Chapter Eleven
Rhoslyn whirled and hurried from the hallway into the great hall. Her mind raced. Her grandfather had said nothing about swearing fealty to King Edward—or any of the other recent political changes. He had taken an even greater chance than she’d realized by trying to marry her to Jacobus. If Edward learned that Baron Kinsley had conspired behind his back, he would imprison him.
She paused, scanned the crowded room, and spotted her grandfather near the small hearth on the left wall where a minstrel played a harp. She brushed through the crowd, but stopped when she came face to face with Lady Davina.
“Lady Rhoslyn, at last we have a chance to speak with you.” She startled Rhoslyn by pulling her into a hug, then drew back and surveyed her. “Ye look drawn. Are you well?”
Rhoslyn knew what she meant was, ‘What did Dayton St. Claire do to you?’
She hadn’t missed the looks Davina and other woman had cast her way throughout the evening. The other three ladies in her group murmured their agreement that she looked tired, and Rhoslyn replied, “A wedding and celebration in less than two days is taxing.”
“‘Tis more than the work.” A knowing light entered Davina’s eyes. “We heard what happened. For a man whose brother is challenging his marriage, Sir Talbot seems oddly at ease.”
“Lies,” Rhoslyn replied. “If Dayton’s claim had any substance, he would be here under the authority of Edward. Sir Talbot has the written command from his king that he and I are married.” In truth, Rhoslyn was relieved to have gotten St. Claire instead of his brother, but to hear the words from her own mouth tightened the knot in her stomach. She couldn’t, however, let these women see her fear. She shrugged. “Dayton is jealous of his brother and thought to use me as a pawn.” All the truth, and easily deduced.
“But he was alone with ye for a day,” Davina said.
Spiteful bitch, Rhoslyn fumed. It wasn’t the villagers who spread malicious rumors, but those of her own social station.
Rhoslyn frowned as if confused. “What are ye saying, Davina?”
“I am saying nothing,” she replied. “I understand the way of things. King Edward betrothed you to Sir Talbot, and ye canna’ ignore his command, nor can Sir Talbot. But not everyone knows you as I do. If a child is born nine months from now—”
“If a child is born nine months from now, that will only prove that St. Claire is a lusty man,” Rhoslyn cut in.
The other women tittered and Davina lifted her brows. “He is a bonny man. I can well believe he is lusty.”
A nervous flutter skittered across Rhoslyn’s insides. He was her husband in the eyes of the law and God, and could exercise his husbandly rights anytime he pleased, which meant she would soon learn just how lusty he was. She had known no other man save her husband. And Dayton St. Claire, she realized with a jolt. The weight of his body on hers as he shoved inside her suddenly pressed down on her as it had three days ago.
“Rhoslyn?” Davina said.
Davina’s face snapped back into focus.
“Ye looked as if you were somewhere else.” Davina exchanged a knowing glance with the other ladies. “You were no’ by chance remembering how vigorous your husband is?” Heat flooded Rhoslyn’s cheeks and before she could form a response, Davina added, “In truth, no one will dare gainsay the Dragon’s word, so it will not matter when your babe is born. In fact, the sooner the better.”
“Dinna’ call him the Dragon,” Rhoslyn snapped, then whirled, the sooner the better ringing in her ears. She steered around a crowd and halted when she nearly collided with Lady Elizabeth Broune. Rhoslyn blinked, startled to see her old friend.
“Elizabeth,” she blurted.
“Dinna’ look so pleased to see me,” Elizabeth said.
Under normal circumstances, Rhoslyn would have been ecstatic to see Elizabeth. But she hadn’t seen her since Dougal’s birth. Aside from her grandfather, Elizabeth was the person who knew her best. There would be no hiding from Elizabeth what had happened with Dayton.
“I-I am very pleased to see ye,” Rhoslyn said. “I am surprised, is all. What are ye doing in Buchan?”
“Iain had business. I came so that my son could visit my parents.”
“Son?” Rhoslyn repeated. A pang of sadness pierced her heart, but she said, “That is wonderful. How old is he?”
“Almost six months now.” Elizabeth’s expression sobered. “I am sorry about Dougal, Rhoslyn. I never had a chance to tell ye.”
Leave it to Elizabeth to address a mother’s concern before worrying about being married off by an English king. Might Elizabeth obtain the pennyroyal for her? Elizabeth had been her most trusted friend her entire life. If there was anyone she could trust... Nay. She loved Elizabeth like a sister, but this was a confidence that even a sister might betray.
A whisper rose from the darkest regions of her mind, She will remind you that you are murdering your baby.
Elizabeth’s attention shifted past Rhoslyn, and Rhoslyn started when she entwined her arm with Rhoslyn’s. Elizabeth cast her a curious glance, then led her past a group of guests. A serving girl passed and Elizabeth stopped her and took two mugs of wine from her tray.
She passed one to Rhoslyn, then took a sip of hers before saying, “Why did ye leave without saying goodbye?”
“Because you were far away up north and I was too grief stricken to think clearly.”
Elizabeth nodded. “You could have told your grandfather to at least tell me where ye were. I would have written.”
“I was no’ allowed correspondence. Only my grandfather could communicate with me.”
Elizabeth dipped her head to take another sip of wine, but not before Rhoslyn caught the hurt in her friend’s eyes. “What would you have done?” Rhoslyn demanded. “Have ye any idea what is it like to lose a husband and a son in a fortnight?”
“Nay.”
“Then ye cannot judge me harshly.”
Wasn’t that what everyone was doing, judging her? Andreana, Duncan, Elizabeth, probably even her grandfather. He must believe if she hadn’t stayed away so long, she wouldn’t now be married to St. Claire.
“Forgive me,” Elizabeth said. “I didna’ mean it that way.”
Guilt rolled over Rhoslyn. She’d known Elizabeth her entire life. They’d seldom had more than a childish squabble. Elizabeth was one of the kindest women she knew.
“What of your new husband?” Elizabeth said. “I have yet to meet him.”
Rhoslyn shrugged. “He is English.”
“Is he terrible?”
Rhoslyn looked toward the head of the table, where St. Claire and Baxter sat in conversation. “See for yourself.” She nodded in his direction.
Elizabeth turned. “Sweet Jesu. He is very large and very...handsome.”
Frustration pricked. “So everyone keeps saying.”
Elizabeth’s attention returned to her. “Is he cruel?”
Rhoslyn barked a laugh. “Do ye call kidnapping cruel?”
“Are you speaking of his brother?” She laid a hand on Rhoslyn’s arm. “Did he harm you?”
“I am well,” she said too quickly.
It seemed as if Elizabeth would comment, but to Rhoslyn’s relief, she nodded.
“I must speak with my grandfather,” Rhoslyn said.
The hurt returned to Elizabeth’s eyes. “Mayhap we can talk tomorrow? I will be here for another week. ‘Tis fortunate I was here. I would no’ have known of your wedding celebration, otherwise.”
“I told St. Claire there was little time for anyone to attend, but he was determined to hold the celebration immediately.”
Elizabeth smiled. “Men do like to have their way.”
“Some more than others,” Rhoslyn muttered.
Elizabeth frowned. “What has he done, Rhoslyn?”
“Nothing.” And it was true. He’d done nothing—nothing terrible, that was. Aside from waylaying her when she’d fled the convent, he had been kind and even caring. She would rather he had been someone she could dislike. Someone like his brother, perhaps. A chill crept up her spine. Nay, not like Dayton. There was a difference in disliking a man and hating one.
“I must speak with my grandfather. It was good to see ye, Elizabeth.” Rhoslyn turned and pushed through the guests milling about the middle of the room. Her grandfather still stood where she’d last seen him. When she reached his side, he stopped talking and turned to her with a raised eyebrow.
She greeted his companions, then said to him, “Have ye a minute to speak with me?”
“Aye.” He nodded to the men and they left.
Rhoslyn drew him to the other side of the hearth, a little ways away from the musicians. With the music playing and the laughter and gaiety surrounding them, there was little chance of being overheard.
She leaned close and said, “You didna’ tell me that ye swore fealty to King Edward a month ago.”
He shrugged. “So?”
“If he discovers you defied him, you will end up in an English prison.”
Her grandfather snorted. “I did not succeed. He will warn me no’ to try such a thing again.”
“What better reason to seize your wealth than because ye disobeyed a royal command?” She shook her head. “And you call me naive.”
He released a heavy sigh. “Leave it be, Rhoslyn. What is done is done. I would have done it one way or another. I did no’ want ye to marry St. Claire.”
“Ye certainly have accepted him,” she said.
“Fate favored him. At the very least, he does protect his own, and ye are his. I can hope for the best.”
“The best?” she repeated. “Has Edward returned ownership of Banmore Castle to ye?”
“Aye. As well as all my other estates.”
“What of our nobles? Duncan told me Edward has yet to return ownership of their castles.”
“That is true of many,” he replied. “But Edward married you to St. Claire, and it was good business for him to ingratiate himself into my graces.”
“He is only grabbing power.”
“Aye, as are Bruce and Wallace.”
“But they want power for Scotland.’
“And themselves,” he said. She opened her mouth to rebut, but he stopped her. “Aye, they are our nobles and have Scotland’s interest at heart, certainly more than Edward. But they are working hand in hand with him. They fought amongst themselves like children. Someone had to step in and bring order. He made more progress in these last months than our leaders have in a year.”
Rhoslyn couldn’t believe her ears. “Ye sound as if you agree with him.”
“I agree with putting someone on the throne in Edinburgh. Not Edward,” he said quickly. “You underestimate our leaders, Rhoslyn. Do ye think they will let Edward dictate to them any more than I did when he ordered me to marry you to St. Claire?”
“Lot of good your rebellion did,” she muttered.
“Luck was not with us. Though how St. Claire knew ye were on your way I canna’ say. Did he say how he knew?”
She shook her head. “Nay. I would like to know that, as well.”
Her grandfather grunted. “I wouldna’ be surprised to learn he made a pact with the devil.”
“Just as you did with Edward,” Rhoslyn said.
“Dinna’ fash yourself over Edward, Granddaughter. Once he has settled the matter of the true successor to the crown, we will deal with him.”
“And how will you deal with my English husband?” she demanded.
“You really dinna’ know?” he asked.
Her pulse jumped. Was he in league with Duncan? “Ye cannot mean murder?” she said in a low voice.
He laughed. “I would consider it, but, nay. There is a simpler way.”
“And that is?”
“Fire up his Scottish blood.”
Rhoslyn stared. “That is your plan?”
“Scotland is a siren, and no Scot can resist her song.”
“God save us,” she muttered.
Before Rhoslyn could say more, she spied St. Claire. He stood now, casually looking down at Lady Isobel Herbert, and still managed to radiate danger. Rhoslyn wondered if it was the shoulders that filled out the mid-thigh length surcoat he wore, but realized it wouldn’t matter whether he wore chainmail or lawn. St. Claire didn’t look dangerous. He was dangerous.
Isobel laughed at something he said and laid a hand on his arm. Rhoslyn’s gaze riveted onto her fingers, small and elegant on the sleeve of his shirt. St. Claire seemed not to notice her touch, but Rhoslyn knew he did. He noticed everything. Yet he didn’t step away.
“Ye had best beware, Granddaughter,” her grandfather said. “Women like Lady Isobel have no compunctions about warming a married man’s bed.”
“I never had to worry about such things with Alec.” She silently cursed the tremble in her voice. What was wrong with her?
“Alec was no young man,” her grandfather said.
Neither was Isobel’s husband, which was one reason she had no qualms about seeking her pleasure elsewhere.
“I would no’ give St. Claire a reason to bed another woman,” her grandfather said.
“Men like him do no’ need a reason.”
“Ye canna’ condemn a man for being a man, nor can you condemn him before he has committed the crime.”
“He is not rejecting her advances,” Rhoslyn said.
He unexpectedly looked up from Isobel and met Rhoslyn’s gaze. He said something to Isobel, then started toward Rhoslyn. Her heart pounded. She felt Isobel’s eyes on her and returned the woman’s bold appraisal. Rhoslyn thought she discerned a slight smile on her face and was startled when jealousy stabbed at her. St. Claire approached and Rhoslyn caught sight of his stare.
Her grandfather leaned close and whispered. “Does the man ever simply look at a body?”
Rhoslyn wondered the same thing. It seemed as if his eyes pierced to her very soul.
He stopped in front of Rhoslyn. “Seward.” He nodded at her grandfather, then said to her, “I am pleased to finally see you, Lady Rhoslyn.”
“I have been here all evening,” she said.
“Aye, but you have been so busy with the guests, we have had no time together.”
That had been her plan.
“You look beautiful.”
From the corner of her eye, she saw her grandfather’s brows raise. Warmth crept up her cheeks. Alec had told her she was beautiful. No, not beautiful. Lovely.
“Thank ye,” she said.
“Will you sit with me?” He didn’t wait for an answer, but said to her grandfather, “Forgive me, Seward, but I have had no time with my wife.”
“I can remedy that problem.” Her grandfather grasped Rhoslyn’s arm. “Come along, St. Claire.”
Her heart jumped at the thought that he meant to announce that they were leaving the party to consummate the marriage. “Grandfather.” She choked out the word, then nearly sagged when he started away from the staircase that led to the upper floors. Seconds later, he veered around a group of women with St. Claire at his side, and she realized he was headed toward the musicians.
“Grandfather,” she said under her breath. “Ye will make a spectacle of St. Claire.”
They reached the musicians and Rhoslyn pulled free of him. “I am too busy for this nonsense.”
Her grandfather nodded to the man playing the lute, then leaned close to him and whispered something. The musician continued to play, then nodded when her grandfather straightened.
He turned to them and said over the music. “Do ye dance the reel, St. Claire?”
“Of course, he doesna’ dance the reel,” Rhoslyn cut in. “He is not a Scot.”
“We do dance the reel in England,” St. Claire said.
Rhoslyn looked at him in horror. “Do you realize what ye are saying? My grandfather intends us to dance.”
“‘Tis tradition for the newlyweds to dance during the wedding celebration,” her grandfather said. “And St. Claire said he hasna’ had any time with ye.”
“Dancing is not spending time together,” she snapped.
Her grandfather lifted a brow. “Ye prefer to retire to your husband’s bedchambers?”
“Mind your own business, Grandfather.”
The music ended and the musicians struck up a reel.
“There is no sense in fighting,” St. Claire said. “It is best we follow tradition.” He extended his right arm and Rhoslyn wanted to box his ears.
“We canna’ dance just the two of us,” she said.
“Others will join once you begin,” her grandfather said.
She shot him a fulminating glance before placing her hand on St. Claire’s arm. He led her forward, and the guests parted. He stopped, took two steps away from her, then bowed as if he truly was in King Edward’s court. Rhoslyn curtsied, then rose as he grasped her fingers in time with the music. He surprised her by turning in a tight circle, then gliding gracefully to the left. St. Claire released her and they danced several steps right as if skirting other dancers. Guests took the hint and three couples joined them, Lady Isobel being one of the ladies.
Rhoslyn stepped back from St. Claire and the women fell into line alongside her with the men opposite. Lady Isobel, Rhoslyn noticed, had placed herself at the far end where, Rhoslyn estimated she would pair with St. Claire for a dance down the center of the other dancers.
They all danced forward to within inches of one another, then back. Rhoslyn glided to the middle where the man to her opposite left met her and grasped her fingers as they turned a tight circle. The ladies faced one another and bobbed around each other, back to back in a circle, then fell back into line. The men did the same and Rhoslyn caught St. Claire’s eye. A corner of his mouth ticked up and he shrugged. She couldn’t help a laugh and the smile reached his eyes.
A nervous flutter skittered across the inside of her stomach. This man was the Dragon. The dragon Duncan said would aid his king in bleeding Scotland dry. The same dragon who only this afternoon chased a goat and rescued a peasant’s wedding dress. Rhoslyn startled at the unexpected memory of his hips between her thighs when she’d straddled him.
Her stomach flipped as the men fell into line. St. Claire and Lady Isobel stepped back on opposite sides when the rest of the dancers clasped hands and began circling. From the corner of her eye, Rhoslyn glimpsed Isobel’s gaze pinned on St. Claire. Ire whipped through her. She took a step too wide, causing the dancer to her right to stumble. The woman righted herself, and they came to a stop full circle, then separated into two lines.
St. Claire grasped Isobel’s hand and they skipped down the center of the aisle formed by the other dancers. Isobel looked up at him from beneath her lashes as they separated in front of Rhoslyn and the man opposite her. Isobel’s gaze remained on him. Rhoslyn stuck out her foot beneath Isobel’s swirling skirts. Isobel pitched forward with a cry. St. Claire whirled amidst screams and scooped her up before she hit the floor. The other dancers rushed to surround them as Isobel wilted against him. St. Claire started toward the nearest table.
“Are ye all right?” one woman asked.
“Poor thing,” Margery Kincaid said. “That was well done, Sir Talbot. She would have had a nasty fall if no’ for ye.”
Rhoslyn stared, stunned at her actions, and furious with Isobel—and St. Claire—all in one. What had gotten into her? A woman brushed past her and hurried after the group. Rhoslyn forced her legs into motion and followed. St. Claire stopped at one of the tables. Isobel looked like a small, fragile bundle in his arms. Her sky blue dress a soft contrast against his frame. He surely couldn’t help but notice the dainty fingers that fisted his shirt.
He lowered her into a chair, but she shook her head and clung to him. Rhoslyn rolled her eyes. Isobel was acting as if he had saved her from falling off a cliff instead of a tumble to the floor. He settled her on the chair, but she didn’t release his surcoat and he was forced to crouch beside her. He pulled back and she looked at him with tear stained eyes.
Rhoslyn hurried to the far end of the table where sat pitchers of ale. She filled a mug, then pushed through the crowd gathered around Isobel and St. Claire.
Rhoslyn wanted nothing more than to splash the ale in Isobel’s face, but instead, thrust the mug toward the hand that gripped her husband’s shirt.
“Drink,” she ordered.
As expected, Isobel released St. Claire and reflexively grasped the mug with both hands. St Claire rose and Isobel’s gaze jerked up to Rhoslyn, eyes stormy. Recognition flickered and the pique vanished.
“Thank ye, Lady Rhoslyn.” She took a tiny sip of ale and Rhoslyn had to refrain from rolling her eyes.
St. Claire stepped back and the ladies closed ranks around Isobel, cooing as if she’d been snatched from death’s door. Rhoslyn turned and found St. Claire beside her. He slid an arm around her waist and started walking. Rhoslyn hoped he couldn’t hear the pounding of her heart.
“Are ye sure Lady Isobel will be all right?” Rhoslyn asked.
“She is well tended by the ladies,” he replied.
Rhoslyn snorted. “The ladies’ attention isna’ what she wants.”
“What does she want?” he asked.
“Dinna’ be naive,” Rhoslyn said.
“She does like the attention of men,” he commented.
“And they do no’ mind,” she shot back.
“Lady Rhoslyn, you sound jealous.”
“Jealous? Bah! I am sickened by such behavior. This is our wedding celebration, yet she fawned over ye as if you were a stable boy for the taking.”
“I would not go that far. Though I am pleased you remember this is our wedding celebration.” He navigated around a cluster of men. “Did your cousin remember that as well?”
Rhoslyn snapped her head up to meet his gaze. “What?”
St. Claire looked down at her. “Did he wish you well in your marriage?”
“He isna’ happy with the match.” There was no use denying the obvious.
“He was not happy when I forced him to vacate Glenbarr Castle,” St. Claire replied.
Rhoslyn stopped walking. “Ye forced him to leave? This has been his home for twenty years.”
“Would you have me keep an adder in my home?”
What had Duncan done to reveal his true feelings to St. Claire?
“You are very free with calling my home yours,” she said.
“Our home, then. Would you rather he lived here at Castle Glenbarr?”
The truth was, she wouldn’t. She had never been overly pleased to have Duncan living with them when Alec was alive. But, as he’d said, he’d helped manage Alec’s affairs. Given his hostility toward St. Claire, she would have send him on his way if St. Claire hadn’t.
“He would no’ be happy,” she said.
St. Claire started forward again. He pulled Rhoslyn close and squeezed between two groups of men. “I imagine he would like to kill me.”
Rhoslyn stumbled. His hold around her waist tightened and she caught herself.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
“Aye.”
“I hit the mark, then?” he said.
“Hit the mark?”
“Duncan wants to kill me.”
It wasn’t a question. The man was too discerning. “If ye suddenly died, he would no’ shed a tear.” Rhoslyn caught sight of Andreana seated at the main trestle table and surrounded by several of St. Claire’s men. “I told ye that I didna’ want your men taking up with my women. That includes Andreana. A pack of your dogs have her cornered.”
He slowed and his gaze shifted to the group. Rhoslyn expected him to shrug off her concerns, but his eyes darkened and he steered them toward the group.
They reached her, and the men stepped back.
St. Claire released Rhoslyn, and said to the men, “You have better things to do than speak with Lady Andreana. Remember that in the future.”
The men scattered. Rhoslyn sat on the bench beside Andreana. St. Claire sat beside Rhoslyn. She glanced sharply at him, then turned her attention to Andreana.
“You should no’ be spending time with St. Claire’s men.”
St. Claire began pouring ale into three mugs. Discomfort sent a ripple of awareness along Rhoslyn’s arm when his arm brushed hers.
“They were only talking to me,” Andreana said. “We sat in plain sight of all your guests.”
St. Claire set ale in front of Rhoslyn, then Andreana. “Your mother is right.”
Andreana frowned. “They did nothing untoward.”
“Aye, they did,” he said. “They know it is improper to approach you. Not a one of them is in a position to win your affections.”
“Because they are mere knights?” she asked.
He laughed. “Most are not even knights, Lady. They are simple men-at-arms. They should not deign to look in your direction.”
“There are some who say the same of you and Lady Rhoslyn.”
“Andreana,” Rhoslyn cut in, but St. Claire interrupted.
“When a king bestows land upon one of them and then betroths him to you, I will agree he is worthy.”
Andreana frowned.
“You will not encourage them,” Rhoslyn said. “Do you understand?”
“I gave them no encouragement.”
“A smile is encouragement enough for any man,” St Claire said.
His mouth twitched with amusement and he looked at Rhoslyn. She smiled before realizing the reaction and his smile broadened.
He returned his attention to Andreana. “A simple smile, my lady. Nothing more is needed.”