by Tarah Scott
They started around the stables and Rhoslyn grabbed St. Claire’s arm and pulled him around the back of the building. “Why did ye tell the women I am with child?”
“Because it is better they believe we are happy about the babe.”
She stiffened. “Then ye are no’ happy.”
He frowned. “What makes you say that?”
“You say it is better they believe we are happy. That implies ye are hesitant.”
“I am very happy. It is you who have misgivings.”
“Aye, I have misgivings. It is easy for you to say you will love the child no matter what. But when the babe doesna’ look or act like ye, anger and resentment will make you think differently.”
“Rhoslyn, the child is mine.”
“Ye hope it is yours,” she shot back.
He grasped her shoulders. “The child is mine.”
“Your brother—”
“My brother will never come near my children. My children. Do you understand?”
She searched his face. How she wanted to believe him.
He pulled her against his chest. At first she resisted, but he held her tight and rested his chin on her head.
“Lady Andreana is grown,” he said. “She will soon marry and leave our house. Do you not want children?”
She did, but what if the child wasn’t his? Worse, what if the child ended up buried beside Dougal?
St. Claire drew back, then pulled her against his side and began walking. “We should send word to your grandfather.”
“Nay,” she said too quickly, then amended, “Do no’ tell him in a missive. Invite him to come, then we will tell him in person. But let us wait at least a month.”
“Why?”
“Many things can go wrong in the first few weeks.”
“Like falling from a tree?”
She slapped his arm.
“Do you not think it better if everyone knows you are having my child?” he asked.
Rhoslyn looked at him. “Do ye believe your brother is still in Scotland?”
“I have no reason to believe he has left. I wrote my father and Edward. If Dayton returns to England, they will send word.”
She grew tired of hiding from him within the walls of Castle Glenbarr. Never before had she allowed anyone to bully her. Never before have you had so much to lose, a small voice replied.
“I told ye it could be some time before ye caught him,” she said. “How long am I to endure being prisoner here?”
“Until I catch him, especially now that you are pregnant. Make no mistake, Dayton will happily claim my son as his if he believes it will gain him your fortune.”
“Just as you would claim his,” she said more to herself than him.
He glanced down at her, and she glimpsed the hurt in his eyes. The emotion vanished in an instant, but her guilt pierced soul deep.
He looked straight ahead. “Rhoslyn, if you were pregnant with Melrose’s child, I would have claimed you as my wife and taken the babe as my own. I suppose my brother and I are much alike.”
Denial leapt on her lips. He wasn’t like his brother...not wholly. St. Claire had the right to demand that she honor the betrothal. That was the way of things for women like her. When her grandfather betrothed her to Alec she understood her duty and married him. He had been a good man and she loved him. But, in truth, he loved her more than she had him. Her stomach knotted. Hadn’t that always been a niggling guilt—one she had managed to ignore until now? St. Claire made her feel... Made her feel what? Feel. That was all.
Feeling was everything.
Feeling was dangerous.
Chapter Seventeen
“I often wondered if Alec wasn’t at fault for your inability to conceive,” Seward told Rhoslyn.
Talbot liked the old baron’s honesty.
Lady Rhoslyn shrugged. “It would seem ye were right.”
Seward shifted his attention to Talbot. “Edward will be pleased to learn the news.”
Talbot shrugged and glimpsed the slight narrowing of Rhoslyn’s eyes. She hated it when he did that. She also wasn’t pleased that he had contacted her grandfather. She’d wanted a month. He’d given her three weeks.
“Edward might be pleased,” Talbot said.
“Ye know he will be glad,” Seward said. “But we will worry about that when the time comes. I am pleased.”
“That is enough,” Talbot said.
“When will the babe come?”
“Mid-spring,” Rhoslyn answered.
Seward’s gaze swung onto him. “Ye have had no word on the whereabouts of your brother?”
Talbot shook his head. “He seems to have disappeared."
“An adder waiting to strike,” Seward murmured.
Talbot had to agree.
“I assume the servants know about the pregnancy?”
“Aye,” Rhoslyn said, and shot Talbot a recriminating glance.
“It may no’ matter,” Seward said. “There is no telling what a madman will do. If we say nothing, Dayton may feel desperate enough to make a move. If we announce the pregnancy, he might become emboldened to make a claim. Either way, I wager he is still in Scotland.”
“There is the chance he realizes his folly and has given up,” Rhoslyn said. “He may simply be hiding.”
“Perhaps,” Seward said. “But it is more likely he is waiting for an opportunity.”
“Your grandfather is right,” Talbot said. “Dayton will not give up so easily.”
“Mayhap I should look for him myself.”
“Nay,” Rhoslyn blurted. She cast a pleading glance at Talbot.
“You can, but it would likely be a waste of time,” Talbot said. “I have men searching for him.”
“They are no’ doing a good job,” Seward said.
“You do not know my brother. He is a skilled warrior and hunter. He will not be easy to find. But he will make a mistake, and that is when I will catch him.”
The old baron glanced at Rhoslyn, then said to Talbot, “This will no’ be over until he is dead.”
“Aye,” Talbot said. “I know.”
Talbot happened to be on the wall when the rider was sighted in the distance, riding at breakneck speed.
“He is slumped in the saddle,” Baxter said.
Talbot nodded. He scanned the horizon for other riders but found none. The rider drew closer and a prickle crept up his spine when he recognized the crest on the man’s mail shirt.
“Kinsley.” Baxter looked at Talbot. “They have barely had time to reach Banmore Castle.”
“Open the gate,” Talbot ordered, then turned and hurried down the stairs.
He reached the bailey as the man rode inside. Talbot instantly took in the dark stain on his sleeve, and caught him as he nearly fell from his saddle.
“Kinsley,” the rider rasped.
Baxter appeared at his side.
“Help me get him inside,” Talbot ordered.
Baxter slung one of the man’s arms over his shoulder and Talbot did the same with the other, then they brought him inside and lowered him into a chair at the table near the hearth.
“Bring ale,” he told a waiting lad, then said to the rider, “What happened?”
“Attacked,” he said between gulps of air. “At the gorge.”
Talbot looked at Baxter.
“Colliston Gorge is west of us on the way to Banmore Castle.”
The man grabbed Talbot’s shirt. “They fell upon us—”
The lad appeared with ale and Talbot pressed the lip of the mug to the man’s mouth.
He drank greedily, then pushed Talbot’s hand away. “Kinsley asks ye for help.”
“How many?” he demanded.
“Maybe fifty,” the man replied.
“Gather a hundred men,” Talbot told Baxter. “We ride within the hour.”
Led by Ross, Talbot rode hard with his men. Twenty minutes later, they reached the gorge and he knew the attackers were gone. Bodies lay broken and bloodied across
the trampled ground. Seward had ridden with twenty men; a dozen lay dead on the road alone, but Seward was not among them. Maybe he had eluded his attackers and reached the safety of Banmore Castle.
Talbot ordered men to check the fallen warriors, then sent scouts to search the area. He hoped Seward’s attackers had gotten sloppy. Talbot took a dozen men and began searching for more wounded.
Minutes later, one of his men located Seward. He lay near two of his men, a sword wound through his ribs. Blood darkened the ground beneath him. Talbot dismounted and dropped to one knee beside him and was surprised to discover a faint pulse at his neck. Talbot removed Seward’s mail shirt and tunic, then tore the tunic into a long strip and began binding the wound.
Ross appeared on his horse. “We found one of the attackers still alive.”
“Is there any clue as to who he and his companions are?” Talbot demanded.
“He wears no crest or identifying marks.”
“Beat it out of him, then throw him over a horse and bring him to Castle Glenbarr. If you find any others, bring them as well. Have you any idea who they might be?”
“Your brother comes to mind.”
“I cannot think what he would gain by killing Seward.” But Talbot wondered if he knew his brother at all. “Take Cullen. He is our best tracker,” he said. “Track them, but do not make contact. I want to know who they are. Then I will deal with them myself.”
Ross nodded, whirled his horse around and was gone.
Talbot mounted his charger, then had Seward lifted onto his horse behind him and tied to him. The old man moaned, then fell silent. Talbot took thirty of his men and started for Castle Glenbarr. The slow pace he was forced to maintain in deference to Seward chaffed against his desire for speed. They reached the castle an hour later, and Baxter met them in the bailey.
“God’s blood,” Baxter muttered as he lifted Seward from the saddle.
“Easy,” Talbot said.
They entered through the postern door and Mistress Muira hurried toward them from the kitchen. She reached them as they neared the stairs.
Her eyes widened. “Sweet God.” She crossed herself, then shouted, “Leanna!” A girl appeared in the doorway. “Bring warm water and clean rags to the laird’s chambers.” She hurried past them and up the stairs. “None of the other rooms are warm enough,” she said as they ascended. “I will have a fire prepared, but until the room is warm enough I will tend him in your private chambers, laird.”
They reached the third floor and Talbot laid him down in Rhoslyn’s bed.
Mistress Muira sat beside Seward on the bed and surveyed the bandage. “Have ye a knife, laird?”
He gave her the knife strapped to his belt and she made quick work of cutting the knot Talbot had tied in the bandage.
“Where is Lady Rhoslyn?” he demanded.
“The ladies solar.”
Talbot motioned Baxter to follow and they entered his private solar.
“Have you any idea who attacked him?” Baxter asked.
“One was found wounded, but alive. God willing, we’ll know soon enough.”
“Would Dayton attack the old baron?” Baxter said.
“If he thought it would profit him, aye. But I cannot see how it would help his cause.”
“Perhaps I should go to the gorge and have a look?” Baxter said.
Talbot shook his head. “Ross is there. He knows the land better than we. If there is anything to be found, he will find it. Add an extra watch to the guards, and send men to scout the land between here, Dunfrey Castle, and Banmore Castle. Keep scouts out until I tell you otherwise. Any news, inform me immediately—especially when the men return with the prisoner. Lady Rhoslyn will demand to be informed as well. Leave her to me.”
“Aye,” Baxter said, and left.
* * *
“Lady Brae is but fourteen,” Rhoslyn told Lord Davis. “It is no wonder her parents are loathe to let her marry just yet. Did they no’ agree that the marriage would take place one year hence?”
“Aye,” the young lord replied. “But I love her. I canna’ wait.”
Beside Rhoslyn on the bench in the ladies solar, Lady Saraid began swinging her feet distractedly. Rhoslyn sighed inwardly. She had clearly been gone too long. All of Buchan must have learned that she had returned home and now stood outside her door. The requests to facilitate marriage proposals and petitions to foster or tutor young ladies would keep her busy until the birth of her own child. She started to cover her belly with a hand, then remembered she wasn’t alone.
“Lady Rhoslyn?” Lord Davis said. “Will ye speak with Lady Brae’s father?”
Saraid swung her feet harder.
“Sweet Jesu, cease swinging your feet, child,” Rhoslyn said.
The girl immediately stilled and Lord Davis’s eyes rounded like a doe caught in a bowman’s sights.
Rhoslyn released a breath. “Lady Saraid, a lady doesna’ act bored when she has guests.” Neither does a lady lose her temper with a young girl.
“‘Tis impossible not to be bored,” Saraid replied.
Rhoslyn had to agree, but couldn’t admit that. Lady Saraid was thirteen and wanted to be anywhere but here. “A lady never lets it be known she is bored,” Rhoslyn told her.
Saraid’s brows dove downward but she remained silent.
Rhoslyn returned her attention to the young man. “Lord Davis, your future bride is still young. Would ye really tear her from her family too soon?”
He frowned. “She wants to marry me.”
“Of course she does,” Rhoslyn said gently. “But she asked you to be patient and understand that her parents were no’ quite ready to let her go.”
“Aye,” he shot back. “They do no’ understand she is a woman grown.”
Almost a woman grown, Rhoslyn thought. But not quite. “Did it occur to ye that she does not want to hurt her parents?” Rhoslyn asked.
“They canna’ hold her forever,” he muttered.
“I doubt they want to do that. Do ye plan to have children?”
“Of course. I want many sons.”
“Mayhap a daughter or two, as well,” Rhoslyn said. “A sweet babe who will grow up into a beautiful woman.”
His cheeks colored. “Aye, a daughter would please me.”
Would her child be a girl this time? Would St. Claire be happy with a daughter? “Can ye imagine handing her over to a man?” Rhoslyn asked the young man. “Ever?”
His lips pursed.
“Her father has made his decision,” Rhoslyn said. “It is best ye abide by it. You are betrothed. You can wait a year for her fifteenth birthday.”
The young man looked as if he had been given a death decree, but he nodded. “Thank ye, Lady Rhoslyn.”
The door to the solar opened and St. Claire entered. The hard set of his mouth caused Rhoslyn’s heart to jump. Something was wrong.
“Ye may go, Lord Davis,” Rhoslyn said. “Lady Saraid, work on your needlework. It is on the table where ye left it.”
Lord Davis strode to the door. “Sir Talbot,” he said.
“My lord,” St. Claire said. “It is good to see you.”
The young man nodded, then left.
Rhoslyn rose and crossed to St. Claire.
“Will you speak with me in our chambers, my lady?” he asked.
“Aye. Lady Saraid, I will return later.”
They left and when they reached their solar, she said, “What is it?”
“Your grandfather, he is wounded.”
“Wounded? What do ye mean—Where is he? What happened?” The room spun. St. Claire grasped her arm. “Tell me,” she insisted.
“Someone attacked him on his return trip home,” he said.
Rhoslyn gasped. “Is he—”
St. Claire shook his head. “Nay, but I will not lie. He is seriously wounded.”
“Where is he?”
“In your chambers.”
Without another word, she ran across the room to her door and burst
into her quarters. Mistress Miura sat on the edge of her bed beside her grandfather. In an instant, Rhoslyn took in the bloody bandages on the table beside the bed and the gash in his ribs.
She hurried to the bed. “How is he, Mistress?”
“He is alive,” she replied.
The need to cry tightened her throat. “What can I do?”
Muira instructed her and, together, they finished cleaning the wound, then applied herbs and bound his ribs. What seemed eons later, Rhoslyn sat alone with her grandfather in the dimly lit room.
The tread of booted feet approached from behind.
“What do ye want, St. Claire?” she asked.
“Mistress Muira informed me he is resting well,” he said.
Rhoslyn shot to her feet and whirled on him. “With no help from ye.”
Surprise flickered in his eyes. “I am the one who found and brought him here.”
“How is it ye were with him when he was wounded?” she demanded.
“I was not. Seward sent one of his men back for help. I went immediately.”
“Without telling me.”
“I took a hundred men. What help could you have offered that they could not?”
“I would have gone, you monster,” she snapped.
He barked a laugh. “That I would not have allowed.”
“Ye could no’ have stopped me.”
“Christ, Rhoslyn, had I wasted even a moment, he could have died.”
She closed the distance between them in an instant. “Had ye killed Dayton, Grandfather would not be lying in that bed at all.”
His gaze sharpened and she was startled to realize her barb had struck home. That was what she’d intended, but satisfaction didn’t taste as sweet as expected.
“You believe Dayton is responsible for the attack?” he asked.
“Who else?”
“You are saying Seward has no enemies.”
“None who would attack him with such malice.”
“Nay?” St. Claire said. “Only a few days ago Roberts intended to kill him.”
“Bah! There is a difference in fighting and sneaking up on a man like a dog. This smells like your brother.”