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.”
Robbie didn’t need reminding about Rosalin’s broken vow. She had been leaving willingly…hadn’t she?
He frowned. “I don’t intend to. The lass and Clifford will both be dealt with. But how I do that is up to me. The king put me in charge.”
Douglas gave him a hard look. “Aye, you don’t need to remind me. Just make sure you don’t let your feelings for the lass interfere. I don’t need to tell you how much is riding on this.”
Robbie clamped his mouth closed. No, he didn’t. Robbie was well aware that the king needed not only Clifford’s truce, but also the coin that would enable him to evict the English from Scotland’s castles and tighten his grip on the throne.
Needless to say, the sight of Park Castle was a welcome reprieve from the past long, frustrating, ire-inducing almost twenty-four hours. After dismounting and following Douglas up the motte and into the old tower house, Robbie was looking forward to a hot meal, a substantial draught of ale, a bath, and a preferably quiet and dark place where he could get at least a few hours of sleep before riding out again.
Joanna Douglas arranged the first three in short order, but the fourth would have to wait. As would Rosalin’s request. Assured by Joanna that Rosalin had been well taken care of, he made his way into the Hall to fill in Seton and the others on what had happened, as well as make plans for a retaliatory attack.
But after hours of listening to the back-and-forth—with Seton urging caution and Douglas demanding widespread destruction that would have put Bruce’s “Harrying of Buchan” a few years ago to shame—Robbie’s mood was even fouler than when he arrived. Damn Clifford to hell! It was a curse he’d wished on the bastard for years, but this time there was an added fervency for what he’d done to his sister. Instinctively, Robbie knew how much it would hurt Rosalin when he did what he had to do.
Perhaps it was with this in mind that he declined the request to attend her. The last thing he wanted to hear was an impassioned defense of Lord Robert Clifford—not in his present state of mind.
Rosalin saw Robbie ride in with the others, but her sigh of relief was mingled with trepidation at what that might mean for Sir Henry and his men.
She waited—and waited—pacing anxiously across the room, as the beam of sunlight slowly retreated inch by inch from across the floor back out through the window until it was gone.
From the maidservant who’d brought her tray of food she’d learned that the men were meeting in the Hall. Lady Joanna hadn’t confined her to her chamber, but Rosalin knew that she would not be welcome below.
It was after hours of anticipation, then, that she finally heard the deep, familiar voice and heavy footsteps as Robbie climbed the tower stairs. The feminine voice she recognized as that of their hostess.
She waited, hands twisting, for the door to open. Instead the voices dropped off, and a few minutes later a door closed below her. She could just make out the soft footfalls descending the stairs. Lady Joanna must have been showing him to his chamber—not hers.
Rosalin sucked in her breath, her chest on fire. Apparently, he would not even do her the courtesy of answering her plea to see him. She knew he must be exhausted—she was, too—but didn’t she warrant a few minutes of his time?
Before she could think better of it, she raced out of her chamber and down the flight of stairs. Pausing before the door, she knocked—in case she’d been wrong about what she heard—and heard the familiar voice respond, “I said I don’t need—”
He stopped when she threw open the door. She thought he swore, but she was too distracted to notice. He was obviously in the process of undressing as he was naked to the waist, barefoot, and his hands were on the ties of his leather chausses.
She swallowed. Hard. A hot flush consumed her body. Forcing her eyes away from the wide expanse of hard cut steel, she gave her tongue a moment to untie. Fortunately, the shock seemed to be mutual.
“You shouldn’t be here,” he said, recovering first.
She gave a sharp laugh, realizing what he meant. “I think it’s rather late to start worrying about propriety, when I’ve shared your tent for two weeks. I needed to see you.”
His hands went to work retying the ties he’d been loosening moments before. The chausses hung loosely on his hips, and she couldn’t help but follow the trail of dark hair that disappeared beneath the edge of the leather at his waist. His stomach was as flat and hard as the rest of him, with tight bands of muscle layered across it.
“Joanna informed me of your request.”
His voice knocked her from her temporary stupor. Her eyes met his accusingly. “And you couldn’t spare me a moment of your time?”
His mouth tightened, and now she could see the hard lines etched on his face that she’d missed before. He looked tired and agitated—edgy in a way she’d never seen him before. “Nay, I decided to exercise a modicum of discretion for once. I am not fit company for a lady right now, Rosalin, and rather than say something out of temper, I thought it better to wait until that temper had cooled.”
She felt a little shiver of trepidation at the emphasis on the word lady, understanding what kind of woman he might be fit for. Though everything about him boded forbidding and unassailable, she took a step toward him. “I was worried about you.”
Her concern barely registered. “As you can see, there was no cause. Your brother’s men declined to take the field against us.”
“Thank God.” She didn’t bother to hide her relief. “But it wasn’t Cliff’s men, it was my fian—” She stopped, seeing his darkening expression. “It was Sir Henry’s.”
His mouth tightened, his eyes burning hot into hers. “I do not wish to talk about this with you, Rosalin, but suffice it to say your brother was involved—unless there is another baron with a red stripe and blue-and-yellow check arms? I saw one of his men myself when we chased your betrothed back to Peebles.”
Rosalin’s eyes widened a little at his claim, but she pushed away the twinge of uncertainty. She shook her head. “Cliff might have been there, but he wouldn’t have had anything to do with this. He wouldn’t put me in that kind of danger.”
“But your betrothed would?”
She felt the heat rising to her cheeks. It felt disloyal to Sir Henry, but she had to make him understand. “Sir Henry is a great knight, but he is young, proud, and I think sometimes overly bold,” which sounded better than rash. “I suspect he acted out of worry for me and did not give thought to the consequences.” He seemed to consider her words, and she pressed on. “I did not break my word to you, Robbie. I wasn’t trying to leave.”
“Then why were you walking away with him?”
“I wasn’t walking away. He was dragging me. Could you not tell the difference?”
His frown told her he was remembering. “If you were being forced, why did you not shout for help?”
“Because I did not wish to see you kill him. I hoped to be able to convince him to let me go as soon as we were a short distance away. I did not count on the horse. The man was my friend. Can you not see the dilemma I faced? Would you have stopped to ask him questions before lifting your sword against him?”
His silence was answer enough.
It wasn’t right that she was forced to defend herself like this, and some of her anger started to break through. “I had just confessed my feelings to you. It might have meant nothing to you, but it meant something to me.”
“You are young, Rosalin. This will all seem very different once you return to England.”
She couldn’t believe he was trying to talk her out of how she felt. “I’m old enough to know my own feelings, and if you need proof I have six years of it. I never forgot you, and we’d met but for a few minutes. How do you imagine I will now? I love you, Robert Boyd, and if I had my wish we would never be apart.”
For one moment she thought her words had penetrated and that he might reach for her. But he held his hands rigid at his sides, clenching and unclenching. “You might get your wish,” he snarled. “For a while at least.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean your brother broke the truce, and I do not intend to let that go without a response.”
Her calm, rational approach fell by the wayside. She rushed toward him and placed her hand on his arm. “No! You can’t do that! Have you not heard what I said? Cliff didn’t do this, and if you retaliate with a raid or exact some sort of other vengeance against him there will be no chance.”
He looked down at her, the handsome lines of his face drawn taut. He grabbed her by the shoulders, as if to keep her back. “No chance for what?”
Tears blurred her eyes; her throat burned. She barely got the words out. “For us.”
Their faces were only inches apart, his looking down, hers tilted back. He’d shaved, but the shadow of a beard already darkened his jaw. His chest seemed to radiate heat and the faint hint of pine-scented soap. Her desire for him reached up and grabbed her by the throat, squeezing.
She was not the only one affected. Robbie seemed pulled as tight as a bowstring, the steely muscles in his body flexed and taut. “There is no ‘us.’”
She quirked a brow at him. Couldn’t he feel how closely he was holding her? Her breasts were crushed against his chest and her hips were wedged solidly against his. “Then what is this, Robbie? Tell me why you are so angry if this means nothing. Tell me why your heart is racing as fast as mine. Tell me why you are fighting so hard for control.”
“You know why, damn it.”
“Aye, you want to—how did you so eloquently put it? Fuck me so badly you can’t see straight. As I recall, I offered that to you as well, and you refused.”
His voice fell to a low growl, which she ignored. “Because I was trying to protect you, damn it.”
That dainty brow arched again. “How noble of you. I’m sure my future husband will be very pleased.”
His hands tightened. “Rosalin…”
But she didn’t heed the warning. “I think you were protecting yourself. I think you didn’t make love to me because you know it would be different. You would feel it in here,” she tapped her finger against his chest, “and then it wouldn’t be so easy for you to let me go.”
At last the tightly held control seemed to snap. “Easy? How can you think any of this is easy? I’ve thought of nothing but how difficult it was going to be to watch you go since practically the first moment I took you. You have no idea how much I wish the circumstances were different, but they aren’t, and I live in the real world, Rosalin. Not some damned fantasy where the war is a mere inconvenience or the hatred your brother and I bear each other is overcome by a handshake. And I will not let my feelings for you interfere with what I have to do.”
Despite his anger, Rosalin felt a ridiculous gurgle of happiness. She knew it! He’d admitted he had feelings for her. Feelings that she suspected ran far deeper than he realized. It made her even more certain she had to stop him from doing something that her brother would not ignore. But how would she get through to him? “All I’m asking is that you do not act precipitously. Make sure my brother broke the truce before you retaliate.” She placed her palm on his chest, savoring the fierce pounding of his heart. “Please, Robbie—it’s only a few days.”
Robbie held himself perfectly still, but emotion was sparring and sparking inside him like a violent lightning storm. God’s blood, she didn’t know what she was asking! He wouldn’t compromise his duty and what he’d fought for for over half his life for anyone. His family’s death had to mean something.
Every instinct cried out to strike back at Clifford. Strike back hard, in the only way the English understood. And what did she offer in return? A dream? A hope? A damned faerie tale?
He’d never asked for this. But for a moment he wanted what she offered with an intensity that shook him.
“Please,” she said, leaning closer. The dream beckoned in the honeyed temptation of her mouth. Kiss her. Take her. Make her yours.
He grabbed her by the shoulders, mostly to keep her at a safe distance, but also because he couldn’t go another minute without touching her. From the moment she’d burst into the room—hell, from the moment he’d tossed her over his lap—all he could think about was putting his hands all over her.
But that wasn’t what she was asking for. Us. A future.
What she wanted he couldn’t give. He released her and took a step back. “I’ve made my decision.”
“But—”
He cut her off. “Don’t. Do not try to put yourself between me and my duty.”
Her eyes flashed angrily. “This isn’t about your duty. Be honest about that at least. Your duty is to secure the truce—a truce you have in place, but which will be jeopardized if you attack without cause. If you have a duty here, it is to make sure you are right. This is about vengeance and the personal battle you have with my brother—the path straight to hell that you both seem intent on traveling down. He strikes, you strike back, he strikes back harder. Right, wrong, everything else is immaterial.”
His fists clenched. What the hell did she know about any of this? He wouldn’t expect her to understand. She was English. “We tried it your way for years, and look where that got us. An English puppet on the throne, English lords in our castles, and innocent Scots hung in barns. The English ignored our cries for justice for years.” He leaned closer. “But you know what, Rosalin? They are listening to us now.”
Her eyes scanned his face. She must have realized he wasn’t going to change his mind, because she brought out the last weapon in her arsenal—and it was a powerful one.
Tears glistened in her eyes and she grabbed hold of his arm as if it were the last lifeline of a sinking ship. “Please, Robbie, I’m begging you to reconsider. It’s only a few days. Won’t you do this for me—for us?”
The soft press of her breasts against his arm, the intoxicating rose scent of the soap that permeated the air around her, the gently parted lips that were lifted in sweet invitation were a full-out assault on his resolve. The walls were closing in. The bed loomed out of the corner of his eye.
She shouldn’t have come here like this, damn it. He’d warned her. He was hot and restless and in desperate need of the relief she so innocently offered.
Or was it innocent?
He stiffened, recalling the time her nephew had escaped. “It’s not going to work this time, Rosalin.” A confused wrinkle appeared between her brows. “First you offer yourself to save your nephew and now your brother? Is that the bargain?” She let out a sharp gasp of outrage, her eyes shooting to his. But he wasn’t done yet. He moved his hips against hers suggestively—crudely. “Should I take you up on it this time?”
She stared at him as if he were the lowest piece of scum, and at that moment he felt it. Instinctively he tensed, waiting for the slap that he no doubt deserved.
But she wouldn’t let him off so easily. Coolly—icily—she pushed away from him. “What I offered, I offered freely and without condition. You are just too damned blind to see it. Go ahead and have your war, Robbie. If that’s all you want, you will have it. I’m done fighting you. I’m done fighting for you.”
She meant it. He could see it in her eyes.
Let her go.
His heart hammered in his ears. Muscles he didn’t even know he had strained against the urge to reach for her.
She waited for what seemed an eternity, her eyes on his face, watching for some kind of sign.
If that’s all you want…
The muscle in his jaw ticked. Blood roared through his veins, pounding. But he stood perfectly still against the storm.
She turned.
To hell with it. It wasn’t all he wanted at all. He caught her wrist before she could spin away.
Their eyes met. “Damn it, Rosalin, I want you.” He didn’t know exactly what that meant, except that it meant something.
She lifted her chin and threw the gauntlet down right at his feet. “Then take me.”
He couldn’t let it sit there. Not this time. Every man had his breaking point, and the beautiful woman who looked up at him with her heart in her eyes and dared him to refuse what she offered was his.
Robbie didn’t snap or lose control; he simply threw the reins up in the air and let them fall where they may. He’d had enough. He would have her and be damned.