Wicked Highland Heroes

by Tarah Scott

  Talbot caught sight of Rhoslyn standing with the bride and several other women near the hearth. Her gaze followed Lochland. Talbot read the obvious satisfaction in her eyes and wondered how long it would take before she vocalized her feelings.

  “Will you sit with me?” Lochland asked. “I would like to talk further.”

  Talbot considered inviting him into the bower where it was quiet, then realized Rhoslyn would follow. Talbot nodded, and Lochland gave his men leave to do as they pleased. Talbot led him to the table and secured drink for them both.

  “Comyn paid ye a visit,” Lochland said, and Talbot had to wonder if straightforwardness was a Scottish trait. If so, he liked it. “He wants you to advise Edward to appoint Balliol as King of Scotland.”

  “He did not speak of it to me,” Talbot spoke loud enough to be heard, and hoped to guests were too busy enjoying themselves to pay attention to his conversation with Lochland.

  “He will,” Lochland said, voicing Talbot’s thoughts. “It doesna’ much matter. Edward plans to make Balliol king with or without Scotland’s support. But you will make that decision easier.”

  “You do not like Balliol?” Talbot said.

  “Nay. Neither does your wife. But if Edward supports him, you will follow suit.”

  “He is my king,” Talbot conceded.

  “A king who will no’ support you if ye find yourself surrounded by enemies,” Lochland said.

  Talbot gave a short laugh. “I am surrounded by more enemies in peace than I was in battle.”

  The earl chuckled. “Aye, I imagine you are. However, ye are in a position to make good friends who will stand by you when Edward will no’.”

  “You, for example?” Talbot asked.

  He gave a nod. “I am one, but there are others.”

  From the corner of his eye, Talbot saw Rhoslyn approach. “We can speak more of this later.” He knew Lochland would want to discuss it at great length.

  The earl’s gaze caught on Rhoslyn and a speculative gleam appeared in his eyes.

  “I advise you not to involve my wife in this debate,” Talbot said. Lochland looked at him and Talbot read his indecision. “I make no decisions based on my wife’s political views. I will not consider anyone a friend who uses her in any way.”

  “She doesna’ like me anyway,” Lochland said.

  “No,” Talbot agreed, “she does not.”

  To her credit, Rhoslyn was gracious to Lochland. Talbot detected an underlying desire to throttle him, but instead she took delight in speaking gaily of Andreana and Baxter—and their soon return. It was a fabrication, they hadn’t discussed the couple’s return, but Talbot allowed her this small satisfaction. He had just begun to relax when Lady Isobel entered the great hall.

  Rhoslyn shifted her gaze onto her before the door fully closed. Lady Isobel seemed oblivious to the scrutiny, though Talbot suspected she simply pretended not to notice.

  Rhoslyn said nothing. They still sat with Lochland and Talbot guessed she didn’t want the earl to know that she had caught her husband in an embrace with the woman. But Talbot wasn’t foolish enough to think Isobel would remain unscathed. He considered asking Isobel to leave, but any attention he gave her would be looked upon unfavorably by Rhoslyn. She confirmed the suspicion by turning an accusatory stare onto him.

  “I did not compose the guest list, Lady Rhoslyn,” he said.

  Lochland glanced curiously at her and a faint blush crept up her cheeks.

  “That minstrel of yours seems to know only two songs,” Lochland said. “Did ye bring him from England, St. Claire? He sings only of your exploits in Wales.” The earl rose. “I think I will see if he knows any Scottish ballads.”

  He left and Talbot braced himself for Rhoslyn’s fury, but was saved—if saved it could be named—when Lady Isobel approached.

  “I willna’ have that woman in my home,” Rhoslyn said under her breath.

  “Is she a friend to the bride and groom?” Talbot asked.

  Rhoslyn snorted in derision. “If she is a friend to the groom it is for one reason only.”

  Talbot privately agreed.

  Isobel reached them and he feared Rhoslyn would leap out of her chair and pummel the lady.

  “What are ye doing here?” Rhoslyn demanded.

  Surprise flickered in Isobel’s eyes. “I am here to celebrate the happy couple’s marriage. I have known Lady Sine since she was a child. It would be rude not to come.”

  “Ye didna’ think it was rude to seduce my husband.”

  Isobel gave her a curious look. “Are ye that naive, Lady Rhoslyn?”

  Rhoslyn shoved to her feet. A group standing nearby stopped talking and looked at her.

  Rhoslyn said to Isobel under her breath, “Are ye saying my husband is the guilty party?”

  “He was a complete gentleman.” Isobel looked at him. “To my disappointment.”

  Rhoslyn took a step closer to her. “Then ye admit ye intended to bed him in the room next to mine.”

  “It was a kiss. Nothing more.” Isobel glanced at him. “I suppose I can understand why ye would complain about sharing St. Claire and no’—”

  Talbot came to his feet. “Lady Isobel that is enough.”

  She lifted her brows, and Rhoslyn looked from her to him. Talbot saw the wheels turning in her mind.

  Elizabeth appeared at her side. “Rhoslyn, where did ye find your new cook? The deer stew is delicious.”

  Everyone looked at her.

  She lifted her brows. “I am sorry, am I interrupting?”

  She was, and knew it, and Talbot would later express his gratitude.

  “Lady Isobel, I have no’ seen you in some time,” Elizabeth said. “Things are well with you?”

  “Things are very good,” she replied.

  Elizabeth turned her attention to Rhoslyn. “Have you met Lady Sine’s cousin Raleigh?”

  Rhoslyn frowned. “Who?”

  “Lady Sine’s cousin. He has come from the Isle of Lewis and brought wool as a wedding present, which he says is the finest is all of Scotland. He is wearing a jerkin made of the wool, and it is magnificent. You must come see.”

  “What do I care about wool?” Rhoslyn said.

  “Ye might be able to talk Sir Talbot into purchasing some of the wool.”

  “I can purchase my own wool,” she answered with a dark glance his way.

  Elizabeth laughed. “All the better. Come, you must see the jerkin.”

  Rhoslyn sent a last dagger-filled look Isobel’s way, then allowed Elizabeth to lead her away.

  Isobel’s eyes remained fixed on her. “She doesna’ know.”

  “Nay. And I would like it to stay that way,” Talbot said.

  Isobel shifted her gaze onto him. “It is in your interest for her to know that Alec bedded me and you would not.”

  “It would hurt her,” he replied.

  “But it would benefit you.”

  “I do not need to be compared to Alec Harper.”

  She studied him. “I would say there is no comparison, and if Lady Rhoslyn can no’ see that, she is a fool.”

  Chapter Twenty Two

  Rhoslyn spent too much time in her private solar. At a little over five months pregnant, she felt excellent. But St Claire fussed like a mother hen, and constantly ordered her to rest. She had installed Lady Saraid in the kitchen with Mistress Muira in order to have a moment to review the list of goods they had received two days ago. With the addition of St. Claire’s men, they had doubled their supply purchases and she seemed always to be working on the rolls.

  Now, however, she stared out her window at the rider entering the courtyard. His shaven face and dark brown hair told her he was English, even without the absence of a kilt. This didn’t bode well. She rose from the stool and hurried downstairs. Rhoslyn stepped from the stairs into the great hall as the man entered the postern door ahead of St. Claire.

  St. Claire’s gaze met hers and she read in his eyes the knowledge of her anxious curiosit
y. Rhoslyn caught sight of the folded parchment in his hand and her fear mounted. King Edward had sent a missive.

  To her relief. St. Claire led the man toward the table set up near the hearth. She crossed the room and met them at the table.

  “It has been a long ride for Sir John,” St. Claire said. “He would like food and drink.”

  Rhoslyn nodded. “Go to the kitchen and tell Mistress Muira I sent you. She will feed ye near the fire there, where you may warm.”

  He bowed, then left them.

  “I imagine you want to know what is in this missive,” St. Claire said.

  “It is from Edward?” she asked.

  He nodded and lowered himself onto the bench beside the table. Rhoslyn sat beside him as he slid a finger between the folded edges and broke the seal. She was sure he was intentionally taking his time and had to refrain from snatching the parchment from him and tearing it open. He unfolded the letter and she read over his arm.

  Sir Talbot,

  My congratulations upon your new title as Earl of Baliman. I could not be more pleased. In the interest of keeping positive relations, I command that you appear before me and, as the Earl of Baliman, swear fealty. As my faithful servant, you will leave with Sir John and come to me immediately.

  Your King,

  Edward

  “The bastard.” Rhoslyn shot to her feet. “How dare he command fealty from ye. As the Earl of Baliman you owe him nothing.”

  St Claire looked up at her. “He is my king. He has every right to demand my fealty.”

  She stared in shock. “You are the most powerful man in all of Buchan. It is to you that men should swear fealty. Ye demanded that Kenzie bow to you.”

  “Aye, but I still have a lord. All men have a lord.”

  “Not Edward,” she said bitterly.

  “Even him,” St. Claire replied.

  “St. Claire, I didna’ know you were a religious man.”

  “I am not, but that does not mean I do not believe we all serve someone. It is within Edward’s right to demand my loyalty, and you should not be surprised that he wants to control my power. And lest you forget, I am not king. If I do not swear fealty to Edward, then I must pledge loyalty to the king of Scotland.”

  “Ye live in Scotland. You are a Scottish nobleman. Swear fealty to the king of Scotland.” His gaze shifted back to the letter and her blood chilled. “Sweet Jesu, ye mean to return to England as he commands.” She couldn’t believe it.

  “I have never disobeyed his command,” St. Claire said.

  Her mind raced. She wasn’t surprised that Edward was tightening his hold. So what were the consequences within her family of Edward’s grab for power? He would insist her sons train in England under English tutors; that they marry English women. Her daughters would become political pawns, married to noblemen selected by Edward to strengthen English alliances.

  She hadn’t considered any of this when she’d learned that St. Claire was the new earl. Her first thought had been of his strengthened ties to Scotland. Anger whipped through her. Edward would tear him away to prevent that, if necessary.

  Rhoslyn sat back on the bench. “Is it safe for ye to leave Castle Glenbarr?”

  He lifted a brow. “If I abolished your imprisonment here in Castle Glenbarr, you would be riding out the gates an hour later. Yet when I must return to England, you remind me how dangerous it is for me to leave the castle.”

  Rhoslyn met his gaze square. “That does no’ answer my question. Is it safe for ye to leave us?”

  He gave a single shake of his head. “Nay.”

  She shrugged. “Then Edward will have to wait.”

  “A king never waits.”

  “Tell him ye will return once you have captured your brother and dealt with the unrest amongst your people.”

  “My people?”

  She read the humor in his eyes. “Ye said you wouldna’ leave Castle Glenbarr to search for your brother for fear of leaving the castle unprotected. Kenzie was here only a month ago.” Things had been quiet since then, but she wasn’t going to remind him of that. “If ye leave and Jason takes Castle Glenbarr while you are gone, he will claim no’ only Glenbarr, but the lands that belong to the Earl of Baliman.”

  “I doubt Jason has such high aspirations,” St. Claire replied.

  “Ye do no’ know the man,” Rhoslyn said. “And dinna’ forget Kenzie. He would love nothing more than to wage war on ye while you are away.” Anger flickered in his eyes and she knew she’d hit home. “Do you want that?” she pressed on ruthlessly. “Do ye want him taking me and your unborn child?”

  His eyes darkened with fury. Unexpected emotion fluttered in her belly.

  “It would seem I have a dilemma,” he said.

  Regret washed over Rhoslyn and she wished she could tell him to go serve his king as the loyal knight he was. What would she do if he didn’t return? She would be forced to marry again—for a son needed a father. Nay, it was far worse than just remarrying. Before she could choose a husband, before her son was born, Edward would marry her to another of his puppets. She imagined the message arriving telling of Talbot’s death, delivered by the man who bore another royal command from Edward that she marry. Her blood chilled at the thought of another man touching her while she still carried St. Claire’s child.

  “To leave is a death sentence,” she said. “You must know that your brother will seize the opportunity to attack ye.” In truth, it seemed half of Scotland wanted him dead. He started to reply, but she cut him off. “I know you well enough to know you would leave a legion of men to protect me and take only a few for yourself. Ye have too many enemies to be riding the countryside without a host of men. I canna’ allow you to do it.”

  He studied her for a long moment. “Why not?”

  “Because a son needs his father.”

  “Only a son?” he asked.

  Embarrassment heated her cheeks. “The devil you know is better than the one ye dinna’ know,” she replied, and to her surprise, he threw his head back and laughed.

  * * *

  Rhoslyn forced her legs into motion and passed through the opening in the low stone wall where lay her family in their eternal rest, then turned right. In the nearest corner, alongside the larger stone that belonged to Alec, stood the smaller stone that marked her son’s grave. Her knees weakened, but she kept walking until she stood in front of the two graves.

  She stared at the name on her son’s headstone. The letters floated before her as if she dreamed. She had held him as he died. Did Alec now protect him? How was it possible the tiny body lay all alone beneath the snow-dusted heather? Her heart jerked. In her absence, someone had placed the flowers over the freshly dug dirt and the seed had taken root.

  Rhoslyn glanced at the flowers she gripped. Mistress Muira dried heather and scattered it among the rushes. She had filched a few for the graves. But others, braver than her, had taken up where she could not. Who had visited her son? Andreana? Her grandfather? It should have been her. She should have been there to throw the first clump of moist earth down on him. Now, the ground that covered his small body had settled into packed earth as if no body lay buried beneath.

  She started to kneel, then realized it would be difficult to rise. She would have to grasp a headstone to leverage herself back up. Dread chilled her bone deep. It wasn’t the dead she feared, but the cold stone of her child’s grave beneath her fingers. Anger tightened her insides. She had already deserted him once. She owed her son more than a toss of flowers onto his grave before she fled.

  Rhoslyn stepped alongside his stone and grasped the top, then lowered herself onto her knees. Wind whipped the plaid around her shoulders and she pulled the fabric closer about her. With a shaky hand, she brushed snow from the small plot, then carefully arranged the heather on the center of the grave amongst the withered flowers. The pink buds made the grave look almost...alive.

  “I am sorry, Dougal,” she whispered. She brushed her fingers over the tiny flowers. “Ye ar
e to have a brother. Would you like that?”

  The wind whipped again, snapping the edge of her plaid. She shivered. It was cold, so cold. The heather skittered across the grave with another gust of wind. Rhoslyn caught it and set it back on the center. She glanced up at the darkening afternoon sky. A storm brewed. The wind would blow the heather off the grave.

  Rhoslyn whipped off her plaid and laid it across the grave.

  * * *

  Rhoslyn hurried down the stairs leading to the great hall. Just as the maid had said, Abbess Beatrice sat at the table near the hearth. Rhoslyn nearly flew across the room. She reached the table and Beatrice rose.

  Rhoslyn threw herself into the older woman’s arms. The abbess enfolded her in a warm hug and, for a moment, she could almost believe that she’d never left the convent. She suddenly longed to be back in her cell, listening to the abbess’ Bible stories.

  Rhoslyn drew back from the embrace. “I canna’ believe ye are here. I am so happy to see you. Had I known you were coming, I would have made preparations.”

  Beatrice smiled. “Ye can imagine that I prefer to travel without fanfare.”

  Rhoslyn smiled. “Aye, of course. Have you eaten, are ye thirsty? How long will you stay?”

  She laughed. “I see you have not changed. I would no’ mind food and drink. As for how long I can stay, a day or two. Will that do?”

  “A day or two? How wonderful,” Rhoslyn cried. “Come, sit with me in my private solar. I will have food and drink brought up.” Rhoslyn turned to see women crowding the doorway of the kitchen, staring. She laughed. “Will you greet my ladies? I believe they are anxious to meet you.”

  “Of course,” Beatrice replied.

  The abbess insisted on entering the kitchen, instead of having the women pay attendance to her while she sat on the bench in the hall. Once Rhoslyn finally tore her from the kitchen, they settled in the solar near the fire, with a banquet set out before them.

  “You must wonder why I am here,” the abbess said.

  “I left the convent so suddenly that we had no chance to speak,” Rhoslyn said. “I assume you came to see how I fare?”