Highlanders (3 page)

Talbot nodded. “I heard the old earl was a seasoned knight.”

“He was,” Iain said.

“I suppose you must aid Seward,” Baxter said. “Even if the matter has nothing to do with you.”

“It has everything to do with ye,” Iain interjected. “Until now, Roberts wouldna’ dare defy Seward. He knows Lady Rhoslyn would kill him herself.”

“God forbid I do any less,” Talbot said. “It is Seward that Roberts wants, then, not Melrose?”

“Roberts doesna’ love Melrose—he and the old baron fought constantly over cattle—but he hates Seward and I believe he is counting on ye being pleased when he is dead.”

Talbot nodded. “What does Roberts hope to gain by killing him?”

“Revenge. He wanted to marry the Lady Rhoslyn, but Seward married her to Harper instead.”

Talbot wagered it was the lady who refused. He also suspected Roberts had more than revenge in mind.

Iain pinned him with a hard stare. “These are your people now, St. Claire. You must protect your own, or no’ a single Highlander will follow ye. I have fifty men waiting outside Castle Glenbarr willing to follow you. It is a start. Dinna’ throw it away.”

Talbot knew he had to prove himself. But even if he saved all of Buchan, the one fight the Highlanders might not aid was the effort to drag his wife from one of their kinsman’s bed, especially if she carried that man’s child.

Frustration lashed through him. Even if Melrose got Rhoslyn with child, Talbot wouldn’t annul their marriage. He wouldn’t be the first man to raise as heir a son that wasn’t his. Before this night ended, Seward would understand that.

Talbot considered having the priest perform the marriage ceremony before marching to Longford Castle. He relished the idea of surprising Seward with that news once Talbot rescued him. Though there would be no consummating the union before he left. Lady Rhoslyn certainly expected more than a three-minute introduction to his skills as a lover.

He addressed Baxter. “Gather a hundred men and send them to Longford. Have Ross lead them with Iain and his men. Let us see what Harper’s captain is made of. You ride out, meet the men bringing Seward’s men-at-arms, and take them to Longford. Stay west of the castle in the forest, until I arrive. Send scouts to assess Roberts’ men. Sunrise is another three hours. If luck is with us, we can end this before daylight.”

He experienced an uncharacteristic hesitation. With the hundred men he was sending to deal with Roberts, Castle Glenbarr would be less well guarded than he liked. He had yet to discover who were his friends and who were his enemies. Then there was the lady to consider. God only knew what she would attempt while he marched to save her grandfather.

What could she possibly do locked in his chambers? One of her friends in the castle might aid her escape. She wouldn’t need help, he realized with a start. Castle Glenbarr had been her home for eight years. She must know every door, window and passage—including any passageways from the lord’s bedchambers he had yet to discover.  

“Have Ross go on ahead,” Talbot told Baxter. “I will join you soon.”

“What if Roberts attacks before ye arrive?” Iain demanded.

“Then kill him.”

* * *

Rhoslyn slipped inside the room where slept some of the maids. She wanted information and hoped that one of the girls might have a knife, and so save her the risk of going to the storeroom. Embers burned red in the hearth, casting dim light across the room’s four beds. The two beds closest to the fire were empty, but the blankets were rumpled.

“Who is it?” a female voice demanded from one shadowy corner.

Rhoslyn recognized the voice emanating from one of several shapes huddled on the bed. “Sheila, it is I, Lady Rhoslyn.”

“Lady Rhoslyn?”

The girl jumped from the bed and hurriedly lit a candle from the hearth, then crossed to Rhoslyn. Her hand flew to her mouth, then she grasped one of Rhoslyn’s hands.

“My lady, thank God you are safe.”

Three more figures rose and crowded behind Sheila.

“Is something wrong?” Rhoslyn demanded. “Have St. Claire’s men abused you?”

“Nay. We are all treated well. But we have been afraid this last week.”

The Dragon had been there a week? “Did the Dra—er, St. Claire speak with Duncan?”

Sheila nodded. “They had a long meeting the day after he arrived.”

Of course they did. St. Claire would want to inform the steward that he was the new laird of Castle Glenbarr. But that didn’t mean Duncan had shown him the storeroom. Duncan was the steward, but Rhoslyn kept the rolls. Each month, she and Alec put a little aside that wasn’t included in the accounts the tax collector saw. The accounts that accounted for
all
profits remained locked in the storeroom. Rhoslyn couldn’t ask the women if St. Claire had visited the storeroom, for they knew nothing of the room’s existence.

”Is it true, my lady? Are ye and Sir Talbot married?” Sheila asked.

Rhoslyn gritted her teeth, unwilling to acknowledge the questions, but the more she thought on the matter, the more she wondered how they would pry St. Claire out of Castle Glenbarr.

“How many men does he have?” she asked.

“At least a hundred and fifty,” Sheila said. “And I hear talk three hundred more are on their way.”

“Four hundred and fifty?” Rhoslyn said. She envisioned their savings gone inside a year.

“Sir Talbot stocked the barn with cattle,” Shelia said.

Her cattle? “Have you a knife?” she asked.

Sheila’s eyes widened. “Nay.”

She would be forced to go to the storeroom. Truth be told, she burned to learn if St. Claire knew of the room.

“How fares the rest of Castle Glenbarr?” Rhoslyn asked. “Mistress Muira? St. Claire has not overworked her in the kitchen?”

“Oh no,” Lorna, a younger maid, interjected. “Muira warned him that she will no’ tolerate misbehaving from the men. She threatened to cut off the bollocks of any man that touched the women. Sir Talbot told her that if any of his men harassed us, he would hold the dog down while she used her knife.”

“He did not say that?” Rhoslyn blurted.

Sheila nodded. “He did.”

“He is handsome,” Lorna said. “Very handsome.”

Rhoslyn gave the girl a critical look. “Your father would not be pleased to learn you are lusting after an English knight.”

The girl hung her head.

“What of Duncan?” Rhoslyn asked. He could help her escape. She had elevated him from steward to lord in her absence.

“He was very angry,” Sheila said. “We feared he would challenge Sir Talbot, but when he read King Edward’s letter saying you and he were to wed, he left.”

Duncan gone? “Where did he go?”

“To your grandfather at Banmore House.”

So the craven turned tail and ran. Her grandfather wouldn’t be pleased.

“Return to your beds,” she ordered the maids.

They obeyed and Rhoslyn headed for the storeroom.

* * *

Talbot eyed the form beneath the blankets on the bed. Lady Rhoslyn hadn’t even troubled herself to make the pillows look much like a sleeping person. It had been longer than he could remember since anyone underestimated him. He grunted. She hadn’t underestimated him. He foolishly left her alone in a room that she had escaped in the time it took her to shove pillows beneath a blanket. He should have tied her to his bed. His cock pulsed at the thought. There lay just as dangerous a road as did her escape. 

He scanned the room. The door had been locked from the outside. Either someone helped her and was wise enough to lock the door when they left, or there was a passageway in the room. Talbot crossed to the hearth where the wall on each side was paneled wood, and immediately noticed the panel to the right was slightly misaligned. He slid a fingernail into the seam, drew open the panel, and peered inside. A narrow passageway disappeared into darkness.

He got a torch from the hallway, then returned to the passageway and examined the floor. The dust revealed small footprints. Talbot started forward, grimacing when his broad shoulders brushed the walls several feet inside. He reached the end of the passageway to find himself in an empty bedchamber. He recognized the room as one in the west wing. A hint of candle wax scented the air but he saw no candle.

Where would Lady Rhoslyn have gone from here? The stables? Another hidey hole? Was there another passageway in this room, or had she doubled back to this wing, where a secret passageway led from the chapel to a concealed door in the castle’s wall. No. Lady Rhoslyn cared too much about her possessions to leave just yet. Which meant there was one place she would go before leaving.

Chapter Three

Rhoslyn hurried through the solar door into Alec’s bedchambers and stopped short at sight of the secret passageway’s open panel. She had closed the panel. She crossed to the bed and pulled back the curtain. The blanket still covered the pillows. Rhoslyn released the fabric and turned. Who had been here? She shifted her gaze to the door. She had no key to Alec’s room, so had returned through the hallways and solar so that she wouldn’t have to detour to the far side of the west wing through the passageway. Was the hall door locked?

She crossed to the door and eased it open a crack. Her heart pounded. Whoever had entered the room found the secret entrance and—Did St. Claire know of the secret passageway? Why leave her here if he knew? Because, she realized, he hadn’t known, but had discovered her gone, then deduced the truth and found the panel.

Her heart fell. She had hoped to be gone before she was discovered missing. Should she leave without the dagger? Nay, traveling without a weapon was foolish, and she had to see if St. Claire had raided their savings.

Rhoslyn went to the left corner of the room near the window and knelt at the wall. She wiggled the bottom left stone free from the wall and breathed in relief to find the key lying in the dust. She took it and replaced the stone, then hurried from the room.

When she at last neared the bottom of the stairs leading to the kitchen, she slowed her descent. Light bathed the half dozen remaining steps. The housekeeper kept a low fire banked in the kitchen hearth, but this was more than the meager dance of light from embers. She crept to the last stair and peeked around the corner. Light spilled into the kitchen from the great hall. Two men stood at one of the work tables.

She glanced at the scullery, which lay ten feet straight ahead. The men’s backs faced her. Could she reach the room without being noticed? Rhoslyn drew back and waited a long moment, then peeked around the corner again. The men were still there. They couldn’t tarry long. Shouldn’t they be searching for her instead of foraging for food?

Another man appeared in the doorway. “Baxter awaits us at the gate.”

“I plan to run a sword through Roberts myself,” one of the men at the table said.

His companion grunted. “After I shove my blade up his arse.”

“I imagine Sir Talbot will do that for us,” the first replied as they started toward the door. “He is not pleased the bastard is threatening Lady Rhoslyn’s grandfather.”

Rhoslyn barely stifled a gasp. Were they speaking of Aodh Roberts? How could he—understanding flashed lightning fast, followed by a fury so hot she envisioned thrusting a dagger into Aodh’s gutless heart. He hadn’t forgiven her for refusing his offer of marriage, and now that King Edward had married her to an English knight, he believed she would have no way to avenge her grandfather’s death. The coward must believe St. Claire would welcome her grandfather’ death, for that meant he would take possession of all his land.

A thought stopped her. The warrior had said that St. Claire wasn’t pleased that Aodh was threatening her grandfather. Was the knight going to help her grandfather? There had to be something she didn’t know. The man who had sent the brute that kidnapped her was not an honorable knight. But—she shook her head to ward off confusion. None of this mattered. She had to get to Longford this night. Not Longford Castle, she realized with horror. If Aodh was there and St. Claire was on his way, it was too dangerous for her to go there. She would go to her grandfather’s castle. She would be just as safe there as Longford.

Rhoslyn eased forward and peeked around the corner. The men had gone. Lifting her skirts, she hurried down the last few steps and pulled a torch from a wall sconce. She held her breath as she quickly lit the torch from the small flame in the hearth, then hurried into the scullery. Along the far wall, she pressed a panel that opened to steep, narrow stairs. Rhoslyn took the first few steps, turned, and pulled the panel closed behind her.

Carefully, she descended the stairs to the first level where she turned left. A lone door was located on the far wall. Rhoslyn grasped the door handle and held her breath as she pressed the latch. Locked. She closed her eyes and released the breath while sending up a prayer of thanks to Saint George for protecting their valuables.

Rhoslyn pulled the key from her belt pouch, quickly unlocked the door, then slipped inside. A cupboard stood against the far wall near the left corner. Swords, axes, crossbows and shields were mounted on all visible walls. Additional weapons leaned in corners. A chest sat against the left wall, filled with larger valuables, including the dagger she sought. The coin, however, lay hidden in a smaller chest inside a secret panel.

She crossed the room to the wall on the right and knelt. Deftly, she ran her fingers along the bottom of a stone until she felt the latch. She pressed and the stone clicked open. Relief flooded her when she found the chest unmolested.

“I wondered if there was a hiding place where more coin was hidden,” said a male voice behind her.

Rhoslyn shot to her feet and whirled. The beast who had kidnapped her stood, shoulder leaning against the cupboard. Where had he come from? She had closed the door behind her. He couldn’t have entered without her knowledge. She cut her gaze to the corner behind him. It was the only place he could have possibly hidden. How had he wedged his broad shoulders between the cupboard and wall? How had she missed him there?

His eyes dropped to the chest. “Is that money entered into the accounts?”

“Ask your laird,” she retorted.

His gaze jerked up to meet hers, surprise in his dark eyes, and Rhoslyn realized her mistake. Her eyes flew to his right arm, covered with a linen shirt and chainmail, where was rumored to be painted a picture of St. Claire’s sister who had died as a young girl.

Rhoslyn lifted her gaze to his face. “
You
.”

He didn’t reply, only stared at her with intense brown eyes. A strange flush of heat reached her cheeks. She startled upon realizing his attention lingered on her mouth.

“
You
murdered my grandfather’s men—then kidnapped a defenseless woman,” she said.

His gaze lifted to hers. “Defenseless? You stabbed me.”

“Ye are a common thief.”

“Have you counted the coin?” he asked.

She frowned. “What?”

“I wonder that you can call me thief when you have yet to confirm that a single silver coin is gone.”

“It matters not if every piece is here. Ye will spend it when and how you please—despite the fact the money is mine.”

“It was your husband’s, I wager,” he replied.

“As much mine as his,” she shot back, remembering the countless hours spent buying and selling goods, saving, counting, hording money and valuables against the storm that had brewed in Scotland. But her efforts had been in vain. The storm had come to her. She suddenly remembered the dagger she’d come for—and her grandfather. “What has happened with my grandfather?”

“Aodh Roberts intends to settle a score.”

“Aodh is a bitter man, who takes what he wants rather than work for it.”

“I have yet to meet him,” St. Claire replied in an even voice, but Rhoslyn was certain she detected a hint of amusement.

“You will meet him tonight at Longford Castle.”

“Who said I was going to Longford Castle?”

“I overheard your men say so, and your chainmail tells me ye plan for battle.”

He nodded, but said nothing. Rhoslyn realized he didn’t appear surprised that she had escaped from his bedchamber, and he had clearly known where to look for her.

“You have made yourself comfortable in my home,” she said.

“My home,” he replied.

Anger knotted her stomach. “King Edward is not a priest, and our marriage has no’ been officiated or consummated.” Sweet Jesu, she must sound like a madwoman.

He straightened. “You are right.” He reached her side in three steps. She was forced to tilt her head back to maintain eye contact. He grasped her arm, but she pulled free and retreated a step.

“What are you doing?”

“Do you plan to stay here the night?” he asked.

She glanced at the chest.

“Never mind the chest,” he said. “We will lock the door when we leave.”

He didn’t wait for an answer, but grasped her arm again and drew her toward the door. She wanted to protest, wanted to return the small chest to its hiding place—more than anything, she wanted to grab the dagger from the larger chest—but wants would not help her at this moment.

He stepped into the hallway, then pulled the door shut and waited.

She lifted her chin. “You must have a key. Lock the door yourself.”

He shrugged.

Rhoslyn cried out when he pulled her against his side. “What are ye doing?”

“I have no wish to be conked over the head or stabbed in the back while I lock the door.” His tone was mild as he opened his palm to reveal the key he’d been holding.

“For pity’s sake, release me,” she said. “I dinna’ plan to kill you by stabbing ye in the back.”

His arm tightened around her waist as he inserted the key and she was suddenly aware of his fingers pressing into her stomach and her arm wedged against the hard muscle of his chest. Her heart picked up speed. He turned the key in the lock and his fingers flexed when he withdrew the key and straightened.

“So you intend to look me in the eye when you kill me?” he asked.

“Aye,” she replied.

He drew her down the short corridor without loosening his hold. “I am gratified my wife has some honor.”

“I am no’ your wife.”

“Aye, you are.”

They reached the stairs and he urged her up ahead of him. In the kitchen, he grasped her arm and led her into the great hall. Men stood in half a dozen clusters about the room. Rhoslyn caught sight of a priest sitting with his back to them at the table nearest the hearth.

“Why is Father Crey here?” she demanded, but knew the answer. Her head whirled. What was she going to do? How could she stop this?
Could
she stop this? “Were ye no’ on your way to help my grandfather?”

“Aye.”

“Then how can we have a wedding?”

He looked down at her. “Even by your Scottish law we are already wed. I am willing to say the vows simply to please you.”

Rhoslyn understood. “Ye will help my grandfather only if I say the vows. Along with being a murderer and kidnapper, you are an extortionist.”

“You forgot thief,” he said.

“I have forgotten nothing.”

They neared the priest and he rose.

“I will help Seward because he is your grandfather. Is that not enough?” St. Claire asked.

“And if I do no’ say the vows?”

He shrugged and she wanted to scream.

“Then you can await me in my bedchambers until I return—or your bedchambers. I imagine there is no secret passageway in the lady’s room as there is in my chambers. I will bring your grandfather back with me and then come to you.”

Rhoslyn stared openmouthed.

“Fear not, lady. I am not so uncouth as to come to your bed straight from the battlefield. I promise to bathe first.”

“If ye dare come to my bed I will cut off your bollocks,” she snapped.

His brows rose. “I see you have been talking with Mistress Muira.”

* * *

Lady Rhoslyn was not what Talbot had expected. She was beautiful. A fact that might be more pitfall than windfall. Auburn hair hung to her waist in a thick braid that begged to be unraveled and spread in a halo atop white sheets. He would never wonder what this woman thought. Every emotion appeared in her dark eyes like a rolling tide. And in this instant her eyes conveyed distrust. But he didn’t read in them that she would refuse the vows.

“I will not repeat the vows,” she said.

Leave it to a woman to prove him wrong.

Talbot shrugged.

“Sweet Jesu, shrug one more time, St. Claire, and I will drive a blade through your heart.”

He started to shrug again—a habit he had to confess his father’s wife disliked as much as Lady Rhoslyn seemed to—but he managed to check the action.

Talbot looked at the priest. “You have read the contract, Priest?”

“I have.”

“It is binding?”

The man’s mouth thinned. “Aye, it is binding.”

Talbot looked at Lady Rhoslyn. “As far as the law is concerned, we are man and wife. If you care nothing for holy blessings, then you may go to bed.”

She cast a helpless appeal to the priest.

“I am sorry, Lady Rhoslyn. It is true, you are legally married. King Edward has decreed it.”

She cut her eyes to Talbot. Anger had darkened them. “Then I imagine we have no need of a priest.”

“But ye do,” Father Crey interjected. “For when the bairns come.”

Her cheeks reddened, but it was the anguish in her eyes that caught Talbot’s attention. He recalled the newest headstone in the family cemetery. Dougal Harper. The child had been two months old when he died.