Chapter Twenty Two
Rhoslyn spent too much time in her private solar. At a little over five months pregnant, she felt excellent. But St Claire fussed like a mother hen, and constantly ordered her to rest. She had installed Lady Saraid in the kitchen with Mistress Muira in order to have a moment to review the list of goods they had received two days ago. With the addition of St. Claire’s men, they had doubled their supply purchases and she seemed always to be working on the rolls.
Now, however, she stared out her window at the rider entering the courtyard. His shaven face and dark brown hair told her he was English, even without the absence of a kilt. This didn’t bode well. She rose from the stool and hurried downstairs. Rhoslyn stepped from the stairs into the great hall as the man entered the postern door ahead of St. Claire.
St. Claire’s gaze met hers and she read in his eyes the knowledge of her anxious curiosity. Rhoslyn caught sight of the folded parchment in his hand and her fear mounted. King Edward had sent a missive.
To her relief. St. Claire led the man toward the table set up near the hearth. She crossed the room and met them at the table.
“It has been a long ride for Sir John,” St. Claire said. “He would like food and drink.”
Rhoslyn nodded. “Go to the kitchen and tell Mistress Muira I sent you. She will feed ye near the fire there, where you may warm.”
He bowed, then left them.
“I imagine you want to know what is in this missive,” St. Claire said.
“It is from Edward?” she asked.
He nodded and lowered himself onto the bench beside the table. Rhoslyn sat beside him as he slid a finger between the folded edges and broke the seal. She was sure he was intentionally taking his time and had to refrain from snatching the parchment from him and tearing it open. He unfolded the letter and she read over his arm.
Sir Talbot,
My congratulations upon your new title as Earl of Baliman. I could not be more pleased. In the interest of keeping positive relations, I command that you appear before me and, as the Earl of Baliman, swear fealty. As my faithful servant, you will leave with Sir John and come to me immediately.
Your King,
Edward
“The bastard.” Rhoslyn shot to her feet. “How dare he command fealty from ye. As the Earl of Baliman you owe him nothing.”
St Claire looked up at her. “He is my king. He has every right to demand my fealty.”
She stared in shock. “You are the most powerful man in all of Buchan. It is to you that men should swear fealty. Ye demanded that Kenzie bow to you.”
“Aye, but I still have a lord. All men have a lord.”
“Not Edward,” she said bitterly.
“Even him,” St. Claire replied.
“St. Claire, I didna’ know you were a religious man.”
“I am not, but that does not mean I do not believe we all serve someone. It is within Edward’s right to demand my loyalty, and you should not be surprised that he wants to control my power. And lest you forget, I am not king. If I do not swear fealty to Edward, then I must pledge loyalty to the king of Scotland.”
“Ye live in Scotland. You are a Scottish nobleman. Swear fealty to the king of Scotland.” His gaze shifted back to the letter and her blood chilled. “Sweet Jesu, ye mean to return to England as he commands.” She couldn’t believe it.
“I have never disobeyed his command,” St. Claire said.
Her mind raced. She wasn’t surprised that Edward was tightening his hold. So what were the consequences within her family of Edward’s grab for power? He would insist her sons train in England under English tutors; that they marry English women. Her daughters would become political pawns, married to noblemen selected by Edward to strengthen English alliances.
She hadn’t considered any of this when she’d learned that St. Claire was the new earl. Her first thought had been of his strengthened ties to Scotland. Anger whipped through her. Edward would tear him away to prevent that, if necessary.
Rhoslyn sat back on the bench. “Is it safe for ye to leave Castle Glenbarr?”
He lifted a brow. “If I abolished your imprisonment here in Castle Glenbarr, you would be riding out the gates an hour later. Yet when I must return to England, you remind me how dangerous it is for me to leave the castle.”
Rhoslyn met his gaze square. “That does no’ answer my question. Is it safe for ye to leave us?”
He gave a single shake of his head. “Nay.”
She shrugged. “Then Edward will have to wait.”
“A king never waits.”
“Tell him ye will return once you have captured your brother and dealt with the unrest amongst your people.”
“My people?”
She read the humor in his eyes. “Ye said you wouldna’ leave Castle Glenbarr to search for your brother for fear of leaving the castle unprotected. Kenzie was here only a month ago.” Things had been quiet since then, but she wasn’t going to remind him of that. “If ye leave and Jason takes Castle Glenbarr while you are gone, he will claim no’ only Glenbarr, but the lands that belong to the Earl of Baliman.”
“I doubt Jason has such high aspirations,” St. Claire replied.
“Ye do no’ know the man,” Rhoslyn said. “And dinna’ forget Kenzie. He would love nothing more than to wage war on ye while you are away.” Anger flickered in his eyes and she knew she’d hit home. “Do you want that?” she pressed on ruthlessly. “Do ye want him taking me and your unborn child?”
His eyes darkened with fury. Unexpected emotion fluttered in her belly.
“It would seem I have a dilemma,” he said.
Regret washed over Rhoslyn and she wished she could tell him to go serve his king as the loyal knight he was. What would she do if he didn’t return? She would be forced to marry again—for a son needed a father. Nay, it was far worse than just remarrying. Before she could choose a husband, before her son was born, Edward would marry her to another of his puppets. She imagined the message arriving telling of Talbot’s death, delivered by the man who bore another royal command from Edward that she marry. Her blood chilled at the thought of another man touching her while she still carried St. Claire’s child.
“To leave is a death sentence,” she said. “You must know that your brother will seize the opportunity to attack ye.” In truth, it seemed half of Scotland wanted him dead. He started to reply, but she cut him off. “I know you well enough to know you would leave a legion of men to protect me and take only a few for yourself. Ye have too many enemies to be riding the countryside without a host of men. I canna’ allow you to do it.”
He studied her for a long moment. “Why not?”
“Because a son needs his father.”
“Only a son?” he asked.
Embarrassment heated her cheeks. “The devil you know is better than the one ye dinna’ know,” she replied, and to her surprise, he threw his head back and laughed.
* * *
Rhoslyn forced her legs into motion and passed through the opening in the low stone wall where lay her family in their eternal rest, then turned right. In the nearest corner, alongside the larger stone that belonged to Alec, stood the smaller stone that marked her son’s grave. Her knees weakened, but she kept walking until she stood in front of the two graves.
She stared at the name on her son’s headstone. The letters floated before her as if she dreamed. She had held him as he died. Did Alec now protect him? How was it possible the tiny body lay all alone beneath the snow-dusted heather? Her heart jerked. In her absence, someone had placed the flowers over the freshly dug dirt and the seed had taken root.
Rhoslyn glanced at the flowers she gripped. Mistress Muira dried heather and scattered it among the rushes. She had filched a few for the graves. But others, braver than her, had taken up where she could not. Who had visited her son? Andreana? Her grandfather? It should have been her. She should have been there to throw the first clump of moist earth down on him. Now, the ground that covered his small body had settled into packed earth as if no body lay buried beneath.
She started to kneel, then realized it would be difficult to rise. She would have to grasp a headstone to leverage herself back up. Dread chilled her bone deep. It wasn’t the dead she feared, but the cold stone of her child’s grave beneath her fingers. Anger tightened her insides. She had already deserted him once. She owed her son more than a toss of flowers onto his grave before she fled.
Rhoslyn stepped alongside his stone and grasped the top, then lowered herself onto her knees. Wind whipped the plaid around her shoulders and she pulled the fabric closer about her. With a shaky hand, she brushed snow from the small plot, then carefully arranged the heather on the center of the grave amongst the withered flowers. The pink buds made the grave look almost...alive.
“I am sorry, Dougal,” she whispered. She brushed her fingers over the tiny flowers. “Ye are to have a brother. Would you like that?”
The wind whipped again, snapping the edge of her plaid. She shivered. It was cold, so cold. The heather skittered across the grave with another gust of wind. Rhoslyn caught it and set it back on the center. She glanced up at the darkening afternoon sky. A storm brewed. The wind would blow the heather off the grave.
Rhoslyn whipped off her plaid and laid it across the grave.
* * *
Rhoslyn hurried down the stairs leading to the great hall. Just as the maid had said, Abbess Beatrice sat at the table near the hearth. Rhoslyn nearly flew across the room. She reached the table and Beatrice rose.
Rhoslyn threw herself into the older woman’s arms. The abbess enfolded her in a warm hug and, for a moment, she could almost believe that she’d never left the convent. She suddenly longed to be back in her cell, listening to the abbess’ Bible stories.
Rhoslyn drew back from the embrace. “I canna’ believe ye are here. I am so happy to see you. Had I known you were coming, I would have made preparations.”
Beatrice smiled. “Ye can imagine that I prefer to travel without fanfare.”
Rhoslyn smiled. “Aye, of course. Have you eaten, are ye thirsty? How long will you stay?”
She laughed. “I see you have not changed. I would no’ mind food and drink. As for how long I can stay, a day or two. Will that do?”
“A day or two? How wonderful,” Rhoslyn cried. “Come, sit with me in my private solar. I will have food and drink brought up.” Rhoslyn turned to see women crowding the doorway of the kitchen, staring. She laughed. “Will you greet my ladies? I believe they are anxious to meet you.”
“Of course,” Beatrice replied.
The abbess insisted on entering the kitchen, instead of having the women pay attendance to her while she sat on the bench in the hall. Once Rhoslyn finally tore her from the kitchen, they settled in the solar near the fire, with a banquet set out before them.
“You must wonder why I am here,” the abbess said.
“I left the convent so suddenly that we had no chance to speak,” Rhoslyn said. “I assume you came to see how I fare?”
The abbess took a bite of roasted chicken and nodded. “You look well.” Beatrice gave her a penetrating glance. “Marriage agrees with you.”
Rhoslyn suspected she meant, ‘marriage has salved your hurt.’
Was that true? She thought back to her visit to Dougal’s grave. Had going there been any easier because she now enjoyed the protection of a new husband or because she was to have a child that would replace him? Seeing the grave hadn’t been easy, but yes, she realized with a start, her grief had lessened a bit.
“God works in mysterious says,” Abbess Beatrice said.
Rhoslyn looked sharply at her.
Beatrice laughed. “Your face is an open book. Now, how do you like your new husband?”
Her stomach did a flip with the memory of how St. Claire had touched her last night. The desires of the flesh were not something a nun would understand, and wasn’t what the abbess wanted to know.
“I see he pleases you,” Beatrice said.
Rhoslyn started. “I-he is adequate,” she stuttered.
Beatrice laughed. “From the look on your face, I would say he is more than adequate.”
Shame washed over her and Rhoslyn dropped her eyes.
“You have no need to be ashamed,” the abbess said. “God intended a man and woman to enjoy one another. The babe growing in your belly is one very good reason why.”
Rhoslyn nodded while sending up a fervent prayer that the nun hadn’t heard the rumors involving Dayton. But when the older woman said, “All things are God’s will, Rhoslyn,” she knew the abbess had heard of the kidnapping and assumed the worst.
“Is your husband pleased you are to have a child so soon?” Beatrice asked.
She meant, ‘has he accepted the child as his own?’ Rhoslyn thought, and said, “He is pleased.”
Pleasure filled the older woman’s eyes. “I knew he would be.”
“You did? But how?”
Her expression softened. “I know such things.”
Did God speak to the abbess? Was God finally answering her prayers? Was their child to be a blessing? Guilt washed over her. Weren’t all children blessings? Wasn’t it the parents who tainted them with their anger and hatred?
The sins of the fathers...
“You can be thankful that St. Claire isna’ like his brother.” Amusement sparkled the abbess’ eyes. “At least when St. Claire kidnapped you, he was only kidnapping his wife.”
Rhoslyn started before realizing the abbess would have heard of how St. Claire intercepted her on the way to marry another man. Thankfully, Beatrice didn’t wait for a reply, but said, “I understand there is even more reason to celebrate.”
Rhoslyn frowned. “There is?”
“Sir Talbot is reunited with his grandmother and has been named the new Earl of Baliman.”
“Oh, yes,” Rhoslyn said.
The abbess lifted her brows. “You are no’ pleased?”
“In truth, I am not as happy as I first was,” Rhoslyn admitted.
“Why?”
“King Edward demands that St. Claire return to England to swear fealty to him.”
“That is not strange,” Beatrice said.
“Nay,” Rhoslyn agreed. “But it is obvious he only wants control of St. Claire’s newfound power and wealth.”
“Did ye expect less?”
Rhoslyn shook her head. “Nay. But Edward must know how dangerous it is for St. Claire to leave Scotland at this time.”
“Sir Talbot expects his brother to attack?” Beatrice said.
Rhoslyn couldn’t halt the flush of embarrassment to her cheeks.
“Ye are not the first woman to be used as a pawn by men, Rhoslyn. You did nothing wrong.”
“I swear, I did nothing to encourage him,” she blurted.
The abbess grasped her hand and gently squeezed. “I know you, child. Ye are a good woman, obedient to God’s laws.”
Rhoslyn forced back the lump that formed in her throat. “Thank ye, Abbess.”
“Now, tell me of your husband,” Beatrice said. “I am hoping to meet him.”
* * *
Talbot entered their private chambers to discover Abbess Beatrice sitting with Rhoslyn. Rhoslyn’s cheeks were flushed with pleasure and his heart warmed when she said, “It is about time ye came home, St. Claire.”
Home. This was the first time she’d referred to Castle Glenbarr as his home.
“Forgive me, my lady,” he said. “I have been occupied at Dunfrey Castle.”
“We have company,” she said, then laughed. “As ye can see. St. Claire, meet Abbess Beatrice, abbess of St. Mary’s.”
Talbot canted his head. “Sister Beatrice.”
Beatrice acknowledged with a nod. “My lord, it is good to finally meet you.”
“Sir Talbot will do,” he said.
The same amusement he’d seen the night she’d visited him now tugged at her mouth.
“Nay, laird. Sir Talbot will no’ do. Will ye sit with me? I would like to learn a bit about the man Lady Rhoslyn married.”
“If you wish,” he replied. “But I must warn you, I have been working, and am not sweet smelling.”
“If you smelled of rose water, I would worry.” She turned her attention to Rhoslyn. “Will you leave us for a little while, Rhoslyn?”
Rhoslyn cast an anxious glance at Talbot. He tensed. Did she suspected the abbess of being his informer the night she fled the convent? No. She wouldn’t have been chatting so freely if she suspected.
“Of course,” Rhoslyn said.
When she closed the door behind her, he said, “Perhaps you ought to stay indefinitely, Sister.”
“Why is that?”
“Lady Rhoslyn defies Lord Lochland when he orders her to leave, but does not utter a peep when you ask.”
“I imagine that did no’ please the earl.”
Talbot smiled at the memory. “It did not. Now, Sister, what brings you to Castle Glenbarr? Have you come to collect on that favor I owe?”
Her expression sobered. “I am, in fact, here to do you another favor.”
“What is the price this time?” he asked.
“I can promise you this news is worth any price. Have you received word yet from Edward to return to England?”
Talbot was surprised by the question. “A month ago,” he replied.
She gave a single shake of her head. “Nay, I speak of the letter commanding you to Wales to squash a rebellion.”
“Wales?” Talbot said. “I have heard of no trouble there.”
“Have ye considered what will become of Rhoslyn if you die in battle?”
Unease caused the hair on the back of his neck to stiffen. “That is not going to happen.”
“It is unlikely.” She locked gazes with him. “So long as you do no’ return to England.”
“What are you saying?” he demanded.
“Ye didna’ heed Edward’s command to return to England and swear fealty to him.”
“I cannot leave Rhoslyn.”
“Nay, you cannot, and for reasons you may not know.”
“Such as?” he asked.
“Such as you no’ returning from Wales and Edward marrying her to your brother.”
“My brother?” he repeated. “Sister, I owe you a debt, but I will not be manipulated.”
A long pause stretched out before she said, “Even by Edward?”
Especially by Edward, he wanted to say, but that was untrue. He, like all knights, was manipulated by his king. But service to Edward provided a better life than he could have hoped for otherwise. A manipulation like this, however—either the Abbess was lying or she was misinformed. Then why he hadn’t he heard from Edward in the last month? The sovereign’s silence troubled him. At the very least, he’d expected a scathing response. At worst, Edward could have shown up on his threshold with a legion of his men.
Nay. Talbot shoved the thought away. Edward was a king. He did what all kings did to preserve their power, but he didn’t send loyal knights to be assassinated.
“I am sorry, Sister. Nothing you say can convince me that my king will have me killed—for any reason.”
“I pray, my lord, that you see the light. Otherwise, I fear for Rhoslyn and your child.”
* * *
Standing on the wall, Talbot stared down at the missive from King Edward.
Talbot,
I understand your fears. We would risk all to protect our wives, even the wrath of our king. For this reason, I forgive your failure to heed my earlier command. However, there is a dire matter which requires your attention and cannot wait. Madog ap Llyweln is gathering forces for a rebellion. You are to leave immediately for Wales, where you will join my army at Gwynedd. Quell the rebellion and bring Llyweln to me.
The five hundred men-at-arms I sent with this letter will accompany you. You need not worry about Lady Rhoslyn. Five hundred more men are on their way to Castle Glenbarr. These, along with your men, will suffice to protect the castle until your return.
Send one of my men back with word that you are on your way.
When you quash the revolt, return to England. You will want to see your father. He is not well.
Talbot froze at the last line. Surely his father’s wife would have sent word if something was wrong? Talbot forced reason. This was a ploy—had to be a ploy—on Edward’s part to ensure that Talbot went to Wales. Still, worry niggled. His father hadn’t written. Considering the trouble with Dayton, their father should have replied to at least one of Talbot’s letters. Was Edward preventing him from writing? Had Edward intercepted the letters?
Talbot looked at Edward’s signature. He had signed the missive with a simple ‘Edward’ as if he and Talbot were close. He shifted his gaze past the battlement to the field beyond where waited five hundred men-at arms. Five hundred men who, without doubt, were commanded to besiege the castle if Talbot didn’t leave for Wales.
Edward believed unequivocally in his sovereignty—and believed that everyone should and would accept his authority. Which was why he would never send five hundred men to protect a knight’s family, even a knight turned earl. He expected obedience at all costs. Edward was not his friend.
Three weeks had passed since the abbess’s visit, with no word from Edward until now. She had told the truth. Edward intended that he die in Wales.
Talbot envisioned Rhoslyn and their son twenty years from now having lived with Dayton as their lord. Rhoslyn would never break, but she would hate the man who manipulated their son in order to maintain control over the earldom. It was highly probable Rhoslyn would kill Dayton long before that. She wasn’t a woman to let anyone hurt those she loved.
Edward’s letter meant that Talbot had to find Dayton—now. As the Earl of Baliman, Talbot could take a legion of men and upturn every rock until he found his brother. Then he would cut out his heart and send it back to Edward.
Talbot turned to Ross, who stood a respectful distance away. “Take your best man and leave through the secret passageway below the east tower. Send the man to Seward. You go to Lady Taresa. We need every man who can wield arms.”
“How long will the English army wait?”
“A day, no more. But that is of no consequence. They cannot take Castle Glenbarr before you return.”
He released a breath and looked again at the men who covered the field like ants. He had never run away from a battle. Staying behind, not going to Lady Taresa to gather his men felt like running away. His men. Whether by blood or by chance, he was the Earl of Baliman. The men who served Lady Taresa served him. The time was now to proclaim to all, Scottish and English, that this was his place in the world and no one, not a local warlord or the king of England was going to take that from him.
* * *
The door to the solar opened and Rhoslyn jerked her head up from the parchment she’d been staring at the last hour. St. Claire stood in the doorway. They stared for a long moment, then he entered, closing the door behind him. Rhoslyn sat frozen as he crossed the room.
He stopped beside the table where she sat. “The men will be here within the hour.”
She nodded. The knot that had been lodged in her throat since the English army arrived that morning moved higher in her throat.
“You have not forgotten what we planned?” he asked.
She shook her head.
“You will not falter?” he persisted.
She would, but she shook her head.
“Tell me,” he said.
How could she say the words?
He grasped her hand and pulled her to her feet.
“Say the words.”
She shook her head.
“Please me in this, Rhoslyn.”
She understood why he insisted. If she said the words then it would be real. But she didn’t want it to be real.
“You promised,” he said gently.
“Aye. I promised. But that doesna’ mean I have to say it out loud.”
“It does. Say it.”
She couldn’t.
Rhoslyn dropped her gaze. “If ye dinna’ return, I will go immediately to Lord Melrose and marry him.” The words were out of her mouth, but she couldn’t believe her lips had formed the sounds.
With a finger beneath her chin, St. Claire tilted her face upwards. “I plan to return.”
She couldn’t bring her eyes to meet his.
“Look at me, love.”
She forced her gaze upward.
“You are not to leave the castle until I return.” Or you leave to go to Melrose, she heard the unspoken words. “If I return and find you one foot outside the castle, you will force me to punish you.”
Rhoslyn snorted. “Beware, St. Claire, ye might return to find I locked the gate.”
A corner of his mouth turned upward. “Good. Now kiss me before I go.”
He was truly going. Going into a battle against his countrymen who had come to kill him. If he had agreed to go with them, would he have reached Wales or would he have died on the road by some unseen robber? Edward wouldn’t care how his assassin carried out the order, he would only care that St. Claire was dead.
St. Claire lowered his head and covered her mouth with his. He pulled her flush against his body and Rhoslyn melted against his solid warmth. The kiss was gentle and too short.
When he lifted his head, she said, “Ye need no’ go yet. There is an hour yet before they arrive.”
He gave a low laugh. “Aye, but I must meet them, remember?”
Her heart pounded. Why did he have to join the battle? He knew the assassin would seek him out. What if there was more than one? What if all five hundred had been commanded to kill him?
Rhoslyn startled when St. Claire laid a palm on her belly. The warmth of his fingers penetrated the fabric of her dress and she closed her eyes, memorizing his touch.
“He is quiet today,” St. Claire said.
“Aye,” Rhoslyn replied. Perhaps he knows his father is leaving.
“He is growing large.”
She flushed. Her girth had increased and she had become embarrassed to disrobe in front of him. But St. Claire wouldn’t allow her to go to her room to change. He insisted she stay.
He dipped his head and placed a kiss on her belly, then straightened. “I will see you when I return.”
He turned and strode to the door. Rhoslyn took a step after them, then stopped. Growing weepy would only make leave-taking harder for him. She didn’t want him worrying about her when he faced the army that had been sent to kill him.
He left without a backwards glance, which, though hurtful, was best, and she was grateful. If he didn’t return, she wanted to remember him holding her, caressing her belly and thinking of their child. Not a last look that conveyed...conveyed what? I’m sorry to leave? I will miss you...I love you?
She sat on the bench with a thud. St. Claire had never spoken words of love. He cared for her well-being, that much was obvious. But love? That was a different matter. But whether he loved her or not, she loved him.
Rhoslyn closed her eyes and forced back the tears that pressed like a raging tide against her eyelids. Thank God he hadn’t looked back when he left. She would have surely blurted the words while crying.
What would happen if he died before knowing?
How would she hide the truth from him if he returned?