by Tarah Scott
“Can I really help with the preparations?” Andreana said.
Rhoslyn nodded. “Aye. Though I canna’ think we can do much in less than a day.”
Andreana’s eyes lit. “I can do much.” She looked at Rhoslyn’s grandfather. “Can I plan as I please?”
“St. Claire is who ye must ask now, lass. Not me.”
Andreana shifted her gaze onto St. Claire and smiled shyly. “What would ye have me do, laird?”
“You and your mother may do as you please,” he replied.
“Dinna’ forget the hunt planned for the day after the celebration,” her grandfather said.
“Hunt?” Rhoslyn blurted. She looked at St. Claire. “Ye are planning a hunt?”
“It was your grandfather’s idea.”
She sent a narrow-eyed look at him. “You are full of surprises.”
“I havena’ been in a good hunt in too long. I hear your husband is a skilled hunter.” He looked at St. Claire. “Mayhap a wager would make things more interesting.”
“I never wager with my money,” St. Claire said, and Rhoslyn wondered how much of her money he would wager.
“I dinna’ need your money,” her grandfather said. “I saw that beautiful destrier ye rode when you came to Longford Castle. I could use a horse like that.”
St. Claire’s brows rose. “When have you need of a war horse?”
Her grandfather scowled. “I am no’ in my grave yet. I have a fight or two left in me. Are ye game or no’?”
“I am very attached to that horse.”
“Then ye are willing to admit defeat before the hunt even begins?” her grandfather said.
“I am willing to admit that fate is sometimes cruel. There are any number of challenges that could arise, none of which are a reflection of my skill.”
“Bah! Either ye have the bollocks or no’. Which is it?”
“Spoken like a true Highlander,” St. Claire said.
Her grandfather lifted a brow. “Aye, for we know what we are capable of.”
“What do you have that I could possibly want?” St. Claire asked.
“Ye already have what I value most.” Her grandfather cast a glance at Rhoslyn.
She rolled her eyes.
“Aye,” St. Claire’s eyes shifted onto her. “What more could I want?”
Rhoslyn startled at the intensity of his gaze, then something fluttered in her belly.
“There is Grandfather’s claymore,” Andreana said.
Everyone looked at her.
St. Claire crossed his arms over his chest and Rhoslyn forced her gaze from the sight of his muscles bulging against the linen of his sleeves.
“That idea has merit,” he said.
Rhoslyn’s grandfather scowled at Andreana. “Ye are no’ helping matters, lass.”
She blushed.
“Afraid?” St. Claire said.
“It is a bet,” her grandfather replied.
St. Claire nodded. “You thought you would marry your granddaughter to another man. You were wrong then, too.” With that, he strode from the room.
* * *
Talbot had insisted the vows be spoken, but he wished mightily they could delay a week. Lady Rhoslyn appeared pale as a ghost. She was well in body, of that he was sure, but her spirit had been damaged. However, she would be far more damaged if Dayton’s plans came to fruition.
Morning sun streamed through the chapel’s small window to the right of the Christ. Talbot stood alongside Rhoslyn in front of the dais, with Seward beside her—his determination thick enough to cut—and Baxter flanked Talbot—his distrust in equal measure and opposition to Seward. English and Highlander crowded the hallway outside the chapel to witness the final blessing, Ralf and Ingram in the forefront.
Father Crey instructed Talbot to place the ring on Rhoslyn’s finger. When he grasped her hand, the ruby wedding ring she still wore glinted in the sunlight. Her eyes flew up to his, apprehension and regret mixed in her expression. Talbot smiled gently and covered her hand with his while discreetly slipping the old wedding ring off her finger.
Compared to the ring Alec Harper had given her, the band Talbot placed on her finger was modest: blue topaz and green peridot inlayed on a thick silver band.
Rhoslyn looked up at him, eyes wide. “I have no ring for you.”
Her grandfather leaned close and whispered, “Of course ye do.” He took her free hand, placed a ring in her palm and closed her fingers around it.
She frowned. “Grandfather—”
“Put the ring on your husband’s finger,” he urged.
She seemed uncertain, then nodded and grasped Talbot’s left hand. Her cool fingers felt almost fragile against his larger ones, but he found them pleasant. Roped carvings decorated the gold band she fitted to his finger. Rhoslyn pushed it down, shoving the ring past the knuckle.
Talbot grasped her hands with both of his and the priest pronounced them man and wife. To his surprise, Rhoslyn didn’t drop her gaze, but looked him directly in the eyes as he bent and brushed his lips across hers. Still, he detected a tremble in her body and tasted the salt of tears on her lips. Desire rose to fold her in his arms and assure her all would be well. But how did a man restore a woman’s trust?
Talbot slid an arm around Rhoslyn’s waist and turned. Cheers went up and the guests parted before them as they walked down the aisle.
At last, they reached their private chambers, and Talbot closed the door on the well—wishers in the hallway. Lady Rhoslyn crossed to the stool at the small table near the window where she kept her accounts and sat down. She absently fingered the wedding ring.
“This is not what I had planned,” he said.
She lifted her face to meet his gaze. “You come here at the behest of an English king, take possession of my home before meeting me—you even kidnapped me. What did ye expect?”
He studied her for a moment. “You want me to believe that had I awaited your pleasure at Dunfrey Castle you would have come to me of your own accord? Or perhaps I should have gone down on one knee to your grandfather and begged him to accept an English king’s decree to marry his granddaughter to an English knight?”
Her mouth thinned, but she shrugged. “At the very least, you could have gone to Dragon’s Lair instead of Castle Glenbarr.”
Dragon’s Lair. So she knew the name the Highlanders called Dunfrey Castle.
“Who knows what might have happened had you spoken with my grandfather?” she said.
“I did speak with him—though not on bended knee.”
Her brows dove down in a frown, then she shot to her feet. “So he tried to marry me to Jacobus. What did ye expect? Sweet Jesu, you took possession of my home before even meeting me.”
“That is not why Seward tried to marry you to Melrose,” he replied. “Nothing I could have done would have changed things for the better. You know as well as I that had I not reached you in time, Edward would have viewed your marriage to Melrose as a defiance that could not go unchecked.”
“So your brother kidnapping me was to be expected?”
“Nay. I had no idea he was even in Scotland. Had I known...” Talbot released a breath. “Perhaps over time, you will be able to forget, but I do not expect you to forgive me.”
Her mouth parted in obvious surprise.
“Aye, Lady, I know this is my fault.”
“I-I didna’ say that,” she whispered.
“You did not have to.”
She sat back down, and he caught the flick of her eyes toward his chambers. She worried he was about to claim his husbandly rights. That was something he had yet to deal with. Thankfully, a hard rap on the door interrupted.
“Enter,” Talbot called.
The door opened and Baxter stepped into the room. “Lady Rhoslyn has a visitor.”
“Another visitor? Who?” Talbot demanded.
Baxter’s gaze cut to Lady Rhoslyn. “Her intended husband.”
“Speak of the devil,” Talbot murmured.
&
nbsp; “Jacobus?” Rhoslyn asked.
“Aye,” Baxter replied. “The Earl of Melrose. You remember him, the man you tried to marry while you were married to Talbot?”
“You will remember that Lady Rhoslyn is my wife, Baxter,” Talbot said.
Baxter’s eyes jerked onto him. His mouth thinned, but he gave a brusque nod.
“What does Melrose want?” Talbot asked.
“He is demanding to see Lady Rhoslyn. Her grandfather is with him in the great hall.”
Rhoslyn rose. “I will speak with him.”
“I will speak with him,” Talbot corrected.
“I do no’ want him harmed,” she said.
“As long as he causes no trouble, he will not be harmed.”
She heaved a sigh. “I am in no mood to argue.”
“Good.”
She shook her head. “Ye misunderstand. I am in no mood to argue, but I doesna’ mean I will take orders. Jacobus came peaceably through our gates. I will see him.”
Talbot started to point out that she had said the same thing about Dayton, then stopped. She knew Jacobus Auenel, and he was, after all, just a pup.
They went to the hall. Many of the people who had witnessed the marriage blessing milled about the room, along with Highland and English warriors. Preparations for the evening’s party were underway and women bustled between the great hall and kitchen, cleaning and preparing food.
Seward, Ingram, and Ralf, stood with Melrose at the hearth. The two Highlanders had made themselves at home, Talbot noticed. Baxter separated from Talbot and Rhoslyn, and continued on his way to the wall to check on the men as Talbot had ordered. Ingram and Ralf lifted quizzical brows when Talbot and Rhoslyn approached. Young Melrose’s gaze latched onto Rhoslyn like a lost dog. By God, he really was nothing more than a boy, and a lovesick boy at that, despite his twenty-one years. Talbot remembered himself at that age, already under Sir Hugh’s tutelage for thirteen years and knighted.
“Lady Rhoslyn,” Melrose said when they reached the group. “Are ye well?”
Talbot read genuine concern in his tone and a grudging sliver of respect surfaced.
“I am fine,” she replied.
“You would never say otherwise.” The boy turned his gaze onto Talbot. Ire flashed, which revealed more backbone than Talbot thought the lad capable of. “Less than a day under your care and she comes to harm. Ye dinna’ deserve to look her way, much less marry her.”
He had a point. Still...
“Yet we are married with a priest’s blessing,” Talbot said.
Shock registered on Jacobus’s face and he looked at Rhoslyn. “My lady, say it is no’ true.”
“When I didna’ reach Longford Castle, ye must have guessed, Jacobus.”
“I had hoped that when his brother kidnapped you that meant—” His eyes cut to Talbot. “Ye dirty dog. You have no right to marry her after what happened.”
For an instant Talbot thought Melrose knew the truth, then realized he was referring to Rhoslyn being kidnapped, which was, in truth, sufficient fuel for his anger.
“Ye canna’ blame the lad for being right,” Ralf said.
Talbot shot him a dark look, but Ralf only grinned.
Rhoslyn intervened. “Why are you here, Jacobus?”
His mouth thinned. “I wanted to be sure you were well.”
“I just said I was well,” she replied.
But Melrose clearly wasn’t convinced, for his hand fell to his sword hilt.
Chapter Ten
“Jacobus,” Rhoslyn cried.
She stepped forward, but St. Claire yanked her back and behind him as the remaining men drew their swords. The nearest warriors leapt to their laird’s aid. St. Claire lunged and drove a fist into Jacobus’ belly.
“Hold,” St. Claire shouted to the men as Jacobus doubled over, then dropped to his knees, wheezing loudly.
St. Claire seized his sword, yanked it from its sheathe then threw it to the floor. Metal clanged against stone in the now silent room, and rushes kicked up as the claymore furrowed a path across the floor, then skidded to a stop.
Her grandfather sheathed his sword. “Have ye lost your mind, Jacobus? You are lucky I dinna’ run my sword through your belly just to teach you a lesson.”
Jacobus shook his head and drew another pained breath. “I dinna’—” he wheezed again “—understand.”
“Then you deserve to die,” St. Claire said in a flat voice.
The other two men sheathed their swords, and the surrounding warriors followed suit.
“Damn fool,” her grandfather muttered.
Jacobus shoved to his feet, still grasping his stomach. “What did I do?” He looked from one to the other of the men, but they only stared.
Rhoslyn stepped forward. “Surely, your father taught ye never to lay hand on your sword hilt unless you mean to use it?”
His brows dove down in a frown, then understanding dawned on his face. He swung his gaze onto Talbot. “I would no’ attack an unarmed man. If I intended to kill ye, I would do it in a fair fight.”
“Fair fight?” Her grandfather snorted. “St. Claire would slaughter you.” He motioned to St. Claire. “Mayhap ye are the better choice, after all—English king and all.”
Jacobus looked at her grandfather, hurt in his eyes. “I would protect her. I will protect her, if she but asks.”
Rhoslyn groaned inwardly. Sweet God in heaven, save me from the stupidity of youth.
“St. Claire’s fist is but a taste of what ye will receive if you continue this idiocy,” her grandfather said. “Go home, Jacobus—and I suggest you spend some time under the instruction of a knight. You are too old to start learning, but mayhap someone can keep ye from losing your damn head before your next birthday.”
Jacobus’ face reddened. His eyes narrowed on St. Claire, who met the boy’s gaze squarely. For an instant, Rhoslyn feared Jacobus would make some sort of foolish challenge, but he whirled and strode to where his sword lay. He scooped up the weapon, then left.
“Dinna’ let that go to your head,” her grandfather said to St. Claire when the door closed behind Jacobus. “Just because you are more of a man than the new Earl of Melrose doesna’ mean I want ye as my granddaughter’s husband.”
“Fortunately, your opinion is not the one that matters,” he replied.
A gleam entered her grandfather’s eyes. “Nay, but Rhoslyn is a Seward. She has as much backbone as I do.”
“She is now my wife, a St. Claire,” St. Claire said, “and if you interfere in our marriage, you will go the way of that boy.” He faced her. “Lady Rhoslyn, I would ask that you do not entertain any male visitors without my knowledge.”
Ire piqued, but Rhoslyn was all too aware that she stood poised at a crossroads that could drive a permanent wedge between the man who was now her husband and her grandfather.
“I will make sure ye know of any male visitors—who are no’ family,” she said.
He surprised her by chuckling and saying, “That could be the whole damn village.”
* * *
Rhoslyn exited the castle through the kitchen door and headed for the gate. The day was still young, but not so young that she dared waste a moment. Any chance she could abort a possible pregnancy before her new husband claimed his husbandly rights would be gone after tonight. If she became pregnant immediately after St. Claire bedded her, she would never truly be sure whose child she carried until it was too late.
Too late? What did that mean? Would love turn to hate if she someday discovered the child she loved belonged to Dayton instead of St. Claire? She certainly wouldn’t be able to end the child’s life then as she planned to now. Her stomach cramped. God have mercy. What was she doing?
“Lady Rhoslyn.”
Rhoslyn paused in her walk and turned. She blinked against morning sun to see St. Claire striding toward her. After the altercation with Jacobus, St. Claire had sequestered himself in his chambers with Ralf and Ingram, plotting—she assumed—to catch his
brother.
He reached her side. “Mistress Muira tells me you are going to the village.”
“Aye.”
“Until I deal with my brother, I do not want you leaving the castle alone.”
“Do ye really think he will return to Buchan, much less come anywhere near Castle Glenbarr?” she asked.
“He has done many things I would not have thought him capable of. I will not risk your safety a second time.”
He feels guilty, she thought. Rhoslyn glanced at the gate. She needed to go to the village. Even a small chance that she could obtain the pennyroyal... Was St Claire’s interference divine intervention?
“I am only going to the village. No one will dare harm me there.”
“I will send men with you.”
She nodded, despite uncertainty. “Any strangers unlucky enough to enter Kildrum will probably get run through with a sword before they can deny any crime.”
St. Claire nodded. “Step even a foot outside the village without my men, and I will lock you in your chambers until my brother is dead.”
Rhoslyn blinked. “What? I didna’ argue with you, St. Claire.”
“I want to be sure we understand one another,” he said.
Words failed her. He hadn’t waited even a day to draw yet another line in the sand. “Aye, we understand one another, ye arrogant—”
“Good,” he cut in.
He turned and strode toward the castle.
Rhoslyn stared for an instant, then broke from the shock and started forward after him. She stopped. She had won this skirmish—if by accident. Tomorrow was another day, and only God in his ultimate—male —wisdom knew what lay ahead.
Rhoslyn’s fear was realized. She wasn’t going to be able to obtain pennyroyal from her local healer. Not that she’d had high hopes. Asking for the herb was too great a risk of exposure. But it mattered not, for Rhoslyn hadn’t seen the herb amongst the others in the woman’s store. She had obtained oregano, along with several other herbs, but oregano was mild compared to pennyroyal. She trudged along the lane in the village, heart heavy. It was possible the healer had the herb in a safe place, but Rhoslyn couldn’t chance sending someone to inquire. That would be damning evidence that she carried Dayton’s child, and the villagers had already begun speculating as to what had happened after he kidnapped her.
