Page 150 of Wicked Highland Heroes

“Dinna’ be dense,” she replied. “He plans to hold up in Longford Castle until she bears Jacobus a child.”

“Castles can be razed to the ground.”

“More easily said than done,” she said, “and at what cost? The castle is a veritable fortress. Lady Rhoslyn’s grandfather can wait you out.”

“Where is she now?” Talbot demanded.

“We are agreed?” the abbess pressed.

“Aye. We are agreed. But beware, Sister. I honor my word, but I will not commit murder any quicker than I will betray Edward.”

Her brows rose. “Murder is your way of life, Knight. But fear no’, murder is not God’s way. I will not ask anything he would not ask.”

That frightened Talbot more than anything man could ask. But he had no more intention of allowing God to force him into anything than he did man or woman.

“By now Rhoslyn is on her way to Longford Castle,” Beatrice said. “I had the prioress delay her departure. I pray we had an hour head start, and Rhoslyn and her grandfather’s men willna’ have been able to ride as fast as we did.”

“You will not countenance betrayal in me, but have no compunction about betraying Lady Rhoslyn,” Talbot said.

She lifted her brows as if surprised. “It is no betrayal to carry out God’s will.”

* * *

A warning shout at the rear of the company caused Rhoslyn to snap her head toward the murky form of Sir Ascot, who rode beside her in the thickening fog.

The knight drew his sword. “Ride, my lady.”

After they’d left the convent, Sir Ascot had given her a dagger and instructed her to flee with two of his strongest men should they be discovered. She hadn’t thought there any great possibility that would happen, so hadn’t voiced the thought that she wouldn’t leave her father’s men at the mercy of Sir Talbot.

“Do not lose your head,” she ordered. “It is far more likely we have encountered robbers than St Claire. He cannot possibly know I have left the convent.”

Ascot lifted his sword and Rhoslyn realized his intention. She turned her horse’s head, but not quickly enough to avoid the flat side of his sword smacking her steed’s rump. The beast leapt forward and the men parted before her as her horse shot through their ranks. As planned, Aland and David broke into a gallop alongside her.

She pulled on the reins, but her horse gave a cry and sped up when Aland slapped his reins against the beast’s neck. David drew closer on the other side, hemming her in. The fools were in league against her.

“I shall strip you both of your knighthood,” she shouted.

“Aye, my lady,” Aland replied. “But your grandfather will hang us if we do not deliver ye to him safely.”

Another, more distant shout went up amongst the men, this one followed by a clash of steel. Was it truly St. Claire who accosted them? Anger whipped through Rhoslyn. The death of her grandfather’s knights would be on Edward’s head. He would pay. Oh, how he would pay.

The sounds of fighting faded. She could make out the murky shadows of trees alongside the road, but didn’t know where they were. The pounding of her protectors’ horses’ hooves beside her should have given comfort. Instead, she knew the sound would haunt her forever. It was the sound of cowardice. The sound of defeat.

A large silhouette abruptly appeared in front of them.

“My lady!” Aland cried.

He tore to the right and Rhoslyn followed while David galloped left. She heard a thwack, but couldn’t guess the source, and forced her horse back onto the road. She pulled on the reins. A man’s grunt sounded and a horse gave a shrill cry. Rhoslyn turned her mount toward the sound and one of the knights appeared nearby.

“Aland, is that you?” Or was it David?

He brought his horse up beside hers. Something struck her as odd, but before she could understand what, an arm snaked out and around her waist. She yanked the dagger from its sheath and drove the blade downward toward the arm gripping her as she was dragged from her horse. The blade snagged on her attacker’s armor and he muttered a curse as she slammed into a wall of muscle protected by chainmail.

Fear sent a wave of dizziness through her. She raised the knife for another blow, but iron fingers clamped around her wrist. She cried out in pain and her grip faltered. He shook her wrist hard and she dropped the dagger.

Her legs dangled against the horse’s flanks and she gave a vicious kick to its ribs. The beast started forward, then the arm around her tightened as its owner pulled back on the reins. She kicked again—harder—and the horse reared. Her attacker crushed Rhoslyn between his chest and arms as he leaned forward in an effort to force the animal’s front hooves back onto the ground.

She gasped for breath through crushed lungs. The horse’s hooves hit the ground so hard her teeth jarred. Rhoslyn clawed at the arm that pinned her. Her fingers slipped on a warm, slick substance, and satisfaction surged through her at the realization that it was his blood. She must have cut him below his chainmail. His hold, however, did not weaken, despite the wound.