Chapter Six
Sword in hand, and Ross behind him with his own sword drawn, Talbot turned the knob on his brother’s door. To his surprise, it turned without resistance. He looked over his shoulder at Ross and gave a quick nod, then threw open the door. Nothing prepared Talbot for what he saw. His wife, the woman he had yet to touch, lay on the bed, arms tied above her head, and a gag tied around her mouth.
Fear tightened his chest. She wore the same simple gray dress she had worn on her trip from the convent. The skirt lay bunched around her thighs and thick strands of hair framed her face in tangled disarray. Yet she stared at him, chin held high, eyes aflame with fury. He recalled thinking that when he bedded her he would have to tie her hands to the bedpost, and guilt unlike any he’d ever known rolled over him.
“Sweet God in heaven,” Ross murmured.
Talbot sheathed his sword and reached the bedside in three strides. He was aware that Ross had turned back to guard the door—Talbot guessed, to spare Lady Rhoslyn her dignity. That was a kindness he would not forget.
He noticed a faint discoloration on her cheek that hinted at a bruise. Talbot tamped down his fury as he drew her skirt down over her legs, then pulled the knife from the hilt on his belt. No fear shone in her eyes when he inserted the point into the knot of the gag and carefully cut the fabric. He yanked the cloth from her mouth and she spat out a rag and coughed. He cut the bindings that bound her to the post. She bolted upright, coughing into her bound hands. Talbot gently grasped her wrists. She jumped, her eyes snapping up toward his face.
“Be still,” he said, and inserted the knife blade between the cloth and her wrists, then sliced the cloth in one clean cut.
Talbot glanced around the room, saw a pitcher and mugs on a small table against the left wall, and hurried to them. He sniffed the contents and the strong, fresh smell of ale filled his nostrils. He filled one mug, then crossed back to the bed. Rhoslyn stood, gripping the short post at the foot of the bed for support. She wavered and he grasped her elbow to steady her.
He offered her the mug. “Drink this.”
She reached for the mug with her free hand and he saw the violent tremble of her fingers.
“Sit, lady,” he urged.
She shook her head. “I will never again touch that bed.”
The fury that had been eclipsed by the sight of her tied to the bed rushed to the surface with a violence unlike any he’d experienced. Then he saw the blood on the sheets.
“Where is he?” Talbot demanded.
Rhoslyn’s head jerked up and, from the corner of his eye, he saw Ross turn. She stared for a long moment, and he noted that her eyes were red with crying.
“Where is he?” Talbot repeated.
“I do no’ know.”
“Ross,” he said, “see to Lady Rhoslyn.” Talbot strode toward the door.
Ross met him halfway across the room and grabbed his arm. “Ye might consider taking care of your wife first, lad.”
Talbot looked at him. “Did you see the sheets?”
Ross’ gaze shifted from Talbot to the bed. Ross cursed under his breath and released Talbot.
“’Tis no’ my blood,” Lady Rhoslyn said in a hoarse voice.
He swung to face her. “What?”
The fire in her eyes had rekindled. “It is your brother’s blood.”
He followed her gaze and saw a dagger lying on the floor between the foot of the bed and the hearth. She looked back at him, a challenge in her eyes, and Talbot realized she was unsure how he would react to the fact that she had tried to kill his brother.
“If it pleases you, my lady, I will bring him here, tie him to that bed, and let you finish the job.”
Her mouth parted in surprise and he was shocked to see her eyes shimmer with tears. The tears were gone as quickly as they appeared and she nodded. The burgeoning respect that had begun to form when she defended herself against him on the road swelled in his chest. How was it possible that he had been betrothed to a woman of such mettle? How was it possible she had been in his care less than a day and she had come to harm?
She took a step forward and gave a small cry. Ross started for her, but Talbot reached her as her knees gave way. He caught her and swept her into his arms.
* * *
Strong arms gathered her close and Rhoslyn wanted to collapse against the solid wall of warmth, but realized that St. Claire was headed for the door. It was enough that he and Ross had witnessed her shame. She could not bear for strangers to see her raw wrists and the hair falling from her braid in a tangled mess about her head. They would discern at a glance what had taken place in this room.
“I will walk.”
“You are safe with me, Lady Rhoslyn,” St. Claire said. “No one will ever again harm you.”
She snapped her head up, startled by the harshness in his voice. The hard line of his mouth was set in the granite of his face.
“Put me down,” she whispered. He didn’t respond. “St. Claire!”
He halted and looked at her.
Ross reached his side and laid a hand on his shoulder. “Lad, mayhap we can find a more discreet exit. If ye carry your wife out the front door there will be talk. ‘Tis best for Lady Rhoslyn if we avoid gossip.”
St. Claire stared down at her, intense eyes filled with an emotion she didn’t understand. The need to cry nearly overwhelmed her.
“I will walk,” she managed in a shaky voice.
He hesitated, then lowered her feet to the floor. The tremble in her stomach reached her legs and she feared her knees wouldn’t hold her weight. She couldn’t deny that she was thankful he kept a strong arm around her back.
“There must be a servants’ entrance, Ross,” St. Claire said.
He nodded and left. Rhoslyn realized she was alone with the man whose brother had violated her. Her husband. Suddenly, she wanted to be as far away from him as possible, as far away from anyone as was possible.
“You do not know where he went?” St. Claire asked.
He spoke soft and low, but Rhoslyn discerned the ice in his voice. “He did no’ tell me,” she replied. “Though I believe he wanted to speak with the captain of a ship.”
St. Claire’s gaze sharpened. “Which ship?”
She shook her head.
“He gave no hint of anything?”
Oh, he gave a great many hints; said too many things. A noise in the hallway caused her to start. St. Claire laid a hand on her arm. She jumped back.
“No one will ever harm you again, Lady Rhoslyn,” he said.
Ross appeared in the doorway. “There is a servants’ entrance, just as ye said. But we must make haste.”
St. Claire took a step toward him. “Has Dayton returned?”
“Nay, but Seward has arrived.”
“Damn him,” St. Claire cursed in unison with her “Sweet Jesu.”
“He must no’ know—” Her voice broke.
St. Claire hesitated.
“Please,” Rhoslyn begged. “My grandfather can never know what happened here.”
He nodded. “Ross, take Lady Rhoslyn out the back way and go to the inn on the way out of town. I will deal with Seward and meet you there.”
“He will want to see me,” Rhoslyn said.
“Leave him to me. By the time we meet again, you will be—” his mouth thinned “—more rested. Lust for my brother’s blood will distract him once I assure him you are safely away.” He looked at Ross. “Engage a room for Lady Rhoslyn. See to it her room is guarded at all times. No one save myself or her grandfather is allowed in.”
She fought the sudden desire to cry. Ross nodded. Rhoslyn sent up a prayer to Saint George for strength to get through the day.
* * *
It took every bit of willpower Talbot had to turn left down the hallway, while Ross and his wife turned right. He wanted to settle her on his horse in front of him and keep her close until they reached Castle Glenbarr. Instead, he must preserve her dignity. Seward wouldn’t settle for hearing news of his granddaughter from anyone save him.
Talbot neared the bottom of the stairs and Seward’s heated voice met his ears. “I know my granddaughter is here. Either tell me where she is or get out of my way before I knock ye on your arse.”
Talbot stepped off the bottom stair and turned left toward the modest sitting room. Seward looked past the man he threatened and met Talbot’s gaze.
The old man pushed past the man and reached Talbot as he entered the room. “Where is she, ye dog?”
“What are you doing here?” Talbot demanded.
“Dinna’ think to put me off with your highhanded ways,” he shot back. “I know Rhoslyn is here.”
“She is not.”
Seward’s eyes narrowed. “I will kill ye, St. Claire, King Edward be damned.”
Talbot motioned with his head. “Come where we can speak in private.”
Suspicion appeared in his eyes, but he preceded Talbot out the door and halted in the street. When he turned, Talbot said, “First, I will tell you, my wife is well.”
“Where is she?”
“She is safely away from here. For now, that will suffice. Who told you she was here?”
“If ye are asking how I knew your brother kidnapped her, that makes you a fool. I have known those at Castle Glenbarr as many years as ye have been alive. They wouldna’ dare keep such news from me. As to how I knew she was here, the innkeeper’s wife told me there was an Englishman whose wife was mad.” He shrugged. “I took a chance. What happened?”
“My brother hoped to wed Lady Rhoslyn in my place.”
“Craven bastard,” Seward cursed. “Where is he?”
“When I arrived, he was gone. Lady Rhoslyn believes he went to the docks to secure passage from Scotland.”
“Where is she?”
“On the way home. But we shall meet her on the way. Will you help me search for my brother?”
The old man snorted. “If I find him, I will kill him.”
“Nay,” Talbot said. “I will kill him.”
* * *
Ross took Rhoslyn to a quiet inn and they were seated in a corner of the inn’s tavern. Rhoslyn prayed she looked nothing more than a bedraggled traveler. Ross cast her another of the dozen furtive looks he’d already sent her way. Even in the dim candlelight, she couldn’t miss the worry in his eyes.
The innkeeper approached and she released a silent breath when he said the room was at last ready. They climbed the steep stairs to the third floor, Ross following the innkeeper and Rhoslyn following Ross, with one of St. Claire’s warriors bringing up the rear.
They entered a surprisingly large room, where a maid bustled about. Rhoslyn guessed this room to be one of the most expensive in Stonehaven. To the left, a small desk sat in an alcove, and on the same wall a few feet ahead, a short-postered bed filled another alcove. A small chest and table sat on the right wall. But Rhoslyn had eyes only for the tub sitting before the blazing fire. Washing and drying cloths had been laid out on a small table beside the tub and a kettle of water hung over the fire. St. Claire had spent a small fortune to ensure her comfort. She fleetingly wondered if he’d spent her money, then flushed with guilt. He had saved her, then made sure she was cared for.
“‘Tis the best room I have,” the innkeeper said. “I hope it pleases ye, my lady.”
“The room is lovely.”
The maid turned from pouring wine in a mug at the table, hurried forward and curtsied. “Maggie, here, can see to your needs,” the man said.
“I will not need her,” Rhoslyn said.
“I can help you undress, my lady,” the girl said. “Surely, ye need help washing your hair?”
Rhoslyn shook her head. “I will do well enough on my own. Thank you.”
The girl looked at the innkeeper.
“Go along, Maggie,” he said.
She left and the innkeeper asked if Rhoslyn needed anything else. It was all she could do to keep from shoving everyone out the door, but she politely declined and the man left.
Ross followed him to the door. When the innkeeper descended the stairs, Ross looked back, “Ye will be safe here, Lady Rhoslyn.”
“Thank you, Ross.”
“I will be outside your door.”
Heat crept up her cheeks and the urge to cry rose too close to the surface.
At last, he closed the door and the noise from the tavern below cut to a murmur. Rhoslyn almost tripped in her haste to reach the door. She grasped the key sticking out of the keyhole and turned it. Heart beating, she pulled the key free, then hurried to the tub. Tossing the key on the small table beside the bathing cloths, she yanked the ties of her bodice free, then shoved the fabric down her shoulders and arms. She scooped the dress from the floor and threw it into the fire with such force that sparks sprayed across the hearthstone. She lifted the kettle from the fire and set it atop a cloth on the table nearest the tub.
Her hands shook as she gripped the side of the tub and stepped into the water. Rhoslyn forced herself to ease down, instead of dropping and dunking her head, desperate to remove the feel of Dayton St. Claire’s sweat and blood from her flesh. When the water covered her breasts, she scrubbed her belly and thighs with a cloth until they were red, and washed the place between her legs until she was sore.
She poured the kettle of hot water into the cooling bathwater, ignoring the uncomfortable heat as the steam curled in thick ribbons around her body. Back against the tub, she slid downward until her face submerged. When her lungs neared bursting, she shoved upwards, gasping for air. Despite the blazing hearth fire, gooseflesh raced across her shoulders. She pulled her knees up to her belly and wrapped her arms around her legs, then sat until her teeth chattered so violently that her jaw ached. Still, she did not move. A thunk outside her room jerked her from her stupor.
St. Claire.
Rhoslyn scrambled from the tub, losing her balance and nearly falling in her haste to grab the drying cloth and wrap it around her body. Silence came from the other side of the door, yet she stood several long moments before accepting that no one was going to enter the room. Then she remembered the key on the table. She crossed to the small table near the window, poured a mug of mulled wine, and drank the contents in several large gulps. After refilling the mug, she went to the bed and slipped beneath the blanket, back against the wall, gripping the mug close to her breasts.
How was she ever going to remove the feel of Dayton St. Claire from inside her? What was she going to do when St. Claire eventually claimed his husbandly rights? How was she going to be wife to the brother of the man who had violated her? Rhoslyn recalled her first sight of Dayton St. Claire, how the two brothers were as different as the sun was from the moon. They shared the same father, but not the same mother. St. Claire had forcibly taken her from the safety of her father’s men—and had threatened to avail himself of his husbandly rights. But he had left her unmolested and had, instead, gone to lend aid to her grandfather.
She mouthed a prayer to Saint George. God had forsaken her, and her supplications to the saints had gone unheeded these last two years. What had she done to so displease her Lord? Was it possible to atone for an unknown sin?
Rhoslyn took another long sip of wine. The liquid sent a ripple of warmth through her body. She took another sip. She longed to return to the convent. But if answers lay there, why had God allowed her to be ripped away before she found peace?
The walls at Saint Mary’s hadn’t closed in on her as did the current silence. There, she could turn her mind to God. Staring at the wall of the inn, all she saw was a child with dark hair like Dayton St. Claire’s. What would Sir Talbot do if his brother’s seed had taken root in her? Could she become pregnant so easily when it had taken nearly seven years of marriage to conceive Alec’s son?
Alec’s kindness hadn’t concealed his disappointment. He loved his daughter, but he wanted a son to carry on his name. Daily, Rhoslyn prayed to Saint Anthony, the patron saint of infertility, and Saint Anne, mother of the Virgin Mary, and begged to conceive. At last, her miracle happened, and she missed her flux. Rhoslyn dedicated the next month to prayers and supplications, and didn’t miss a single mass. The second month came and no blood appeared.
Alec joined her in daily prayers, and when the child at last moved inside her, she allowed herself to believe she was going to give her husband the son he so wanted. Then six weeks after she gave birth to a healthy baby boy, Alec became ill and died within a fortnight. Then Dougal began to cough and developed a fever. Nothing the doctors did helped the child, and Rhoslyn’s prayers went unanswered. Tears trickled down her cheeks. The months she’d spent in the convent melted away and she again sat in her chambers, desperately rocking Dougal in her arms, while his breath rattled. And then stopped.
She held him for hours, washing his face with her tears, while the hearth fire burned to ash and the room chilled. As sunlight seeped through the closed shutters, Mistress Miura entered the room, summoned the doctor, and then sent for her grandfather.
Rhoslyn didn’t fight when the old housekeeper took the babe from her arms. She allowed herself to be led to the bed and the covers pulled up over her shoulders. When she finally awoke, she called for her grandfather and begged to go to Saint Mary’s. She had gone ere’ her son was laid in the ground. She had yet to visit his grave in the family cemetery at Castle Glenbarr.
Rhoslyn drank the last of the wine and set the mug on the shelf beside the bed. Her brain muddled and the room blurred. She considered refilling the mug, but the weight of her body sagged against the mattress and she couldn’t muster the strength to move. Perhaps if she rested just a moment...