by Tarah Scott
Rhoslyn’s gaze caught on the room key still sitting on the table near the tub. “How did you get into my room? I have the key.”
“Ross had another.”
She should have felt annoyed, but couldn’t muster the strength.
“Can you tell me what happened?”
Rhoslyn stiffened. “What do ye think happened?”
He looked at her now. “I am asking how you came to be with my brother.”
“I did no’ go with him willingly, if that is what ye mean.”
“It would make no sense to do so,” he replied. And she heard the unspoken thought, No more sense than to try to marry another man.
“He killed Sheila and your guard.” Her chest tightened. “And Mistress Muira.”
“Not Mistress Muira.”
Rhoslyn startled. “But he said—”
St. Claire shook his head. “She was found unconscious. I assume her would-be killer was interrupted before he could finish the job.”
Tears stung the corners of Rhoslyn’s eyes. She took a long, slow drink of wine in an effort to gain control. “Muira took me under her wing when I married Alec,” she finally said. “Taught me about herbs, how to manage a kitchen.” Her voice hitched. “She was more mother than housekeeper. I thank God he spared her.” But could she forgive Him for taking the other two lives? Even as the thought formed she knew it wasn’t God’s doing, but her own. She had neglected her duty and left herself and those who depended on her vulnerable. Forgive me, she mentally prayed.
“She said my brother arrived not long after I left,” St. Claire said.
Rhoslyn nodded. “No more than two hours later.”
“That is early to receive visitors.”
“He was your brother and I had a guard. I had no idea I had anything to fear.”
St. Claire nodded. “Still, I would prefer that you not entertain in the early hours of the morning.”
Ire flared. “We are no’ truly wed and already ye are giving orders.”
His expression remained calm. “I do not think it is too much to ask that a wife allow her husband to protect her.”
Her heart began to beat fast. What she would have given for his protection when Dayton yanked up her skirt. The shock and anger on St. Claire’s face when he saw her tied to the bed came to mind and the urge to cry nearly overwhelmed her.
She dropped her gaze. “I am sorry.”
“You are not to blame.”
She jerked her gaze back to him. “But you just said I should no’ entertain at night.”
“That does not mean you are at fault. I should have left you better protected.”
“Or not gone at all?” she asked
A hint of a smile played at the edges of his full mouth. “You would not have forgiven me if I did not help your grandfather.”
“That is true,” she admitted. “How is he? You didna’ tell him everything?”
St. Claire shook his head. “He is well, and sleeping here at the inn. You can see him in the morning.”
Anxiety knotted her stomach. Could she face him so soon after what had happened? Another thought struck and her insides began to tremble. “What of your brother?”
The humor on St. Claire’s face vanished and his mouth thinned to a hard line. “We did not find him.”
She drew a sharp breath.
St. Claire met her gaze. “He will never again harm you.”
Rhoslyn nodded.
“I swear, Rhoslyn, I will find and kill him.”
“He is your brother.”
“You are my wife.”
She studied him. “Why would you kill your brother for a woman you do no’ know, much less care for?”
“I will do that and more, my lady.”
Her breath caught at sight of the intense light in his eyes. She was afraid to ask what the ‘more’ included.
“What happened with Aodh?” she asked.
St. Claire rose. She noticed a long scar on his right side before he turned toward the hearth. Another, longer, scar slashed across his left shoulder blade, and yet another small scar marred the flesh above the waistband of his hose. He set his mug on the table beside the tub and continued to the hearth. The fire had burned down considerably.
He knelt on one knee and stoked the fire. “Roberts left with little trouble.”
St. Claire grabbed a log from the stack beside the fireplace and tossed it onto the burning coals. Rhoslyn couldn’t tear her gaze from the play of muscle in his back. She estimated him to be about thirty-three years old, yet his body was better muscled than many men ten years his junior. That’s what came of a lifetime of war.
“How did you know I left the convent?” she asked.
“Your grandfather made the mistake of sending two dozen men to escort you. Then he went to Longford Castle. News of such a large company of men travels fast.”
“How could you know the men were coming for me? He could have been sending them elsewhere.”
He twisted his head and met her gaze. “Somewhere else? Such as?”
Nothing came immediately to mind. She had been sequestered in the convent for fourteen months. She knew nothing of current politics. He went back to tending the fire and she found that his quick dismissal piqued her pride. The man was too sure of himself.
His attention fixed on something amongst the coals. Rhoslyn followed the turn of his head and spied a piece of gray cloth—a fragment of the dress that hadn’t burned. Mortification washed over her. She tensed in anticipation of his question, but he jabbed the fabric closer to the coals so that it caught and blazed beneath the logs. He leaned the poker against the stone, then rose.
“Mayhap you should return to bed.”
For an instant, she pictured herself naked beneath the blankets and him climbing into bed beside her. Fear slashed through her.
“I have work,” he said.
Rhoslyn frowned. “What?”
He pointed to the desk in the alcove near the door. “I have work. You need not worry about me coming to your bed.”
What work could he possibly have? But she decided she didn’t want to know. He approached and took the mug from her. She nodded thanks, then crawled across the mattress and lay atop the remaining blanket. He strode toward the desk and disappeared from view.
Blanket still wrapped around her, she closed her eyes.
Chapter Eight
Talbot could scarce believe Dayton hadn’t fled Scotland. If what the man told Talbot an hour ago was true, he would find his brother at this Stonehaven port tavern. Talbot scanned the crowded room. His gaze snagged on a dark-haired man near the stairs. The man’s back faced Talbot, but he could be Dayton. Talbot still half-believed the messenger was lying in hopes of collecting the ten pieces of silver Talbot had placed on his brother’s capture. Talbot shouldered his way through the crowd. He got five feet when the man turned and looked straight at him.
Dayton.
Angry scratches across his brow bore testament to Lady Rhoslyn’s struggles against the rape. Rage howled through Talbot. He plunged through the men. Dayton whirled toward the stairs. He reached the staircase in three paces and bounded up. Talbot’s foot hit the first stair as Dayton swung around the second floor balustrade.
Talbot reached the hallway to see Dayton disappear into a room at the end of the hallway. A feral growl burst from Talbot. He yanked his sword from the scabbard and ran down the hallway. When Talbot burst into the room, he found it empty and the curtain blowing at the open window.
He raced to the window and swung over the sill. Air born for an instant, he tensed, then landed on soft ground in a crouch. The pounding of footfalls bounced off the buildings in the narrow alley. Talbot shoved upright. Visible in the morning gloom, Dayton raced toward the street. Talbot broke into a run. Dayton stopped at the other end of the alley and looked back at him, then dashed right.
Heart pounding, Talbot pumped his legs faster. Seconds later, he shot out of the alley onto a narrow street, veering right. After several paces,
he slowed, drawing in heavy breaths while scanning the nearly deserted street. Two men stood outside a tavern across the street and sounds of male pleasure grunts echoed between buildings as he passed. Talbot sheathed his sword. His brother had to have ducked into one of the taverns or buildings on this street.
A door swung open to his right and bawdy laughter erupted as a man stumbled from the tavern. Talbot sidestepped him, then turned back and entered. Like the other tavern, kilted Highlanders and local Scots dressed in breeches filled the room. He scanned the crowd, but didn’t see Dayton. His gaze caught on a door in the back of the room. Talbot worked his way to the rear where a man behind the counter handed two ales to a barmaid.
“I am looking for someone,” Talbot said.
“Who?” the man asked.
Talbot pulled a silver coin from the pouch strapped to his belt. “My brother.”
“Is he English like you?”
“Aye.”
The man grunted. “I havena’ seen another Englishman tonight.”
Talbot detected no dishonesty and laid the coin on the counter. He made his way back toward the door. A hulking figure stepped in his path. Talbot sidestepped the man, but he followed suit, blocking Talbot’s way.
“Do I know you?” Talbot asked.
“Ye hear that, David?” the man said. “He wants to know if we are friends.”
Another man, almost as large, joined the first man. “Ye think we would be friends with an English dog?”
“I have not caused you any trouble,” Talbot said. “Stand aside and let me pass.”
“Ye cause trouble by coming here and marrying our women...then taking them off,” the large man said.
Talbot tensed. “I do not know you. But it seems you know me.”
“Sir Talbot St. Claire,” David said. “Bastard knight.”
“What do you want?” Talbot demanded.
The big man crossed his arms over his chest. “Leave on a ship tonight and we will not harm ye.”
“Move out of my way and I will not kill you.”
David reached for his sword, but Talbot yanked his sword from its scabbard and dug the point into David’s throat before his blade cleared its sheath. The room went quiet. The big man shifted.
“Move and I kill him,” Talbot snarled. Pent up fury strained against his control. “Remove your hand from your sword.”
The big man didn’t move.
“Do as he says, Morris,” David hissed.
David’s eyes shifted to something behind him. Talbot leapt aside, whirling in time to miss a knife slash through the air. David and Morris drew their swords. Talbot sliced his blade down the front of David’s shirt, drawing blood. He pivoted and blocked a blow from Morris’ sword and threw his weight into throwing the man off balance. Morris stumbled backwards. Talbot drove his sword into Morris’ shoulder. Blood gushed.
From the corner of his eye, Talbot glimpsed the flash of another sword and spun as the newcomer’s steel clashed with David’s sword. The newcomer parried, left, then right. Another sword swung toward Talbot’s head. He deflected the blade and drove his sword into the man’s belly. Another man lunged, but a third man jumped in and swung his sword, slicing the man’s hip.
Talbot turned. The first Highlander who had given aid was being attacked by two others. Talbot rammed his sword into the side of the closest attacker. The Highlander helping him forced his opponent back two paces before slicing a long cut along the man’s arm and wrist. His opponent bellowed, but the Highlander brought down a blow so heavy the clang of steel hurt Talbot’s ears. The blow broke the man’s grip on his sword and he dropped to his knees.
The onlookers nearest the fight stepped toward them.
“We must leave,” the first Highlander who had helped Talbot shouted.
The second Highlander backed up alongside Talbot, sword ready. Talbot retreated with his two comrades. When they neared the door, they whirled and burst through at a run. Men piled out of the tavern and gave chase. Talbot followed his companions down a zig zag of narrow streets until the shouts of their pursuers died. Talbot’s comrades finally stopped on a quiet lane in front of run-down cottages. The three men collapsed against the nearest wall and drew in deep breaths.
“Ye have a way of leaving an impression,” the man who had first helped him said.
“I was minding my own business when those brutes got in my way.”
The sun had lifted in the horizon, and Talbot got a good look at his rescuers. Both men were tall and broad shouldered. The one who had jumped into the fight first had red hair with a beard, the second was dark and clean shaven.
“I am surprised you aided me,” Talbot said.
“Ye mean, you are surprised we aided an Englishman,” the second man said.
“Aye,” Talbot admitted.
“I canna’ abide an unfair fight,” the first man said.
“‘Tis no’ sporting of them,” the second agreed.
“I am Talbot—”
“St. Claire,” the first man interjected. “Aye, we know.”
“It would seem the bounty I set on my brother’s head has made me more popular than him,” Talbot muttered.
“That is one way of putting it,” the first man said. “I am Ingram Berclay.”
“Ralf Wardwn,” the second said.
“I would offer to buy you a drink, but I fear it would be our last,” Talbot said.
Ralf laughed. “I know a place.”
Talbot followed them to a quiet inn farther from the docks. They sat in a corner of the inn’s tavern and when ales arrived, Talbot said, “My brother is just as English as I am. I would think my attackers would be glad to collect a bounty of silver on any Englishman.”
Ralf grunted. “If he was a dead Englishman, aye. Though, I suspect if those characters knew where your brother was they would collect the money, then kill ye both.”
Talbot nodded and took a draught of ale. “I suppose neither of you have any idea where my brother might be?”
They both shook their heads.
“Probably halfway to England by now,” Ingram said.
“So I thought,” Talbot said. “But I saw him tonight. That is what brought me to the tavern where I met you.”
“He was there?” Ingram said in obvious surprise.
“I lost him in the streets. I went into that tavern looking for him.”
“Are ye sure it was him ye saw?” Ralf asked, and Talbot detected something more than curiosity behind the man’s question.
“It was him.”
The two men exchanged a glance.
Ingram leaned forward on the table. “There are those who would prefer to see your brother wed the Lady Rhoslyn, instead of you.”
“What makes you think my brother wishes to marry my wife?”
“Ye put the bounty on your brother’s head because he kidnapped her. It doesna’ take much intelligence to know why.”
Talbot nodded. “Why is my brother preferable to me? He is less disposed toward Scotland than I.”
Ralf snorted. “Ye dinna’ expect us to believe that the Scottish mother ye never knew will sway your passions for Scotland.”
“No,” Talbot replied. “But Dayton never cared for anything save his own pleasures. I, at least, want to live in peace.”
“That will no’ make any difference to the lot out there,” Ingram said. “They are willing to sacrifice Lady Rhoslyn if it means King Edward’s interests are tied up in a family feud.”
“You realize Edward will uphold my marriage to Lady Rhoslyn, whether she is here or not?” Talbot said.
“Aye,” Ralf replied. “But that will no’ matter if ye are in England chasing after your brother and wife.”
Talbot realized they were right, and silently cursed. He had already considered how to secure Lady Rhoslyn’s safety before he left on what he believed would be at least a month-long journey to catch his brother.
“Ye do know he is claiming he and Lady Rhoslyn are married,” Ralf sa
id.
“Married?” Talbot blurted. “God damn him to hell. I will gut him.”
Ingram grinned. “That would solve your problem.”
Talbot studied the two men. He liked them. Aside from their willingness to jump into a fight that wasn’t their own, they had a direct manner he appreciated.
“Would you two be interested in entering my service?”
“If ye are asking if we will find your brother and kill him, nay, I am not interested,” Ingram said. “I canna’ speak for Ralf.”
Before Ralf could answer, Talbot said, “Nay. My brother will die by my hand and no other. However, I would pay handsomely to find him.”
“I have no interest in going to England,” Ingram said.
Ralf actually shuddered and Talbot laughed. “I would not ask that of you. I only want to know if he is still in Stonehaven. I must escort my wife back to Castle Glenbarr in the morning. All I ask is that you make inquiries and keep your ears open—and, if you hear anything, send word.”
“Then your brother and Lady Rhoslyn are no’ married?” Ingram asked.
“It would be hard for them to be married when she and I were already wed,” Talbot said.
“Have ye said the vows?” Ralf asked.
Talbot took a drink of ale. “Nay, but that is a mere technicality.”
“Ye are in Scotland, man. ‘Tis more than a technicality. Your king may make all the commands he likes, but if Lady Rhoslyn says the vows with another man, ye will have a problem on your hands.”
“Edward is more than just my king,” Talbot said. “He is the Sovereign Lord of Scotland.”
Ralf laughed. “Let him come to Scotland and enforce his sovereignty. We will kick his arse back to England.”
“I have fought with Edward. You are mistaken.”
Both men grinned.
“Aye,” Ingram said, “but have ye ever fought a Scot?”
“I have been fighting Scots all night,” Talbot said. “I will fight more, if necessary, and will not be sent back to England.”
“Ye can thank your mother’s Scottish blood for that,” Ingram replied without rancor, and Talbot laughed again. So his Scottish heritage might work to his advantage after all.
“Do we have a bargain?” he asked.
