“Saints, you are stubborn!”
She looked so put out he had to smile. “Aye. It’s one of my more endearing qualities.”
She let out a sharp laugh and shook her head. “Is that right? I’d hate to see the less endearing ones.”
He pushed her back up against the stone wall, pinning her hands to the sides of her head. “Do you want to keep talking about all my good qualities or should I show you a few?”
Her eyes flared with heat. “What did you have in mind?”
He moved his hips against hers, letting her feel exactly what he had in mind. “This, for one.”
Heat poured through his body and he groaned. It had been too long. She made the sweetest little gasp, and he was about to lean in and kiss her neck again when he heard a sound that made him glance out the window to his right.
He frowned.
“What is it?”
“Seton and Douglas. Damn it, I thought we’d have more time. They should have been gone for a couple more hours.”
He peered harder into the distance as they neared, and tensed. They were riding too fast. Something was wrong.
He turned back to her, the disappointment probably as keen on his face as it was on hers. Leaning down one more time, he gave her a swift kiss. “We’ll have to resume this later.”
She nodded. He was almost to the door when she said, “Wait! Do you think it could be something from my brother?”
He stopped, turning to look at her. “Perhaps.”
A few minutes later, when he met an arguing Seton and Douglas as they rode into the courtyard, he learned that it
was
a response from Clifford—just not the one he’d imagined.
Robbie clenched his fists, squeezing through the pain of his broken fingers in pure animalistic rage.
By God, Clifford would pay for this!
Robbie had heard the kind of story related by the lad so many damned times it should no longer affect him. The ordinary day. The happy, unsuspecting villagers going about their business. The first prickle of alarm when the soldiers are sighted. And the sheer terror and chaos that follows when the first sword starts to fall. But the horror of it always struck him anew. And this time it was worse. So much worse. This time he was to blame.
The lad was about Malcolm’s age and was fighting to hold back the tears as he described what he’d seen. “They were killing everyone, my lord. Women, children—it didn’t seem to matter. They blamed us for helping you. Said we were all rebels for keeping your camp supplied in the forest. Someone told them about the, uh…your women. The men were pulling them out into the street when my ma put me on the horse and told me to ride and try to find the Douglas. I didn’t want to look back.”
“But you did?”
The boy nodded and looked away. He’d already told them what he’d seen, and the images were still burning vividly in Robbie’s mind. Deirdre and the other women from camp being…
His stomach turned as bile rose to the back of his throat. Raped and probably killed because of him. How could he have let this happen? How could he have been so stupid?
“That’s when I saw the other soldiers riding toward me and I thought I would never get away. There were hundreds of them, swarming all over. I’ve never seen so many weapons.”
“Clifford’s men,” Douglas provided, even though Robbie had heard it before. The boy’s description of their arms had left no mistake. As had the description of Sir Henry’s and his men. Apparently, Rosalin’s betrothed hadn’t been sent back to England after all.
But he was going to wish he had been.
“This happened yesterday?” Robbie asked the boy.
He nodded.
Probably right after receiving Rosalin’s letter. She’d been right. Clifford’s first reaction had been anger. And look what it had cost them.
The lad had obviously reached the end of his tether. He’d been through hell and looked it. But he’d told them everything they needed to know. Robbie thanked the boy and sent him away to get some food and rest.
“I got here as soon as I could, my lord,” the boy said. “Do you think…”
Robbie wanted to lie, but the boy deserved the truth. He’d left his mother and younger siblings behind to ride for help. Robbie shook his head. There was no chance to save them. The villagers were dead and Corehead was no doubt burned to the ground.
The tears were falling unheeded now. “But you’ll do something, won’t you?” the boy asked.
“Aye, lad, I will.” He would strike back and strike back hard in a place that would hurt.
He exchanged looks with Douglas, and the other man nodded. They’d been through this so many times before, he knew exactly what to do. Douglas left the Hall to start readying the men. Robbie was about to follow when Seton stopped him. It was the first time the other man had spoken to him directly since their fight.
“What are you going to do?”
How his partner—
former
partner—managed to convey disapproval in a flat tone, Robbie didn’t know. But he did. “What the hell do you think I’m going to do? You heard what they did.”
“But it doesn’t make sense. Why would Clifford do something like this?”
Robbie’s jaw locked. Because Robbie had believed Rosalin when she said her brother would do anything for her and let her write him. “He had a reason.”
“What the hell did you do?”
The accusation snapped the last thread of Robbie’s temper. “I fucking listened to you, that’s what I did! I tried to make it right, and look what happened. I let her write Clifford and open discussions—isn’t that what you are always wanting to do? Well, this is what you get from English negotiations. So if you have anything else to say, say it, or get the hell out of my way.”
“I’d tell you not to do anything rash, but I’d be wasting my breath. So which English village will feel the sword of your retribution this time?”
Robbie steeled his gaze, guessing at what the reaction would be. “Brougham.”
Seton flinched, shocked. “By God, I thought you cared for her. That is her home.”
Robbie gritted his teeth. “It isn’t Rosalin’s home, it’s
his
home. This has nothing to do with her.”
“It has everything to do with her. She might have spent most of her life in London, but that is where she was born. She will never forgive you. I hope to hell you know what you are doing.”
“I do. We are leaving within the hour—be ready.”
Seton shook his head. “I told you I’m done. I won’t be a part of this.”
The gauntlet had been dropped. “I could order you to go.”
“You could, and I’d refuse.”
They stared at one another, facing off as they’d done so many times before. But Robbie knew this time it was different. This time Seton wasn’t going to back down. Robbie should throw him into the damned pit prison. “Fine. You can stay here and guard Rosalin.”
“You mean pick up the pieces of the heart you are about to break.”
Robbie’s eyes narrowed, refusing to be goaded. “There’ll be plenty of time for me to put it back together.”
“What do you mean?”
“It means she will get her wish. She won’t be going back. I’ll marry her as soon as I return. Let’s see how Clifford likes
that
.”
For the second time, Rosalin caught the end of a conversation she wished she hadn’t heard. Elizabeth had come up and told her the men were leaving. Rosalin had raced downstairs beside her and stumbled into this…nightmare.
Won’t be going back
…
marry her as soon as I return
. Words she’d hoped to hear, but not like this. She didn’t understand. What could have happened?
Robbie looked over and saw them standing there. His face was a mask of black rage, and his eyes when they landed on her were as hard as onyx. He looked cold and unyielding, and so remote he might have been standing on a distant island.
“You are leaving?” she asked.
His eyes bit into her with…anger? Blame? Resentment? God, no, she must be imagining it. “I am.”
She took a step toward him. “But why?”
He didn’t say anything, but just continued to stand there with that horrible look on his face. Her gaze slid to Sir Alex. He looked just as enraged. “Tell her, Boyd. You owe her that at least.” He held out his hand to Elizabeth. “Come, Lady Elizabeth. Lady Rosalin will wish to hear this in private.”
Left alone—at least as alone as they could be in the corner of the chaotic Hall—Rosalin approached him cautiously. “Tell me what has happened.”
“What has happened?” he repeated. She could see the muscles flare in his shoulders and knew he was fighting for control. “What the hell did you write your brother?”
She drew back from the blast of anger. “Exactly what we discussed. That I wanted to stay in Scotland. That I was happy here. That I’d fallen in love and asked him to agree to a meeting in person under the color of the truce.”
“Aye, well he refused.”
She frowned. “I told you he might. But I will be able to convince him.”
“It’s too late for that. God, I can’t believe I let you talk me into this.”
She reached out and put a hand on his arm, but he was impervious to her touch. “Please, won’t you tell me what happened?”
And then he did. In cold, brutal detail until the blood leached from her face, her stomach dropped, and her knees turned to jelly.
“No,” she whispered. It was too horrible to contemplate. She’d come to think of some of those women as her friends.
Jean
.
Oh God, poor Jean!
It couldn’t be true…could it? For a moment she felt a sliver of uncertainty. She knew her brother but not the military commander, the man who despised Robbie Boyd and had made it his mission to capture him. Cliff would have been angry, but to do something like this? No. She refused to believe it. Rosalin was under no illusions about her brother’s ruthlessness in war, but he wouldn’t sanction the killing of children and the rape of women. No matter how angry. And above all, she was absolutely certain he wouldn’t do something that could hurt her. There had to be an explanation. “There must be some mistake. Cliff wouldn’t—”
“Don’t say it!” He wrenched his arm away. “I don’t want to hear another damned word about what your sainted brother would or wouldn’t do. If I’d listened to my gut, none of this would have happened. I knew better. I can’t believe I let you talk me into this. I told you it would never work. You cannot reason with English dogs.”
Rosalin tried to control her frantic heartbeat. Tried to tell herself he was angry and didn’t mean it. But it was getting harder and harder to make excuses for him. Harder and harder to be understanding in the face of his cold distrust. “There has to be some explanation. Send someone to—”
“No!” His voice fell like the crack of a whip. “No explanations, no couriers, no bloody messages. Your brother will have my reply. The only reply he will understand.”
Rosalin had never seen him like this and didn’t know what to do. How to break through. How to reach him. “Please, Robbie, don’t do anything rash. Don’t do anything in anger that cannot be undone. Lashing out like this…it is wrong.”
“Christ, you sound exactly like Seton. I don’t need either of you to be my bloody conscience.”
Like Seton
. Rosalin reeled from the truth. Why had she never seen it before? She
was
like Sir Alex and that’s how Robbie would always see her. As English. As someone incapable of being fully trusted. Robbie and Sir Alex had fought for seven years together and he still refused to see him as a friend. In seven years would she still be waiting for him to realize that he loved her?
What if he never did?
A sinking sensation settled low in her gut. She felt the happy future she’d imagined slipping away from her like the hazy figment of a dream.
She had to get through to him. “Don’t you? Do you even stop to ask whether it’s right or wrong anymore? Or maybe it no longer matters. Maybe it is only about who can inflict the most pain. What happened to all the principles in those books you love?”
His mouth tightened. “I’m not going to defend myself to you.”
“Then defend it to yourself.”
His silence was answer enough. Rosalin scanned his face, looking for a crack. Looking for anything to tell her she hadn’t been wrong. Where was the man who read philosophy, who kept a garden because it reminded him of a simpler, peaceful time, who helped save a village from fire, and who stood up for a woman most men would think beneath his regard? She’d convinced herself that that despite the ruthless shell, at his core, he was still a man of honor, still a man capable of knowing right from wrong. But she was wrong. All that mattered was vengeance and the single-minded determination to win at all costs, justified or not. “So you are going to fight back with a raid in England? Will you kill children and rape women as well?”
The mouth that had kissed her not an hour ago drew hard and menacing. He took her by the elbow and hauled her up against him. “Don’t push me, Rosalin. I’ve been pushed today about as far as I can go. Unlike your countrymen I do not slaughter innocents, but your brother will feel the pain close to home. Have no doubt about that.”
It took her a moment to realize what he meant. But she knew him too well, knew the way he thought, and her stomach knifed in horror. She gazed up at him incredulously. “Not Brougham. Dear God, please tell me you aren’t going to attack the only place in this world that was ever a home to me. How could you hurt me like that?”
He released her and backed away. “This has nothing to do with you.”
Every word felt like a betrayal. It
was
a betrayal. God, what a fool she’d been! She’d thought if she loved him enough, she could pull him back from the black abyss he’d been sinking in. She’d convinced herself there was more to him than the ruthless raider. But what if there wasn’t? What if this was him?
“This has
everything
to do with me, and if you don’t see that now you never will. When you hurt him, you hurt me. I know you want to pay someone back for your friends and for the people in the village, but this isn’t the way. This is wrong. I’m begging you not to do this. Give Cliff a chance to explain.”
Nothing
. No reaction. No softening of his gaze. No relenting. Her words did not even dent the steely shell. He was breaking her heart and didn’t even care.