Page 268 of Wicked Highland Heroes

Taresa frowned and Rhoslyn realized she didn’t know what had happened. Fear seized her. Lady Taresa didn’t know that the baby Rhoslyn carried might not be St. Claire’s. Rhoslyn glanced to her right to find St. Claire staring at her. Surely, he hadn’t overheard their conversation?

“Forgive me,” Rhoslyn said to Taresa. “I am suddenly tired.”

It was only half a lie. She found she was tired, and the smell of the food on the table wasn’t setting well with her stomach. She rose before the older woman could protest and hurried toward the kitchen. Her gaze caught on Sir Ascot, talking with a group of men near the kitchen door. He stared, brows furrowed. The knight was sure to tell her grandfather she had left the great hall upset.

Rhoslyn slowed, then entered the kitchen. She murmured greetings to the women, then took the stairs. She reached her chambers and lowered herself onto the bench in front of the fire. When St. Claire and her grandfather had come to the private solar accompanied by John Comyn, lord of Badenoch, the shock had been no greater than their announcement that St. Claire agreed to claim the Earldom of Baliman.

Her first thought had been that the title would endear Scotland to him. But the rigid set of his jaw had betrayed his thoughts. He had accepted the inevitable, but was determined to serve only Edward. That, she realized with the same trepidation she’d felt upon learning she was to marry an English knight, meant he would put his now-considerable support behind Edward’s efforts to crown John Balliol. St. Claire’s allegiance to Edward was the very reason John Comyn had taken note of him. Comyn supported Balliol, and knew St. Claire would as well.

Her grandfather seemed oblivious to the danger. He had planned to set fire to St. Claire’s Scottish blood without realizing that St. Claire was as much Spanish as Scottish—and he ignored the fact the knight was English through and through. A tremor rippled through her midsection. Now, that Spanish heritage sat in her hall celebrating the upcoming birth of a grandchild that might not be hers.

Lady Taresa wouldn’t be so willing to witness the birth of a grandchild who might be the result of a rape. Would the lady’s attitude affect St. Claire? He had sworn the child was his and, to his credit, he hadn’t once made her feel otherwise. But Lady Taresa was his blood, and say what he may, blood made demands that couldn’t be ignored. Wasn’t that what her grandfather had implied when he’d said St. Claire’s Scottish blood would fire in his veins? Aye, but St. Claire was dead set against any Scottish claims on his loyalty.

Tears pressed against her eyes. What would become of their son...their daughters? Would their fates have been less brutal had she married De Quincy? Yes. St. Claire was a good man. He would be a good father. Unlike De Quincy, he would care who his daughters married. He had cared who Andreana married. But what would he do if the command to marry them came from Edward instead of Lochland?

A light knock on the door caused her to jump.

“Lady Rhoslyn.”

Lady Taresa.

“May I come in?” Taresa asked.

Rhoslyn swiped at a tear she hadn’t realized was slipping down her cheek. If she remained quiet maybe Taresa would go away.

“Please,” Taresa entreated.

Rhoslyn rose and went to the door. With a fortifying breath, she opened the door. “My lady,” she said.

A moment of silence passed and Taresa said, “May I come in?”

Mortification sent a wave of heat to Rhoslyn’s face. “Of course. Please, forgive me.” She stood aside and the older woman entered.

“What a lovely room,” Taresa said.

“Thank you. Will you join me by the fire?” Rhoslyn asked.

“That would be lovely.”

Rhoslyn led her to the bench. “Would you like wine? I can have some brought up.”

“No. Please, sit with me.”

“Of course.” Rhoslyn sat beside her.

She started when Taresa took her hand. “Talbot explained what happened. Can you forgive me?”

“Forgive you?” Rhoslyn said. “Ye have done nothing wrong.”

“It was an accident, yes, because I did not know that Talbot’s brother had abducted you.” Concern furrowed her brow. “You are well, yes?”

“I am well, my lady.”

“No. Taresa, remember?”

Rhoslyn nodded shyly. “Taresa. I am well. Talbot saved me before Dayton could take me away from Scotland.”

Taresa brushed back a lock of hair from Rhoslyn’s face. “Talbot tells me he could not be happier that you are carrying his child.”