Highlanders

by Tarah Scott

  “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?”

  The remark was a question. Had Ross shared the details of Lady Taresa’s visit, Seward would have been more definitive. That could only mean Rhoslyn told him. So she, too, had noticed the resemblance between the two women. He cast a glance her way, but she gave away none of what she was thinking. She would choose now to hide her thoughts. The boy brought the wine and Talbot finished the first goblet in three long gulps.

  “Ye dinna’ seem overly pleased,” Seward said.

  “There is nothing to be pleased about,” Talbot said. “The resemblance is coincidental.”

  “I doubt that. And I doubt Lady Taresa will give up so easily, especially after ye asked for her help. Ye know you encouraged her by asking for her help. Why do it?”

  “Reports said Boyd had four hundred men on his way here.”

  “Between the men at Dragon’s Lair and the men here, you easily have that many warriors. I would n
ot have thought ye would be afraid of battle,” Seward said.

  “Do you want your granddaughter and future grandchild besieged in Castle Glenbarr?” Talbot asked.

  “Nay. I do no’.”

  Talbot refilled his glass. “You know as well as I how easily the castle would fall if an enemy discovered the passageway that leads to the chapel.” He took another big swig of his wine.

  Seward nodded slowly. “Who told ye? Rhoslyn?”

  “I did no’,” she said.

  “As long as no one unlocks the door from inside, ye are safe enough,” Seward said.

  “I plan to bolt the door permanently,” Talbot said.

  “No one in this household would open the door to an enemy,” Rhoslyn said.

  “Do not underestimate my brother’s ability to find an ally.”

  She frowned, then hurt appeared in her eyes and Talbot realized his mistake.

  “I did not mean you, Rhoslyn.” He straightened in his chair and covered her hand with his. “What I meant is that Dayton will not give up. Do not be fooled into believing he has left Scotland. I would have heard if that were the case. This is why I must stop him.”

  She nodded, but the hurt remained and Talbot wondered if he should take her upstairs. God, how he wanted to make love to her. Since the attack on her grandfather, she’d kept her distance. He’d lain awake much of the night beside her. She might as well have slept in her own bed instead of inches from him.

  “Beware.” Seward’s voice broke into his thoughts. “Ye might one day regret no’ having a way out of Castle Glenbarr. Of course, you could always take up residence at Narlton Keep. That would please Lady Taresa. The great keep alone is half the size of Castle Glenbarr.”

  “I have no intention of leaving Castle Glenbarr,” Talbot said. “This is our home.” He looked right. “Is that not true, Lady Rhoslyn?”

  Chapter Twenty

  Rhoslyn walked ahead of St. Claire into his chambers. She had insisted her grandfather take her bed. He’d acquiesced when she stated that she would sleep on a bench beside his bed if he slept anywhere but in her chambers. She hadn’t given thought to the fact that meant she had to continue sleeping in St. Claire’s bed. So here she was.

  St. Claire closed the door and continued to the bed as he lifted his chainmail over his head. Rhoslyn hurried to his side and grasped the armor as he lowered it. He paused and met her gaze, then let her take the mail. She set it on the bench near the window, then hurried back in time to take his gambeson from him. Rhoslyn set that on the bench with the chainmail, then poured two goblets of wine and gave him one.

  He took it, then sat on the bench at the foot of the bed and took a long draw on the wine. He set the goblet on the bench then reached for a boot. Rhoslyn set her goblet on the bench, then knelt and grasped his booted foot. He paused and angled his eyes to meet hers. Rhoslyn gave a tremulous smile and he released his boot and leaned back against the bed.

  Gently, Rhoslyn tugged the boot from his foot, then took the other one off. She rose and crossed to the table where a pitcher of water sat and brought it and some clean clothes to the bench. St. Claire leaned against the foot of the bed, eyes closed. Rhoslyn wetted a cloth and began washing his left foot. He started and she realized he’d dozed off. His eyes snapped onto her, then he relaxed and she continued.

  “You went to Lady Taresa because of me?” she said.

  “Aye.”

  “You do no’ wish to be the Earl of Baliman?” she asked.

  “I am not the Earl of Baliman.”

  “It seems ye are.”

  “I do not have to be anyone I do not wish to be,” he replied. “That is why I came here.”

  She paused in washing his feet and looked up at him.

  He stared into his wine goblet for a long moment, then his eyes shifted to her. “I told you, I tire of war.”

  “Yet, ye came to Scotland.” She went back to washing his feet.

  He grunted a laugh. “Aye, mayhap I should question the sanity in that decision.”

  “A man such as you does no’ have the luxury of giving up war.”

  He lifted a brow. “You think I cannot live in peace?”

  “You might wish to live in peace,” she said.

  A long silence drew out before he said, “Does this mean you and I will be at war?”

  She dried his feet, then picked up the basin and cloths and crossed to the table. “Our peoples are at war.”

  “Not so,” he said. “We have been at peace for some time.”

  Rhoslyn brought the pitcher of wine to him and refilled his goblet. “It canna’ last, as ye know,” she said.

  “So you have decided you and I must be at war.”

  She met his gaze. “What do ye want me to say?”

  He rose, towering over her, and leaned close. “I want you to say you do not hate me.”

  “Hate?” she whispered against a dry throat. “’Tis is a strong word.”

  “It is a strong emotion.”

  She could feel the heat radiating off his body.

  “I will find the man responsible for the attack on your grandfather. And I will kill Dayton.”

  His eyes dropped to her mouth and a tremor rippled through her stomach.

  “You might as well be sleeping in your bed,” he said.

  “What?”

  “You lay beside me in my bed, but you might as well be in your own chambers.”

  “Ye are my husband,” she said. “I canna’ refuse you.”

  “Will you force me into the role of rapist?”

  Her heart began to beat fast.

  “Tell me you never want me to touch you again and I will leave you be, Rhoslyn.”

  “I-I did no’ say that,” she stammered.

  “You did not have to. It is one or the other,” he said. “If you demand my brother’s head along with your grandfather’s attacker before truly returning to my bed, then so be it. But once the price is paid, you cannot renege.”

  “I never said you had to do any of those things,” she said. “I never demanded anything.”

  “Then you do not care if I let my brother live? You do not care if your grandfather’s attacker goes free?”

  “Of course I care.” She slammed her goblet and the pitcher down onto the bench. “I asked you for nothing.”

  He grasped her arm and pulled her so close she could feel his breath on her face. “Then nothing I do will change your mind?”

  “I do no’ blame ye for your brother’s actions,” she shot back.

  “But you do blame me for your grandfather—and you blame me for sending Lady Andreana away.”

  She hesitated. “Ye were right to send her away.” It galled her to admit it. “Had ye no’ sent her away Lord Lochland would have married her to De Quincy. I canna’ fault you for that.”

  “Nay?” he said. “Then what do you fault me for?”

  For coming here. For ripping me from the peace of the convent. For giving me a child whose father I may always question.

  But what would have been Andreana’s fate if she had remained at the convent? And what of herself? Lord Lochland would have likely betrothed her to De Quincy and Andreana to someone else just as cruel. What would have been the life of a child born from such a union?

  Rhoslyn met his gaze squarely. “I blame ye for being a man.”

  His brows rose. “Then I am condemned, for I cannot change that. But I can remind you that there are some benefits to my being a man.” He stepped closer.

  She dropped her gaze to his chest. “My grandfather is in the next room.”

  “Not the next room.” With a finger beneath her chin, he tilted her head upward.

  His gaze fixed on her mouth as his head lowered. His lips brushed hers and it seemed as though ages had passed since he’d touched her. Her heart pounded and desire streaked through her. She had the sudden urge to shove him onto the bed and ride him—hard. But he kissed her softly, as if reacquainting himself with her. He slid an arm around h
er waist and pulled her flush against his body. The tightening of her nipples caused her sex to tighten and she couldn’t halt the moan that slipped from her lips.

  She didn’t wait for him to touch her, but cupped the bulge that pressed against his tunic. He swept her into his arms and strode around to the side of the bed. Rhoslyn threw back the curtain and he laid her on the mattress, then came down on top of her. His weight pressed her into the feather mattress. She wrapped her arms around his back and slid her hands down and over the curve of his muscled buttocks.

  “My lady.”

  His warm breath washed over her ear and the husky note in his voice sent a shiver through her.

  He nuzzled her ear. “You are impatient.”

  “A gentleman doesna’ make a lady wait.” She kneaded his buttocks.

  “Rhoslyn,” he said in a hoarse voice.

  She pulled her knees up and flattened her feet on the bed to brace herself, then arched her mons against his erection.

  “By God, Rhoslyn. If you do not stop I am liable to spend myself in my braies.”

  “I advise you no’ to do that, St. Claire.” She grazed her teeth along his neck. “I will make you suffer if ye do not please me.”

  A growl vibrated from his chest. She squeezed his buttocks again and bit down gently on his ear.

  “Rhoslyn.”

  She arched into him again and ground her sex against him, and again, again, and—St. Claire shoved up onto an elbow and yanked her dress to her waist. Before she realized his intent, he buried his face between her legs. Warm lips closed around her sex and pleasure shot through her.

  “Holy God,” Rhoslyn cried.

  He flicked his tongue against her engorged nub. She tried to shove away from him, but he seized her thighs, holding her in place.

  “This is-is indecent,” she got out between gulps of air.

  Need rose to the surface. Rhoslyn fisted the bedding. When he gently sucked she thought she would lose her mind. Rhoslyn started at the feel of his finger sliding into her channel. He went deep, then pulled out, plunging in and out until the pleasure of his mouth on her mingled with the stroke of his finger.

  Her climax came upon her with a fury that caught her off guard. Rhoslyn bowed off the bed. Spots raced across her vision. Another wave rolled over her and she collapsed back on the bed. Then St. Claire loomed over her, driving into her as her sex tightened and pleasure streaked through her once again.