Chapter Ten
“Jacobus,” Rhoslyn cried.
She stepped forward, but St. Claire yanked her back and behind him as the remaining men drew their swords. The nearest warriors leapt to their laird’s aid. St. Claire lunged and drove a fist into Jacobus’ belly.
“Hold,” St. Claire shouted to the men as Jacobus doubled over, then dropped to his knees, wheezing loudly.
St. Claire seized his sword, yanked it from its sheathe then threw it to the floor. Metal clanged against stone in the now silent room, and rushes kicked up as the claymore furrowed a path across the floor, then skidded to a stop.
Her grandfather sheathed his sword. “Have ye lost your mind, Jacobus? You are lucky I dinna’ run my sword through your belly just to teach you a lesson.”
Jacobus shook his head and drew another pained breath. “I dinna’—” he wheezed again “—understand.”
“Then you deserve to die,” St. Claire said in a flat voice.
The other two men sheathed their swords, and the surrounding warriors followed suit.
“Damn fool,” her grandfather muttered.
Jacobus shoved to his feet, still grasping his stomach. “What did I do?” He looked from one to the other of the men, but they only stared.
Rhoslyn stepped forward. “Surely, your father taught ye never to lay hand on your sword hilt unless you mean to use it?”
His brows dove down in a frown, then understanding dawned on his face. He swung his gaze onto Talbot. “I would no’ attack an unarmed man. If I intended to kill ye, I would do it in a fair fight.”
“Fair fight?” Her grandfather snorted. “St. Claire would slaughter you.” He motioned to St. Claire. “Mayhap ye are the better choice, after all—English king and all.”
Jacobus looked at her grandfather, hurt in his eyes. “I would protect her. I will protect her, if she but asks.”
Rhoslyn groaned inwardly. Sweet God in heaven, save me from the stupidity of youth.
“St. Claire’s fist is but a taste of what ye will receive if you continue this idiocy,” her grandfather said. “Go home, Jacobus—and I suggest you spend some time under the instruction of a knight. You are too old to start learning, but mayhap someone can keep ye from losing your damn head before your next birthday.”
Jacobus’ face reddened. His eyes narrowed on St. Claire, who met the boy’s gaze squarely. For an instant, Rhoslyn feared Jacobus would make some sort of foolish challenge, but he whirled and strode to where his sword lay. He scooped up the weapon, then left.
“Dinna’ let that go to your head,” her grandfather said to St. Claire when the door closed behind Jacobus. “Just because you are more of a man than the new Earl of Melrose doesna’ mean I want ye as my granddaughter’s husband.”
“Fortunately, your opinion is not the one that matters,” he replied.
A gleam entered her grandfather’s eyes. “Nay, but Rhoslyn is a Seward. She has as much backbone as I do.”
“She is now my wife, a St. Claire,” St. Claire said, “and if you interfere in our marriage, you will go the way of that boy.” He faced her. “Lady Rhoslyn, I would ask that you do not entertain any male visitors without my knowledge.”
Ire piqued, but Rhoslyn was all too aware that she stood poised at a crossroads that could drive a permanent wedge between the man who was now her husband and her grandfather.
“I will make sure ye know of any male visitors—who are no’ family,” she said.
He surprised her by chuckling and saying, “That could be the whole damn village.”
* * *
Rhoslyn exited the castle through the kitchen door and headed for the gate. The day was still young, but not so young that she dared waste a moment. Any chance she could abort a possible pregnancy before her new husband claimed his husbandly rights would be gone after tonight. If she became pregnant immediately after St. Claire bedded her, she would never truly be sure whose child she carried until it was too late.
Too late? What did that mean? Would love turn to hate if she someday discovered the child she loved belonged to Dayton instead of St. Claire? She certainly wouldn’t be able to end the child’s life then as she planned to now. Her stomach cramped. God have mercy. What was she doing?
“Lady Rhoslyn.”
Rhoslyn paused in her walk and turned. She blinked against morning sun to see St. Claire striding toward her. After the altercation with Jacobus, St. Claire had sequestered himself in his chambers with Ralf and Ingram, plotting—she assumed—to catch his brother.
He reached her side. “Mistress Muira tells me you are going to the village.”
“Aye.”
“Until I deal with my brother, I do not want you leaving the castle alone.”
“Do ye really think he will return to Buchan, much less come anywhere near Castle Glenbarr?” she asked.
“He has done many things I would not have thought him capable of. I will not risk your safety a second time.”
He feels guilty, she thought. Rhoslyn glanced at the gate. She needed to go to the village. Even a small chance that she could obtain the pennyroyal... Was St Claire’s interference divine intervention?
“I am only going to the village. No one will dare harm me there.”
“I will send men with you.”
She nodded, despite uncertainty. “Any strangers unlucky enough to enter Kildrum will probably get run through with a sword before they can deny any crime.”
St. Claire nodded. “Step even a foot outside the village without my men, and I will lock you in your chambers until my brother is dead.”
Rhoslyn blinked. “What? I didna’ argue with you, St. Claire.”
“I want to be sure we understand one another,” he said.
Words failed her. He hadn’t waited even a day to draw yet another line in the sand. “Aye, we understand one another, ye arrogant—”
“Good,” he cut in.
He turned and strode toward the castle.
Rhoslyn stared for an instant, then broke from the shock and started forward after him. She stopped. She had won this skirmish—if by accident. Tomorrow was another day, and only God in his ultimate—male —wisdom knew what lay ahead.
Rhoslyn’s fear was realized. She wasn’t going to be able to obtain pennyroyal from her local healer. Not that she’d had high hopes. Asking for the herb was too great a risk of exposure. But it mattered not, for Rhoslyn hadn’t seen the herb amongst the others in the woman’s store. She had obtained oregano, along with several other herbs, but oregano was mild compared to pennyroyal. She trudged along the lane in the village, heart heavy. It was possible the healer had the herb in a safe place, but Rhoslyn couldn’t chance sending someone to inquire. That would be damning evidence that she carried Dayton’s child, and the villagers had already begun speculating as to what had happened after he kidnapped her.
She didn’t yet know if she was pregnant. Her flux wasn’t due for another week, and it could delay as much as a fortnight. But she didn’t want to wait that long before drinking an herbal brew. The desire to cry rose, as it seemed to every hour. After seven long years of yearning to conceive with Alec, she wouldn’t have thought it possible that she wouldn’t want a child. What were the chances she would conceive so quickly? She had asked herself that question a thousand times. The chances were small, but what would she do if forced to bear a child that had come to her as a result of rape?
Emotion stirred in her breast. She hadn’t considered the possibility of another child. In truth, she had avoided the idea of marriage altogether. Could she so easily end a life, even one born of violence? Whatever sin she had committed that had brought God’s wrath down upon her husband and son would surely be multiplied a hundredfold if she took the life of an innocent child.
A woman’s scream yanked Rhoslyn from her thoughts. From the corner of her eye she glimpsed a blur of movement between the cottages across the lane. Her hand went to the dagger strapped to her belt before the blur shot out into the lane and she recognized the billy goat belonging to the elderly Christine. The goat had a green dress between its teeth. The fabric billowed above him like a banner.
A girl raced out into the lane in pursuit of the animal. Rhoslyn blinked. Was this Mary Boghan? Only fourteen months ago, Mary had been a slim, petite girl. Now she was...plump.
“Stop the goat!” Mary shouted. ”That is my wedding dress.”
A boy exited one of the cottages. He stopped and began laughing. The animal neared Rhoslyn and she jumped into the middle of the lane with the intention of turning him back toward Mary. The goat darted right. Rhoslyn lunged for him, but he feinted left, then went right, and loped past her. She whirled as Mary raced past her.
“Bloody animal,” Mary screeched.
Rhoslyn yanked up her skirts and gave chase, easily passing the girl. The goat let out a loud bleat that Rhoslyn felt sure was laughter. He dodged between two cottages. Rhoslyn pumped her legs faster and closed in on the animal. She was close enough to grab the dress. She made two swipes and missed, then dove for the animal as they reached the far lane. He veered left instead of right, and Rhoslyn’s arms closed around air. She hit the ground and got a nose full of dirt.
Rhoslyn shoved to her feet and whirled in the direction the animal had run as Mary’s curses sounded behind her. Two boys had joined the chase, and Rhoslyn shot forward after them.
After a few seconds and another loud bleat, the goat disappeared down another narrow lane. Rhoslyn made a quick right with the intention of cutting him off with a short cut. She zigged and zagged down two lanes and came out on the lane she’d seen him take. He was headed straight for her. She hurried to the middle of the lane and widened her stance in readiness to grab the animal. He raced forward, a dozen people in pursuit, the dress furled in the wind, and Rhoslyn couldn’t help laughing. He neared her, spurred on by the crowd. Rhoslyn was sure he’d never enjoyed so much attention. It seemed his gaze locked onto hers.
He let out another loud bleat and tried to dodge right. Rhoslyn whirled and seized his tail. They tumbled through in the dirt in a tangle of fabric and spindly goat legs. He managed a kick to her thigh, and she gasped but held tight. Strong fingers closed around Rhoslyn’s arm and she was yanked upright, coming face to face with St. Claire. The goat bleated and took off again, the dress now tangled in its horns.
“Now look what ye have done,” Rhoslyn cried.
She broke free of St. Claire and lunged after the animal. The dress fluttered across his face, and he slowed. He was blinded by the fabric Rhoslyn realized with a thrill. She dodged left and grabbed for the dress but missed. The pounding of booted feet sounded close behind and St. Claire came into view running alongside her. He flashed a smile, then passed her with ease.
He was going to catch the goat—and with very little effort—after she had so worked hard to catch him! She ran faster, heart pounding. St. Claire reached the creature and grabbed the dress trailing from his horns. He would tear the dress, Rhoslyn realized with horror.
Mary must have agreed, for her shout of “Nay,” went up behind them.
Rhoslyn reached them, and shoved St. Claire while they were still in motion. The dress whipped across her face in a stinging snap. She jammed her eyes shut and felt fingers seize her arm in the instant before she fell chest-to-chest on top of a hard body. The air rushed from her lungs and she struggled to drag in a breath.
Rhoslyn shoved upright to find herself straddling St. Claire’s hips. She jerked her gaze onto his face and he lifted a brow. Heat flushed her cheeks. Muffled laughter caused her to look up. The crowd chasing the goat stood staring at them, knowing grins on each and every face. She swung her gaze back to St. Claire. He shrugged. Rhoslyn’s heart pounded.
The bleating goat broke the quiet. She started to shove off St. Claire, but he grasped her waist and lifted her off. He sprang up and she staggered back a step as he sprinted after the goat. The crowd surged after him and Rhoslyn stumbled forward in their wake.
St. Claire reached the goat. Rhoslyn was sure the animal would elude St. Claire as he had her, but the goat darted left and St. Claire lunged and seized the horns. St. Claire dropped to his knees, bringing the goat down onto its side. He swung a leg over the goat, straddling him. The goat gave a loud bleat of protest, but St. Claire held him fast and began to untangle the fabric from its horns.
Rhoslyn and the crowd reached him as he pulled the last of the dress free, then rose and stepped away from the goat. The creature jumped to its feet and trotted off with a recriminating bleat.
Mary stepped forward and took the dress from St. Claire. “‘Tis ruined,” she wailed. “Ruined! I am to marry tomorrow, but now I have no wedding dress.”
“Surely, it can be fixed?” he said.
Rhoslyn took the dress from Mary and examined it. The bodice gaped open clear to the waist, and the hem was torn in several spots where mud caked the fabric.
She shook her head. “Nay, the dress canna’ be salvaged.”
“I will kill that goat and make Christine pay for the dress,” Mary snarled.
“Ye canna’ blame Christine for what her goat did,” a lad said.
“Aye, she can,” a woman rebutted. “That goat is always causing trouble.”
A murmur of agreement went up amongst the onlookers and Rhoslyn feared the crowd would recapture the goat and slaughter it on the spot.
“Leave the goat to me,” St. Claire said. “And Lady Rhoslyn will replace the dress.”
“She will?” Mary said, the surprise in her voice mirroring Rhoslyn’s.
“What say you, Lady?” he asked.
“Aye,” she said. “I will replace the dress, so long as ye agree to leave the goat be, Mary.” The girl hesitated, and Rhoslyn added, “I must have your word, else you will wear your work dress when you wed.”
The girl’s lips pursed, but she nodded.
“And the rest of ye,” Rhoslyn said. “Do you agree?”
A chorus of ‘ayes’ followed.
“Then I will speak with Christine. But she is old, and everyone know she loves that goat.”
* * *
One man’s loneliness was another man’s solitude. Talbot sat alone at the head of the largest table in the great hall. Laughter, music, and loud voices echoed off the walls of the great hall. The wedding celebration was a success—despite those that didn’t accept him as the new lord of Castle Glenbarr. His own captain harbored a grudge. Baxter haunted the large hearth while nursing an ale.
Yet, Talbot had never felt more at peace.
Rhoslyn chatted with Ralf, Ingram, and their two companions near the far end of the table. Color had returned to her cheeks and her spirits seemed higher than they had been this morning during the wedding ceremony. Her red mane blazed in a weave of braids that hung past her shoulders. Her olive green, velvet dress befitted her station, but he recalled her grimy face and the dusty dress she’d worn when she chased the goat, and thought her just as beautiful then as now. When she’d straddled him her exquisite weight on his cock made him wish the villagers far away. That memory would keep him awake tonight.
He reached for his mug and took a drink as he watched Rhoslyn’s mouth curve upward in a laugh. Ralf grinned back and her smile broadened. Talbot read no womanly wiles in the action, but couldn’t help wishing she would smile at him with that much ease. But why would she? In the four days she’d known him, she’d been kidnapped by him and his brother, and Dayton had done far worse than move into her home.
In truth, had he considered for an instant that he might feel anything more than and perhaps affection for his wife he might have...might have what? Begged Seward not to marry her to another man—then wooed her? Nothing Talbot could have said would have changed the old man’s mind. In fact, Talbot would have done the same were he in Seward’s place.
He took another long draught of ale. Rhoslyn now spoke animatedly with the four men. Talbot recognized the male appreciation in Ralf’s eyes. He couldn’t see the other men’s faces, but he wagered they found her just as enticing. Rhoslyn, however, seemed oblivious to their thoughts.
He half wished she had turned out to be the horse-faced woman he’d expected. A man had to choose his battles, and Lady Rhoslyn was the sort of battle he wasn’t accustomed to fighting. She had already proven to be a distraction—and not just for him, by the looks of things. He chuckled. If he were to leave tomorrow with Ralf and Ingram, he would have to worry as much about who might bed his wife as he would about Dayton showing up at Castle Glenbarr to abduct her a second time.
His mood sobered. Ralf and Ingram had others searching for Dayton in their absence. Tomorrow, they would return to Stonehaven to continue the search themselves. Talbot had reminded himself a dozen times that going with them was out of the question. Aside from ensuring Rhoslyn’s safety, he had yet to deal with consummating their marriage. A task that carried with it more than the weight of finalizing their union. He wanted her, and badly, but the taking would be far more perilous now that Dayton had wreaked his havoc.
The postern door opened and Talbot shifted his gaze to see Duncan Harper enter. Talbot expelled a slow breath. So the fox had returned to the henhouse. What kind of trouble might he stir up?
Duncan pushed his way through the crowd on a direct course for Rhoslyn as Baxter reached Talbot.
“You see Duncan Harper is here?” Baxter said.
Talbot nodded. “And he is going directly to Lady Rhoslyn.”
Baxter sat in the chair to Talbot’s right and refilled his goblet with ale from the pitcher in front of Talbot. Baxter hung an arm over the back of his chair and leaned into one corner.
“How are you enjoying your new home thus far?” he asked.
Talbot leveled his gaze on his captain. “If you cannot be civil to even me, then perhaps ‘tis best you return to England. Edward, no doubt, would be pleased to have you lead his men.”
Surprise flickered in Baxter’s eyes, then he studied Talbot over the rim of his goblet as he took a drink. He settled the goblet on his thigh. “You would not manage so well without me.”
“I am loathe to lose you, but I grow tired of your brooding.”
“I am always brooding and you never complained before.”
“But your foul moods never affected me directly—nor were they directed at me and mine.”
Baxter nodded. “Nay, they were not.” A moment of silence passed before Baxter said, “What do you think the weasel has in mind for your wife?”
* * *
When Duncan stepped up beside Rhoslyn, she hoped St. Claire couldn’t see the furrow of Duncan’s brow and grim set of his mouth. If the knight was as intelligent as she thought, he was sure to recognize the trouble that brewed in Duncan’s heart.
“I am relieved to see ye,” he said without preamble.
Rhoslyn caught the raise of Ingram’s brows and the glance that passed between him and Ralf. It wouldn’t matter whether St. Claire had detected anything amiss. Ralf and Ingram would share their misgivings concerning her dead husband’s cousin. The two Highlanders had taken to St. Claire as if they were long-lost brothers.
She introduced them and their companions to Duncan, then the four men took their leave. Duncan pulled her from the crowded area near the table to a quiet section of wall near the kitchen. Rhoslyn cast a glance at St. Claire. He’d been sitting at his place at the table, but he now stood, his back to her, talking with Sir Baxter and two guests.
“Fourteen months, Rhoslyn,” Duncan said in a low voice masked by the revelry. “Have ye lost your mind?”
She probably had, and Duncan would be the one to point it out. “I lost a husband and child in a fortnight. I am only a woman. It was more than I could bear.”
He gave her an appraising look. “Are you well? Did that English dog harm ye?”
She wasn’t sure which ‘English dog’ he referred to, and had the distinct feeling his idea of harm wasn’t the same as hers, but said, “I am well.”
“I canna’ see how with that devil as your husband.”
“I am not the first Highland woman to marry an Englishman,” she said.
“Aye, but that doesna’ make it any less devilish,” he shot back. “God’s Blood, Rhoslyn, anyone would have been a better choice than him. I would have been a better choice.”
“You?” she blurted.
“Dinna’ look as if I sprouted horns. I may not be rich, but I managed Alec’s affairs for twenty years. I managed Castle Glenbarr in your absence, and made as handsome a profit as you do. I am as good a man as Alec.”
No, he wasn’t.
“Ye never said a word,” she said.
“How could I when ye ran off without a word. Why did you not tell me you were leaving—at least tell me where ye were going?”
A serving girl emerged from the kitchen and turned their way. Rhoslyn quieted. She glanced at St. Claire. He stood with two men, his back to her.
The maid passed, from earshot and Rhoslyn said to Duncan, “I didna’ tell anyone I was leaving.”
“Except your grandfather.”
“Of course,” she said peevishly. “If I simply disappeared, he would have turned the countryside over in search of me.”
Duncan’s mouth thinned. “And you think I didna’ want to do that? I begged him to tell me where you were.”
Rhoslyn was at a loss. This was insane. She had no idea he felt this way, and wanted to say it wouldn’t have mattered. She wouldn’t have married him, but good sense—and the strange fervor in his eyes—stopped her.
“It makes no difference. I am married.”
His eyes narrowed. “Ye almost sound glad.”
“‘Tis simply the way of kings and men. I had no choice.”
His gaze turned shrewd. “What would you do if ye could choose?”
“Sweet Jesu, Duncan. I willna’ torture myself with useless questions.”
He glanced around, then leaned closer despite the fact the nearest guests stood too far away to hear them speak above the din, and said, “If ye are no’ happy, we can change things. Ye are married but a day. If St. Claire was gone, you could marry another man and no one would know—or care—if a babe was born nine months hence.”
Rhoslyn realized with horror that he meant. “Are ye saying murder—”
“For God’s sake, be quiet.” He glanced around, then cupped her elbow and urged her along the wall to the hallway. He stopped after a few paces into the hall and swung her around to face him.
“Do you want to be rid of him or no’?”
“Have ye gone mad, Duncan?” But she realized insanity wasn’t the sickness he suffered. “You would kill a man in order to be laird of Castle Glenbarr.”
His face reddened in rage. “I served Alec faithfully all these years. I have more right than does St. Claire.”
“More right to be my husband? Or more right to assume Alec’s place, take his land and possessions as your own?”
“Ye have no reason to accuse me of being a power monger.”
“Aye, I clearly have every reason, for a man who is willing to murder an innocent man—”
“Innocent?” he cut in. “St. Claire wasna’ born innocent.”
Rhoslyn scowled. “Sir Talbot has no’ lifted a hand against even a dog here at Castle Glenbarr. Why do you hate him so? Is it because he is English, or because he took what ye believe is rightfully yours?”
“Me hate him? Ye are the one who should hate him. He took possession of your home ‘er he met you. He took what was rightfully yours. He has no right to Castle Glenbarr, or any of Alec’s property—you included.”
Rhoslyn stiffened. Even St. Claire hadn’t treated her as mere property. “You go too far, Duncan.”
“Do I? Alec coddled ye. Before that, your grandfather.” He gave a harsh laugh. “He still coddles you, letting you run off as he did.”
“You forget your place. You are no’ my father nor my husband.”
“Nay, for if I was, ye would not have run wild as you have all your life.”
“Then I count myself fortunate not to be your wife.”
“You prefer that English bastard over a Scot?” he snapped “Edward will tax us into poverty. Why do ye think Edward gave him Dunfrey Castle? Edward planned all along to marry him to you.”
“Sweet God,” she breathed. “Ye are insane. Edward could no’ have known Alec would die. Edward has done what any king would have done by marrying me to one of his own. Our own leaders marry us to the English without thought for what we want—and some have taxed us into near poverty.” A fact she conveniently ignored when she sequestered herself in St. Mary’s. Duncan wasn’t completely wrong on that score.
“Is that so?” he said. “I wager the men Edward forced to hand over control of their royal castles would no’ agree that he is like any other king.”
“What are ye talking about?” Rhoslyn demanded.
“While you were in that convent, the high and mighty King Edward declared himself Lord Parliament of Scotland and, only two months ago, ordered every Scottish royal castle be put under his control. Temporary, he said, but he has yet to return the castles to their rightful owners.”
Rhoslyn stared, unable to speak.
“Ye think that was enough?” Duncan went on. “Nay. Every Scottish official is to resign his office and be re-appointed by Edward. Two days later, the Guardians and our leaders swore allegiance to Edward as Lord Parliament of all the Scots. But even that wasna’ enough for the power hungry bastard. Only a month ago, he ordered all Scots to pay homage to him personally or at one of the designated centers. Your grandfather went.”
“Grandfather?” she whispered.
Duncan nodded. “Now do ye still think Edward is doing what any other sovereign would do?”
She could find no reply.
“He has no right to rule us,” Duncan hissed. “And St. Claire has no right to even a fistful of Scottish soil.”
The feverish light in his eyes snapped her from her shock. “None of that means I will countenance murder.”
His eyes narrowed. “Ye would side with St. Claire after everything I just told you?”
“I will side with honor,” she shot back. “And I will not have you interfere in my business. I warn you, Duncan.”
His mouth curved upward in disdain. “You pretend to be as hard as a man, but ye are still a woman.”
“A woman who is capable of killing you. Dinna’ doubt it.”
He sneered. “What would Alec do if he were here?”
“He would kill ye for speaking to me this way—cousin or no.”
“Alec understood the meaning of loyalty.”
Rhoslyn nodded. “Aye, and you show no loyalty to me or Alec by threating my husband. I warn ye, Duncan, if so much as a hair on St. Claire’s head is harmed, I will not ask any questions. I will kill you. And, in case ye might wonder, my grandfather will bury your remains.”