Chapter Eighteen
When the postern door closed behind Lochland, Talbot was ready for Rhoslyn as she rounded on him. He held up a hand to quiet her. “A moment, Lady Rhoslyn.” Talbot called to a lad waiting near the table. “Find Sir Baxter and send him to my private quarters. Look first on the wall. If he is not there, try the field where the men train.”
“Aye, laird,” the boy started to turn away.
“Lad.”
The boy stopped.
“Come with Baxter to my chambers.”
The boy’s eyes widened, but he turned and sped from the room.
Talbot turned back to Rhoslyn. “Where is Lady Andreana?”
Rhoslyn shook her head. “I do no’ know. She could be in her chambers, or mayhap she is sitting with my grandfather.”
“We had better find her and tell her she is married.”
Rhoslyn’s eyes rounded. “My God, St. Claire, what have I done?”
“Gotten us all hung, if your priest does not agree to forge marriage papers.”
“You mean ye really will betroth Sir Baxter to Andreana?”
“You were not sure I would?” He laughed. “If you had doubts, why did you tell Lochland they were married?”
“I could think of nothing else.”
“I suppose I should be glad you did not think of me killing him.”
“The thought crossed my mind,” she replied, and Talbot suspected it was more accurate to say that she considered killing him herself.
“Let us find Lady Andreana,” he said.
He strode to the kitchen and ordered one of the maids to find Andreana and send her to his chambers. He returned to Rhoslyn and they hurried to their private quarters.
When he closed the door behind them, she said, “What if Father Crey will no’ say they are already married?”
“He will agree if he wants any more contributions from me.”
Her mouth fell open. “Ye canna’ bribe a priest.”
“Aye, but I can.”
She shook her head. “He will do it to save her from De Quincy.”
“All the better. That will save me silver.”
“That is blasphemy,” she said, but he caught a hint of laughter in her voice, and relief flooded him. Perhaps she had seen reason and understood he wasn’t to blame for her grandfather being attacked.
“It is frugal,” he replied.
“We must have witnesses. Mistress Muira will surely agree. My grandfather. Perhaps some of your men as well, St. Claire.” Her brow knitted in worry. “Will Sir Baxter marry her?”
“He will do as I command.”
“I do no’ want him to hate her.”
“Rhoslyn, it is a good match for him. He will be pleased. Do not worry.”
She snorted. “Ye are a terrible liar. He hates Scotland. I believe he dreams of you and him returning to England.”
Talbot regarded her. “There was a time you dreamed of me returning to England. Now you have married your stepdaughter to my captain.”
“Your captain is preferable to De Quincy.”
“Hmm,” Talbot intoned. “So it isn’t that you see our redeeming qualities, but simply that there is someone you perceive as being worse than we are.”
She stepped closer to him. “Nay. You are wrong. I...” Confusion washed across her features and Talbot read in her eyes fear for her grandfather’s life and anger that he had been hurt.
Talbot grasped her chin and tilted her face up toward him. “You...”
She reached for his shoulders, rose on tiptoes, kissed him, then drew back. “I am grateful that you are saving Andreana.”
He looked down at her. “Grateful?”
That was a start.
* * *
A knock sounded at the door and Rhoslyn jerked free of St. Claire’s embrace.
“Enter,” he called.
The door opened and Andreana entered. “Ye called for me, laird?”
“Aye, Lady Andreana.” He looked at Rhoslyn.
“Andreana, come, sit with me at the fire.”
The girl looked from Rhoslyn to him, brows drawn, but she did as Rhoslyn asked.
They sat and Rhoslyn took Andreana’s hand in hers. “There is no way to say this save directly.”
“What is it?” Andreana blurted. “Has Grandfather died?”
“Nay,” Rhoslyn quickly assured her. “Nothing like that. I am sorry. We didna’ mean to frighten you. Andreana, ye are to be married immediately.”
Andreana blinked. “Married?” She looked from Rhoslyn to St. Claire. “What has happened?”
“Lord Lochland wanted to betroth you to De Quincy,” St. Claire replied.
Andreana gasped.
“Your mother told him you were already wed to Sir Baxter.”
Rhoslyn squeezed her hand. “It was the only way. St. Claire says Sir Baxter is a good man. He is preferable to De Quincy, do ye no’ agree?”
“Aye,” Andreana said slowly. “It is just so...unexpected.” She looked again at St. Claire. “What does Sir Baxter think about being saddled with a Scottish wife?”
“He will consider himself fortunate,” Rhoslyn interjected.
Andreana gave her a gentle smile. “Sir Baxter has no more wish to marry a Scottish woman than ye did to marry an Englishman.”
“Andreana,” Rhoslyn remonstrated.
“Do not chide her for understanding the truth, Rhoslyn,” St. Claire cut in, then shifted his gaze to Andreana. “It is a good match for him, more than he could have hoped for at least another five years, maybe more. Aside from being intelligent and beautiful, you are an heiress. He will see the advantage in marrying you.”
“But you told Lord Lochland that we were already married. How will you hide the truth from him?”
Rhoslyn patted her hand. “Leave that to us.”
Andreana shook her head. “I must know, for Sir Baxter and I are to live this farce.”
“It is no farce,” Rhoslyn said. “You will truly be married. Father Crey will date the wedding’s church records four days past.”
Her brows rose. “That is a dangerous game.”
“The risk is worth keeping you from De Quincy,” Rhoslyn said.
Andreana nodded. “Aye.” She shifted her attention to St. Claire. “Thank you. This is a terrible risk. I am in your debt.”
Annoyance pricked. Rhoslyn had risked just as much as St. Claire, but Andreana acted as if she had nothing to do with saving her from De Quincy. Though, St. Claire hadn’t had to go along with the lie. He could have told Lord Lochland the truth and left Andreana to her fate. He did, in truth, have more than Rhoslyn to lose if the earl discovered their lie. Was he doing this to make up for her grandfather’s injury? Of course he was, he—Another knock came to the door. St. Claire bade them enter. The lad and Sir Baxter entered the room.
“Sit, Baxter,” St. Claire said.
The man’s brows rose, but he obeyed as St. Claire strode to the writing table in the far corner of the room. As he wrote something on a parchment, Rhoslyn noticed the furtive glances Andreana cast in Sir Baxter’s direction. Rhoslyn recalled the day Andreana returned to Castle Glenbarr, and her reaction to Sir Baxter when they were introduced, then the way she had watched him during the games. The girl was attracted to him! So this marriage might not be the prison sentence Rhoslyn had feared it might be.
St. Claire rose from the table with the parchment, folded and sealed. He instructed the boy to deliver the note to Father Crey in the village. The lad left and St. Claire faced them.
“Baxter, you will be pleased to know that I have betrothed you to Lady Andreana.”
Startlement flickered in the knight’s eyes. “Forgive me, my lord, this is somewhat...abrupt.”
“Aye,” St. Claire said, and recounted to Sir Baxter what had happened.
Sir Baxter gave a slow nod. “I have heard of De Quincy. It is said he does not deal fairly with his tenants.”
Rhoslyn snorted. “That is but one of his faults. He would rule all of Buchan, given the chance, and he would do it on the backs of those who work the land. He is a cruel man.”
“I suppose it is fortunate, then, that I am free to save Lady Andreana.”
The words were sweet, but Rhoslyn was sure she heard bitterness in his voice.
“Aye, it is,” St. Claire said. “Father Crey will perform the ceremony immediately, then you and Lady Andreana will leave for England tomorrow.”
Andreana gasped and Rhoslyn shot to her feet. “England? But why?”
“As long as Lochland believes his power is in jeopardy he will do anything necessary to protect his position. I can better ensure Lady Andreana’s protection if she is beyond his reach.”
“If she conceives right away, she will be of no use to the earl.”
“Just as you thought you would have been no use to me?” he asked.
Her face heated as much with anger as embarrassment. “There are a dozen other ways you can protect her,” Rhoslyn insisted.
“None so well as to send her to England. It is not permanent. Only until your grandfather recovers. Once he is well, he can take his affairs in hand and Lochland will not fight him on this issue. So long as your grandfather agrees with the marriage.”
“Ye need not worry,” Rhoslyn said. “Lord Lochland needs you as an ally. You saw for yourself, he understood and accepted your decision.”
“I saw a man who understands the value of strategy. Do not think he will give up so easily, Rhoslyn. It is not inconceivable that he will ask Father Crey to annul the marriage. Four days is not so long as to make an annulment difficult, and De Quincy would consider the loss of his young wife’s virginity worth the power he would gain against the House of Seward.” She started to rebut, but he shook his head. “It is not safe for her in Scotland, surely you see that.”
“What I see is that it is safer for you if she is away from here. It is less likely Lord Lochland will discover that you lied to him if Andreana is not here.”
His mouth thinned. “We lied to him, Rhoslyn.”
She stiffened. “You would rather I had let her go to De Quincy.”
“I would rather you be reasonable. You want her safe. This is the best way. I say again, it is not permanent, only until your grandfather recovers.”
“And if he does no’ recover?”
His gaze remained locked with hers. “I thought you were unwilling to consider that possibility.”
“I was no’ willing to consider the possibility that you would send Andreana away.”
“Then you should not have married her to Baxter.”
* * *
Rhoslyn could scarce believe Andreana was married, even if only for a day. Worse, she couldn’t believe they stood at the gate saying goodbye.
“I will be well,” Andreana assured her.
Rhoslyn smoothed back a lock of hair that strayed from Andreana’s braid. “He has been kind to you. I see it.”
Andreana blushed and nodded. “He is kind.”
“If you need anything—”
“I will write,” Andreana cut in. “I promise.”
“Dinna’ let those English treat ye badly,” Rhoslyn said.
“No more badly than we have treated them,” she replied.
“You have grown too wise, Andreana.”
“You taught me well.”
Rhoslyn had promised herself she wouldn’t cry, but a tear slipped down her cheek.
“If ye cry, I will cry, too,” Andreana warned. “I think my husband would prefer no’ to have a weepy wife on such a long journey.”
Rhoslyn swiped at her cheek. “Ye are right.” She pulled Andreana into a long hug. Then she let her go.
* * *
“Make sure the men finish this roof today,” Talbot told Ross. The other two can be repaired before—” He broke off at seeing Ross’s eyes shift past him. The men working on the cottage had stopped and were also staring at something behind him, as well. Talbot twisted and looked over his shoulder. A woman wrapped in a plaid against the gusting wind rode between two knights, followed by a dozen others.
“God’s teeth,” Ross said under his breath.
“You know her?” Talbot asked
“Aye. Lady Taresa Baliman.”
“Who is she?”
“She is a very great lady who hasna’ been in this part of Buchan for nearly twenty years. I wonder what brings her here now.”
“There is only one way to find out.” Talbot strode from the cottage toward the lane.
“Back to work,” Ross ordered the men, and started after him.
They reached the road as the company neared. Talbot could better see the woman and guessed her to be fifty-five, and still quite striking. Her dark hair, streaked lightly with silver, hung to her shoulders in a pearl beaded hair net. Her almond shaped green eyes—Talbot started. Her green eyes were those of his sister’s.
The company reached Talbot and Ross, and stopped.
“Can we be of service, my lady?” Talbot asked.
She regarded him intently and, for an instant, he saw his sister in the same cool expression.
“You are Sir Talbot St. Claire,” she said.
The words were not a question and had been spoken with a slight Spanish accent.
“Aye, my lady. I am.”
“I have come to speak with you.”
A strange chill swept through him. “You are welcome in Castle Glenbarr,” he said.
Her eyes shifted past him to the castle, which lay just beyond the village. She seemed to think for a moment, then said, “Perhaps we could sit in one of the cottages?”
“My lady—” the knight to her left began.
“Have no fear, Derek. Sir Talbot will see to my safety inside the cottage. Is that not correct, Sir Talbot?”
“I will guard you with my life,” he replied.
She looked at the knight and Talbot noted the softening in her eyes. “You will see that all remains well here.”
The man’s mouth thinned, but he canted his head in acknowledgement.
“Ross,” Talbot said, “will you ask if we might sit in one of the cottages?”
“Aye,” he replied, and left.
Sir Derek dismounted and helped the lady from her horse. Ross returned and showed them to a cottage three houses down from their work site.
Talbot seated Lady Taresa in one of the two chairs at the modest table near the hearth, and waited.
“Will you sit?” she asked.
“If it pleases you.” He sat in the chair opposite her.
“You have your grandfather’s eyes and his hair,” she said without preamble.
Talbot tensed. “I did not know my grandfather.”
“That is a shame,” she replied. “He was a good man. May I see the picture of your sister on your arm?” That caught him completely off guard, but before he could reply, she added, “It is on your arm, I have heard.”
“It is, my lady. Might I ask why you want to see it?”
“Is it a secret?” she asked.
“Nay.” He waited, but she offered no further explanation. Talbot rolled up the sleeve on his right arm, halting where his shirt covered his shoulder, exposing all but the top of his sister’s head.
Lady Taresa leaned forward and traced a finger over her face. “What was her name?”
“Lilas.”
She removed her hand and leaned back in her chair. “The face is hers.”
Unease lifted the hairs on the back of his neck.
She lifted her gaze to his face. “She never told me she had children.”
Talbot rolled his sleeve back down. “You knew my mother.”
A sad light entered her eyes. “She was my daughter.”
* * *
From her seat at the window in her private solar, Rhoslyn watched the village, and the riders St. Claire spoke with.
“I dinna’ want to look at the accounts,” Lady Saraid complained.
“Ye will someday be glad you learned these things,” Rhoslyn said without taking her eyes off St. Claire. “Your father will no’ be pleased if ye neglect your duty while here at Castle Glenbarr.”
“My father is unfair,” the girl complained.
If life was fair, her grandfather wouldn’t be still lying unconscious in her bed. They fed him broth and wine. Muira refused to allow Rhoslyn to clean him. The housekeeper herself took care of him. Rhoslyn would never be able to repay her kindness.
“Can we not do something else for a while?” Saraid asked.
Rhoslyn squinted in an effort to make out the face of the lady talking with St. Claire. “Your father wants to make sure ye are ready to run your own household.”
And he had woefully neglected his duty. He’d let the girl run wild, and now she didn’t want to be broken. He’d gotten down on his knees and begged Rhoslyn to take her for six months. She’d not committed at first, but the baron kept sending gift after gift with a plea to help him. Rhoslyn hadn’t seen her since she was eight, and was shocked to find she was more boy than girl. Getting her into a proper dress had been a feat.
The knight to the woman’s left got off his horse and assisted her from the saddle. Ross returned and he, the woman, and St. Claire began walking. Who was the woman? Frustration swept through Rhoslyn.
“I canna’ do this,” Saraid whined.
Rhoslyn glanced at the paper. “‘Tis simple addition. Take your time.”
Ross, the woman and St. Claire disappeared from view between cottages and didn’t reappear in any of lanes Rhoslyn could see. What were they doing?
The door to her chambers opened and Mistress Muira entered.
“Has something happened?” Rhoslyn demanded.
“Nay, my lady. I am only getting fresh water to change the bandage. Your grandfather is breathing well. Nothing has changed.”
Rhoslyn nodded and released a sigh. Seven days. He wasn’t dead. But neither had he woken. St. Claire had mentioned nothing concerning his search for his attackers. She had avoided him these last few days, feigning sleep when he came to bed, sleeping on the large bed as far from him as possible. Still, he would have surely sought her out if he’d found out anything? He’d promised her the attacker’s head.
Dayton had to be behind the attack. Couldn’t St. Claire see that? She wondered if he had any clues at all to his brother’s whereabouts. Fear pricked. What if St. Claire couldn’t find him? What if he someday claimed her child as his? What if he was the child’s father?
St. Claire had claimed the child. He wouldn’t change his mind would he? Her gaze caught on Ross, who stepped out onto the lane and headed toward the cottage he and St. Claire had been working on before the woman’s arrival. Who was the woman? Alec would never had entertained guests without her. What was St. Claire up to? He’d said nothing about meeting with a woman. But St. Claire had made it clear he didn’t feel he needed to inform her of his business. What business could he possibly have with a woman?
* * *
“Forgive me, my lady,” Talbot said. “My mother is dead.”
She seemed to slump in her chair. “Yes. Twenty years past. She died of a fever.”
He shook his head. “Nay, she died giving birth to my sister.”
Her eyes focused on him. “Is that what your father told you?”
“It is the truth,” he said.
She reached into a small pouch strapped to her belt and removed a scallop shell. She set it on the table, then produced a small velvet bag from the bag and met his gaze directly. “I am Lady Taresa Baliman, wife of Cailin Kenzie, the Earl of Baliman. I met him in Galicia when he made a pilgrimage to Santiago de Compostela.”
She pushed the scallop shell toward him. “He gave me this badge to always remind me that God blessed him on his pilgrimage. He married me and brought me here to Buchan. We had a daughter, Lady Peigi Baliman.”
Lady Taresa pulled the string on the velvet bag and, almost reverently, withdrew the contents. Talbot understood her care. She held a miniature painting on wood. She set the picture before him.
“She was your mother.”
Talbot looked at the painting. There, on the ivory, his sister’s face stared back with soft green eyes. The memory returned on a tide of emotion that took his breath. He’d been nineteen, she had been fourteen. It began with a simple cough and runny nose. A fever followed, then her eyes became so sensitive to light that the curtain around her bed was kept closed and only a single candle burned in her room. The red rash that spread across her body marred her beautiful flesh. Against the wishes of his father and his father’s wife, he’d held her the last three days of her life until the fever had grown so hot and the pain so great, her heart gave out.
He released a long-held breath and looked up from the painting. “The resemblance is striking, but she is not my mother. My mother died giving birth to Lilas.
“Do you remember her?” Lady Taresa asked.
He remembered a soft voice, an indistinct lullaby, but said, “Nay.”
“You do not think the resemblance between my daughter and your sister is proof enough Lady Peigi is your mother?”
“An unmarried noblewoman would never consent to be a man’s mistress,” Talbot replied.
Pain filled her eyes and he half expected her to end the meeting.
“Are you ill, my lady?”
“No more than usual,” she replied.
“My lady—”
She raised a hand. “It is a sickness of the soul that ails me, not the body. My daughter was a proud woman.” A tiny smile touched her lips. “Like me.” The smile faded. “Then she met your father.”
“My father was—is—an honorable knight,” Talbot said.
“In his way, yes. But he fell in love with my daughter, and she with him.”
“You know my father, then?”
She shook her head. “I never met him. Peigi would not tell us who he was. But that she loved him, there was no doubt. They were together many years. I did not know until she returned after my husband’s death that she bore her lover two children. It is clear he did not cast her aside. I do not doubt that he loved her.”
“Then why not marry her?” Talbot demanded.
Lady Taresa met his gaze squarely. “Because he was already married.”
Talbot stiffened. “My father would not dishonor a lady so.”
Lady Taresa gave a slow nod. “Have you ever been so in love that you would throw all caution to the wind for her?”
He recalled Sally. She had been a wealthy tavern owner’s daughter. Well-spoken and educated for a girl of her station. He met her six months after Lilas died and two months later he asked for her hand in marriage. Her father was ecstatic. Talbot’s father forbade the union. Talbot swore he would marry her without his father’s blessing. Unexpectedly, Sally shunned him. He fought and drank the next six months, until he realized it had been Lilas’ death that had motivated him and not the undying love he professed. He had felt that all-consuming love for a moment, no more. But, in the end, it had been a lie.
He thought of Rhoslyn. Would he throw all caution to the wind for her? She was his wife. He would defend her to the death. Protect her and their child, give them everything he had. Was that what Lady Taresa meant?
“I left my home, my family, for Cailin,” she said. “I gave up everything for him. Then when Peigi confessed that she had dishonored herself with an English knight and carried his child, my husband demanded to know who the man was, but she would not tell him. He banished her. When she returned after his death, I rejoiced at having her back in my life. But God took her from me less than a year later.”
Talbot couldn’t stop his gaze from returning to the portrait. “You said she died twenty years ago?”
“Yes.”
Twenty years ago, Talbot had been twelve. He recalled vividly a sudden and unexplained despondency his father experienced. It lasted months, and Talbot had often thought he’d never quite been the same afterwards. During that time, he and his father were walking one day when his father told him not to let life pass him by, and not to let the world dictate his life. That was exactly what he was trying to do now—as best as a man in his position could. Talbot laughed inwardly. When he thought he was in love with Sally, he’d reminded his father of those words. “There is a difference in not letting the world dictate your life and throwing it away,” he had said.
“You are my grandson,” Lady Taresa said, “and the heir to your grandfather’s title and property. As the Earl of Baliman and Baron Kinsley, you will one day be the richest and most powerful man in Buchan. You will be a force to be reckoned with in all of Scotland.”