. She left Buchan before you were born.”

  “I know her only by name. It is Lady Peigi, I remember. She returned to Buchan when her father died—” Rhoslyn stopped and calculated “—nineteen years ago.”

  “Aye,” Isobel said. “He swore she would no’ have his title or his land. In the end, he had his way. She died of a fever not long after he died.”

  “Why was he so angry?” Andreana asked.

  “Because she married against his wishes.”

  “Then he had a right to be angry,” she said. “I will married whoever Grandfather commands me to marry.”

  “Sir Talbot will choose your husband,” Isobel said. “Will you do as he commands?”

  “I must,” she said.

  Isobel laughed. “Then ye need no’ worry he will banish you as Lord Baliman did Lady Peigi.” Her smile vanished. “When Lady Peigi left, Lady Taresa went to live in one of Lord Baliman’s lesser castles in the westernmost part of Buchan. She returned to Narlton Keep when her daughter inherited the title, but left again when Lady Peigi died. She has no’ been back since. In truth, I am surprised she did no’ return to Spain. I think she stays as far away as possible from the squabbling in the family. They constantly fight over who will be her heir.”

  “Lord Baliman met her on a pilgrimage?” Andreana asked.

  Lady Isobel nodded. “In Galicia, at the Santiago de Compostela. It was quite a love match. Interesting, when you consider that his father was no’ more pleased with his choice in a wife than he was his daughter’s choice in a husband.”

  “Who did she marry?” Rhoslyn asked.

  “Some untried knight, is what I hear. Lady Taresa does no’ speak of her daughter.”

  “I remember Lady Peigi as a very quiet, withdrawn lady. I saw her father only once. He was loud and full of vitriol.”

  “Such things matter little to a man as wealthy as he.”

  Rhoslyn nodded, remembering. “He was wealthier than Lord Lochland.”

  “Indeed,” Isobel said. “It was the dissention amongst the Kenzies that allowed Lochland to rise to power. So long as the family fights over the title, he will remain the most powerful man in Buchan.”

  Rhoslyn hadn’t realized the Kenzies played such a large role in the earl’s rise to power.

  “Why does Lady Taresa not foster a son?” Andreana asked. “He could put an end to the squabbling.”

  “An excellent question,” Lady Isobel said. “The answer is simple. She plans to let her husband’s name die. It is her revenge for him banishing Lady Peigi.”

  “She is only hurting herself.” Andreana said.

  “Make no mistake, she is hurting his family. He has no close relatives, and those he does have are not strong enough to hold the land once she is gone.” Isobel leaned in closer. “I have heard that she took Sir Derek Camdem as lover and plans for him to have Narlton Keep and her other lands when she is gone.”

  “A lady does no’ take a knight as lover,” Andreana said.

  “She does if she is sixty-three-years-old and wealthy.”

  Andreana grimaced. “She is ancient.”

  “No’ too ancient to—”

  “Lady Isobel,” Rhoslyn cut in.

  Isobel closed her mouth, but no remorse shone in her eyes.

  “Ye seem to know a great deal about the Kenzies,” Rhoslyn said with asperity.

  “Lady Taresa and my mother are friends.”

  Rhoslyn wondered if Lady Taresa would appreciate Isobel’s gossip.

  Shouts went up and Rhoslyn’s attention snapped to the racers as they shot forward from the starting line. St. Claire and two other men raced neck and neck ahead of the others.

  “Why is Sir Talbot not pulling ahead?” Andreana asked. “He can easily outpace the other men.”

  “I suspect Sir Talbot is a man who knows how to pace himself.” Lady Isobel looked at Rhoslyn. “Is that no’ so, Lady Rhoslyn?”

  Rhoslyn had had enough. “Beware, Lady Isobel. St. Claire is no’ a man to toy with.”

  One man pulled ahead as the racers reached the halfway mark. St. Claire stayed three paces behind the man, while eve
ryone else strained to keep up with them.

  Shouts of encouragement went up, and Rhoslyn listened to bets on who would win. Most favored St. Claire’s competitor. The racers neared the finish line and St. Claire shot past the other man and beat him by little more than a nose. The onlookers voiced a great cheer. A cheer for their laird: Sir Talbot St. Claire.

  * * *

  Talbot didn’t know his wife well, but he did know she was pregnant. She hadn’t told him. She didn’t have to. The last month she had welcomed him into her bed enough nights that he should have felt guilty. But he didn’t. He liked bedding her. More than liked. He needed her.

  He’d regretted Rhoslyn’s decision to return to Castle Glenbarr, but it turned out for the best. She settled into a routine that seemed to please her—and he gleaned interesting tidbits from the servants. It had taken her seven years to conceive with her first husband, and he suspected she believed, and probably hoped, that she couldn’t conceive right away, if at all. That would have assuaged her worry that a child born too soon might be Dayton’s.

  The inability to conceive had to have been her husband’s fault, not hers, for since Talbot had begun making love to her, her flux hadn’t come. She might be a woman whose flux was less regular, but she had grown short of temper, which told him she was worried.

  He’d begun to suspect last week, but now... His head spun with the thought of becoming a father, a dream longed for, and now within sight. Edward loved him much, for Talbot achieved his goals too well, and made himself too valuable as a warrior. Then the Maid of Norway perished and the opportunity to bring Scotland to heel had been Talbot’s salvation. Or was Lady Rhoslyn his salvation?

  He’d waited, hoping she would tell him about the child, but wasn’t surprised by her silence. Another three months and she wouldn’t be able to hide the truth. Might she wait that long? She might, but he wouldn’t.

  Talbot thought to find her in her usual spot this time of afternoon, going over the household rolls in their private solar, but she wasn’t there. She wasn’t in her chambers, either. He turned from the room and happened a glance out the window. Their chambers overlooked the bailey. East, beyond the stables, grew a large oak tree—which his wife was climbing. Half a dozen women stood at the foot of the giant oak looking up at a cat. He knew that cat.

  Talbot spun and hurried down to the great hall and out the door. Moments later, he reached the women. Their chatter ceased and they backed away as he reached the tree. Rhoslyn stood on the second branch, which was level with his chest. Half of her hem draped an arm, revealing a generous portion of leg. She stilled and looked down.

  “What are you doing?” he asked.

  She scowled. “What do ye think I am doing?”

  “I think you are being foolish.”

  “I am capable of climbing a tree, St. Claire.”

  “Rhoslyn, come down.”

  “Not until I fetch Lucifer.”

  “Aptly named,” he said under his breath.

  “Mayhap ye should come down, Lady Rhoslyn,” Dona said. The cat belonged to the old woman and was as ancient as she.

  Talbot took a hold of his wife’s ankle. “I do not want you climbing that high.”

  Her brows dove downward. “Take your hands off me, St. Claire, or I will—”

  He seized her arm and yanked. She shrieked and tumbled into his arms.

  Talbot stared down at her. “As I was about to say, you can fall.”

  “Put me down.”

  He obeyed.

  “Ye had better start climbing,” she told him.

  “The cat will come down when he is ready,” Talbot said.

  “Have ye ever had a cat, laird?” Dona asked. “They are good climbers, but they often bite off more than they can chew. He will stay up there until he is too weak to climb down, then he will fall. We must bring him down.”

  Talbot shifted his attention back to Rhoslyn. “I suppose if I do not get him down, you will be up that tree the moment I turn my back.”

  “Aye,” she replied.

  Yes, he would never have to wonder what this woman thought.

  Talbot hoisted himself up onto the first branch, then climbed until he reached the branch below the cat, who perched halfway out on the limb.

  “Lucifer, come,” he commanded.

  Giggles wafted up to him.

  “He is no’ a dog, St. Claire,” Rhoslyn called. “He will not come on command.”

  The very reason he disliked cats. With a firm grip on an overhead branch, he eased out onto the limb. Lucifer meowed.

  “Easy, laird,” one woman called up. “Ye dinna’ want to scare him.”

  He did want to scare the cat. Talbot came within arm’s reach of the animal and the branch he stood on creaked. He halted and extended one arm.

  “Come, Lucifer.”

  The cat meowed.

  “Come.”

  Another meow, but the villain didn’t move.

  Talbot inched out far enough to be able to grab the cat. Lucifer backed out of reach. Talbot looked down at the branch he stood on. Sturdy enough to hold Rhoslyn, no doubt. He considered leaving the task to one of the younger, smaller men, but threw an arm over the overhead branch and crept out farther.

  “Careful, laird,” Dona called up. “That branch looks thin out there.”

  The branch was thin. He reached the cat and grabbed its scruff before he could scamper away again. The limb beneath Talbot gave a loud crack and the cat hissed with a guttural meow, digging its claws into the exposed flesh of Talbot’s neck. Lucifer twisted and Talbot jerked in an effort to maintain his hold. The limb gave way beneath them as the cat hissed and sank its claws deeper into his flesh. They somersaulted in a tangle of fur and surcoat.

  Talbot hit the ground on his side with a thud. The cat leapt from his arms and scampered off with Dona hurrying after him. Talbot drew a stuttered breath and blinked into focus the female faces that encircled him.

  “Are ye in one piece, St. Claire?” Rhoslyn asked.

  He noted the absence of sympathy.

  “St Claire,” she said when he didn’t reply.

  He groaned.

  Her brow furrowed in uncertainty. “Surely, you are no’ hurt from that short fall.”

  He’d fallen at least fifteen feet and was lucky he hadn’t landed on his neck.

  “I dinna’ see any blood,” one woman said.

  He groaned again and closed his eyes.

  An instant later, slim fingers gently probed his head. “St. Claire,” Rhoslyn said.

  This time concern filled her voice, desperate concern, if he wasn’t mistaken.

  Talbot snapped open his eyes, seized her shoulders and dragged her to him for a sound kiss. Rhoslyn yanked back, mouth agape.

  “St. Claire.” She tried to twist free, but he pulled her close and kissed her once more, slowly, this time.

  “Aye, he is no’ harmed,” one woman said.

  Talbot rolled on top of Rhoslyn, still kissing her.

  “I would say he is healthy as a horse,” another said.

  Rhoslyn finally managed to wedge her hands between them and he allowed her to push him away.

  “Have ye lost your mind?” she demanded. “The ground is wet and cold. Get off me.”

  He looked up at the women. “Do I not deserve a reward for risking my life?”

  “I would say ye are risking your life lying on top of Lady Rhoslyn in public,” a woman said.

  She had a point. Talbot looked down at his wife. Her dark eyes roiled with fury.

  “Were you not the least bit worried I had injured myself?” he asked.

  She gave a disgusted snort. “Ye should have let me climb the tree.”

  His amusement vanished. “I can easily survive a fall. You and our child cannot.”

  * * *

  Rhoslyn’s eyes widen.

  He knows.

  “Child?” Edina said.

  “Lady Rhoslyn,” Molly cried, and they all began to talk at once.


  St. Claire shoved to his feet and extended a hand toward her. Her heart pounded. He knew. But how? She wanted to slap his hand away. He lifted a brow. Rhoslyn narrowed her eyes. He shrugged and grasped her hand, pulling her to her feet. The women immediately encircled her, their chatter a muddle of congratulations, advice, and general joy.

  “Why did ye no’ tell us?” Molly asked.

  “The babe has been inside her a mere month,” Edina said. “She was probably waiting to be certain.” She looked at St. Claire. “But a husband knows.”

  “Aye,” the others agreed, heads nodding in vigorous agreement.

  Tears sprang to Rhoslyn’s eyes. The women were letting her know they accepted the baby as St. Claire’s without question. They began hugging her and laughing and she feared she wouldn’t be able to hold back the tears.

  “Aye,” she managed in a level voice. “I wanted to be certain. As ye can see, St. Claire is going to be too protective.”

  “Of course,” Tira said. He wants ye and the babe to be safe.”

  Rhoslyn nodded. “Aye. Now I am a bit tired. Will you walk with me, St. Claire?”

  “Go on,” Edina said. “Take a nap.” She looked at St. Claire. “Ye might want to put your wife to bed, laird.” She winked.

  St. Claire bowed. “Excellent advice.” He turned to Rhoslyn and held out his arm. “My lady.”

  She cast him a dark look, accepted his arm, and started away. Opposite the stables, out of earshot of the woman, Rhoslyn said, “How did ye know?”

  “As the women said, a husband knows.”

  Rhoslyn snorted.

  “No one told me,” he said. “I feel certain you told no one.”

  No, she hadn’t. She still didn’t half believe it. All those years with Alec she had been so sure it was her fault she didn’t conceive. To conceive so quickly now had to mean it was Alec and not her who had been at fault. How many times had she knelt in the chapel, begging one saint after another for a child? Now, she had gotten pregnant within the first month of marriage. Mayhap, the first time.