The Raider (27 page)

What bothered her was how quickly he’d assumed her guilt and how incapable he thought her of honor. Shouldn’t he have trusted her a little? At least enough not to immediately discount her explanation?

Sir Alex’s warning that he would never trust an Englishman—or woman—came back to her. She’d hoped Robbie thought her different. She’d just told him she loved him—how could he think she would leave him so easily? Obviously he hadn’t believed that either. What more proof could she give him?

The tangle of hurt and disappointment was exacerbated by fear. She was terrified of what was happening, of the battle being waged by the men they’d left behind in Ettrick Forest.

No matter how he appeared, Robbie was not invincible. As hurt as she was by his coldness before she left, the thought of him being hurt or—God forbid—killed made it feel as if she were riding with an icy claw wrapped around her chest that every once in a while squeezed.

But as much as she feared for him, most of her fear was for the men who must fight against him. Though she intended to break the betrothal with Sir Henry when she returned, she did not want to see him or any of his men killed. And Robbie’s face as she’d ridden off had left no doubt of his intentions.

Her stomach twisted with fear and anxiety through the long night. It must have revealed itself on her face, for not long after dawn broke Sir Alex rode up next to her. “Try not to think about it, my lady. We will find out what happened soon enough.”

She nodded, a lump growing in her throat as the emotions she’d kept bottled inside all night threatened to erupt at his show of compassion. “I’m not sure I want to know. Whatever happens, I fear the result.”

His gaze held hers with understanding. “’Tis often how I feel. It is not easy having friends on both sides and constantly being caught between the two. With my lands so close to the border, it’s a position I’ve faced many times myself.”

“How do you deal with it?”

“I don’t. Not very well at least.”

“I can’t bear the thought of anyone being hurt. What do you think has happened?”

He gave her a sad look, as if he knew what she wanted to hear but wouldn’t lie to her. “If Boyd catches up to them, your brother’s men are dead.”

She paled, feeling ill, knowing he was right. And if Robbie did kill them, it would make it that much harder for her to convince Cliff to agree to a match between them.

But Sir Alex was wrong about one thing. “Those were not my brother’s men—they were Sir Henry’s.”

“I thought you only saw one. How can you be so sure Clifford did not have a part in it?”

She didn’t know, but she was. “Cliff wouldn’t do something so risky.” So
rash
. “Something that would put me in danger like that.”

Sir Alex studied her for a long pause. “I hope you are right, my lady. If Boyd believes your brother has broken the truce…” He let his voice fall off.

An ominous chill swept over her, making her skin prickle. She didn’t want to ask. “What?”

Sir Alex’s mouth fell in a hard line. For a moment, he looked just as grim and forbidding as Robbie had before she left. In that instant she saw not the Golden Knight, but the hard edge that had made Sir Alex part of the band of rebels.

“I don’t know. But he will use whatever weapon he has at his disposal to make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

Me
.
He means me
.

Rosalin shook her head. “He won’t hurt me.”

“Nay, not physically, but I fear—” He stopped. “Have care, my lady. That is all I’m saying. If you put yourself in the middle of this battle, you cannot win.”

He spoke like a man who knew what he was talking about.

Rosalin was surprised that he’d guessed the direction of her thoughts so easily—were her hopes for the future so transparent? If the sympathetic look Sir Alex was giving her was any indication, they must be.

Embarrassed, and not a little discouraged, she was glad when one of the men riding ahead turned and said something to Sir Alex in Gaelic, pointing in the direction of a small village that had just appeared in the distance.

In the soft light of early morning, with the swirls of mist gently dissipating like smoke from a pipe, the village on the grassy strath below them looked almost enchanted—like something from a mystical bard’s tale.

Straddling both sides of a wide, winding river, the stone and thatched cottages appeared so quiet and peaceful. The slate roof of a sizable church with a turreted tower in the center of town rose high above everything else. She scanned the buildings again. For a village of this size, there should be a castle. She felt her first whisper of premonition when her gaze snagged on a large empty area not far from the church on the banks of the river. Except it wasn’t empty, she realized. From the distance, she could just make out large piles of stone scattered haphazardly about.

“What is it?” she asked.

Sir Alex turned to her, his expression strangely blank. “We’re almost there.”

“Where?”

He paused. “Douglas.”

Her eyes widened in horror, as her stomach took a sharp dive. He might as well have said hell. For a Clifford, the village of Douglas was tantamount to the same thing. Her brother had tried for years to hold this land—and its castle—making plenty of enemies along the way.

“Castle Dangerous” it had been called by the garrisons sent by Cliff to hold the Douglas stronghold, and for good reason. Three times the Black Douglas had attacked and burned his own castle, including the infamous episode of the “Douglas Larder” that she knew Robbie had been involved in. The last had occurred about a year ago, and the castle had been destroyed—by Douglas himself. How could Robbie send her here, into the very heart and dominion of her family’s greatest enemy?

“You have nothing to fear, my lady,” Sir Alex said, trying to ease her rising panic. “You will be safe here.”

“Safe? Surrounded by people who would probably like nothing more than to sink a dagger into my back?” She gave a harsh, bordering on hysterical, laugh. “I did not try to escape, but it seems Robbie is making sure of it. Am I to be thrown into a pit prison after all?”

“You will be treated with every consideration. I know it seems hard to believe, but trust me, you have nothing to fear. Joanna Douglas is not like her husband.”

A short while later, when Rosalin was welcomed to Park Castle like a long-lost relative (replete with gasps of horror at what she’d been through and concerned pats of her hands) by a woman who was as beautiful and sweet-looking as her husband was dark and frightening, Rosalin was forced to concede Sir Alex was right: Joanna Douglas was nothing like her husband. In truth, she seemed more like the cherub she resembled than the devil’s consort. Perhaps he’d abducted her?

When she accidentally blurted out her suspicions, however, Joanna had laughed and patted the round swell of her pregnant stomach, assuring her that although their courtship had been a difficult one, it hadn’t come to that. James wasn’t really so terrifying, she’d insisted. When Rosalin grew to know him better, she’d see that.

Rosalin couldn’t think of what to say that wasn’t rude, so she did not respond.

Like a baby chick, Rosalin was scooted under the caring wing of her hostess, given a bath, fresh clothes, a hot meal, and a warm bedchamber in which to rest. Indeed, were it not for the placement of that room in the highest part of the tower and the guard stationed at the bottom of the stairwell, Rosalin might have been a treasured guest.

Despite her exhaustion, however, she found she could not rest. She had to see Robbie. Leaving a message with Lady Joanna that it was important that she see him as soon as possible, Rosalin watched for his arrival from the window of her tower chamber.

It was after midday when Robbie and his men rode into the bailey of Park Castle. After hours of riding with only an empty stomach and sore backside to show for it, he was in a foul mood. The heat of battle was pent up inside him, eager for an outlet.

The English bastards had turned tail and run. With the element of surprise gone, they’d apparently decided not to chance an attack. Like frightened hares, they’d raced back to the garrison at Peebles, with Robbie and his men hard on their heels.

Any thought that Clifford might not have been a part of it was eradicated when the gate opened. Even from a distance, he’d recognized the red stripe and blue-and-yellow checks of one of the soldiers in the bailey.

Furious at being denied the battle promised him, Robbie had debated lying in wait for the English to emerge. But he didn’t have the men or supplies. Once he gathered both, he would exact his retribution on Clifford for breaking the truce he’d only just agreed upon.

Robbie had anticipated a trick, and he’d gotten one. Clifford had brought him to Melrose and tampered with their horses’ feed to follow him back to camp and attempt a rescue of Rosalin. Robbie had to admit it had been a cunning plan, but it was also reckless. If it failed—as it had—Clifford was putting his sister at risk. Unless…

Robbie’s jaw clenched. Unless Clifford thought there
was
no risk. Unless he was certain Robbie wouldn’t harm her.

Some of his anger turned inward. Was that it? Had Clifford seen too much? Or had the lad, and reported it to his father? Either way, Robbie knew knowledge of his feelings for Rosalin weakened his position.

If being denied his quarry and having possibly given Clifford an advantage weren’t bad enough, Robbie had had to listen to Douglas’s thoughts on the matter for much of the journey.

“Clifford isn’t going to get away with this. I knew nothing good would come of having that lass at camp. You should have let me send her to Douglas right away as I wanted to.”

Robbie tried to rein in his temper. Douglas could be as bad as Seton, though they argued from opposite sides. “And how would that have changed anything? They still would have found our camp when we returned from Melrose.”

His friend gave him a hard look. “Aye, but they wouldn’t have found the lass. God’s blood, Boyd, they almost had her, and we would have let the means of bending Clifford over our knee slip away. Losing the lad was bad enough, but giving the chit freedom to move about the camp unguarded? What the hell did she do to get you to agree to that? Suck your—”

Robbie reached over and grabbed him by the throat, nearly lifting the powerfully built knight off his horse with one hand. The red haze of pure rage swirled before his eyes. “Say it and I’ll break your damned teeth.” The horses had come to a stop. Douglas could have tried to break free, but he seemed too intent on watching Robbie. “You can criticize me all you like—some of which is deserved—but do not disparage the lass. Despite her unfortunate relatives, she is an innocent in all of this—and a lady.”

Realizing the other men had stopped to gape at them, Robbie let his friend go.

“So that’s how it is,” Douglas said, his voice stunned. “Bloody hell, I almost feel sorry for you.”

Robbie gave him a fierce stare. “You don’t know shite.”

“I know you’ve changed. A couple of weeks ago you would have jumped at the opportunity to retaliate against Clifford, not try to think of reasons not to.”

Robbie’s fingers clenched the reins so tightly his knuckles turned white. “What the hell are you suggesting, Douglas? Are you questioning my commitment to the cause?”

“Nay, I’m questioning your commitment to the lass.”

“I want her. But I can control my damned cock.”

“You’re so sure about that? I think this is about more than bedding.”

He wasn’t sure at all, but hell if he would tell Douglas that. “She’s English. I don’t think I’d need to explain that to you. Hell, what if Joanna had been English?”

It took Douglas a long time to respond, and when he did it wasn’t the answer Robbie expected. “It wouldn’t have made a damned bit of difference.”

Given the source that admission was surprising, to say the least. It was akin to heresy, and Robbie didn’t know what the hell to do with it. Realizing this conversation had gone on long enough, he urged his mount forward with a flick of the reins and a clip of his heels.

But Douglas wouldn’t let it go. “Whatever your feelings for the lass, she cannot be trusted. You can’t let this go without retaliation.”

Robbie didn’t need reminding about Rosalin’s broken vow. She had been leaving willingly…hadn’t she?

He frowned. “I don’t intend to. The lass and Clifford will both be dealt with. But how I do that is up to me. The king put me in charge.”

Douglas gave him a hard look. “Aye, you don’t need to remind me. Just make sure you don’t let your feelings for the lass interfere. I don’t need to tell you how much is riding on this.”

Robbie clamped his mouth closed. No, he didn’t. Robbie was well aware that the king needed not only Clifford’s truce, but also the coin that would enable him to evict the English from Scotland’s castles and tighten his grip on the throne.

Needless to say, the sight of Park Castle was a welcome reprieve from the past long, frustrating, ire-inducing almost twenty-four hours. After dismounting and following Douglas up the motte and into the old tower house, Robbie was looking forward to a hot meal, a substantial draught of ale, a bath, and a preferably quiet and dark place where he could get at least a few hours of sleep before riding out again.

Joanna Douglas arranged the first three in short order, but the fourth would have to wait. As would Rosalin’s request. Assured by Joanna that Rosalin had been well taken care of, he made his way into the Hall to fill in Seton and the others on what had happened, as well as make plans for a retaliatory attack.

But after hours of listening to the back-and-forth—with Seton urging caution and Douglas demanding widespread destruction that would have put Bruce’s “Harrying of Buchan” a few years ago to shame—Robbie’s mood was even fouler than when he arrived. Damn Clifford to hell! It was a curse he’d wished on the bastard for years, but this time there was an added fervency for what he’d done to his sister. Instinctively, Robbie knew how much it would hurt Rosalin when he did what he had to do.

Perhaps it was with this in mind that he declined the request to attend her. The last thing he wanted to hear was an impassioned defense of Lord Robert Clifford—not in his present state of mind.

Rosalin saw Robbie ride in with the others, but her sigh of relief was mingled with trepidation at what that might mean for Sir Henry and his men.

She waited—and waited—pacing anxiously across the room, as the beam of sunlight slowly retreated inch by inch from across the floor back out through the window until it was gone.

From the maidservant who’d brought her tray of food she’d learned that the men were meeting in the Hall. Lady Joanna hadn’t confined her to her chamber, but Rosalin knew that she would not be welcome below.

It was after hours of anticipation, then, that she finally heard the deep, familiar voice and heavy footsteps as Robbie climbed the tower stairs. The feminine voice she recognized as that of their hostess.

She waited, hands twisting, for the door to open. Instead the voices dropped off, and a few minutes later a door closed below her. She could just make out the soft footfalls descending the stairs. Lady Joanna must have been showing him to his chamber—not hers.

Rosalin sucked in her breath, her chest on fire. Apparently, he would not even do her the courtesy of answering her plea to see him. She knew he must be exhausted—she was, too—but didn’t she warrant a few minutes of his time?

Before she could think better of it, she raced out of her chamber and down the flight of stairs. Pausing before the door, she knocked—in case she’d been wrong about what she heard—and heard the familiar voice respond, “I said I don’t need—”

He stopped when she threw open the door. She thought he swore, but she was too distracted to notice. He was obviously in the process of undressing as he was naked to the waist, barefoot, and his hands were on the ties of his leather chausses.

She swallowed. Hard. A hot flush consumed her body. Forcing her eyes away from the wide expanse of hard cut steel, she gave her tongue a moment to untie. Fortunately, the shock seemed to be mutual.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he said, recovering first.

She gave a sharp laugh, realizing what he meant. “I think it’s rather late to start worrying about propriety, when I’ve shared your tent for two weeks. I needed to see you.”

His hands went to work retying the ties he’d been loosening moments before. The chausses hung loosely on his hips, and she couldn’t help but follow the trail of dark hair that disappeared beneath the edge of the leather at his waist. His stomach was as flat and hard as the rest of him, with tight bands of muscle layered across it.

“Joanna informed me of your request.”

His voice knocked her from her temporary stupor. Her eyes met his accusingly. “And you couldn’t spare me a moment of your time?”

His mouth tightened, and now she could see the hard lines etched on his face that she’d missed before. He looked tired and agitated—edgy in a way she’d never seen him before. “Nay, I decided to exercise a modicum of discretion for once. I am not fit company for a
lady
right now, Rosalin, and rather than say something out of temper, I thought it better to wait until that temper had cooled.”

She felt a little shiver of trepidation at the emphasis on the word
lady
, understanding what kind of woman he might be fit for. Though everything about him boded forbidding and unassailable, she took a step toward him. “I was worried about you.”

Her concern barely registered. “As you can see, there was no cause. Your brother’s men declined to take the field against us.”

“Thank God.” She didn’t bother to hide her relief. “But it wasn’t Cliff’s men, it was my fian—” She stopped, seeing his darkening expression. “It was Sir Henry’s.”

His mouth tightened, his eyes burning hot into hers. “I do not wish to talk about this with you, Rosalin, but suffice it to say your brother was involved—unless there is another baron with a red stripe and blue-and-yellow check arms? I saw one of his men myself when we chased your betrothed back to Peebles.”

Rosalin’s eyes widened a little at his claim, but she pushed away the twinge of uncertainty. She shook her head. “Cliff might have been there, but he wouldn’t have had anything to do with this. He wouldn’t put me in that kind of danger.”

“But your betrothed would?”

She felt the heat rising to her cheeks. It felt disloyal to Sir Henry, but she had to make him understand. “Sir Henry is a great knight, but he is young, proud, and I think sometimes overly bold,” which sounded better than rash. “I suspect he acted out of worry for me and did not give thought to the consequences.” He seemed to consider her words, and she pressed on. “I did not break my word to you, Robbie. I wasn’t trying to leave.”

“Then why were you walking away with him?”

“I wasn’t walking away. He was dragging me. Could you not tell the difference?”

His frown told her he was remembering. “If you were being forced, why did you not shout for help?”

“Because I did not wish to see you kill him. I hoped to be able to convince him to let me go as soon as we were a short distance away. I did not count on the horse. The man was my friend. Can you not see the dilemma I faced? Would you have stopped to ask him questions before lifting your sword against him?”

His silence was answer enough.

It wasn’t right that she was forced to defend herself like this, and some of her anger started to break through. “I had just confessed my feelings to you. It might have meant nothing to you, but it meant something to me.”

“You are young, Rosalin. This will all seem very different once you return to England.”

She couldn’t believe he was trying to talk her out of how she felt. “I’m old enough to know my own feelings, and if you need proof I have six years of it. I never forgot you, and we’d met but for a few minutes. How do you imagine I will now? I love you, Robert Boyd, and if I had my wish we would never be apart.”