She hated taking advantage of Sir Alex’s gallantry like this, but she had to do something to slow them down. Something to give Cliff a chance to catch up to them or for them to escape. The village and the castle she’d seen weren’t all that far away. If they could stop…
“Please, Sir Alex?” The shimmer in her eyes wasn’t completely feigned. She truly was exhausted. “Is there nothing you can do?”
“Seton!”
The deep voice from behind startled her. She dropped her hand from Alex’s arm, not realizing she’d put it there, and turned to find Boyd standing right behind them.
“How do you do that?” she snapped guiltily. Which was ridiculous, as she had nothing to feel guilty about. He’d refused her appeals, so she’d brought them to a more sympathetic source.
“Do what?”
“Sneak up behind people.”
“Practice,” he said, his eyes dark with something she didn’t recognize. “Return to your nephew. I need to speak to Sir Alex.”
The way he emphasized sir sounded like a slur.
She was tempted to argue, but something about his expression gave her second thoughts. She looked at Sir Alex questioningly, and he nodded. For some reason, her appeal seemed only to make Boyd more irate. From the way his eyes darkened and his nostrils flared at Sir Alex, he looked like a bull ready to charge. She wouldn’t want to be standing in the young knight’s shoes right now.
She hoped whatever had provoked his anger toward the other man didn’t have anything to do with her.
She gave Alex an apologetic look and started to walk off, but Boyd stopped her. “Lady Rosalin.”
She turned.
“You dropped something.”
Instinctively, she looked to the ground, but he reached out, took her hand, and turned it palm side up. A moment later it was filled with blue bows and threads of pink satin.
She gasped, her eyes flying to his. But his expression was as hard as granite and utterly unreadable.
“Be more careful where you leave things,” he said icily. “We wouldn’t want anyone to follow us.”
She swallowed slowly, her mouth dry, and nodded.
Robbie barely managed to wait long enough for her to be out of earshot before rounding on his partner. He leaned toward him, his muscles flaring for battle. “Stay the hell away from her, Dragon.”
He knew he was overreacting, but the black emotion that was surging through his blood right now wasn’t rational or controllable. It seemed to come over him every time he saw Lady Rosalin conversing with his partner. In other words, about every time he turned around. But it had really gone wild, nearly blinding him with rage, when he’d returned from picking up more of her damned ribbon to see their two golden heads bowed together and her hand on Seton’s arm.
Seton didn’t move a muscle, giving no indication that he perceived the threat. Instead, he gave Robbie a long, steady look. “No. I don’t think I shall. I rather like Lady Rosalin.”
“What do you mean you like her?” Robbie exploded. “Have you forgotten who she is?”
Seton shrugged indifferently. “We have much in common—as you are always pointing out. Or have you forgotten?”
“So now you are English?”
“Haven’t you been telling me that for seven years? Maybe I’ve decided to start listening to you.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“It means I’m done trying to defend my loyalties to you. I’m done trying to prove that the blood I’ve shed over the past seven years is just as Scottish as yours. It means that if I see a lady who has been ripped away from her family and everything she’s ever known, who is scared and needs help, I’m going to try to put her at ease—even if she happens to be English.”
Robbie was so stunned for a minute he didn’t know what to say.
“What is this really about, Raider?” Seton paused, scanning Robbie’s irate face, bunched shoulders, and tight fists. “You know what I think? I think you’re jealous. I think you want her, and you can’t stand it that she might prefer me to you.”
Robbie had never struck his partner before—though God knew he’d been tempted more than once—but he was a hairsbreadth from doing so. He wanted to sink his fist through that knowing smirk so desperately his arms twitched. Mostly because he knew it was true.
He was jealous. For the first time in his life the ugly emotion was twisting him up inside, and he couldn’t stop it.
He was attracted to her.
Hell, attracted was putting it mildly. All he had to do was look at her and he was picturing her naked and under him again. Picturing her cheeks flushed and her lips parted as he made her cry out—nay, scream—with pleasure. Aye, the fair Rosalin—the perfect English Rose—screaming his name as he made her come again and again was something he just couldn’t get out of his head. But he’d be damned if he’d admit it to Seton.
“Sod off, Dragon. The lass has obviously identified you as an easy mark, and I’m just trying to make sure you don’t do anything foolish.”
“If being sympathetic to her plight makes me an easy mark, then I guess you are right. The lass needs someone to protect her.”
A fresh spike of rage set his teeth on edge. “Nay, she doesn’t. She has me. I will protect her.”
“Then I suggest you start doing so. Have you taken a look at her and the lad? They are so exhausted they can barely stand. You’ve dragged them halfway across Scotland in less than a day and a half with little food—”
“Whose fault is that?” Robbie snapped.
Seton gave him a look that said he knew very well that Robbie had been touched by her kindness and didn’t begrudge the loss of a meal. “What if one of them falls ill? What will you tell Clifford then?”
Damn it, he wasn’t blind. Seton wasn’t telling him anything he couldn’t see for himself. The conscience he’d unfortunately found tugged every time he looked at one of them. “I don’t give a shite what Clifford thinks, but I was coming to tell you that Fraser has ridden ahead with Keith and Barclay to Kirkton Manor to see about arranging a room for the night.”
The old laird was of unquestionable loyalty, and the accommodation was perfectly situated to ensure she wasn’t tempted to make another escape attempt. Though they weren’t in the forest yet, they were close enough and firmly in Bruce territory, despite the garrison at Peebles Castle a few miles back.
Seton smiled. “Good to know you aren’t a completely unfeeling bastard.”
Robbie’s eyes narrowed, having the distinct feeling he’d just been maneuvered. “Aye, well I might have let you know of my plans sooner had I not been forced to backtrack for ribbon.”
Seton’s grin deepened. “You have to admit, it was rather clever of her.”
A wry smile lifted one corner of his mouth. “Aye, well it’s a good thing Fraser noticed it or we might have led Clifford right to us. I should punish her for it.”
“But you won’t.”
It wasn’t a question. Maybe Seton knew him better than he wanted to think. God knew they’d been partners for a long time. Seton knew more about him than anyone. He frowned. Even more than his brother Duncan had.
“Maybe not,” he agreed. “But I’ll let her think about it.”
Seton laughed. “I don’t think it will work. With all the dark looks you’ve been casting her, the lass is strangely unintimidated by you. Perhaps she knows something the rest of us don’t?”
“I don’t know, Dragon. I think I stopped intimidating you a long time ago—or you wouldn’t be such a pain in my arse.”
It was an acknowledgment of sorts. A recognition that despite the imbalance between them at the start, the scales had started to even. They might never agree on the war and how it should be won, but as a warrior and a partner, Seton had his respect.
Seton nodded. Though a small acknowledgment, Robbie could see it meant something to him.
After a moment, his partner asked, “Do you want to tell them the good news or should
I?”
They both knew there was more to the question than first appeared. He could let Seton continue in the role of champion or…
Robbie held his partner’s gaze. “I’ll do it.”
He didn’t know what kind of claim he’d just made, but he knew that he’d made one.
Nine
The sight of a pillow nearly made her weep. The fact that one small, lumpy, linen-covered pillow could bring her to tears was a testament to how tired Rosalin was and how grateful—and surprised—she was that Boyd had agreed to let them stop for the night.
Although once she saw the place, she understood. The old wooden tower turned fortified farmhouse was auspiciously situated on the edge of a steep ravine. With the only entrance well guarded, escape would be nearly impossible. Nearly. But she was determined to try. With her ribbon plan foiled, it was up to her.
She and Roger had devoured the small bowl of bland beef pottage and day-old crust of bread they’d been given by the farmer as if it were ambrosia, before being escorted up the two flights of stairs to their garret chamber by Boyd.
It was as she’d anticipated when she’d first seen the building: they were given the room at the top of the house overlooking the ravine. If the height and position of the room weren’t enough, as an added deterrent to escape Boyd would be sleeping right outside their door.
Their host had been surprisingly thoughtful, providing not only water to wash but paste to clean their teeth and—she said a prayer of gratitude—a comb to run through their hair. A small iron brazier in the corner provided a pleasant warmth to the room that made it easier to ignore the earthy smell of peat.
There was a small bed tucked under the one shuttered window in the room, and through an adjoining door a few mattresses were tucked under the eaves for servants.
It was the bed and window that had given her the idea. After they’d washed and readied for bed, she shared it with her nephew.
Roger looked at her with increasingly widened eyes. “You want to do what?”
Cognizant of the man on the other side of the door, she put her finger up to her mouth to warn him to keep his voice low as she continued to explain her plan. “Like Queen Matilda,” she whispered. “Do you remember how she escaped Oxford Castle? If we tie the bedsheets together to make a rope, we can tie one end to the bedpost”—she hoped it was strong enough to hold them—“and climb out the window.”
When Queen—or Empress—Matilda was under siege by King Stephen at Oxford, she’d escaped in a similar fashion by being lowered down the wall by her men, famously wearing white to blend into the snow-covered surroundings.
“Didn’t you see the ravine? It must be forty feet from here to the ground.”
“Then we will have to use lots of sheeting.” She took the solitary candle in the room and cracked the shutter enough to look outside, ignoring the cold blast of air that seemed to remind her of the warmth and safety of the room she planned to leave. Peering down into the fathomless darkness, she tried—unsuccessfully—not to shiver. “See, it doesn’t look that bad. I don’t see anyone guarding it.”
“For good reason,” Roger pointed out. “Who in their right mind would climb out this window?”
Rosalin knew he was right and was just as scared as he was, but they had to at least try. This might be their only chance. She wouldn’t let Boyd use them against Cliff. “It won’t be that bad. You’ll see. And once we are down, it’s not that far to the castle we passed earlier.”
Roger nodded. “I saw it, too. I wish I knew where we are. But if you are right that they are taking us to Ettrick Forest, it is probably Melrose, Selkirk, or even Peebles—all of which are held by the English.”
She nodded. “Your father is probably racing to one of them right now.”
Roger seemed to be warming to the idea. “Perhaps you are right. We have to at least try. It will be much harder to try to find our way out of the forest. If we do this, though, I have one condition.”
She tried not to smile at his authoritative posturing and nodded.
“I will go first.”
“Absolutely not—” She started to object, but he cut her off.
“If something goes wrong, I can jump farther than you.”
If something went wrong, jumping was the last thing they needed to worry about. She wanted to refuse, but she could see that stubborn look of Cliff’s on Roger’s face. She considered him for a moment. “Very well, but you will give me a promise as well. If something goes wrong, you will not stop and wait for me but go for help.”
He held her gaze and nodded. Neither of them was pleased with the conditions, which she supposed was the indication of a good negotiation.
Sweeping an errant lock of hair from his forehead, she gave him a tender smile. “Get some sleep. We will have need of it. I will wake you when it is quiet.”
Roger nodded, too tired to argue. “I’ll sleep in there.” He pointed to the garret. “You take the bed.” He frowned uneasily. “Or maybe I should sleep at the foot of your bed. I don’t like how he looks at you.”
Rosalin wasn’t sure she did either, but the look on Roger’s face was so concerned and the instinct to protect her so sweet, her heart squeezed.
Yet it was her job to protect him. “I don’t think that will be necessary.” Cognizant of his pride, she added, “Though I thank you for the offer. But he will not hurt me like that.”
After what she’d learned today, she knew rape was the one thing she need not fear from Robbie Boyd.
Either her confidence had impressed him or Roger had reached a similar conclusion on his own. He looked at her pensively. “You like him, don’t you, Aunt Rosie-lin?”
She hoped her shock at his perceptiveness didn’t show. “I…” She bit her lip. “I don’t know what to think,” she finished honestly.
Roger frowned as if he, too, were undecided. “He is not what I expected. He doesn’t act like a brigand—at least not all the time. But Father hates to even hear his name mentioned. So I’m sure he must have done a lot of bad things.”
Rosalin thought for a moment, pondering all that Boyd had confided in her today. “I’m sure he must have, but lots of bad things have been done in the name of war by both sides. It’s hard to find someone all good or all bad. People are usually somewhere in between.”
Roger seemed troubled by what she’d said but nodded. Like most people, he wanted to see in black or white, not shades of gray. But Rosalin was beginning to see that Robbie Boyd was very gray indeed. Behind the ruthless shell lingered some of the man she remembered. Perhaps he was not the black-hearted, merciless brigand, but not the noble knight on the white steed either. Probably the same could be said of Cliff.
As she didn’t dare close her eyes, Rosalin kept herself occupied for the next few hours by preparing the strips of sheeting she and Roger had made before he went to bed. Working by the sliver of moonlight coming through the cracked shutter, she twisted them into plaits and tied the ends together. When she was done, she’d constructed a strong, forty-foot-long rope.
Fortunately, the wooden bed was sturdily built. Tying one end of the sheeting to the thick post, she let the other end drop out the window. They might have to drop the last few feet, but it should be long enough.
When the sounds from below had completely died down, and she was certain everyone was sleeping, she woke Roger.
Moving about the room like ghosts, they climbed atop the bed and carefully drew the shutters wide. Giving the rope a hard tug, Roger stepped onto the sill and looked down. His face paled, and his Adam’s apple bobbed, but he didn’t hesitate. They exchanged a look, and he started down. She held her breath, wanting to reach out and grab him. He must have sensed her turmoil. “Remember your promise,” he whispered.
She stilled. “You, too.”
And then he was gone. For five agonizing minutes she watched the rope strain against his weight. A few times the bed creaked and her heart dropped to the floor. But it held. It held! And finally—final
ly!—the rope went slack. He’d reached the bottom.
She peered down, unable to see him, but didn’t hesitate. Tugging the rope as he’d done to test its strength, she started to climb onto the sill. But before her foot touched the wood, disaster struck. The shutter hadn’t been open all the way, and she accidentally knocked it with her elbow, causing it to clatter against the outside wall—loudly.
She froze as the sound seemed to reverberate through the quiet night like a church bell. Maybe he wouldn’t hear…
Movement and the sound of the door rattling told her otherwise. Thank God she’d thought to latch it.
“Rosalin. Open the door.”
She looked outside and her heart lurched, almost as if it were trying to tell her to jump. To go after her nephew and do whatever she could to escape.
But she had to give Roger a chance. Quickly untying the rope, she let it drop and drew the shutters closed. Her hands were still on the latch when the door banged open.
Restless and on edge, Robbie hadn’t bothered to try to sleep. Instead he sat with his back propped against the door and attempted to concentrate on Kirkton’s fiery whisky rather than the woman firing his blood.
It wasn’t working. He was so attuned to her in the chamber behind him, his pulse jumped every time he heard a noise.
But this noise was different. It wasn’t footsteps or whispered voices or the sound of the bed creaking as she rolled around; it was a loud slam that was out of place in the middle of the night. So when she didn’t respond right away, he didn’t hesitate to snap the paltry latch with a hard slam of his shoulder against the door and burst inside.
A blast of cold air hit him. The window had been open. A fact seemingly confirmed by her current position, kneeling on the bed with her hands on the shutters. She turned to him with a startled gasp. He thought he detected a flash of panic in her eyes, but it might have been just surprise. “What are you doing in here?”
The Raider (A Highland Guard Novel) Page 14
