Page 162 of Wicked Highland Heroes

Neither had Rhoslyn seen him buried. She’d simply left him to be lowered into the cold ground without the comfort of a mother.

She fisted her hands. Why, God, did I not die instead?

Curse King Edward for interfering in her life and curse St. Claire for bringing her to Castle Glenbarr.

A knock sounded on the door and Rhoslyn bolted upright in bed. Had St. Claire returned? Her stomach turned a somersault before she realized he wouldn’t knock. He would enter unbidden through the door that connected to the solar. She drew back the bed curtain and watched her guard as he reach the door.

Hand on sword hilt, he called, “Who goes there?”

“Mistress Muira,” the housekeeper replied.

The guard opened the door. Rhoslyn slipped from bed, fully dressed, and hurried toward the housekeeper.

“Mistress Muira.” Rhoslyn embraced her.

The old woman gave her a hug, then drew back.

“Ye are looking well,” Muira said.

“And you,” Rhoslyn said. “All is well? You have not been ill-treated?”

“St. Claire has been fair. You have a visitor, my lady.”

“A visitor, so early? Who?”

“Dayton St. Claire.”

“Dayton St. Claire is here?” the warrior said. “What business has Sir Talbot’s brother with Lady Rhoslyn at this time of morning?”

Rhoslyn wondered the same thing. “Show him into our private solar,” she said. “You may join us there, Knight.” He opened his mouth, but she cut him off. “With you and Sheila present, Sir Talbot canna’ take issue with his brother visiting me. Go, Mistress Muira. ‘Tis early, but if ye would send up mead, I would be grateful.”

Rhoslyn and Sheila sat in the solar with the guard standing near their bench when the door opened and Mistress Muira entered. The man who followed was as different from Sir Talbot as the sun was from the moon. Where Talbot was fair, this man was dark. Talbot’s hair hung to his shoulders, but his brother’s hair covered only his ears. His dark beard gave him the look of the pagan god of Mars, though softer, gentler. More than the physical differences, was the warm demeanor and cordial light in this man’s eyes. Sir Talbot struck her as hard, distant.

Sheila hurried to the table as Muira set down the mead and goblets. Dayton St. Claire reached the bench where Rhoslyn sat and grasped her hand, then fell to one knee, and she recalled Sir Ascot’s actions at the convent. Her heart twisted to think of the knight dead, then she remembered St. Claire saying only three men had perished in the fight. Was Sir Ascot one?

“Lady Rhoslyn,” Dayton St. Claire murmured against her hand.

Rhoslyn glimpsed the distrust that narrowed their guard’s eyes. “Rise, sir, and sit with me.”

He obeyed and Sheila offered them goblets filled with wine. She gave the third goblet to their guard, then hurried back to the table as Mistress Muira left.

“To what do I owe the honor of your visit?” Rhoslyn asked.

“I have come to celebrate my brother’s marriage.” He took a drink of mead.

She laughed. “The wedding is a month away. You are early, sir.” Not to mention, he need not have asked for an audience in the early morning in order to celebrate his brother’s marriage. Clearly, their guard agreed, for he stiffened.

“Forgive me, Lady Rhoslyn,” Dayton said. “I could have waited until tomorrow to meet you. The truth is, I bring a gift for you, one I fear my brother might object to you receiving.”

Their guard took a step forward.

“All is well, Knight,” he said to the man. “I speak of a horse. An Arabian brought from the Holy Land.”

“How could ye have known to bring a wedding gift from so far away?” Rhoslyn asked, and also wondered why the man was truly there. This, too, could have waited until tomorrow.

He grinned. “I confess, I did not know. I bought the beast for myself. When I heard Talbot was to marry, I knew the horse should be my wedding gift.”

“I am an able rider. I am anxious to see the steed.”