Page 214 of Wicked Highland Heroes

Talbot agreed. But he didn’t regret killing every last one of the bastards.

* * *

Minutes later, St. Claire left Rhoslyn alone with her grandfather. It would take some time to wash the grime and blood off his body.

The door clicked shut behind him before she asked her grandfather, “Do ye not think you are making too much of this?”

He gave her a thin-lipped look. “Men died today.”

Guilt crashed over her. She hung her head.

“Your husband is right. His brother willna’ wait to try and abduct you again. He will grow more desperate with each passing day.”

“Use me as bait. Lure him to us,” she said.

Her grandfather snorted. “If St. Claire allowed that I would kill him. But I dinna’ think he would.”

Rhoslyn didn’t think so either.

“I see why Edward chose him to marry ye.”

“You do?”

“Not since your great uncle Liam have I seen such an archer. What was he like in battle?”

“Fearsome,” she said, and recalled the cold detachment with which he wielded his blade. Then she remembered the fury on his face when he’d discovered her tied to Dayton’s bed. The contrast between cold and hot sent a shiver down her spine. Was this the same man who had chased a goat in order to save a wedding dress?

“I wish I could have seen him,” her grandfather said.

“Ye may yet get a chance,” Rhoslyn replied. Then remembered what she wanted to ask. “Have you seen the picture of his sister on his arm?”

He shook his head. “Nay.”

“The girl’s face is familiar. Ye remember Lady Peigi?”

He nodded. “Cailin Kenzie’s daughter.”

“Aye. The picture on St. Claire’s arm is the spitting image of her.”

Her grandfather shrugged. “There are often resemblances between strangers.”

Rhoslyn shook her head. “Nay. When I say she is the spitting image, I do no’ exaggerate. I was young, but I remember when she returned to claim her father’s title after his death. She created quite a stir when she claimed the title.”

He gave a short laugh. “She did do that. He hated her for leaving and swore he would outlive her. Many thought he would succeed. He lived to eighty-two.”

“Do ye remember that Lady Peigi’s mother is no’ Scottish?” Rhoslyn asked.

“Aye, Kenzie brought her to Buchan from Galicia. He met her while on pilgrimage to Santiago de Compostela.”

“Her features betrayed her heritage,” Rhoslyn said. “Her face is longer and her eyes more slanted than ours.”

He nodded, eyes unfocused as if remembering. “She was very beautiful, even as she aged.”

Rhoslyn leaned closer. “I am telling you, the face is the same. Do ye no’ think that strange? Perhaps, if they looked very much the same, and had been of Scottish descent, it would not be so odd. But how is it St. Claire’s sister looks like a woman who is also not of pure Celtic blood?”

“It does seem strange,” he agreed. “I would like to see this marking. Can ye arrange some way for me to see it?”

“Perhaps if he works outdoors he will take off his shirt.” The thought sent a shiver through her. What had come over her? She couldn’t once remember experiencing a shiver at the thought of Alec’s naked chest.