Highlanders

by Tarah Scott

  “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.

  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 wi
ll 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.