Page 154 of Wicked Highland Heroes

Rhoslyn faced the room St. Claire thought was her prison. Fool. She knew this castle as well as the one she grew up in. A sudden chill threaded through her. There was but one reason St. Claire would lock her in his bedchambers. He intended to skip the wedding vows and consummate their marriage.

So why hadn’t he forced himself between her legs when he captured her? The contract was solid enough that no priest need validate their union. The marriage would stand. Another—more devastating—truth hit. He need not lay a hand on her. The mere fact she was in his bedchambers was enough to seal her fate.

Rhoslyn hurried to the bed. She stuffed the pillows beneath the blankets, then arranged them to look like a sleeping body. She lit a taper from the fire in the hearth then slid to the right and groped about the paneling for the hidden latch. A small click sounded and the panel opened to a secret passageway leading to a guest bedchamber on the far end of the castle’s west wing. Stepping inside, she pulled her mantle close around her and drew the panel shut.

Candle extended before her, she navigated the narrow passage. Anger coursed through her. Two men she had never met controlled her life: King Edward and his puppet knight Sir Talbot St. Claire.

Knight.

The word echoed in her mind on a wave of disgust. What did a man like St. Claire know of honor, truth, or loyalty? Loyalty. Aye, perhaps he did understand that precept. Loyalty to a king who would fill his knights’ coffers with coin dripping with blood—Scottish blood, if need be.

What a fool she’d been to spend fourteen months grieving. He hadn’t said it, but she’d read the worry in her grandfather’s eyes when he agreed to her request. Before he died, he wanted a grandson to inherit the home and land that had been passed down in his family for generations. She’d been too grief-stricken to care about the future. Her selfishness had lost them everything, including, she realized, her stepdaughter. St. Claire would replace her grandfather as their protector, and would decide who Andreana married. Another English knight, no doubt, who would secure more of her dead husband’s wealth for his English king.

Perhaps Andreana’s future alone was worth fighting for. Was not her own fate worth fighting for? How many good Scottish men would have to die to keep what was theirs from Edward’s greedy fingers?

Fear squeezed her heart. If only she had reached her grandfather. She needed his strong shoulder to cry on, his reasoning to assure her they could keep what was theirs without throwing their clans into a war against England.

How had St. Claire learned she was fleeing the convent? Did he know she intended to marry Lord Melrose? Sir Ascot told her that only he and her grandfather knew of her escape. Even their trusted men-at-arms hadn’t been told of their destination.

Rhoslyn reached the end of the passageway and eased open the panel an inch, then listened for any sounds in the room. Silence. She stepped inside, and stopped. Where could she go? How many hours before dawn? Getting a horse was impossible. Even if she managed to reach the stables, St. Claire’s guards wouldn’t allow her through the gate. Her only choice was to leave through the passageway leading from the chapel to the rear of Castle Glenbarr and outside the walls.

Longford Castle was three quarters of an hour’s ride. Walking would take hours. She’d have to keep to the forest to avoid the men St. Claire would send in search of her. Fraser Bell worked the farm nearest Castle Glenbarr. He would help her. No. She couldn’t ask his help. St. Claire would punish anyone who aided her. A mental picture flashed of Fraser’s two daughters weeping over their father’s grave. Instead of asking Fraser’s help, she would steal one of his horses.

Rhoslyn forced her thoughts to slow. She needed a weapon. Three jeweled daggers lay hidden in a locked room beneath the castle, along the passageway leading to the dungeon. Only she, her grandfather, and Alec’s cousin Duncan held keys. Here was stored a chest filled with coin, a lifetime’s wealth saved for lean times or, God forbid, the financing of wars.

Did St. Claire know of the room? She imagined King Edward’s long fingers sifting through the coins. Anger tightened her insides. The money and valuables stored there didn’t belong to him or St. Claire. Rhoslyn forced a slow breath and concentrated on how she would reach the room undetected, then she realized something terrible; she had to return to Alec’s bedchamber for the key.

* * *

The fog wasn’t lifting. Instead, it had thickened in the minutes Talbot had lingered in the bailey with Baxter and the man who informed them that Baron Kinsley was besieged at Longford Castle by local chief Aodh Roberts. Talbot cursed. He hadn’t expected settling in Scotland to be easy, but neither had he expected to find himself in the middle of a family feud.

Talbot glanced at the light that penetrated the fog from a third floor window. Lady Rhoslyn was locked there in his bedchambers. He was cold and tired and had looked forward to a few hours’ sleep before rousing the priest to perform the benediction that would solidify their marriage. No man would dare defy the king—or Talbot—after that.

Talbot sighed and fixed his gaze on Iain. Light from the nearby wall sconce illuminated his intense gaze. Iain had been Seward’s captain for over twenty years. His loyalty to the baron could cut the fog. There would be no rest tonight.

“Is Melrose prepared for a battle?” Talbot asked.

“He is no’ his father,” the Highlander replied.

Talbot nodded. “I heard the old earl was a seasoned knight.”

“He was,” Iain said.

“I suppose you must aid Seward,” Baxter said. “Even if the matter has nothing to do with you.”

“It has everything to do with ye,” Iain interjected. “Until now, Roberts wouldna’ dare defy Seward. He knows Lady Rhoslyn would kill him herself.”

“God forbid I do any less,” Talbot said. “It is Seward that Roberts wants, then, not Melrose?”

“Roberts doesna’ love Melrose—he and the old baron fought constantly over cattle—but he hates Seward and I believe he is counting on ye being pleased when he is dead.”

Talbot nodded. “What does Roberts hope to gain by killing him?”

“Revenge. He wanted to marry the Lady Rhoslyn, but Seward married her to Harper instead.”

Talbot wagered it was the lady who refused. He also suspected Roberts had more than revenge in mind.

Iain pinned him with a hard stare. “These are your people now, St. Claire. You must protect your own, or no’ a single Highlander will follow ye. I have fifty men waiting outside Castle Glenbarr willing to follow you. It is a start. Dinna’ throw it away.”