by Tarah Scott
“Where—” she swallowed against a dry throat, the simple action difficult. “Where am I?”
“Safe in bed.”
Bed? She struggled to remember what bed and why she felt as if she had run headlong into a stone wall. Rhoslyn touched her face and winced at the tenderness in her cheek. She released a shaky breath and slowly opened her eyes. Light pierced her vision, but with less severity than a moment ago. She turned her head away from the direct light and blinked the unfamiliar room into focus.
“Where is this place?”
“A cottage near Stonehaven,” the man said.
“What?” she said in confusion.
The hand on her shoulder gave another squeeze. “There was no other way.”
Then she remembered. Fear rammed through her on a wave that brought the prick of tears. She turned her head to face Dayton St. Claire, who sat on the bed beside her. She shoved his hand away from her shoulder. Pain ricocheted off her skull.
Rhoslyn winced. “Why? I agreed to leave with you.”
“You know why.”
“Why not slay me at Castle Glenbarr?” she demanded.
His brows drew down in shock. “I am not a barbarian.”
Her heart pounded in tandem with the thud in her head. He intended to lock her in a dungeon? Ransom her? Nay, that didn’t make sense. If he intended that, she would not be laying on a soft feather bed.
“Then why am I here?” she asked.
“You will marry me instead of Talbot.”
Shock washed over her. Sweet God, it had been the light of madness she’d glimpsed in his eyes. “My grandfather will never allow it. If I have learned anything about your brother, neither will he.”
”Until I present our sons to them, they will not know where you are.”
“Sons?” Panic sent a tremor through her. “Sheila will have alerted someone.”
Sorrow filled his gaze. “I am sorry. She and your guard were dead five minutes after we left.”
She drew a sharp breath, ignoring the jolt to her head. “No.”
“I could not risk them telling anyone that you left with me.”
Rhoslyn fought panic. “Mistress Muira knows.”
He gave a small shake of his head.
Rhoslyn lunged at him. “Bastard.” She landed a blow to his nose before he seized her wrists. “Mistress Muira was a second mother to me.” Tears streamed down her cheeks as she struggled to wrench herself free of his iron hold. “Sheila had yet to know a man. Ye craven whoreson.” Her stomach pitched and she gave a great sob, collapsing back onto the pillow, panting hard. His grip loosened and she yanked free. “I will not submit.”
“I pray you will, lady. I have no wish to force you. Think, once your belly swells with my babe, resistance will be pointless.”
The room spun. Breathe, she told herself, Breathe. She hadn’t allowed herself to consider the possibility of having another child. How could she fathom this man’s child growing inside of her?
He shifted and she jerked.
“Lady Rhoslyn,” he said in a gentle voice, “I offer you a good life. I will be a better husband than my bastard brother. Mayhap you believe his Scottish blood makes him more desirable, but you are wrong.”
“What of the woman ye love? Was that a lie?” Rhoslyn demanded.
“Never mind her.”
Rhoslyn couldn’t believe it. “You intend to keep her.”
“You think Talbot will be any different?” he sneered. His expression cleared. “Do you not see? I will give you the life you want. Once you bear me sons you may even return to Scotland, if you like.”
Panic escalated with the pounding of her heart. “They will find me.”
“Nay,” he said. “They will not.”
Rhoslyn did a quick calculation. Kildrum lay sixty miles from Stonehaven. That meant they had ridden into early afternoon. A slight thump caught her attention and she started at the realization that the sound had come through the floorboards. They weren’t in a cottage as he claimed. An inn, her mind raced. If he left her alone, she would be able to get help.
“Forget my brother,” Dayton said. “My father will sanction our union and will press Edward to decree our marriage valid.”
He leaned forward. She shrank back against the pillow. He meant to kiss her! Rhoslyn rolled toward the far side of the bed. He yanked her back and swung a leg over her hips, then again bent to kiss her. She raked her nails across his cheek.
He seized her arms, shoved them above her head and kissed her. Rhoslyn bit down on his lip. He bolted upright, shock on his face. For an instant his confusion seemed to paralyze him. Then he dabbed at his mouth with his shoulder and looked at the blood that smeared his shirt.
His eyes returned to hers. “Do not make me hurt you.”
She emptied her lungs in a scream. He clamped a hand over her mouth, grabbed a cloth from the table and stuffed it into her mouth. Rhoslyn gagged and raked her nails across his face. He grunted and tightened his thighs painfully around her ribs. She wheezed and pulled at his wrists while he tied another cloth around her mouth.
“You leave me no choice,” he said.
He clasped both wrists in one hand and grabbed another cloth from a stack on the nightstand. On a surge of panic, she bucked with all her might. He lost his balance and tumbled from the bed. Rhoslyn gagged against the cloth in her mouth, but yanked up her skirt and seized the knife hidden in her boot. Dayton leapt to his feet and threw himself on her. She drew back the knife, but he glanced over his shoulder and twisted aside so the blade only grazed his outer thigh.
Dayton seized her wrist, wrenched away the knife, and threw it across the room. Once again, he straddled her and grabbed her wrists. She yanked, but he snatched up the cloth he’d dropped and wound it around her wrists in a flash, cinching the knot so tight she cried out. He grabbed another cloth, forced her arms over her head and tied her to the right post.
“This is your fault, Lady Rhoslyn. I begged you not to force me to hurt you.”
He pushed off the bed, unfastened his belt buckle, then tossed the belt onto the bench at the foot of the bed. He pulled his shirt over his head, then his tunic, and shoved his braies and hose down his hips. Her stomach roiled at sight of his full erection. The burn of bile rose in her throat and she swallowed for fear of choking. He stepped toward the bed. Rhoslyn screamed through the gag and kicked at him, landing a blow to his hip. He grabbed her ankles. She twisted. The bindings cut into her wrists, but she ignored the pain and twisted so hard that her arms felt as if they ripped loose of their sockets. He slammed her body back onto the mattress, yanked her legs apart, and fell on top of her.
His face was so close his breath filled her nostrils. “I will do this every day until you are with child.”
He dragged her skirt up. In a frenzy, Rhoslyn bucked, but his weight pinned her to the mattress. When his cock butted the soft flesh between her legs, her head swam.
“Next time, you will obey me,” he said in a strained voice.
Saint George, she silently screamed. Help me.
* * *
“The horses cannot keep this pace any longer, and we’re still an hour from Stonehaven,” Baxter shouted above the pounding of hooves.
Talbot ignored him.
“Talbot,” Baxter called. “You will maim our horses and we’ll be left afoot.”
He was right. Talbot pulled on the reins and slowed to a trot. His horse gave a great snort, its breath curling in the evening chill. Baxter shouted a command to slow, and the men behind them obeyed.
Rhoslyn’s guard and maid were missing, and Talbot knew with certainty his brother had murdered them. It was the housekeeper, found unconscious, who, when revived, told them Dayton was behind her disappearance. Twelve hours had passed since Dayton kidnapped her. She had been at Castle Glenbarr less than a day—less than half a day—under Talbot’s protection.
Two years after Talbot had been sent to train under Sir Hugh, their father sent Dayton to the knight, as
well. For the sake of their father, Talbot endured Dayton’s envy, jibes, and cruelty in those years before Talbot left to fight. But a father’s protection wouldn’t save Dayton now. Talbot would kill him.
A rider approached. Another moment, and Talbot recognized Cullen, the scout he had sent ahead, and Ross, Alec Harper’s captain. When they met, the men fell into a trot alongside Talbot.
“Their tracks enter Stonehaven,” Ross said, “but dinna’ leave it.”
Talbot gritted his teeth. “He intends to leave by ship.” Would Dayton attempt to marry Rhoslyn before or after he left Scotland? Talbot had immediately realized his brother intended to marry her. At least that meant he wouldn’t kill her.
“I spoke with the harbormaster.” Ross said.
Talbot jerked his gaze onto the man. “I did not give you leave to speak with anyone. If you alerted Dayton—”
“Dinna’ lose your temper, English,” Ross cut in. “I know how to be discreet.”
“I advise you to remember that I am your lord,” Talbot snapped.
“I advise ye to remember that you are in Scotland,” the man replied without rancor—or fear, Talbot noted. “The old harbormaster is more likely to talk to me than you, English. You might also remember that I have known Lady Rhoslyn since she was a lass of fifteen. I do no’ intend to let an Englishman steal her away from her home.”
So there were those who knew the story of his father’s Scottish mistress, and how he took her and their son away to England.
“What did you learn from the harbormaster?” Talbot asked.
“A man booked passage for himself, two other men, and a woman. They leave tomorrow morning. Though the man does no’ fit the description of your brother, he is the only Englishman to sail. There are two inns near the harbor and one other reputable inn on the road leaving Stonehaven.”
“Did you inquire at the inns?” Talbot demanded.
“We stopped at the inn on the road and had a wee drink. That establishment is so busy, no one took heed of us. The cook is a talkative woman and I learned that no English passed their way in the last day. The inns near the harbor house are for those booking passage or for travelers with more money to spend than most who stay along the road. I wager your brother is in one of the two. ‘Tis better, I think, for us to separate your men and make inquiries. Ye want numbers to ensure he doesna’ escape.”
Talbot nodded. “He will not escape.”
“Dinna’ lose your temper,” Ross warned Talbot forty-five minutes later, as they dismounted at the inn nearest the harbor. Talbot had sent Baxter with a dozen men to the inn west of the harbor and the dozen he’d brought with him waited among the trees, alert for his signal. The remaining five quietly searched the harbor for signs of his brother and Lady Rhoslyn.
“Let me do the talking,” Ross said. “Not all Scots like the English.”
They entered the tavern and Talbot scanned the crowded room.
Ross headed toward the bar, where a large man placed ales in front of two men. “Are ye the proprietor?” Ross asked the man when they reached the counter.
“Who be asking?” the man demanded.
“I am looking for a friend who might be staying here,” Ross said. “Large man with a dark beard.”
“That describes half the men here,” the man replied.
“Aye, but this one is English and he is with a gentle born lady.”
Talbot caught the glint of interest in the man’s eyes before he said, “’Tis not uncommon for such folk to be here.”
“I am willing to pay for the information,” Ross said.
The man’s eyes narrowed. “I dinna’ want trouble.”
Ross nodded. “Aye, but if I find out ye know something and you do no’ tell me, there will be trouble.”
The man’s gaze shifted onto Talbot. “Who are ye?”
“I am the lady’s husband.”
“English,” the man said in derision.
“Aye,” Ross said. “And a powerful English knight who will kill ye if he thinks you are lying to him. Then there is the matter of the lady’s grandfather, who will feed whatever pieces of ye that are left to the dogs. Now, be a good lad and tell us what you know.”
The man studied them for a moment. “How much?”
Talbot took a silver piece from the pouch at his side and tossed it. The man caught it mid-slide across the counter.
Talbot grabbed his wrist. “Where are they?”
“Mayhap this man is no’ the man you are looking for,” he said. “Said the woman was wife and he warned us to ignore any cries from her room. Said she isna’ right in the head.”
Chapter Six
Sword in hand, and Ross behind him with his own sword drawn, Talbot turned the knob on his brother’s door. To his surprise, it turned without resistance. He looked over his shoulder at Ross and gave a quick nod, then threw open the door. Nothing prepared Talbot for what he saw. His wife, the woman he had yet to touch, lay on the bed, arms tied above her head, and a gag tied around her mouth.
Fear tightened his chest. She wore the same simple gray dress she had worn on her trip from the convent. The skirt lay bunched around her thighs and thick strands of hair framed her face in tangled disarray. Yet she stared at him, chin held high, eyes aflame with fury. He recalled thinking that when he bedded her he would have to tie her hands to the bedpost, and guilt unlike any he’d ever known rolled over him.
“Sweet God in heaven,” Ross murmured.
Talbot sheathed his sword and reached the bedside in three strides. He was aware that Ross had turned back to guard the door—Talbot guessed, to spare Lady Rhoslyn her dignity. That was a kindness he would not forget.
He noticed a faint discoloration on her cheek that hinted at a bruise. Talbot tamped down his fury as he drew her skirt down over her legs, then pulled the knife from the hilt on his belt. No fear shone in her eyes when he inserted the point into the knot of the gag and carefully cut the fabric. He yanked the cloth from her mouth and she spat out a rag and coughed. He cut the bindings that bound her to the post. She bolted upright, coughing into her bound hands. Talbot gently grasped her wrists. She jumped, her eyes snapping up toward his face.
“Be still,” he said, and inserted the knife blade between the cloth and her wrists, then sliced the cloth in one clean cut.
Talbot glanced around the room, saw a pitcher and mugs on a small table against the left wall, and hurried to them. He sniffed the contents and the strong, fresh smell of ale filled his nostrils. He filled one mug, then crossed back to the bed. Rhoslyn stood, gripping the short post at the foot of the bed for support. She wavered and he grasped her elbow to steady her.
He offered her the mug. “Drink this.”
She reached for the mug with her free hand and he saw the violent tremble of her fingers.
“Sit, lady,” he urged.
She shook her head. “I will never again touch that bed.”
The fury that had been eclipsed by the sight of her tied to the bed rushed to the surface with a violence unlike any he’d experienced. Then he saw the blood on the sheets.
“Where is he?” Talbot demanded.
Rhoslyn’s head jerked up and, from the corner of his eye, he saw Ross turn. She stared for a long moment, and he noted that her eyes were red with crying.
“Where is he?” Talbot repeated.
“I do no’ know.”
“Ross,” he said, “see to Lady Rhoslyn.” Talbot strode toward the door.
Ross met him halfway across the room and grabbed his arm. “Ye might consider taking care of your wife first, lad.”
Talbot looked at him. “Did you see the sheets?”
Ross’ gaze shifted from Talbot to the bed. Ross cursed under his breath and released Talbot.
“’Tis no’ my blood,” Lady Rhoslyn said in a hoarse voice.
He swung to face her. “What?”
The fire in her eyes had rekindled. “It is your brother’s blood.”
He followed her g
aze and saw a dagger lying on the floor between the foot of the bed and the hearth. She looked back at him, a challenge in her eyes, and Talbot realized she was unsure how he would react to the fact that she had tried to kill his brother.
“If it pleases you, my lady, I will bring him here, tie him to that bed, and let you finish the job.”
Her mouth parted in surprise and he was shocked to see her eyes shimmer with tears. The tears were gone as quickly as they appeared and she nodded. The burgeoning respect that had begun to form when she defended herself against him on the road swelled in his chest. How was it possible that he had been betrothed to a woman of such mettle? How was it possible she had been in his care less than a day and she had come to harm?
She took a step forward and gave a small cry. Ross started for her, but Talbot reached her as her knees gave way. He caught her and swept her into his arms.
* * *
Strong arms gathered her close and Rhoslyn wanted to collapse against the solid wall of warmth, but realized that St. Claire was headed for the door. It was enough that he and Ross had witnessed her shame. She could not bear for strangers to see her raw wrists and the hair falling from her braid in a tangled mess about her head. They would discern at a glance what had taken place in this room.
“I will walk.”
“You are safe with me, Lady Rhoslyn,” St. Claire said. “No one will ever again harm you.”
She snapped her head up, startled by the harshness in his voice. The hard line of his mouth was set in the granite of his face.
“Put me down,” she whispered. He didn’t respond. “St. Claire!”
He halted and looked at her.
Ross reached his side and laid a hand on his shoulder. “Lad, mayhap we can find a more discreet exit. If ye carry your wife out the front door there will be talk. ‘Tis best for Lady Rhoslyn if we avoid gossip.”
St. Claire stared down at her, intense eyes filled with an emotion she didn’t understand. The need to cry nearly overwhelmed her.
“I will walk,” she managed in a shaky voice.