Rose leaned with her hand against the thick trunk of a dying oak. Her other hand on Jack‘s shoulder kept the boy from walking into the field. Behind her, a mile of towering conifers stood as barrier between her and the abbey. ―Aye, he will have no reason to stay. He has his horse.‖
She didn‘t know if the words rang hollow to her ears because of the tension inside her or because they were true. Or for something else entirely.
The realization that she had run away from the abbey like a long-eared hare and left Friar Tucker to Roxburghe grated on her like a hot rake. When Jack had met her at the stable, he had told her only that Lord Roxburghe was at the abbey for his horse and Friar Tucker had also arrived. He‘d given Jack a message for her: Go. Now. I will find you at the cemetery.
Why? Had he been so worried for her safety because she had ridden the stallion without permission? She doubted it.
She should go back.
All these thoughts tumbled through her mind as she took a step backward and leaned against the tree, her heart pounding like the steadily increasing thump of a Gypsy‘s tabor. Her gut told her something was terribly wrong.
Go, Roselyn. Her mother‘s long-ago words. I will find you. I promise.
She had not come back for Roselyn. She had died.
Jack dropped to the ground. ―I‘m hungry.‖
Attempting to quiet her inner turmoil, she sat and tweaked Jack‘s nose as if that would dissuade her from fear. ―You need not worry about supper. Sister Nessa always saves you a plate.‖
The breeze stirred the grass, and turning her head, she listened to the distant, lonely bark of a fox. All that lay out here among the sod and the sheep was an abandoned cemetery, unmarked graves of fallen English who had died fighting Scots, men on both sides of the border who never made it home to their families. She saw no sign of another‘s presence, no shadow lurking in the moonlight, and breathing easier, she reached into her pocket and removed the coin she had put there. ―Look what I found today,‖ she said.
Excitement banished the worry from his eyes. ―Where?‖
―Near the crossroads. The mountebank must have dropped it.‖
Jack laughed and gave her a hug. ―Thank you, Miss Rose.‖
He believed the lie, never thinking she could be dishonest with him. He trusted in all things, which was why that mountebank could take advantage of him. But his unerring faith in her made her question her own character, something she rarely did. A lie was still a lie even if spoken with the best of intention.
She had been living one her entire life.
At the thought, the breeze seemed to strengthen, stirring the treetops. Moonlight washed over her—like the wings of an angel. A strange current of electricity rippled through her body and caused her to pull the sorcerer‘s puzzle box from her jacket pocket. The wood seemed to absorb the pale light.
―What is it?‖ asked Jack, leaning over.
―I have no idea.‖
She walked down the hill to the rusted wrought-iron fence that safeguarded the hallowed grounds of the cemetery.
Holding the puzzle box, she peered up at the sky. The clouds were playing on the wind‘s invisible currents and the moon had suddenly come out of hiding.
Heart racing, Rose looked for clues on the box similar to what had been revealed when she had set the box in sunlight. The transcriptions on the box began to disappear until only the circle of the sun and the moon remained. The circle depicting the moon had darkened considerably.
As the moonlight grew in strength, heat pooled in her palms, increasing in intensity. She pressed her thumbs against the sun and moon circlets.
Each side opposite the other yet coexisting. Both shall reveal the path.
―You‘ve been staring at the box a long time,‖ Jack suddenly said from beside her.
She startled. Having not heard his approach, his voice nearly frightened her to death.
―Are ye nervous?‖ he asked.
―I am more nervous nothing will happen.‖
―I don‘t want ye to leave us.‖
She smiled gently at the anxious boy. ―Then perhaps I shall wish only for our happiness.‖
Maybe that was all a person had a right to ask for.
Rose pressed one thumb first against the sun circlet and then against the moon. ―Light to darkness,‖ she said.
To her shock, the pressure she exerted crushed the sides of the box as if it were made of parchment. The wood cracked and the lid sprang open.
She hadn‘t expected the box to open, much less pop its valuable contents into the air. She gave a low cry as she glimpsed a spot of silver appear in a band of moonlight and then vanish behind her in the grass. She whirled and dropped on all fours only to come to an abrupt stop.
As if she had magically conjured him from her earlier thoughts, Lord Roxburghe was kneeling before her in the mist-washed light, his dark cloak pooling on the ground around his muddy boots. He picked up the ring with his thumb and forefinger and met her gaze over the circlet.
―Yours, I presume?‖ His eyes went to the ruined antiquity she held crushed in one hand, then to Jack, then returned to settle on her face. ―Or not yours?‖ He held the ring to a beam of moonlight where it seemed to beckon and glow. ―It looks to be a man‘s fit.‖ His eyes slid over her with amusement. ―Rather like breeches and jerkins . and a certain red stallion.‖
She reached to take it. ―Give it back, my lord.‖
He closed his fingers over the silver orb, startling her. She realized at once her mistake in appearing so nearsighted and eager. So this was to be her deliverance, she thought, feeling a new rise of panic. She had prayed for something to happen to change her life. But surely this was God‘s jest upon her.
Anger seized the whole of her body. She could not believe this was happening. ―You have to give it back, your lordship,‖ Jack piped up before she could speak. ―Miss Rose hasn‘t made her wish. Tell him, Miss Rose. Tell him you have te make a wish.‖
A faint flush heated her cheeks. But before she could deny Jack‘s unwelcome revelation, a horse‘s low wicker pulled her attention from Roxburghe.
He had not come from Hope Abbey alone. Two men on horseback sat on mounts at the wood‘s edge beneath the alder and oaks, casually watching their laird. Rising, she swallowed reflexively past the sudden tightness in her throat. Roxburghe followed her to her feet, unfurling his grand height and forcing her to tilt her chin. In a land where lawlessness was a way of life, she realized she was caught in the open with no accessible weapon. Roxburghe would be on her the moment she attempted to go for her dirk.
―I do not think he is interested in anything I have to say, Jack.‖
―I am very interested in everything you have to say, Lady Roselyn,‖ he said with a hint of steel lining his soft tone. ―Lady Roselyn Elena Lancaster. Rose, to those who think of you fondly.‖
She froze, unable to stop the dizziness washing over her in waves.
A dark brow rose at her silence. ―You do not dispute your name,‖ he said, clearly surprised by her lack of outward response.
She saved them both from a tedious lie. ―Nay, I do not.‖
―Then you understand why I am here.‖
She refused to succumb to panic. The loss of the precious ring faded momentarily as a newer foreboding clutched her gut. If Roxburghe knew her name, then he knew she was Lord Hereford‘s daughter.
―What have you done with Friar Tucker? How did you find me?‖
―Now, that is a story that will take as long to tell as it took me to find you tonight. Take off your boots.‖
She blanched. Did he mean to strip her naked? And with Jack present?
―Take off your boots, Lady Roselyn, and give them to Jack. I have no intention of chasing you should you decide to run. One of us might get hurt.‖
Rose sat on a rock wall, the remnant of an ancient foundation to the gatehouse that once guarded the cemetery. She bent her head, and turning her back to Roxburghe, removed each boot, giving first one and then the
other to Jack. Fear made her feel weak in front of him. She forced herself past it and stood.
Roxburghe looked down as Jack sidled closer to Rose. Withdrawing a key from beneath his cloak, he said, ―Friar Tucker will appreciate being let out of the tower. He might be hungry.‖
―Go,‖ she told Jack when he failed to move.
He peered up at her. Jack was too young to understand the machinations of border politics and did not seem convinced of her safety. But she could take care of herself and wanted him gone. She gave him what remained of the sorcerer‘s box. ―Take the key. Return to the abbey.‖
―But Miss Rose—‖
―Go, Jack.‖ Sensing his confusion, she placed her palms on each side of his face and forced him to look into her eyes to reassure him. ―Friar Tucker will know that I am with Lord Roxburghe. I will be all right.‖
Jack reluctantly nodded and took the key from Roxburghe‘s hand. He walked to the edge of the cemetery, looked back at her once, then ran across the glade into the woods.
When he was gone, Rose faced Roxburghe and met his assessing eyes coolly. He was frowning. Just a slight crease in his brow. The moonlight gleamed off his raven-dark hair, giving it the sheen of silk. Her mistake was that she had not stepped away from him and the power that emanated from him. An unexpected shiver burned through her and with it came a sudden awareness of her own naiveté and peril.
―Give the ring back, my lord. And . I will not fight you.‖
His brow arched, as if her words forced him to consider her more thoroughly.
―Do women never fight you, my lord?‖ she asked.
He raised his hand, signaling to someone behind her. Two men with horses stood thirty feet away in the mist-shrouded grass and approached.
He held up the ring to light. ―What is this to you?‖ he asked.
Only my dreams and my future.
―A sentimental trinket I found in the abbey crypt.‖
He deflected the half-truth with a grin that did not reach his eyes. He slipped the braided band of silver on his finger. ―Then you will understand if I find the ring equally sentimental—if only to keep you near.‖
There had been no time to think or to respond. ―Nooo,‖ sounded weak against the frantic beating of her heart.
He did not even know what he had done.
Ruark felt a moment‘s dizziness that almost made him stumble, and the heel of his palm went to his temple as he opened his eyes and peered at Rose narrowly, wondering what the hell kind of curse she had just put on him. He had been half expecting that she would have taken off running. The instant the thought had also seemed to occur to her, he recovered enough to grab her arm.
―Too late, my lady.‖
She gasped as he pulled her to where his men waited. ―Let go of me! What are you doing?‖
She shoved against him as he felt the pockets of her jacket and her calves for any weapons, stopping short of running his hands over her bosom and backside. But as he rose in front of her, his eyes told her he would strip her bloody naked if she gave him cause.
One of his men held Loki‘s reins. The horse carried no saddle. Ruark lifted Rose to the red stallion and hoped she could ride bareback.
―You assume I am more valuable to Hereford than your brother,‖ she said.
―You are a treasure to any man, Lady Roselyn.‖ He grinned, for indeed she was like silver in moonlight. ―More than you know.‖
The sound of a horse at a gallop intruded. A large bay crested the rise in front of him.
―Jason‘s coomin‘,‖ one of his men called.
A moment later, the lad reined in his horse in front of Ruark.
―Raiders, my lord.‖ Sound carried in the glade. He could hear the distant thunder of horses. ―At least two dozen.‖
―Friends of yours?‖ he asked Rose.
―Geddes Graham leads those miscreants,‖ she said. ―It is like him to be out on a full moon causing mischief. I would say that he is harmless, but it would be a lie. Still, I would not wish for you to kill him. I am friends with his mother.‖
He signaled another rider some distance down the road behind him. ―I have no desire for a bloodbath, Jason. Make sure the others know. Warn Colum he will probably be having guests,‖
he said.
Ruark had left Colum to watch the abbey in case Rose returned there while he and his men had spoken to the mountebank and learned that there was cemetery not far from the woods. With Rose‘s love for the macabre and crypts, Ruark deduced she would come here. He had been right. But the presence of the raiders concerned him.
―Geddes will not harm Friar Tucker,‖ Rose said. ―Even he would not dare.‖
Ruark mounted his own horse and pulled on Loki‘s reins. He moved off the road and into the woods. As he rode past his men awaiting him at the cemetery‘s edge, they fell in behind him. He kept to the trees as best as the landscape allowed and rode quickly.
Rose rode just behind and to the left of him. An occasional glance over his shoulder told him she was still on the horse, though he didn‘t have to look to know. He could feel her. Smell the lilac encasing his senses. Her docility should have made him suspicious for she was the least submissive woman he had ever known, but it was enough just to keep her out of his head.
He clenched and unclenched his gloved fist on the reins trying to ease the tension from his body, annoyed that he could not. A mile later, his small party of riders joined two more of his men awaiting him. The moon remained ghostly bright, skimming the treetops, and soon Ruark was concentrating on the thin ribbon of trail.
Traveling for a half hour, he followed a path parallel to the river before he broke into the open. Except for Colum, the rest of his men were there. They fell in behind him as he rode his horse down the loamy bank and into the river. A cold spray of water leaped to life around him and slowly rose to his calves. His men had worked two days to find a place shallow enough to traverse the river without using the public crossing north of here. To his left, the river‘s rocky bed dropped and the fast-moving current would grab a person. A two day‘s ride away laid Kerr land, and safety.
In that instant, the stallion‘s reins went slack. He twisted in the saddle. Somehow, Rose had cut the reins. Ruark cursed. He swung his horse around and grabbed the stallion‘s bridle, barely ducking in time as she made the horse rear. Throwing her leg over the horse, she slipped from the back of the stallion and into the rapidly moving current. For a moment, she disappeared into the swirling blackness only to bob up ten feet away. Even as he heard someone shouting in the darkness, Ruark had already removed his boots and jumped into the river after her.
Chapter 5
Rose didn‘t know how long she had been in the water. She had swum maybe a hundred yards when the icy current grabbed her hard and would not relinquish its fierce grip, even after she found purchase in the rocks. The undertow pulled at her, thrashed her to and fro. Driftwood wedged between the rocks pressed against her.
Somehow, she‘d managed to remove her jacket, nearly drowned attempting the feat, but her jerkin and breeches still weighed her down. She lost her grip on the jacket and watched it sail away, lashed and tangled by the boiling white water. She had learned to swim in this river, knew it well, had not for one moment thought that escaping into it could actually kill her. When she slid from the stallion‘s back into the water, she had not considered that the recent rains had swollen the river to its outer banks.
With the moon having gone behind the clouds, she struggled to see. She could hear shouting behind her. She looked back over her shoulder just in time to see Roxburghe slide from his horse and push off into the river after her. Panic struck her. She struggled to pull herself onto the slick rocks at the water‘s edge, but her hands slipped, the current jerked her backward and swept her along like human flotsam.
The river‘s rolling banks became cliffs that began to rise on either side of her, creating a shadowed narrow channel. The passage became a black abyss. The current picked up speed
and power. She was headed straight for a waterfall! She swam harder at an angle, fighting to reach the shallower water.
She made it to the other side and with all her strength, grabbed a projecting tree branch covered with debris. A backwash spun in a monstrous whirlpool only feet away. She knew craggy boulders hid underneath. Over the water‘s roar, she heard the thunder of the waterfall, and couldn‘t believe she had traveled so far. Her heart hammered, her chest ached. No wonder she could no longer feel her fingers. She gasped for breath, water roiling over her.
Inching her hands one over the other, she sought a stronger grip, found one, and held on for life. If she let go she would be sucked into the whorl of white water and spit out over the waterfall. She didn‘t know which was worse—to have gone willingly with Roxburghe or be dashed against the rocks in a foamy, pulpy end.
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