Wicked Highland Heroes

by Tarah Scott

  Twenty years ago, Talbot had been twelve. He recalled vividly a sudden and unexplained despondency his father experienced. It lasted months, and Talbot had often thought he’d never quite been the same afterwards. During that time, he and his father were walking one day when his father told him not to let life pass him by, and not to let the world dictate his life. That was exactly what he was trying to do now—as best as a man in his position could. Talbot laughed inwardly. When he thought he was in love with Sally, he’d reminded his father of those words. “There is a difference in not letting the world dictate your life and throwing it away,” he had said.

  “You are my grandson,” Lady Taresa said, “and the heir to your grandfather’s title and property. As the Earl of Baliman and Baron Kinsley, you will one day be the richest and most powerful man in Buchan. You will be a force to be reckoned with in all of Scotland.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  The postern door opened and Rhoslyn jerked her head up from the wine she stared at on the table before her. St. Claire entered the great hall.

  At last.

  She forced herself to remain seated.

  When he reached the table and lowered himself into his chair, she said, “Who was the woman you met this afternoon?”

  He frowned. “Do you have spies watching me?”

  “I have a window. Who is she?”

  “A window? Ah, yes, the solar.” He motioned a nearby lad for wine.

  “Well,” Rhoslyn said.

  “She is no one,” he replied.

  “Is there a reason ye are hiding another woman from me?”

  He laughed. “If I intended to bed a woman, I would not meet with her in the village.”

  “Are ye saying you intend to bed a woman?” Rhoslyn winced. Sweet Jesu, she sounded like a shrew.

  “That is not what I said, as you know.”

  She knew it was jealousy that spoke, but couldn’t halt the next words. “What I know is that ye met with a woman and will no’ tell me who she is.”

  The postern door opened and Ross entered.

  “St. Claire, I warn you,” Rhoslyn said. “I will have my answers.”

  Ross reached the table and halted. “Good evening, Lady Rhoslyn.” He looked at St. Claire. “Lady Taresa sent this back for ye.” Ross held up a small, black velvet pouch.

  “Lady Taresa Baliman?” Rhoslyn blurted.

  St. Claire looked sharply at her. “You know her?”

  Rhoslyn realized her mistake and shook her head. “Nay. I know of her. She hasna’ visited this part of Buchan since I was a child. What did she want with ye?”

  “She claims my father knew her daughter.”

  Rhoslyn stared. Sweet Jesu, was it really possible?

  He nodded to Ross. “You could have waited to give me that. Return it to the lady with my thanks. You deliver it, Ross. It is irreplaceable.”

  “What is it?” Rhoslyn demanded.

  St. Claire abruptly rose and strode to the stairs. She watched until he disappeared up the staircase, then looked at Ross to ask what was in the pouch, but he turned and strode toward the door.

  * * *

  Rhoslyn saw Lord Lochland enter the gates two days later and made sure she was in the great hall when he entered.

  “I have come to see St. Claire and will have no argument from ye,” he said without preamble.

  “As ye wish,” she replied. “But the men at the gate must have told you he isna’ here.”

  “He is in the village. Someone has gone to fetch him.”

  “Will ye sit in the solar?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “I will remain in the great hall.” He started toward the table nearest the hearth.

  She hurried to keep up with his long strides. “I will have wine brought.”

  They neared the kitchen door and she veered away from him. She secured goblets and a flagon of wine and took them to the table.

  “Ye are well, laird?” she asked as she poured the wine.

  He grunted. “Well enough.” He took the wine she offered and drank half the goblet in two swigs.

  Rhoslyn made small talk—much to his obvious annoyance—and she was sorry to see St. Claire arrive minutes later. He must have ridden with the devil on his tail. He probably feared what she might say to the earl.

  “My lord,” St. Claire said when he reached Lochland.

  “I will speak with ye, St. Claire, and I want no interruptions from your wife.”

  “Rhoslyn?” he said.

  She nodded and the earl reached into his tunic, produced a parchment, and set it on the table.

  “This is Lady Andreana’s annulment. I have betrothed her to De Quincy.”

  Rhoslyn gasped.

  “Dinna’ bother arguing, Lady Rhoslyn,” he said. “The deed is done. Ye of all people understand duty.”

  “Aye,” she snapped. “I understand duty, and I have been sacrificed for that cause twice.” St. Claire’s gaze sharpened and guilt knotted her insides, but she ploughed on. “But I will no’ hand over Andreana to a cruel man.”

  “Then it is good ye have no say in the matter.” He turned his attention to St. Claire. “You understand the need to honor a betrothal as well as any man, and ye will honor this one. De Angers will be amply rewarded for his trouble.”

  “Trouble?” Rhoslyn cut in before St. Claire could reply. “A man has his wife torn from him and ye call that ‘trouble’?”

  “Rhoslyn.” St. Claire’s sharp voice startled her. He looked at Lochland. “Lady Andreana is not here. Sir Baxter took her to his home in England.”

  “What?” the earl exploded. “This is a trick. Ye sent her away on purpose.”

  “I do not deny knowing that you might annul the marriage,” St. Claire replied. “But it was Baxter who decided to take his wife back to England. He is not an indentured servant. He is free to do as he pleases.”

  “Aye,” Lochland replied. “He is. Lady Andreana, on the other hand, is not free to do as she pleases. By order of the bishop, she is no’ married to Sir Baxter. She will return and honor the betrothal to De Quincy.”

  “You are free to try and enforce the betrothal, my lord, but I wager Baxter has already confirmed the validity of the marriage with a bishop in England. You may petition King Edward, if you like.”

  Lochland’s face reddened in anger. “Ye know an English king isna’ likely to dissolve an English marriage in favor of a Scottish one.” He rose. “I will no’ be thwarted by a lowly knight.”

  “Then send an army to take Lady Andreana from Baxter,” St. Claire said. “But, beware, that lowly knight is no fool.”

  “I was no’ speaking of him,” Lochland snapped. “I speak of you. Ye will obey me, St. Claire.”

  “I am not disobeying you, my lord. I cannot force Baxter to give up his wife. However, I am under no obligation to obey you.”

  “Ye are under Seward’s rule, and therefore under mine,” Lochland said.

  “I am not under Seward’s rule,” St. Claire replied. “I am married to his granddaughter. Nothing more.”

  “Beware, St. Claire,” Lochland said in a low voice. “Ye dinna’ have the power to defy me.”

  “Perhaps not. But neither do I have the power to force Baxter to give up his wife.”

  For an instant, Rhoslyn expected the earl to leap to his feet, sword drawn.

  “In fact, ye do have the power to force Sir Baxter to give up Lady Andreana,” Lord Lochland said. “I will send fifty men to Castle Glenbarr. Ye will accompany them to England and bring her back. I expect her here in a week.” With that he left.

  Rhoslyn waited until the door closed before saying to St. Claire, “He is right. Ye do no’ have the power to defy him.”

  “I am gratified at your confidence in me,” he replied.

  “Dinna’ be a fool. He has twice the men you have, even with my grandfather’s men.”

  “Winning is not always about how many men you have, Rhoslyn.”

  They were interrupted when the po
stern door opened and Ross entered. His gaze locked with St. Claire’s and he started across the room. Uneasiness prickled at the back of Rhoslyn’s nape. Something was wrong. Dear God, was there no mercy from heaven?

  Ross reached them and said to St. Claire, “One of our scouts spotted two hundred of Jason Boyd’s men north of Colliston Gorge.”

  Rhoslyn drew a sharp breath and she couldn’t halt her hand from going to her belly. The babe was but a month inside her. If Castle Glenbarr was attacked, she could be killed along with her unborn child. Her grandfather, too, she realized with horror. He was in even greater danger, for he could not defend himself.

  “Take fifty of my men and escort Lady Rhoslyn to Dunfrey Castle,” St. Claire said to Ross.

  “Nay,” she interrupted.

  “Rhoslyn—”

  “I would be no safer there than here, and I will no’ leave my grandfather.”

  “She is right,” Ross cut in. “Men are riding in the direction of Dunfrey Castle as well.”

  “Take her to the convent, then,” St. Claire said, but she was already shaking her head.

  “There is another way,” Ross said.

  He frowned, then understanding spread across his features.

  “Enough men-at-arms to ensure a victory can be here in an hour,” Ross said. “Ye need only ask.”

  Rhoslyn looked from one to the other. “What men? Ye have two hundred men of your own, St. Claire, why can you not defend us?”

  “I can,” he said. “But I do not want you here.”

  “I will no’ go,” she said.

  “Aye, you will.”

  Panic raced through her, but she forced a calm voice. “We must send Lady Saraid home before the men reach the castle.”

  “Ross, come with me,” he said. “You, too, Rhoslyn.” He didn’t wait for her compliance, but grasped her arm and hurried her to the stairs.

  Minutes later, they reached his chambers. He ordered her to sit at the bench near the fire, then sat at the table where his pen and seal were, and began writing. He quickly finished the letter, then sealed it and handed it to Ross.

  “If anything happens to me, you know what to do with this missive.”

  Ross nodded.

  “Lady Rhoslyn and her grandfather are to be protected at all costs,” he said. “Send fifty men with Lady Saraid. Make sure they are back here within the hour.”

  “Aye,” Ross replied.

  “If I didna’ know better, I would think Lord Lochland had a hand in this,” Rhoslyn muttered.

  “Aye,” St. Claire said. “But he would not attack until after he learned I had defied him.” He grasped Rhoslyn’s arms. “I will not see you until the battle is finished.”

  “Who is the missive for?” she demanded.

  “You need concern yourself with that only if I do not return.”

  “Where are these men ye are getting?” she demanded. “Can you no’ command them to come to you? Why are you going after them? It is safer to stay within the castle walls.”

  “For you, yes,” he said.

  Then she realized his intent. “Ye mean to attack the men from their rear.”

  “It is our best chance for success.”

  “It is madness,” she said. “What if they beat you and break through the walls?”

  “They will not.”

  Before she could say more, he kissed her, long, hard and with a hunger that took her breath. He hadn’t touched her since her grandfather had been wounded. Her body flared to life and she suddenly wished they were alone. What would she do if he didn’t return from battle? She thought of his brother and shivered.

  Rhoslyn sat with her grandfather until their attackers were spotted from the battlements. His breathing was strong and even, yet guilt washed over her when she left him and sought out Ross. There was no sign of St. Claire or the men he had gone for, and Ross offered no answers as to who the men were. She kept the household busy, until their attackers neared the trees beyond the castle.

  When a young squire skidded into the kitchen, Rhoslyn looked up from the vials of herbs she inspected.

  “They are coming,” the boy said in a breathless pant.

  “Who is coming?” she demanded.

  “Sir Talbot and his men. They are riding from the east.”

  Rhoslyn exchanged a look with Mistress Muira.

  “Who are the men?” the housekeeper asked.

  “They are flying the banner of the Earl of Baliman.”

  “Baliman?” Mistress Muira said.

  A tremor rippled through Rhoslyn. Lady Taresa. Rhoslyn had yet to figure out her connection to St. Claire. Cousin? Aunt? Would a cousin or aunt send two hundred men to save an English relative they had never met? Would a cousin or aunt seek out that relative? Nay. But a mother—or grandmother—would.

  “The enemy has demanded we open the gates and surrender,” the boy said. “They say two hundred more men are on their way to aid in Castle Glenbarr’s fall.”

  “Dogs,” Muira muttered in unison with Rhoslyn’s gasp.

  “I am going to speak with Ross,” she said.

  Minutes later, Rhoslyn stood with Ross at the battlements. Her heart leapt into her throat at sight of the torch light that glinted off the early evening sky as if a great bonfire burned. Beyond, St. Claire and his men galloped toward them. The attackers couldn’t hope to breach the castle walls this night, much less before St. Claire arrived.

  “They have no idea it is St. Claire who rides to them and not their reinforcements?” she asked Ross.

  “No’ yet, but it canna’ be long before they discover the truth.”

  A shout went up from one of the men on the battlements and Rhoslyn turned in unison with Ross to see another company of riders approaching from the east.

  “Sweet God,” Rhoslyn whispered.

  “Laird,” one of the men cried.

  Rhoslyn turned and her heart leapt into her throat at sight of her grandfather, one arm over the shoulder of a warrior, stepping up from the stairs. She raced forward and reached his side an instant later, Ross beside her.

  “Grandfather.” Tears streamed down her cheeks. “You are awake.” Anger shot through her. “What are ye doing out of bed?” She turned a hard stare on the man helping him. “Have ye lost your mind? He is half dead. Take him back to my bed.”

  “Hush, Granddaughter,” her grandfather said in a hoarse voice.

  “Grandfather—”

  “Hush, or I will have someone take ye to your room.” He looked at Ross. “Jason Boyd?”

  Ross nodded.

  “Help me,” her grandfather said.

  Ross took the place of the other man and Rhoslyn draped her grandfather’s free arm over her shoulder. They helped him to the edge where he could look out over the field. He studied the scene for a long moment.

  He nodded to the north and the men St. Claire led. “That is Baliman’s flag.”

  “Aye,” Ross said. “St. Claire has sought aid from Lady Baliman.”

  Her grandfather looked at him. “Lady Taresa Baliman?”

  Ross nodded, and her grandfather looked at her. “Your doing?”

  “Nay. I dinna’ know how she discovered the truth—I am not certain myself what the truth is.”

  He looked at Ross.

  “St. Claire is her grandson,” he said.

  So she’d been right. Sweet God, St. Claire was the Earl of Baliman. What did this mean? Might he be more closely tied with Scotland than England as a result of inheriting the title? He could virtually do almost anything he pleased, short of claiming the throne. Why hadn’t he told her?

  She narrowed her eyes on Ross. “Ye didna’ tell me this when I asked where St. Claire was getting warriors.”

  “Your husband instructed me to keep quiet.”

  “Apparently the order does no’ apply to my grandfather.”

  “Nay, it does no’,” Ross replied without hesitation.

  Her grandfather croaked a laugh. “This will give Lochland fits.”
Before Rhoslyn could respond, he said to Ross, “Prepare a horse, I will speak with Boyd.”

  “Nay,” Rhoslyn cried. “Ye are barely able to walk. You can no’—”

  “By God, Rhoslyn, another word and I will have you locked in your room until this is over.”

  This time, there was no hoarseness or tremor in his voice, and Rhoslyn stood aside.

  * * *

  Talbot spotted his scout in the distance and slowed at sight of another rider with him. The men neared and he recognized Ross. Fear swept through him and he spurred his horse forward. The animal lunged, then broke into a hard gallop.

  When Talbot reached his side, he pulled up alongside the two men and Ross forestalled any questions by saying, “All is well. Better than ye might think possible, in fact.”

  “Lady Rhoslyn?” Talbot demanded.

  “She is well, as is her grandfather. He awoke at the best possible moment and intervened.”

  “Intervened?” Talbot repeated. “You mean Boyd’s men have gone?”

  “Aye, though I dinna’ think this is over.”

  Such things were seldom over so easily. “Does Boyd fear Seward so much that he would leave just because the old man rose from his bed?” Talbot asked.

  “Sir Jason knows Kinsley will no’ spare a man in the protection of Castle Glenbarr and Lady Rhoslyn. But I imagine the two hundred men the new Earl of Baliman was bringing helped make up his mind.”

  “He need fear me above all men,” Talbot said. “Even Seward.”

  “Ye are English,” Ross said, and shrugged.

  “He will learn that this Englishman does not forgive so easily.”

  When they reached Castle Glenbarr, Talbot found Rhoslyn sitting with her grandfather in the great hall. “You are looking well.” Talbot sat in his chair at the head of the table and motioned a boy to bring wine.

  “I have been abed nine days,” Seward replied. “I should be in the peak of health.”

  “Ye were nigh unto death,” Rhoslyn said.

  “Not anymore,” he said, then looked at Talbot. “I understand I now address the new Earl of Baliman.”

  “Lady Taresa believes she is my grandmother,” Talbot replied.

  Seward lifted his brows. “The resemblance between your sister and her daughter?”