Wicked Highland Heroes

by Tarah Scott

  Rhoslyn grimaced. “The girl is irksome. But it isna’ her fault.”

  He lifted his brows. “Nay?”

  She gave him a recriminating look. “She is a child. Her father allowed her to run wild. It is no wonder she needs training.” He opened his mouth to say something, but she cut him off. “Go away, St. Claire. I want to wash and I must fortify myself for Lady Saraid’s arrival.”

  Amusement appeared in his eyes and he surprised her by placing a kiss on her forehead and leaving without argument.

  The day wore on, and Rhoslyn began to wonder if St. Claire were right. Perhaps she should have waited to allow Lady Saraid to resume her training. Her stomach was fine—so long as she didn’t smell food—and the girl was trying her patience more than usual. Saraid clearly thought that being sent home meant her training was over, and she snatched every opportunity to demonstrate her displeasure at being forced to return.

  They now sat on a bench beneath a tree in the corner of the bailey nearest the castle, studying a list of herbs. Saraid dawdled and stumbled through the list. Rhoslyn sighed. The day had been long. The gate began to open. Rhoslyn tensed before realizing the guards wouldn’t open the gate to Lord Lochland’s men. She had been on edge since St. Claire had sent the earl’s men back to him with the message that he wouldn’t leave Castle Glenbarr until his brother had been apprehended.

  St. Claire emerged from the stairs leading up to the wall. Rhoslyn’s heart warmed with the memory of how he had tended her this morning at the jakes. Three riders entered and Rhoslyn stiffened at sight of the figure in the lead.

  * * *

  Talbot often thought that women had second sight when it came to female matters. Lady Isobel’s visit confirmed that suspicion. He also couldn’t help wondering how she timed her arrival to catch him as he exited the wall. He would have melted back into the stairway but, of course, she’d seen him.

  “Poor Rhoslyn suffered terribly during her first pregnancy,” she said as he escorted her across the bailey. She slipped a hand into the crook of his arm and turned her head against the wind that whipped at her cloak. “I will be happy to help in any way I can.”

  His mind snapped to attention. Was that an offer to warm his bed?

  “I am but a twenty minute ride away, Sir Talbot. Ye can call upon me anytime.”

  Yes, she was letting him know she would bed him. He hadn’t forgotten her open appraisal of him during the games.

  “I will keep that in mind,” he said.

  She slowed, forcing him to slow with her. “Rhoslyn had nausea for three months,” Isobel went on. “Poor thing. Alec was at a loss as what to do with her.”

  Talbot wondered if Isobel had made the same offer to Harper she had made to him.

  “She did continue with her duties, however,” Isobel said. “But that is Lady Rhoslyn, she canna’ stay still for more than five minutes.” Isobel laughed, and he noticed the sultry note in her voice—for his benefit, no doubt.

  She confirmed the suspicion by leaning in close. The side of her breast brushed his arm. The woman had no shame.

  “It is kind of you to ride all the way here to visit my wife,” Talbot said.

  She looked up at him through her lashes. “We have known one another since childhood. I would do anything for Rhoslyn. This is an especially difficult time for a woman. She needs much rest and should no’ be overexcited.”

  The way he had overexcited her last night? Since she had returned to his bed, she had been insatiable. Her belly had yet to show signs of the babe growing inside, but her breasts were heavier and her nipples had turned a darker rose. Talbot felt himself rousing with the memory of her hard peaks in his mouth. Maybe tonight—No. He cut off the thought. She was ill this morning, and wouldn’t be in the mood for lovemaking. Lady Isobel was right. Rhoslyn was entering a difficult time. He would have to curb his desire until...until when, after the babe was born? Months after the babe was born. He glanced down at Lady Isobel. She was a shrewd woman.

  * * *

  Talbot watched as, for the third time since they’d sat down to the evening meal, Rhoslyn excused herself and hurried to the kitchen.

  “Lady Rhoslyn is no’ quite herself this evening,” Isobel said. She sat to Rhoslyn’s left. “Perhaps it would be best if I stay the night. I can attend to her if she does no’ feel well.”

  Talbot knew Isobel intended to wheedle her way into his bed, but truth be told, he was concerned about Rhoslyn. She seemed in a worse state of mind than she had been this morning when he’d found her leaning over the jakes.

  “Women grow moody as their time approaches,” Seward said. “This is natural, St. Claire.”

  “So true,” Lady Isobel agreed. “But a woman likes to have another woman around.”

  “Rhoslyn’s time isna’ close,” the old baron said. “When her time draws near, she may want your help. I canna’ see that it is of much use now.”

  Lady Isobel laughed. “Spoken like a man.”

  A few minutes passed and Rhoslyn didn’t return. Talbot rose and went to the kitchen. Rhoslyn was nowhere to be seen.

  “Where is Lady Rhoslyn?” Talbot asked Mistress Muira.

  “In her bed by now, I imagine,” the housekeeper replied. “She wasna’ feeling well.”

  Talbot glanced at the stairs.

  “Dinna’ worry,” Mistress Muira said. “It is common for a woman to want rest while pregnant.

  “I should not have allowed Lady Saraid to return,” he said more to himself than to Mistress Muira.

  “Dinna’ be silly,” Muira said. “Lady Rhoslyn can no’ do nothing for the next few months. As time goes on, she will need more rest, but she will know when that time comes.”

  Talbot wasn’t so sure. He returned to the great hall and sat at his place. “Rhoslyn has retired for the evening.”

  Lady Isobel nodded. “Just as I thought.”

  “You are welcome to stay the night, if you like, my lady,” Talbot said.

  “Of course,” she said, and Seward shot him a speculative glance.

  * * *

  At a soft knock to the solar door, Talbot looked up from the rolls he was studying. He rose, crossed to the door and opened it to find Lady Isobel standing in the hallway.

  “Lady Isobel. Rhoslyn is abed,” Talbot said.

  “You are no’ asleep.” Lady Isobel slipped between him and the open door.

  She passed so close that Talbot got a whiff of rose water. She stopped two paces away and faced him.

  Hand still on the door bolt, he nodded toward the hallway. “You may return in the morning when my wife is awake.”

  She faced him. “Ye are working yourself too hard. I know how difficult things must be for you.”

  “Put your mind at ease,” he said. “I am well. Rhoslyn sees to my needs.”

  Isobel stepped close and put her arms around his neck. “You need no’ worry, Talbot. Alec was discreet. We can do the same.”

  Talbot reached for her hands—the door to Rhoslyn’s chambers burst open. She stumbled forward, pushing through the door and into the room.

  “Ye bastard,” she said, her voice shaking.

  St. Claire grasped Isobel’s arms and pulled them from his neck. “You should go, Lady Isobel.”

  “Aye,” Rhoslyn spat. “And dinna’ come back.”

  “Lady Rhoslyn,” Isobel began.

  “Leave,” Rhoslyn said between gritted teeth.

  Isobel seemed to consider, then shrugged and left.

  Talbot closed the door behind her, and Rhoslyn said, “Three months we have been married and already ye are taking a mistress—and in the room next to mine. Alec never treated me thusly.”

  So Rhoslyn didn’t know her husband’s indiscretion. That didn’t surprise him.

  “Things are not quite how they look,” Talbot said. His chest tightened when she swiped at a tear that slid down her cheek. He started toward her.

  She backed up. “Stay away. Stay away and never come near me again.”

>   She whirled and he lunged, catching her arm. He swung her into his arms. She beat on his chest. Talbot hugged her close.

  “Shh, Rhoslyn, listen to me.”

  “Release me.” Tears streamed down her face unchecked.

  Talbot lifted her into his arms.

  “Nay,” she cried, but he strode into his room to the bed.

  She twisted in an effort to break free and he crushed her to him.

  “Cease fighting,” he commanded. “You will harm yourself and the babe.”

  “Release me.” The words were filled with venom, but she stilled.

  He pulled aside the curtain and laid her on the bed. “Do not move,” he said. She started to scoot to the far side of the bed. “Rhoslyn, I warn you.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “Ye promised no’ to force me.”

  “I do not intend to force you. But I will not allow you to injure yourself. Now, stay still.”

  She didn’t move and he went to the table near the window and poured a goblet of wine then returned.

  “Drink this.” He extended it toward her. She lifted her chin in defiance. “Rhoslyn, do not be foolish. Please, drink.”

  She didn’t move for a moment, and he thought she intended to defy him, then she took the goblet and drank a heavy swig.

  Talbot sat on the edge of the bed. “Yes, Isobel had her arms around me.”

  “You were no’ resisting her,” Rhoslyn interjected.

  “I was, in fact, resisting. Think about what you saw. I was reaching for her hands when you entered the room.”

  “I saw you earlier in the bailey,” she said. “You were walking with her arm-in-arm. Ye were mighty cozy.”

  “Should I run from her?” he asked.

  Rhoslyn snorted. “A man doesna’ run from a beautiful woman.”

  “You are the only beautiful woman I want, love.”

  Her brows dove downward.

  “If I intended to bed a woman, I would not do it in the room next to yours,” he said. “I am not that foolish, nor would I disrespect you in that manner.”

  “That only means ye have a woman I do no’ know about, and Isobel wasna’ willing to wait.”

  He shook his head. “It means I did not invite Lady Isobel here. There is no one else, Rhoslyn. I would not have the energy—even if I had the inclination. You please me.”

  “Until I grow fat with child, then ye will find someone else quickly enough—if you havena’ already.”

  Talbot took the goblet and set it on the table beside the bed. He pushed his braies and hose down his hips and tossed then aside, then got into bed.

  “I will sleep in my own bed,” Rhoslyn said, but he wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her close, her back against his chest.

  “Your cock is hard as a rock, St. Claire,” she said. “Ye canna’ tell me ye did not want Isobel. I have no wish to be in bed with a man who prefers another woman.” She tried to scoot away from him, but he held fast.

  Talbot buried his face in her hair. “It is you I am in bed with, not Isobel.”

  “Because I interfered,” she said.

  “Because I choose you,” he countered. “Now go to sleep.”

  He wondered how he would sleep with his bollocks so tight with need they felt as if they would burst. And his cock—he didn’t want to think about how good it would feel to fit himself more snuggly against Rhoslyn’s arse and slip inside her wet passage.

  “Sleep,” he whispered into her hair, and couldn’t resist a deep inhale of her scent before forcing his thoughts away from the salty-sweet taste of her skin.

  Chapter Twenty One

  A boy shot into the stables and came to a skidding halt beside Talbot. “John Comyn is here to see ye, laird,” he panted out the words.

  “Comyn?” Talbot repeated. “Lord of Badenoch? One of the Guardians?”

  The boy nodded, eyes wide. “He is at the gate.”

  This, Talbot decided, wasn’t a good thing. He released the horse’s hoof and followed the boy from the stables. He reached the gate to find two men standing with their horses and two guards. The elder, a tall, dark haired man, met his gaze. The thin line of his mouth told Talbot the man wasn’t accustomed to being made to wait in the bailey, especially on a day that threatened snow. This was the Guardian.

  “My lord Badenoch,” Talbot said when he stopped before them. “It is an honor to meet you.”

  The man gave a curt nod. “Such an honor that ye force us to stand at the gate while we discuss business?”

  Talbot looked pointedly at the other man. “This is my cousin Davey,” the Guardian said.

  “I cannot imagine what business you have with me, my lord,” Talbot said.

  “The kind I would prefer no’ to discuss in public,” Badenoch said.

  Talbot canted his head in acknowledgement. Comyn tossed his reins to one of the warriors then started toward the castle without waiting for Talbot or his cousin. Talbot fell into place alongside him with Davey on Comyn’s left. When they reached the postern door, Talbot stood aside and allowed them to enter first. They crossed to the table near the hearth and sat. Talbot called for wine, then turned his attention to the Guardian.

  “I have learned from Lady Taresa Baliman that ye are her grandson,” Comyn said.

  Talbot started, then caught himself. “Lady Taresa is an old woman who grieves the loss of her daughter.”

  Comyn barked a laugh. “I have known Taresa for over thirty years. She grieves for her daughter, but she is no fool. Show me your sister’s likeness on your arm.”

  Anger flared, but Talbot rolled up the sleeve of his shirt. He felt Davey’s stare when Comyn grasped his arm and examined his sister’s face. A lad appeared with a pitcher of wine and two goblets and Comyn released Talbot, then picked up the pitcher.

  “Ye are her grandson.” He filled the three goblets then set the pitcher down. “Deny it all you like, but everyone will know the truth. Including Edward, in case ye have any doubts.” He took a drink of the wine, then said, “Even if there were any doubt, he willna’ let ye deny the connection.”

  That was the very thing Talbot didn’t want. “What has this to do with you?” he demanded.

  “Ye must know he is Balliol’s brother-in-law,” Davey said. “We support Balliol. As must you.”

  Talbot stared at the man.

  “As the Earl of Baliman, ye become the most powerful man in Buchan,” Comyn said. “In fact, no one in Scotland will ignore you.”

  “I am English,” Talbot replied. “At most, I will inherit Seward’s barony.”

  “Ye are the Earl of Baliman,” Davey said.

  Talbot didn’t like the younger man. A strange desperation laced his tone. It made Talbot wonder how far he would go to attain his goals.

  “Enough, Davey,” Comyn said, then addressed Talbot. “Edward is sure to remind ye that ye are his English knight, but Scottish blood doesna’ take well to servitude.”

  “I am English,” Talbot repeated.

  Comyn studied him. “Mayhap English and Scottish interests are one.”

  “What do you want, my lord?”

  “I want to see your grandfather-in-law.”

  Talbot had learned long ago there was no stopping the tide. He called for Seward, who joined them in the great hall. If Talbot didn’t know better—and he didn’t—he would have suspected the old baron of contacting the Guardian. But it could just as easily have been Lady Taresa who sealed his fate. Then again, it could be as simple as a rumor having reached Comyn’s ears. Either way, he was trapped.

  “I have no intention of leaving Castle Glenbarr,” he told the two men. “Nor do I intend to claim the earldom.”

  “Ye would do well to claim it before it comes looking for you,” Seward said.

  Concern, the first true concern since he’d seen Lady Taresa ride into the village, niggled. He fixed his gaze on Comyn. “What have you done, my lord?”

  “I am no’ your lord. As to what I have done, I need do nothing. Taresa�
��s relatives will take care of matters.”

  “They can have the title,” Talbot said.

  Comyn lifted his brows. “Out of the kindness of your heart, I take it?”

  “I have no desire to be a Scottish nobleman.”

  “You are known for your loyalty to Edward,” Davey said. “Where is that loyalty now?”

  Seward snorted. “It sounds like Davey is confusing you with your brother, St. Claire.”

  “At least he would understand the importance of supporting his king,” Davey said.

  “Christ, Davey,” Comyn said. “Ye are making an ass of yourself.” Comyn glanced at Talbot. “St. Claire doesna’ tolerate fools.” The Guardian’s expression sobered. “Ye havena’ had any luck in finding your brother?”

  “If I had, he would be dead.”

  “He may not be the fool you think he is,” Davey said.

  Comyn’s gaze jerked onto him. “Another word from ye, Davey, and I will whip you here and now.”

  “Dinna’ act as if you do no’ want him to support your kinsman,” Seward said.

  “I have Scotland’s interests at heart,” Comyn said.

  “Ye have your interests at heart,” Seward said.

  “Will ye squabble over politics now, Hugo?” Comyn shifted his attention to Talbot. “Will your son feel as you do about giving up his birthright? More important, will the Kenzies take your word that ye will never dispute their claim?” He paused. “Will your wife and children be safe when you are gone?”

  Anger tore through Talbot. “Even if I claim the title, they will never be safe. You have ensured that.”

  “Nay, lad. Ye sealed your fate when you immortalized your sister on your arm.”

  * * *

  Rhoslyn could scarce believe it. Her husband had accepted the title as the Earl of Baliman. She nodded for more wine to the boy waiting near the table, then leaned close to Lady Taresa and said in a whisper loud enough to be heard over the din of the evening meal, “Is there anything more ye need, my lady?”

  Lady Taresa laid a hand on Rhoslyn’s. “Please call me Taresa. Perhaps one day you will call me Grandmother.” She hesitated, then added, “Will you allow me to stay with you when your time comes?”

  Emotion squeezed Rhoslyn’s heart. She didn’t remember her mother and the thought of another woman, family, being present during the birth of her child brought the prick of tears. God help her, she was growing weepy.