She sagged against him, looping her arms around his shoulders and burying her face in his leather-clad chest. From the way her back was shaking, he knew she was crying. From terror or relief, he didn’t know. Probably both. Hell, he didn’t blame her.
His hand went to her back. He rubbed and muttered soothing words as he drew his horse to a stop, while the soldier galloped away. He was forced to let him go. For now. Crushing her to him, he inhaled her, taking her in and trying to assure his still-thundering heart that she was all right.
It wasn’t long, however, before the memory of her walking away intruded.
The hammering in his chest came to an abrupt stop. He unlatched her from his chest and pulled her back to look at her. Swollen, tear-stained eyes stared up at him, and he felt his lungs clench. Aye, his lungs, damn it. But he forced the sensation away, hardening his expression as well as whatever the hell else he’d been clenching.
“Were you so anxious to get away that you would kill yourself to do so?”
Her eyes widened a little at his tone. “I wasn’t trying to get away. I just didn’t want you to hurt him.”
His hold tightened on her, his anger going black. Who was she protecting? “God’s blood, was that de Spenser?”
She shook her head. “Nay, one of his household knights. Sir Stephen has always been kind to me—”
“Enough.” He cut her off, swinging the horse around to retrieve his sword. “You gave me your word, though why I should be surprised a Clifford did not keep it, I don’t know. I don’t have time for this. I’m sure Sir Stephen did not come alone.”
She bit her lip and nodded. “He said the others were not far behind.”
That put a swift end to the conversation. He raced back to camp at an only slightly slower speed than upon which he’d left.
The camp was in a state of organized upheaval. Douglas, Seton, and Fraser had already taken charge, gathering what supplies and belongings they could and seeing to the men and the handful of women.
Robbie immediately went to work alongside them, duty and experience temporarily quieting the tempest of divergent emotions storming inside him. Anger. Hurt. Betrayal. He focused on the anger. It was easiest to understand.
Fraser would see to the women’s safety, while Douglas and Robbie led the attack against the Englishmen. Seton would have charge of Rosalin. Robbie gave his instructions in Gaelic to forestall any protests from Rosalin, who watched him anxiously with big, accusing eyes that made him feel as if he were the one to blame. Surprisingly his partner didn’t argue, but just gave a grim nod in response.
He left Rosalin under Seton’s watch, while he returned to his tent to retrieve what he could. The tents could not be saved—there wasn’t time enough—but he packed his books and as many garments as he could from his trunk in leather bags. They would be hidden nearby and retrieved later. Seton had already gathered anything that could connect him to the Highland Guard, including his armor.
No more than five minutes after they’d arrived, Robbie was ready to leave.
He could no longer avoid those hurt eyes. “Seton will see you safely away.”
The color faded from Rosalin’s face. “You are leaving me?”
“Ironic, isn’t it.”
She frowned. It took her a moment to understand. “I told you I wasn’t trying to leave—”
“Do not worry.” His mouth curved in a semblance of a smile. “I don’t imagine this will take long.”
She gazed up at him, apprehension making her face look pale and frightened. He forced himself to be immune. She’d made a fool of him enough already.
“What are you going to do?”
“Give them the battle they came for.”
Fear leapt to her eyes. “No! You mustn’t—”
“Take her,” he said to Seton, her pleas for her countrymen falling on deaf ears. Or maybe not so deaf. They had drawn the battle between them again. How could he have forgotten which side she stood on?
He didn’t look back as they rode off. All of his attention was once again focused where it should be: on the war and killing any Englishman who got in his way.
Rosalin was silent for most of the journey. The speed at which they were traveling didn’t leave much opportunity for questions. In addition to Sir Alex, Callum, Malcolm, and one of her former jailors, Archie (dour Douglas brother number two), made up the party of men who had been charged with the task of seeing their hostage to safety.
As best she could tell from the position of the setting sun, they rode east for the first few miles—crossing a deep corrie thick with trees and brush that looked impassable until a narrow path was revealed—and then headed north for hours in the darkness.
For once she welcomed the hair-raising speed, stomach-knotting terrain, and bone-deep exhaustion of the journey, as they kept her mind from dwelling all night on the grim countenance she’d left behind.
The way he’d looked at her, the change in his expression, the change in him had been dramatic. Cold, merciless, impenetrable. It was a glimpse of the ruthless enforcer, the heartless raider, the man who’d laid scourge across the Borders. The man she’d convinced herself no longer existed.
Her pleas, her attempts to reach him, had slid off him like water on steel. The connection and deepening emotions she’d put so much store in had been unable to penetrate the shield that had gone up around him.
He’d been furious. He’d refused to believe that she hadn’t left voluntarily. Given how it had looked, perhaps she could understand. She’d tried to explain, but clearly he wasn’t in any mood to listen to her.
What bothered her was how quickly he’d assumed her guilt and how incapable he thought her of honor. Shouldn’t he have trusted her a little? At least enough not to immediately discount her explanation?
Sir Alex’s warning that he would never trust an Englishman—or woman—came back to her. She’d hoped Robbie thought her different. She’d just told him she loved him—how could he think she would leave him so easily? Obviously he hadn’t believed that either. What more proof could she give him?
The tangle of hurt and disappointment was exacerbated by fear. She was terrified of what was happening, of the battle being waged by the men they’d left behind in Ettrick Forest.
No matter how he appeared, Robbie was not invincible. As hurt as she was by his coldness before she left, the thought of him being hurt or—God forbid—killed made it feel as if she were riding with an icy claw wrapped around her chest that every once in a while squeezed.
But as much as she feared for him, most of her fear was for the men who must fight against him. Though she intended to break the betrothal with Sir Henry when she returned, she did not want to see him or any of his men killed. And Robbie’s face as she’d ridden off had left no doubt of his intentions.
Her stomach twisted with fear and anxiety through the long night. It must have revealed itself on her face, for not long after dawn broke Sir Alex rode up next to her. “Try not to think about it, my lady. We will find out what happened soon enough.”
She nodded, a lump growing in her throat as the emotions she’d kept bottled inside all night threatened to erupt at his show of compassion. “I’m not sure I want to know. Whatever happens, I fear the result.”
His gaze held hers with understanding. “’Tis often how I feel. It is not easy having friends on both sides and constantly being caught between the two. With my lands so close to the border, it’s a position I’ve faced many times myself.”
“How do you deal with it?”
“I don’t. Not very well at least.”
“I can’t bear the thought of anyone being hurt. What do you think has happened?”
He gave her a sad look, as if he knew what she wanted to hear but wouldn’t lie to her. “If Boyd catches up to them, your brother’s men are dead.”
She paled, feeling ill, knowing he was right. And if Robbie did kill them, it would make it that much harder for her to convince Cliff to agree to a match bet
ween them.
But Sir Alex was wrong about one thing. “Those were not my brother’s men—they were Sir Henry’s.”
“I thought you only saw one. How can you be so sure Clifford did not have a part in it?”
She didn’t know, but she was. “Cliff wouldn’t do something so risky.” So rash. “Something that would put me in danger like that.”
Sir Alex studied her for a long pause. “I hope you are right, my lady. If Boyd believes your brother has broken the truce…” He let his voice fall off.
An ominous chill swept over her, making her skin prickle. She didn’t want to ask. “What?”
Sir Alex’s mouth fell in a hard line. For a moment, he looked just as grim and forbidding as Robbie had before she left. In that instant she saw not the Golden Knight, but the hard edge that had made Sir Alex part of the band of rebels.
“I don’t know. But he will use whatever weapon he has at his disposal to make sure it doesn’t happen again.”
Me. He means me.
Rosalin shook her head. “He won’t hurt me.”
“Nay, not physically, but I fear—” He stopped. “Have care, my lady. That is all I’m saying. If you put yourself in the middle of this battle, you cannot win.”
He spoke like a man who knew what he was talking about.
Rosalin was surprised that he’d guessed the direction of her thoughts so easily—were her hopes for the future so transparent? If the sympathetic look Sir Alex was giving her was any indication, they must be.
Embarrassed, and not a little discouraged, she was glad when one of the men riding ahead turned and said something to Sir Alex in Gaelic, pointing in the direction of a small village that had just appeared in the distance.
In the soft light of early morning, with the swirls of mist gently dissipating like smoke from a pipe, the village on the grassy strath below them looked almost enchanted—like something from a mystical bard’s tale.
Straddling both sides of a wide, winding river, the stone and thatched cottages appeared so quiet and peaceful. The slate roof of a sizable church with a turreted tower in the center of town rose high above everything else. She scanned the buildings again. For a village of this size, there should be a castle. She felt her first whisper of premonition when her gaze snagged on a large empty area not far from the church on the banks of the river. Except it wasn’t empty, she realized. From the distance, she could just make out large piles of stone scattered haphazardly about.
“What is it?” she asked.
Sir Alex turned to her, his expression strangely blank. “We’re almost there.”
“Where?”
He paused. “Douglas.”
Her eyes widened in horror, as her stomach took a sharp dive. He might as well have said hell. For a Clifford, the village of Douglas was tantamount to the same thing. Her brother had tried for years to hold this land—and its castle—making plenty of enemies along the way.
“Castle Dangerous” it had been called by the garrisons sent by Cliff to hold the Douglas stronghold, and for good reason. Three times the Black Douglas had attacked and burned his own castle, including the infamous episode of the “Douglas Larder” that she knew Robbie had been involved in. The last had occurred about a year ago, and the castle had been destroyed—by Douglas himself. How could Robbie send her here, into the very heart and dominion of her family’s greatest enemy?
“You have nothing to fear, my lady,” Sir Alex said, trying to ease her rising panic. “You will be safe here.”
“Safe? Surrounded by people who would probably like nothing more than to sink a dagger into my back?” She gave a harsh, bordering on hysterical, laugh. “I did not try to escape, but it seems Robbie is making sure of it. Am I to be thrown into a pit prison after all?”
“You will be treated with every consideration. I know it seems hard to believe, but trust me, you have nothing to fear. Joanna Douglas is not like her husband.”
A short while later, when Rosalin was welcomed to Park Castle like a long-lost relative (replete with gasps of horror at what she’d been through and concerned pats of her hands) by a woman who was as beautiful and sweet-looking as her husband was dark and frightening, Rosalin was forced to concede Sir Alex was right: Joanna Douglas was nothing like her husband. In truth, she seemed more like the cherub she resembled than the devil’s consort. Perhaps he’d abducted her?
When she accidentally blurted out her suspicions, however, Joanna had laughed and patted the round swell of her pregnant stomach, assuring her that although their courtship had been a difficult one, it hadn’t come to that. James wasn’t really so terrifying, she’d insisted. When Rosalin grew to know him better, she’d see that.
Rosalin couldn’t think of what to say that wasn’t rude, so she did not respond.
Like a baby chick, Rosalin was scooted under the caring wing of her hostess, given a bath, fresh clothes, a hot meal, and a warm bedchamber in which to rest. Indeed, were it not for the placement of that room in the highest part of the tower and the guard stationed at the bottom of the stairwell, Rosalin might have been a treasured guest.
Despite her exhaustion, however, she found she could not rest. She had to see Robbie. Leaving a message with Lady Joanna that it was important that she see him as soon as possible, Rosalin watched for his arrival from the window of her tower chamber.
Twenty
It was after midday when Robbie and his men rode into the bailey of Park Castle. After hours of riding with only an empty stomach and sore backside to show for it, he was in a foul mood. The heat of battle was pent up inside him, eager for an outlet.
The English bastards had turned tail and run. With the element of surprise gone, they’d apparently decided not to chance an attack. Like frightened hares, they’d raced back to the garrison at Peebles, with Robbie and his men hard on their heels.
Any thought that Clifford might not have been a part of it was eradicated when the gate opened. Even from a distance, he’d recognized the red stripe and blue-and-yellow checks of one of the soldiers in the bailey.
Furious at being denied the battle promised him, Robbie had debated lying in wait for the English to emerge. But he didn’t have the men or supplies. Once he gathered both, he would exact his retribution on Clifford for breaking the truce he’d only just agreed upon.
Robbie had anticipated a trick, and he’d gotten one. Clifford had brought him to Melrose and tampered with their horses’ feed to follow him back to camp and attempt a rescue of Rosalin. Robbie had to admit it had been a cunning plan, but it was also reckless. If it failed—as it had—Clifford was putting his sister at risk. Unless…
Robbie’s jaw clenched. Unless Clifford thought there was no risk. Unless he was certain Robbie wouldn’t harm her.
Some of his anger turned inward. Was that it? Had Clifford seen too much? Or had the lad, and reported it to his father? Either way, Robbie knew knowledge of his feelings for Rosalin weakened his position.
If being denied his quarry and having possibly given Clifford an advantage weren’t bad enough, Robbie had had to listen to Douglas’s thoughts on the matter for much of the journey.
“Clifford isn’t going to get away with this. I knew nothing good would come of having that lass at camp. You should have let me send her to Douglas right away as I wanted to.”
Robbie tried to rein in his temper. Douglas could be as bad as Seton, though they argued from opposite sides. “And how would that have changed anything? They still would have found our camp when we returned from Melrose.”
His friend gave him a hard look. “Aye, but they wouldn’t have found the lass. God’s blood, Boyd, they almost had her, and we would have let the means of bending Clifford over our knee slip away. Losing the lad was bad enough, but giving the chit freedom to move about the camp unguarded? What the hell did she do to get you to agree to that? Suck your—”
Robbie reached over and grabbed him by the throat, nearly lifting the powerfully built knight off his horse with one hand.
The red haze of pure rage swirled before his eyes. “Say it and I’ll break your damned teeth.” The horses had come to a stop. Douglas could have tried to break free, but he seemed too intent on watching Robbie. “You can criticize me all you like—some of which is deserved—but do not disparage the lass. Despite her unfortunate relatives, she is an innocent in all of this—and a lady.”
Realizing the other men had stopped to gape at them, Robbie let his friend go.
“So that’s how it is,” Douglas said, his voice stunned. “Bloody hell, I almost feel sorry for you.”
Robbie gave him a fierce stare. “You don’t know shite.”
“I know you’ve changed. A couple of weeks ago you would have jumped at the opportunity to retaliate against Clifford, not try to think of reasons not to.”
Robbie’s fingers clenched the reins so tightly his knuckles turned white. “What the hell are you suggesting, Douglas? Are you questioning my commitment to the cause?”
“Nay, I’m questioning your commitment to the lass.”
“I want her. But I can control my damned cock.”
“You’re so sure about that? I think this is about more than bedding.”
He wasn’t sure at all, but hell if he would tell Douglas that. “She’s English. I don’t think I’d need to explain that to you. Hell, what if Joanna had been English?”
It took Douglas a long time to respond, and when he did it wasn’t the answer Robbie expected. “It wouldn’t have made a damned bit of difference.”
Given the source that admission was surprising, to say the least. It was akin to heresy, and Robbie didn’t know what the hell to do with it. Realizing this conversation had gone on long enough, he urged his mount forward with a flick of the reins and a clip of his heels.
But Douglas wouldn’t let it go. “Whatever your feelings for the lass, she cannot be trusted. You can’t let this go without retaliation.”
The Raider (A Highland Guard Novel) Page 27
