by Tarah Scott
“Sleep,” he whispered into her hair, and couldn’t resist a deep inhale of her scent before forcing his thoughts away from the salty-sweet taste of her skin.
Chapter Twenty One
A boy shot into the stables and came to a skidding halt beside Talbot. “John Comyn is here to see ye, laird,” he panted out the words.
“Comyn?” Talbot repeated. “Lord of Badenoch? One of the Guardians?”
The boy nodded, eyes wide. “He is at the gate.”
This, Talbot decided, wasn’t a good thing. He released the horse’s hoof and followed the boy from the stables. He reached the gate to find two men standing with their horses and two guards. The elder, a tall, dark haired man, met his gaze. The thin line of his mouth told Talbot the man wasn’t accustomed to being made to wait in the bailey, especially on a day that threatened snow. This was the Guardian.
“My lord Badenoch,” Talbot said when he stopped before them. “It is an honor to meet you.”
The man gave a curt nod. “Such an honor that ye force us to stand at the gate while we discuss business?”
Talbot looked pointedly at the other man. “This is my cousin Davey,” the Guardian said.
“I cannot imagine what business you have with me, my lord,” Talbot said.
“The kind I would prefer no’ to discuss in public,” Badenoch said.
Talbot canted his head in acknowledgement. Comyn tossed his reins to one of the warriors then started toward the castle without waiting for Talbot or his cousin. Talbot fell into place alongside him with Davey on Comyn’s left. When they reached the postern door, Talbot stood aside and allowed them to enter first. They crossed to the table near the hearth and sat. Talbot called for wine, then turned his attention to the Guardian.
“I have learned from Lady Taresa Baliman that ye are her grandson,” Comyn said.
Talbot started, then caught himself. “Lady Taresa is an old woman who grieves the loss of her daughter.”
Comyn barked a laugh. “I have known Taresa for over thirty years. She grieves for her daughter, but she is no fool. Show me your sister’s likeness on your arm.”
Anger flared, but Talbot rolled up the sleeve of his shirt. He felt Davey’s stare when Comyn grasped his arm and examined his sister’s face. A lad appeared with a pitcher of wine and two goblets and Comyn released Talbot, then picked up the pitcher.
“Ye are her grandson.” He filled the three goblets then set the pitcher down. “Deny it all you like, but everyone will know the truth. Including Edward, in case ye have any doubts.” He took a drink of the wine, then said, “Even if there were any doubt, he willna’ let ye deny the connection.”
That was the very thing Talbot didn’t want. “What has this to do with you?” he demanded.
“Ye must know he is Balliol’s brother-in-law,” Davey said. “We support Balliol. As must you.”
Talbot stared at the man.
“As the Earl of Baliman, ye become the most powerful man in Buchan,” Comyn said. “In fact, no one in Scotland will ignore you.”
“I am English,” Talbot replied. “At most, I will inherit Seward’s barony.”
“Ye are the Earl of Baliman,” Davey said.
Talbot didn’t like the younger man. A strange desperation laced his tone. It made Talbot wonder how far he would go to attain his goals.
“Enough, Davey,” Comyn said, then addressed Talbot. “Edward is sure to remind ye that ye are his English knight, but Scottish blood doesna’ take well to servitude.”
“I am English,” Talbot repeated.
Comyn studied him. “Mayhap English and Scottish interests are one.”
“What do you want, my lord?”
“I want to see your grandfather-in-law.”
Talbot had learned long ago there was no stopping the tide. He called for Seward, who joined them in the great hall. If Talbot didn’t know better—and he didn’t—he would have suspected the old baron of contacting the Guardian. But it could just as easily have been Lady Taresa who sealed his fate. Then again, it could be as simple as a rumor having reached Comyn’s ears. Either way, he was trapped.
“I have no intention of leaving Castle Glenbarr,” he told the two men. “Nor do I intend to claim the earldom.”
“Ye would do well to claim it before it comes looking for you,” Seward said.
Concern, the first true concern since he’d seen Lady Taresa ride into the village, niggled. He fixed his gaze on Comyn. “What have you done, my lord?”
“I am no’ your lord. As to what I have done, I need do nothing. Taresa’s relatives will take care of matters.”
“They can have the title,” Talbot said.
Comyn lifted his brows. “Out of the kindness of your heart, I take it?”
“I have no desire to be a Scottish nobleman.”
“You are known for your loyalty to Edward,” Davey said. “Where is that loyalty now?”
Seward snorted. “It sounds like Davey is confusing you with your brother, St. Claire.”
“At least he would understand the importance of supporting his king,” Davey said.
“Christ, Davey,” Comyn said. “Ye are making an ass of yourself.” Comyn glanced at Talbot. “St. Claire doesna’ tolerate fools.” The Guardian’s expression sobered. “Ye havena’ had any luck in finding your brother?”
“If I had, he would be dead.”
“He may not be the fool you think he is,” Davey said.
Comyn’s gaze jerked onto him. “Another word from ye, Davey, and I will whip you here and now.”
“Dinna’ act as if you do no’ want him to support your kinsman,” Seward said.
“I have Scotland’s interests at heart,” Comyn said.
“Ye have your interests at heart,” Seward said.
“Will ye squabble over politics now, Hugo?” Comyn shifted his attention to Talbot. “Will your son feel as you do about giving up his birthright? More important, will the Kenzies take your word that ye will never dispute their claim?” He paused. “Will your wife and children be safe when you are gone?”
Anger tore through Talbot. “Even if I claim the title, they will never be safe. You have ensured that.”
“Nay, lad. Ye sealed your fate when you immortalized your sister on your arm.”
* * *
Rhoslyn could scarce believe it. Her husband had accepted the title as the Earl of Baliman. She nodded for more wine to the boy waiting near the table, then leaned close to Lady Taresa and said in a whisper loud enough to be heard over the din of the evening meal, “Is there anything more ye need, my lady?”
Lady Taresa laid a hand on Rhoslyn’s. “Please call me Taresa. Perhaps one day you will call me Grandmother.” She hesitated, then added, “Will you allow me to stay with you when your time comes?”
Emotion squeezed Rhoslyn’s heart. She didn’t remember her mother and the thought of another woman, family, being present during the birth of her child brought the prick of tears. God help her, she was growing weepy.
“Aye, my la—er, Taresa. I would be pleased for ye to be with me when the babe comes.”
Sir Derek appeared at the table to Taresa’s right, leaned down and whispered something in her ear. She paused, listening, then nodded. He left and she returned her attention to Rhoslyn.
“He is very devoted to you,” Rhoslyn said.
“He is.” Taresa’s gaze shifted onto the knight, who made his way through the crowded hall toward the postern door. “He has served me for fifteen years. I trust him with my life.”
And more, Rhoslyn suspected. It was obvious the knight was in love with his mistress. Rhoslyn marveled. She never suspected a love affair could carry on so late in a woman’s life and with a man so much younger.
Taresa looked back at her. “I never hoped to have a grandchild, much less a great grandchild,” Taresa said. “I am very pleased. I hope you and my grandson will visit Narlton Keep soon.”
“St. Claire might come, but not me. At least, not until h
e finds his brother.”
Taresa frowned and Rhoslyn realized she didn’t know what had happened. Fear seized her. Lady Taresa didn’t know that the baby Rhoslyn carried might not be St. Claire’s. Rhoslyn glanced to her right to find St. Claire staring at her. Surely, he hadn’t overheard their conversation?
“Forgive me,” Rhoslyn said to Taresa. “I am suddenly tired.”
It was only half a lie. She found she was tired, and the smell of the food on the table wasn’t setting well with her stomach. She rose before the older woman could protest and hurried toward the kitchen. Her gaze caught on Sir Ascot, talking with a group of men near the kitchen door. He stared, brows furrowed. The knight was sure to tell her grandfather she had left the great hall upset.
Rhoslyn slowed, then entered the kitchen. She murmured greetings to the women, then took the stairs. She reached her chambers and lowered herself onto the bench in front of the fire. When St. Claire and her grandfather had come to the private solar accompanied by John Comyn, lord of Badenoch, the shock had been no greater than their announcement that St. Claire agreed to claim the Earldom of Baliman.
Her first thought had been that the title would endear Scotland to him. But the rigid set of his jaw had betrayed his thoughts. He had accepted the inevitable, but was determined to serve only Edward. That, she realized with the same trepidation she’d felt upon learning she was to marry an English knight, meant he would put his now-considerable support behind Edward’s efforts to crown John Balliol. St. Claire’s allegiance to Edward was the very reason John Comyn had taken note of him. Comyn supported Balliol, and knew St. Claire would as well.
Her grandfather seemed oblivious to the danger. He had planned to set fire to St. Claire’s Scottish blood without realizing that St. Claire was as much Spanish as Scottish—and he ignored the fact the knight was English through and through. A tremor rippled through her midsection. Now, that Spanish heritage sat in her hall celebrating the upcoming birth of a grandchild that might not be hers.
Lady Taresa wouldn’t be so willing to witness the birth of a grandchild who might be the result of a rape. Would the lady’s attitude affect St. Claire? He had sworn the child was his and, to his credit, he hadn’t once made her feel otherwise. But Lady Taresa was his blood, and say what he may, blood made demands that couldn’t be ignored. Wasn’t that what her grandfather had implied when he’d said St. Claire’s Scottish blood would fire in his veins? Aye, but St. Claire was dead set against any Scottish claims on his loyalty.
Tears pressed against her eyes. What would become of their son...their daughters? Would their fates have been less brutal had she married De Quincy? Yes. St. Claire was a good man. He would be a good father. Unlike De Quincy, he would care who his daughters married. He had cared who Andreana married. But what would he do if the command to marry them came from Edward instead of Lochland?
A light knock on the door caused her to jump.
“Lady Rhoslyn.”
Lady Taresa.
“May I come in?” Taresa asked.
Rhoslyn swiped at a tear she hadn’t realized was slipping down her cheek. If she remained quiet maybe Taresa would go away.
“Please,” Taresa entreated.
Rhoslyn rose and went to the door. With a fortifying breath, she opened the door. “My lady,” she said.
A moment of silence passed and Taresa said, “May I come in?”
Mortification sent a wave of heat to Rhoslyn’s face. “Of course. Please, forgive me.” She stood aside and the older woman entered.
“What a lovely room,” Taresa said.
“Thank you. Will you join me by the fire?” Rhoslyn asked.
“That would be lovely.”
Rhoslyn led her to the bench. “Would you like wine? I can have some brought up.”
“No. Please, sit with me.”
“Of course.” Rhoslyn sat beside her.
She started when Taresa took her hand. “Talbot explained what happened. Can you forgive me?”
“Forgive you?” Rhoslyn said. “Ye have done nothing wrong.”
“It was an accident, yes, because I did not know that Talbot’s brother had abducted you.” Concern furrowed her brow. “You are well, yes?”
“I am well, my lady.”
“No. Taresa, remember?”
Rhoslyn nodded shyly. “Taresa. I am well. Talbot saved me before Dayton could take me away from Scotland.”
Taresa brushed back a lock of hair from Rhoslyn’s face. “Talbot tells me he could not be happier that you are carrying his child.”
A lump formed in Rhoslyn’s throat. “He said that?”
Taresa’s eyes narrowed. “He did not tell you that? Men,” she said with vehemence. “They can be such fools. We will speak with him.”
“Nay,” Rhoslyn blurted.
“Do not be afraid, little one, I can deal with him. Remember, he is my grandson.” She leaned close. “He does not yet know what that means, but I will teach him.”
Rhoslyn laughed. “I am certain you will. But you misunderstand. Tal-St. Claire has assured me how pleased he is we are to have a child.”
Taresa studied her. “You are certain?”
She nodded. “I promise. In this, he has done all he should.”
“In this?” Taresa repeated.
“Forgive me, Taresa, I do no’ mean to speak badly of him.”
“But...” the older woman urged.
Rhoslyn hesitated, then realized Lady Taresa was not a woman easily fooled. It wouldn’t be long before she understood that Rhoslyn politically opposed her grandson. Would she guess how deep the division ran?
“Talbot has been good to me,” she said, and it was true.
“But that is not all,” Taresa said.
It should be enough, Rhoslyn mentally replied. But it wasn’t. “Do ye know John Comyn?” she asked.
“Of course. He is one of the Guardians.”
“He is the brother-in-law to John Balliol,” Rhoslyn said.
“Ahh,” Taresa intoned. “And you fear Talbot will follow his lead and support Balliol.”
“Aye,” Rhoslyn replied. “Balliol is too amenable to Edward. Robert Bruce is a far better choice for the crown.”
“Indeed?” Taresa said. “Have you forgotten that Robert has been amenable to Edward on many occasions? Not the least of which is agreeing to appoint him arbiter of Scotland?”
Rhoslyn nodded. “Robert hasna’ been perfect. Who has? But he is loyal to Scotland. Balliol is nothing more than an English puppet.”
“You fear for your country and, perhaps, how your children will be used as pawns?” Taresa said.
“I am sorry,” she replied. “I know this is no’ the familial harmony ye seek.”
Taresa laughed. “I am Spanish, my dear. Familial harmony only means we do not kill one another.” A twinkle lit her eye. “We love a good fight. I think you and my grandson will fight well.”
That was exactly what Rhoslyn feared.
* * *
Talbot stared down at Rhoslyn, her back turned to him in her bed. He wasn’t fooled. She wasn’t asleep.
He sat on the mattress beside her. “Are you feeling better?”
“I am fine,” she replied.
“You are not pleased?” he asked. “Your children will be nobility.”
“My children will have my noble blood in them,” she replied.
So she recognized the reality of the situation.
“John Comyn is pleased,” she said.
“Aye,” Talbot said.
“What will you do when Edward commands our daughters to marry an Englishman?”
Talbot stretched out on the bed and pulled her back flush against him. “We have no daughters yet, and already you have them married.”
“I know what lies in store for them.”
“To be cared for by a good man.”
She turned in his arms and faced him. “Will you promise me that will be so?”
Staring down into her dark eyes, he could
refuse her nothing. “I promise.”
“And our sons,” she said, “will they fight English wars?”
“We have all fought English wars,” he said.
She studied him. “Will they serve an English king?”
“They will serve the King of Scotland.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Ye believe Edward will rule, that is why you say that.”
“I do not appoint kings,” he said.
“Oh, but ye do. The Earl of Baliman has much power.”
“I have no interest in choosing kings.”
“But you will,” she said, and his chest tightened at the sadness in her voice.
* * *
Rhoslyn stood on the parapet staring west. What seemed like an eternity passed before she spied several moving specs in the distance.
“Please, Saint George, bring the Dragon home,” she murmured.
At last, she discerned the riders and sent up a prayer of thanks.
Ross appeared at her side. “It is St. Claire.”
“Aye.”
When he and his men neared the castle, the warriors on the wall began the wide swing of the gate and Rhoslyn turned toward the stairs.
“Mayhap ye should remain up here until our visitors leave,” Ross said.
“I am safe enough,” she told him.
She had no intention of being absent when St. Claire confronted his grandmother’s relatives. His relatives.
Rhoslyn descended the stairs and stepped onto the ground as St. Claire shot through the gates with his men close behind. He turned his horse to face the half dozen mounted men who waited in the bailey, surrounded by a dozen warriors.
“I am gone from Castle Glenbarr less than a day and trouble enters my home,” he snapped.
His gaze caught on her and surprise showed on his face, then his eyes darkened. Ross was right. He wasn’t pleased. He gave a sharp nod to one of his men. The warrior moved to Rhoslyn’s side, hand on sword hilt.
St. Claire pinned his hard stare on the men. “Which of you is Niall Kenzie?”
