Page 147 of Wicked Highland Heroes

Claimed

Tarah Scott

Chapter One

“Your grandfather awaits you at Longford Castle where you will marry Lord Melrose immediately.”

Had she heard correctly?

Disorientation at being abruptly roused from a sound sleep combined with disbelief caused Rhoslyn’s heart to thud wildly. Pain shot down her left arm as Prioress Hildegard twisted the limb and shoved her hand into the sleeve of a gray, wool dress.

“I am sorry, child,” the prioress said, but she didn’t slow her hurried dressing of Rhoslyn.

Hildegard pulled the dress down over her body, then grabbed the belt she had tossed onto the pallet. She cinched it around Rhoslyn’s waist and snatched up the mantle hastily thrown across a nearby table. Rhoslyn recognized the fur-lined cloak as the one she’d worn the day she arrived at the convent fourteen months ago. The prioress swung the garment around Rhoslyn’s shoulder.

“Hildegard, please,” she began as the nun fastened the clasp at her neck.

Hildegard grasped her arm and started toward the door. “We must go. Your grandfather’s men wait outside.”

Rhoslyn stumbled over the hem of her skirts and barely righted herself as they passed through the doorway and into the convent’s narrow hallway.

“I must speak with Abbess Beatrice,” Rhoslyn demanded.

“She sent me.” Hildegard made a hard right around a bend, her grip firm on Rhoslyn’s arm.

They reached the front entrance, where three nuns stood at the open door.

“Where is the abbess?” Rhoslyn asked.

Hildegard pulled her through the door into the fog that hung in the lit bailey. Shock dug deeper at the sight of men-at-arms, a dozen—no she realized, more, at least two dozen—up ahead. Was her respite at the convent truly over?

The prioress hurried her toward the men who waited near the gate.

As they approached, Sir Ascot, who held the bridle of his horse at the front of the company, dropped to one knee. “My lady.”

“Rise, Knight,” she instructed. “Quickly, tell me what has happened.”

He came to his feet, then reached inside the front of his mail shirt and produced a missive that he extended toward her. Her gaze caught on the broken seal---the Great Seal of England. She jerked her gaze to the knight’s face in shocked question. He said nothing and she took the document.

Rhoslyn unfolded the parchment and her heart beat faster at sight of the boldly scripted salutation addressed to her grandfather from “King Edward I, Lord Superior of the realm of Scotland,” she read out loud.

“God save us,” Hildegard breathed.

Rhoslyn snapped her gaze onto Sir Ascot. “How did King Edward come to be Lord Superior of Scotland?”

“Forgive me, my lady,” he glanced at the nun, “Sister. I assumed ye knew.”

“Knew what?” Rhoslyn demanded.

“The Maid of Norway is dead.”

Rhoslyn felt as if a horse had kicked her. Their future queen dead? “How?”

“She drowned in Orkney on the way to Scotland.”

Hildegard made the sign of the cross.

“She was but seven,” Rhoslyn breathed. Tears pricked her eyes. “When?”