by Tarah Scott
“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.
“There is always the chance your husband will not survive the battle tonight,” Father Crey said. “If you have my blessing, should he die, then no one can dispute that his lands are yours.”
Lady Rhoslyn glanced at Talbot.
“Beware what you wish for,” he said. “The next man Edward marries you to might not be as generous as I.”
“Generous?” she retorted. “Ye have taken over my home, your men eat my food, burn my wood.”
“I have paid for my men out of the money I brought with me. I will spend none of Castle Glenbarr’s money until I have studied the household rolls.”
“Ye will deal with me and my grandfather if you take anything that doesna’ belong to you. And lest you wonder, he will deal with you concerning the slaughter of his men.”
“That he will, for he is responsible for the death of one of my men.”
“One of your men? By God, you have bollocks. Ye slaughter his men, yet have the audacity to be affronted when one of your men dies in the battle?”
“There was no slaughter,” St. Claire said. “Only three of Seward’s men were lost. The rest are on their way here.”
“What? I do not believe ye. I heard the fighting.”
“When they arrive, Lady Rhoslyn, you may see for yourself.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Three were killed?”
“Aye.”
She pursed her lips. “You feel no’ one wit of regret for killing those men.”
“You may speak with your grandfather concerning their deaths. It is he who chose to defy law and secret you away in order to perform an illegal marriage. I merely protected what is mine.”
Surprise flitted across her face, quickly replaced by ire.
“Do no’ delay,” the priest urged. “If Sir Talbot dies and your union hasna’ been sanctioned by the church, Edward can seize Sir Talbot’s land, as well as yours.”
The truth of what he said flared in the lady’s eyes. She looked at Talbot. “I will no’ marry ye unless you bring my grandfather back safe.”
Talbot canted his head. “I vow to deliver him tonight. Until then, you will await me in your chambers.”
Her eyes narrowed. “I will wait where I please.”
“Nay, lady. My men are well trained, but I will no’ risk your safety while I am gone.” Talbot shifted his attention to Father Crey. “We will need your services tomorrow.”
“The wedding is a month hence,” Lady Rhoslyn said.
He shrugged. “As you wish. We can repeat the vows now or a month from now, but when I return, we will live as man and wife.”
Chapter Four
Rhoslyn ascended the stairs ahead of St. Claire. He kept two steps behind, but she could still feel the heat from his large body. They reached the second floor and she glanced left. A blanket-covered figure slept in the shadows of the balcony overlooking the great hall. Movement and a guttural groan emanated from the blanket. She slowed and squinted into the shadowy corner, then veered toward the balcony. Rhoslyn yanked the blanket from the figure. She gasped. A man lay atop a woman. Her legs wrapped his waist. St. Claire muttered something and brushed past Rhoslyn. He grabbed the man by the arm and yanked him up and off the woman. Rhoslyn caught sight of the man’s sculpted body and healthy erection.
“Do no’ hurt him, laird,” the woman cried.
“Alana?” Rhoslyn took a step closer and the woman shrank deeper into the corner, covering herself with the blanket. “Alana, have ye lost your mind?” Rhoslyn demanded. She whirled on the two men. “You let your men abuse my women, St. Claire?”
“She does not look abused,” he replied.
“Daniel wouldna’ harm me,” Alana interjected.
“I do not want a brood of bastards running about Castle Glenbarr,” Rhoslyn snapped.
“Bastards have their uses, my lady,” St. Claire replied.
She rolled her eyes. “You are too sensitive. I meant that these women will be left with fatherless children to raise.”
“You cannot stop human nature,” he said.
“I can enforce rules. Your men must understand that their actions carry consequences.”
“You mean marriage?”
“Or prison.”
“Sir Talbot,” Daniel began.
“Beware, Daniel,” St. Claire warned, “you might find yourself in prison this very night, or worse—” Rhoslyn thought she detected a hint of amusement when he ended with, “married.”
“Get up, Alana,” Rhoslyn ordered. “As for ye,” she said to Daniel, “be gone.”
“Nay, my lady,” Alana cried, but the man made no such protestations. He grabbed his clothes and rushed down the stairs.
Alana leapt to her feet. “Nay,” she wailed.
“The man sported with you, nothing more,” Rhoslyn said in exasperation.
“He might have wanted more if ye hadna’ interfered.”
Rhoslyn pinned her with a hard stare. “You forget yourself, Alana. I am mistress here.”
The girl’s eyes dropped. “I havena’ forgotten.”
“Put on your clothes and go to bed,” Rhoslyn ordered.
Alana grabbed her dress from the floor and with the blanket around her shoulders, hurried down the hallway ahead of them.
“Keep your men away from my women,” Rhoslyn told St. Claire as they started forward.
“As you wish, my lady.”
Something in his voice caused Rhoslyn to look up at him. He lifted a brow, but she read nothing more in his expression than curiosity. But this time she was sure she had heard it: Amusement.
Rhoslyn tossed in bed, stomach churning. Sheila stirred in her sleep beside her and Rhoslyn stilled. The maid quieted. Rhoslyn stared up at the canopy in the near darkness, willing her mind not to picture her son’s crib beside her bed. How long had she lain in bed? Two hours? Longer? Try as she might, she still heard only Dougal’s ragged breathing in those moments before he breathed his last while cradled in her arms. The weight of his small form pressed against her arms. She’d told herself a thousand times it was her imagination, but he’d seemed lighter in that instant after he’d died. Did the soul have substance?
Rhoslyn forced back a sob. Fourteen months in the convent and the pain still cut like a knife. She was so certain it would lessen by the time she returned. Lies! She fled to the convent with the intention of never returning. Wasn’t that why she planned to dower her stepdaughter with Castle Glenbarr? A rustling caused her to start before she realized that their guard merely shifted on the bench near the hearth.
Oh Dougal! Dearest Alec. You left without seeing your son buried.
Neither had Rhoslyn seen him buried. She’d simply left him to be l
owered into the cold ground without the comfort of a mother.
She fisted her hands. Why, God, did I not die instead?
Curse King Edward for interfering in her life and curse St. Claire for bringing her to Castle Glenbarr.
A knock sounded on the door and Rhoslyn bolted upright in bed. Had St. Claire returned? Her stomach turned a somersault before she realized he wouldn’t knock. He would enter unbidden through the door that connected to the solar. She drew back the bed curtain and watched her guard as he reach the door.
Hand on sword hilt, he called, “Who goes there?”
“Mistress Muira,” the housekeeper replied.
The guard opened the door. Rhoslyn slipped from bed, fully dressed, and hurried toward the housekeeper.
“Mistress Muira.” Rhoslyn embraced her.
The old woman gave her a hug, then drew back.
“Ye are looking well,” Muira said.
“And you,” Rhoslyn said. “All is well? You have not been ill-treated?”
“St. Claire has been fair. You have a visitor, my lady.”
“A visitor, so early? Who?”
“Dayton St. Claire.”
“Dayton St. Claire is here?” the warrior said. “What business has Sir Talbot’s brother with Lady Rhoslyn at this time of morning?”
Rhoslyn wondered the same thing. “Show him into our private solar,” she said. “You may join us there, Knight.” He opened his mouth, but she cut him off. “With you and Sheila present, Sir Talbot canna’ take issue with his brother visiting me. Go, Mistress Muira. ‘Tis early, but if ye would send up mead, I would be grateful.”
Rhoslyn and Sheila sat in the solar with the guard standing near their bench when the door opened and Mistress Muira entered. The man who followed was as different from Sir Talbot as the sun was from the moon. Where Talbot was fair, this man was dark. Talbot’s hair hung to his shoulders, but his brother’s hair covered only his ears. His dark beard gave him the look of the pagan god of Mars, though softer, gentler. More than the physical differences, was the warm demeanor and cordial light in this man’s eyes. Sir Talbot struck her as hard, distant.
Sheila hurried to the table as Muira set down the mead and goblets. Dayton St. Claire reached the bench where Rhoslyn sat and grasped her hand, then fell to one knee, and she recalled Sir Ascot’s actions at the convent. Her heart twisted to think of the knight dead, then she remembered St. Claire saying only three men had perished in the fight. Was Sir Ascot one?
“Lady Rhoslyn,” Dayton St. Claire murmured against her hand.
Rhoslyn glimpsed the distrust that narrowed their guard’s eyes. “Rise, sir, and sit with me.”
He obeyed and Sheila offered them goblets filled with wine. She gave the third goblet to their guard, then hurried back to the table as Mistress Muira left.
“To what do I owe the honor of your visit?” Rhoslyn asked.
“I have come to celebrate my brother’s marriage.” He took a drink of mead.
She laughed. “The wedding is a month away. You are early, sir.” Not to mention, he need not have asked for an audience in the early morning in order to celebrate his brother’s marriage. Clearly, their guard agreed, for he stiffened.
“Forgive me, Lady Rhoslyn,” Dayton said. “I could have waited until tomorrow to meet you. The truth is, I bring a gift for you, one I fear my brother might object to you receiving.”
Their guard took a step forward.
“All is well, Knight,” he said to the man. “I speak of a horse. An Arabian brought from the Holy Land.”
“How could ye have known to bring a wedding gift from so far away?” Rhoslyn asked, and also wondered why the man was truly there. This, too, could have waited until tomorrow.
He grinned. “I confess, I did not know. I bought the beast for myself. When I heard Talbot was to marry, I knew the horse should be my wedding gift.”
“I am an able rider. I am anxious to see the steed.”
“That must surely wait until tomorrow, my lady. To take you from the comfort of your chambers so early is a sin Talbot would not forgive.”
And one he would not allow, Rhoslyn privately acknowledged.
“I do not deny that I was anxious to meet you,” he said.
“Were you?” Rhoslyn sipped her wine.
“I wondered what kind of woman would eventually capture Talbot’s attention.”
“I believe ‘twas King Edward whose attention I caught,” she replied.
He laughed. “Aye, but Talbot is one to go only where he pleases.”
Rhoslyn thought the opposite was true. He obeyed his king without question.
Dayton finished his wine and rose. “Would you like more wine, my lady?”
“Sheila will fetch it for us.”
“Perhaps your guard would like more?” He turned toward the man.
Dayton’s arm shot out. Sheila cried out as his fist rammed into the guard’s jaw. The man’s head snapped back. Rhoslyn leapt to her feet. The knight reared back, fist raised, but Dayton was quicker, and rammed a second fist into his belly, then another into his ribs. The guard swung. Dayton sidestepped and brought his clasped hands down with all his might across the man’s back. He slumped to the floor.
Rhoslyn whirled toward the door as Sheila screamed. Iron fingers seized Rhoslyn’s arm and yanked her back against a hard body. She twisted wildly in an effort to break loose.
“Lady Rhoslyn,” he said, “I swear, this is not what it seems.”
Sheila screamed again.
“Silence, woman,” he hissed to her, then said to Rhoslyn, “Please.”
His hold remained firm. Sheila would provide no help. The girl now whimpered. Rhoslyn stilled, breathing heavily, and nodded. He released her, but stepped between her and the door.
“This was the only way,” he said.
Rhoslyn backed up two paces. She wished she had secured one of the daggers from the storeroom. “Only way for what?”
“Edward commanded you to marry Talbot so that he could pay his debts with your money,” he said.
“What is that to you?”
“The king’s favor has turned my father’s attention to Talbot. Talbot even took my father’s name after Edward legitimized him. He is the elder brother, but that does not matter. He is a bastard. He has no right. I will not let my father disinherit me in favor of Talbot.”
“Your family problems are not my concern,” she snapped.
“But it is. Talbot’s marriage to you is what captured my father’s interest. He wants a grandson to carry on the St. Claire name.”
“So give him grandsons.”
His expression darkened and his handsome features twisted in resentment. “My father does not approve of the woman I would marry. He threatens to disinherit me if I defy him.”
Rhoslyn felt a stab of compassion. “I am sorry, but I do no’ see how that concerns me.”
“If you do not marry Talbot, my father will be forced to relent. I am here to help you escape.”
“What? St. Claire’s guards will never let us pass through the gates.”
“Surely, there is a secret passageway that leads outside the walls?”
There was, but Rhoslyn hesitated to say so.
“Tell me you wish to stay here and I will leave you in peace,” Dayton said.
Was this not what she’d wanted? She had planned this very thing before St. Claire caught her in the storeroom. Rhoslyn couldn’t help a glance at the doorway that led to her chambers. She would give anything not to have to return to that room. How could she live here...sleep in that room where the ghost of her son couldn’t possibly have come to peace yet with death?
“Decide, quickly,” Dayton said. “I have no wish to kill your guard, but if he awakens, I will have no choice.”
“We must go directly to Banmore Keep,” she said.
“Your grandfather’s home?” he said. “You will be safe there?”
She wasn’t sure. Longford Castle would be better, but the batt
le between St. Claire and Aodh made that impossible. In truth, she feared her plans would be for naught. Short of Jacobus getting her with child, Sir Talbot could enforce the marriage. All that aside, something bothered her about Dayton St. Claire. The gentle light in his eyes when he first arrived had been replaced by a feverish look that bordered on desperation...or was it insanity?
If she delayed or didn’t agree to go with him, would he kill Sheila? Might he kill her? That would solve his problems. Why didn’t he simply kill his brother? That too would end his problems. Was he capable of such treachery? Either way, she had to get him away from Sheila and the unconscious guard. There had been enough killing for one night. She could take him through the castle on a route that would get them discovered.
“I will be safe in my grandfather’s home,” Rhoslyn said, then told Sheila, who cowered beside the table, “Fetch my cloak.”
The girl rose slowly. “My lady, are ye certain you should go?”
“Do no’ argue” Rhoslyn snapped. “Fetch my cloak from the chair.” She faced Dayton. “It is early yet. The servants should not yet be here to the third floor, but this night has been a strange one. Look and be sure no one is in the hallway.”
He turned and started to the door. Rhoslyn took two steps to the fallen warrior and quietly slid his dagger from its sheath and slipped it into her cuaran along the inside of her ankle. She glanced at the warrior, then gave a prayer of thanks that his chest rose and fell with even breath. She rose and stepped away from the man. He would have a headache when he woke, but likely nothing more.
The creak of the door sounded behind her. “There is no one in the hallway,” Dayton said. “Come, we must go.”
Sheila stepped up, swung the cloak around her shoulders, and tied the cord.
Rhoslyn grasped her shoulders. “Say nothing of this, Sheila. Do ye understand?” The girl nodded, wide-eyed. Rhoslyn pulled her into a hug and whispered, “Wake the knight when we leave.” She drew back and said, “Hurry back to my bed and stay there until someone comes. Say you do not know where I am.”
Rhoslyn whirled and hurried to the door.
* * *
Thin curls of fog swirled about three approaching horsemen. Talbot assumed the one in the lead was Aodh Roberts. Of the two men who flanked Roberts, one carried a white flag of truce, the other a torch. Talbot shifted his gaze beyond the riders, past Roberts’ warriors, to the battlements of Longford Castle. Seward and the young Earl of Melrose must have watched Talbot’s approach, seen his and Seward’s banners. Each banner-man carried a torch to ensure the banners were recognized—a risky move, but he didn’t relish the idea of getting shot by a stray arrow if mistaken for one of Roberts’ men. There was, of course, the possibility they would shoot him on purpose.
