The Raider (16 page)

He stilled. And there, through the pounding in his heart, the red haze of lust roaring through his blood and the desire throbbing hard between his legs, he heard something. A tiny voice that should have been drowned out by the primitive roar. A voice he told himself to ignore and that made him want to shout with pain and frustration. A voice that told him this was
wrong
. That no matter how much she wanted this, or he wanted this, he couldn’t take her innocence.

But God, he wanted to. He wanted to so badly his body shook from the effort not to make her his.

She wasn’t his and never could be. And Robbie apparently had more honor left inside him than he realized.

The small questioning tilt of the head that she gave him was the last shove. He wrenched away with a vile curse and turned away from her, as if that might clear his head and allow him to think.

But he wasn’t thinking. His body was in too much pain. Every inch of him was throbbing with anger and frustrated lust. His heart was pounding so hard he couldn’t breathe.

“What’s the matter?” she asked. “Did I do something wrong?”

She tried to put a comforting hand on his shoulder, but he wrenched away, even the small touch too much to withstand in his present state. Seated on the edge of the bed, he bowed his head, willing the fire to stop roaring in his blood. But it wouldn’t quiet. It was pulsing and hammering, needing someplace to go.

He needed to get out of here. Standing, he hastily refastened his clothing. He didn’t dare look at her reclining on the bed in near-ravished disarray, knowing that the mussed hair, flushed cheeks, and swollen lips would be too much for him to resist. “I’m sorry,” he managed curtly. “That should never have happened.”

That should never have happened
, Robbie repeated to himself more than once over the long night. The harder question, and one he didn’t want to ask himself, was how it had. He didn’t lose himself in lovemaking like that. Ever. He was always in control. Always aware. Hell, he could be sucked deep in a lass’s mouth, coming hard, and still be thinking about his next mission. But one minute he’d been kissing Rosalin Clifford, and the next he was almost inside her. He hadn’t been thinking about anything else.

Robbie
…

He forced himself to shut out the memory. But he’d never forget the sound of his name on her lips as she broke apart. That soft, sensual plea would haunt him for the rest of his life.

Bloody hell, what was wrong with him? How could he have forgotten who she was? She was his hostage, under his protection, and “Despoiler of Innocents” wasn’t a title he was eager to add to his long list of sins. Even if she was Clifford’s sister.

After waking Seton and instructing him to stand guard outside her door, Robbie sought the cold embrace of a winter’s night, as much to chill his blood as to clear his thoughts. He passed the two men he’d left to guard the main gate and headed into the forest.

Robbie’s expression didn’t invite conversation, and they didn’t ask him where he was going. He didn’t know. But the dense, bone-chilling mist that had descended among the trees offered a strange comfort. The sharp brace of the cold air seeped in, penetrated, and eventually eased some of the tension coiling in his body.

Lust he knew how to remedy. A warrior spent too much time away from women to bother being shy about taking the edge off himself when the need arose, so to speak. It was the other emotions coursing through him, the equally fierce and intense emotions, that wouldn’t be sated by a few hard pumps of his fist.

His desire for this woman went beyond lust. It had been strong enough to make him forget who she was—hell, he probably would have forgotten his own damned name, if she hadn’t yelled it—and completely lose control. It had penetrated the haze of detachment that usually surrounded him when he was with a lass and made him feel things he’d never felt before.

But that wasn’t what really concerned him.

He might be ruthless and merciless on the battlefield, but he’d always been a considerate bedmate. Yet even in his most youthful dalliances, before Wallace had raised his sword and Robbie had dedicated his life to the fight for Scotland’s freedom, he couldn’t recall ever being so gentle or tender with a lass. The reverence, care, and protective feeling that had come over him when he kissed her—
that
scared the hell out of him.

He didn’t want anyone he took to bed to be different or special. And sure as hell not an Englishwoman—especially that particular Englishwoman. He had no intention of playing a part in some romantic tragedy, and that’s all it could ever be between them.

With no particular destination in mind and still too restless to return to the manor and attempt to sleep, Robbie started to climb the Manor Hills toward Dollar Law. Though the dark shadow of the mountain was lost in the mist, it loomed over the valley like a vigilant watchdog.

By Highland standards the gentle, rolling hills of the Southern Upland range that dominated much of the Borders were relatively easy climbs. Dollar Law was one of the highest peaks in the area, probably coming within five hundred feet or so of the Cuillins, where the Highland Guard “trained” (more aptly, suffered), though well short of the great Ben Nevis. Still, by the time he reached the top, he was winded and feeling a burn in his legs.

As the summit was free of mist, he took a seat on the stones of the summit cairn and watched the darkness of night give way to the breaking of dawn.

By the time the first glimpse of sunlight appeared to his left, casting a soft orange glow across the valley below him, Robbie knew what he had to do. Rosalin Clifford could not stay. She might wish to not leave her nephew, but after what had happened—or nearly happened—her wishes no longer mattered. He had to do what was best for his mission, and right now, getting her far away from him was what was best.

He glanced toward the castle just visible beyond the trees in front of him. He would take her to Peebles as soon as she woke, and—

He stopped, squinting into the distance. Peebles Castle was less than ten miles away, and with the low mist it was difficult to see, but he’d glimpsed some kind of movement. A short while later he saw it again, only this time he’d seen the banners and unmistakable glint of silver that told him what it was.

He raced back down the hill and through the woods to the manor. Seeing the same men he’d left a few hours before, he shouted orders for them to ready the rest of the men.

Climbing the stairs to the chamber where he’d left the lass and the lad, he saw Seton perched in the same spot Robbie had been before he’d heard the noise that had taken him into the room.

His partner immediately got to his feet. “What’s wrong?”

“English soldiers are heading in this direction from the castle. We need to go.”

Seton swore. “You’re certain it is us they are after?”

“Nay, but I’m sure as hell not sticking around to find out.”

He knocked on the door, surprised when she immediately bid him to enter. Apparently, he wasn’t the only one who hadn’t slept much last night. Pushing open the door, he saw her sitting on a small stool by the brazier, her hands folded in her lap. She glanced up at him, and their eyes caught. He saw the question, saw the hurt, the confusion, and felt an unwelcome seizing in his chest.

Her skin was pale, her expression serene, her golden hair shimmering in the morning light. She looked so achingly beautiful, he knew he would remember her like this forever. Because this was where they would say goodbye. He wouldn’t need to take her to Peebles Castle with the English heading this way.

“Wake your nephew,” he said. “We need to leave.”

She stayed perfectly still, barely reacting to his pronouncement. “I can’t do that.”

He crossed the room, took her by the elbow, and lifted her to her feet. “It wasn’t a request, my lady. There is a party of English soldiers headed this way, and although I don’t object to killing Englishmen, I’d rather not have you and Roger in the middle of a battle.”

She wasn’t looking at him and wouldn’t meet his gaze. It was so unlike her, it made him uneasy.

He released her, dragging his fingers through his hair. “I’m sorry for what happened last night. I should never have—” He stopped. Christ, he felt like he was Roger’s age, apologizing for stealing a kiss with his first lass. Except it hadn’t been just a kiss he’d nearly stolen. “It won’t happen again.”

“I can’t wake Roger because Roger isn’t here.”

It took him a moment to realize what she’d said. “What do you mean he isn’t here?”

She lifted her chin, meeting his gaze full on. “I made a rope out of the bed linens, and he climbed out the window.”

Robbie went completely still. His eyes searched her face. Surely, she couldn’t be serious. That climb was at least a forty-foot sheer drop into a rocky ravine. The idea that the boy would take such a risk was so ridiculous, so preposterous, he didn’t want to believe it.

But it was true. He could see it in the cool, unflinching repose of her face.

“Are you mad?” He exploded. “Do you have any idea how dangerous that was? The boy could have fallen to his death.” It wasn’t until the next thought struck that he realized he was shaking her. “
You
could have fallen to your death.”
Bloody hell
. “That’s it, isn’t it? That was the noise I heard. You were on your way out that window as well?”

Even as she gave him a short little nod, the other truth was hitting him. Rage crashed down on him like a hot, black hammer with a crushing blow. His fingers tightened around her arm. “You did it on purpose,” he snarled from between clenched teeth. “You deceitful English bitch, you threw yourself at me so I wouldn’t discover the lad was gone.”

She flinched, taken aback by his venom. “Nay, that’s not how it happened. I was trying to stop you, but I didn’t intend for that to happen.”

“Didn’t you? What else do you think would happen when you let a man kiss you like that? When you rub your body up against him like a practiced whore?”

Her eyes widened. “How dare you say something like that to me! You know I’m not—”

“I know you spread your legs eagerly enough, and that I was a hairsbreadth from taking you up on your offer. A mistake on my part that I intend to rectify.”

Her face paled, the delicate pulse below her neck fluttering. “You wouldn’t! You swore you wouldn’t ravish me.”

A dark, wicked smile turned his mouth. “Who said anything about ravishing? With as hot as you were for it, I doubt I’ll need to do much persuading.”

He pushed her away so he wouldn’t be tempted to prove it right now.

A flush stained her pale cheeks at the crude boast. “You weren’t the only one who made a mistake. But I assure you it was never my intention to give myself to you to prevent you from learning of my nephew’s escape.”

He stood there seething, trying to control the anger racing through his veins. He couldn’t believe that he’d allowed himself to be deceived by a beautiful face and siren’s body. This was what he got for trying to be considerate and not pressing on to the camp. For not keeping them separated.

He should have anticipated treachery—she was English, wasn’t she? And now, because of her, his weapon—his surety—against Clifford had slipped right through his fingers.

His gaze hardened. He might not have Clifford’s heir, but he still had his sister. There was no longer any question of letting her go. Rosalin Clifford was coming with him, and after what she’d just done, her brother would be lucky if Robbie ever gave her back.

As horrible as her confrontation with Boyd had been, and as uncomfortable as the next few hours were while racing over the brutal countryside to escape their pursuers, Rosalin couldn’t regret what she’d done. Roger must have reached Peebles Castle and been able to rally the soldiers to come after her. Maybe even Cliff. Whatever else happened, her nephew was safe. She would be grateful for that even as she feared for her own safety.

But if Boyd was trying to scare her, it was working. She’d never seen him so angry. That was why he was being so mean and had said all those hateful things, wasn’t it? He wouldn’t really force her to be his whore. And that’s what it would be: force. In spite of his claim to the contrary, she wouldn’t give herself to him like that again. Not after what he’d said to her and knowing what he intended. She wasn’t that much of a fool.

She hoped.

She didn’t know what was worse, how quickly she’d surrendered to him or how mistakenly he’d ascribed her motives. She
had
been trying to stop him from checking on Roger, but she hadn’t planned to offer herself up as a distraction. It had just happened that way. She’d been just as caught up in the moment and surprised by how quickly things had spun out of control as he.

Did he honestly think she’d had any idea that a kiss could descend into
that
so quickly? She hadn’t even known what
that
was. She’d had no idea a man’s touch could rouse such incredible feelings in her. No idea she could become so swept away by passion that she would forget about everything else: her virtue, her position…good gracious, the fact that she was betrothed to another man!

Rosalin was ashamed by how quickly she’d succumbed and could only be thankful that he’d stopped before doing something that could not be undone. She still had her virtue, if not her innocence. She’d been naive and foolish, but now that she knew how easy it was to get caught up in the riptide, she wouldn’t go near the water again.

No matter how “hot” she might be. His crude words still stung. How could a man who’d touched her so tenderly one moment treat her so coldly the next? She’d almost convinced herself that he might care for her a little. That maybe he felt the same strange connection that she did. That maybe her sixteen-year-old heart hadn’t been wrong.

But his harshly spoken words had cured her of those illusions. She was an “English bitch.” The enemy. His hostage. And if she let herself forget it, she could very well end up his whore.