The Raider (13 page)

“Are you married?”

The question took him aback. “Hell—” He stopped. “Nay,” he said more calmly.

“Why not?” Her mouth pursed. “If those women are any indication, it certainly can’t be from lack of opportunity.” She sounded oddly annoyed by the observation. “And you must be over thirty.”

“By two saint’s days,” he provided. “I am not married because I do not wish to be. There is no place in my life for a wife or children.”

He hadn’t meant it as a warning, but it had come out as one.

They were nearly within hearing distance of the men waiting for them, but she asked, “You don’t want a family?”

Truthfully, he didn’t think much about it. That part of his life had never been important to him. He was too focused on the task at hand. Besides, look what had happened to his sister. A wife of his would be in danger. Aside from the threat were it ever to be known of his place in the Highland Guard, he was too well known.

“Maybe when the war is over. But until then, nothing else matters.” He paused and held her gaze so there would be no mistake. He wasn’t going to be distracted by anyone. “Nothing.”

Time was running out. Rosalin’s heart pounded anxiously, knowing that every mile they rode was bringing them closer to the forest that she’d come to think of as the place of no return. Though no one had as yet confirmed their destination, their southwesterly direction left her no doubt. She and Roger had to try to escape before they were swallowed up in the impenetrable Ettrick Forest, the dark and terrifying lair of thieves and
phantoms
.

After emerging from yet another hilly forest onto a track that might almost pass for a road by Scotland standards, she let another pale blue bow of ribbon slip from her fingers and had to resist the urge to glance over her shoulder. Was Cliff tracking them? Was that why Boyd was pressing them so hard? It seemed his urgency to reach their destination matched hers
not
to reach it.

She stared at the powerfully wrought back of the man who alternated between scouting and riding at the head of the band of warriors. Had he been as unsettled as she by what had nearly happened at the river? His desire for her had been so well hidden, she’d never imagined that kind of intensity. It seemed to have surprised even him. Clearly he wanted her, but it was equally clear that attraction wasn’t going to change anything. She was his hostage—a means to an end—that was all.

Her own attraction to him was just as confusing. The glimpse of the noble warrior that she’d seen today, and the insight into what drove him in what he’d revealed about his sister, didn’t change anything. He might not be the coldhearted devil she’d first thought, but he was focused and determined to win the war to the exclusion of everything else. He’d devoted his life to the fight for freedom. Dear Lord, he was the same age as her brother, who’d been married since he was eighteen and had six children.

“
Nothing else matters
,” Boyd had said. She believed him.

But it wasn’t just her unease about what had happened earlier and the realization that she was still ridiculously attracted to him that fueled her urgency to escape. Although she did not believe he would needlessly hurt her or Roger, she knew he would not hesitate to use them as a weapon against Cliff, and that she would not allow.

Nor would she risk her nephew’s life on “needlessly.” Just look at him! Poor Roger looked as if he were about ready to fall from his horse. He was exhausted after the travails in the village and the seemingly endless hours of riding over rough and brutal terrain. He wasn’t alone; she was exhausted as well. They weren’t hardened warriors. But every time she’d tried to raise the subject with Boyd on one of their infrequent stops, he dismissed her pleas and seemed to grow increasingly angry.

They’d been riding for a few hours when she glimpsed what appeared to be the parapet of a castle and surrounding village before Boyd once again led them into the trees and hills (which she’d become certain must cover ninety percent of this godforsaken countryside). What she wouldn’t give for a proper English road! Her backside was going to be bruised for weeks after the abuse. Fortunately, the pain in her hands had subsided.

A short while later, near dusk, Boyd called for them to stop. She watched him ride off with one of the other warriors, presumably for more scouting. His diligence made her wonder whether Cliff was close.

After Callum helped her down, she approached Sir Alex where he stood talking to Malcolm and Roger. Though the two boys were both tall and slim, with only a few years separating them, the differences between them could not be more glaring. Malcolm had the hard, wiry strength and endurance of a warrior. He looked like he could ride for another day or two, whereas Roger looked as if his legs might collapse at any moment, though he was fighting hard to hide it. Her heart went out to him, knowing how much the proud youth would hate the idea of looking weak in front of the enemy.

“Will we be camping here for the night?” she asked hopefully.

Sir Alex gave her a sympathetic smile. “I’m afraid not. We’ve only stopped to water the horses.”

Rosalin tried to ignore the disappointment on Roger’s face, not wanting to draw attention to it before the men. “But it will be dark soon. Surely we must take time to eat something?”

“But you gave all our food away,” Malcolm said, with obvious surprise.

Rosalin turned to him. “I did?”

The boy nodded. “Aye, back at the village.”

She hadn’t realized they’d been left with so little after the Black Douglas had taken the plunder from the raid. No wonder Boyd had looked at her so strangely when Callum had brought him her request.

“We wanted to travel lightly and didn’t anticipate the delay in the village,” Alex said, gallantly trying to ease her guilt. “We would have been back at camp by now.”

But Rosalin did not regret her actions. The burned-out villagers would need the food more than they did. She could go a night without food. Her belly rumbled. Even if her stomach protested.

“If we had time, we could hunt something,” Malcolm said helpfully. It seemed Sir Alex wasn’t the only brigand prone to gallantry; Malcolm was also concerned that she not feel guilty.

She gave him a grateful smile that made the lad turn as red as his hair, before turning back to Sir Alex. “We will reach camp soon?”

“Not for a few hours. Maybe longer in the dark.”

She couldn’t stop the groan. Roger, too, looked like a pup who’d just been kicked.

“Sir Alex, if you have a moment there is something I should like to talk to you about—in private.”

He nodded and sent Malcolm and Roger off to tend the horses. He motioned for her to take seat on a rock nearby, but she shook her head. As tired as she was, the prospect of sitting on hard rock was not appealing. “Do you mind if we walk a little? I should like to stretch my legs.”

They headed toward the stream, but instead of joining the other men, he led her in the opposite direction. When they reached the water’s edge they stopped. In addition to forests and hills, there were streams or burns, as the Scots called them, everywhere. They were pretty, she realized. Even in the barren bowels of winter, the dark waters cutting through the small valleys of russet moorland, flanked by tree-covered hillsides, evoked a peacefulness at odds with the wild, war-torn countryside.

“I did not want to say anything in front of Malcolm, but you must see how tired my nephew is—though he’d die before admitting it. He’s not used to riding for this long over this kind of terrain. I don’t know how much longer he can take it.” She glanced up at him pleadingly. “I don’t know how much longer
I
can take it. Is there not a place nearby where we might stay for the night? An inn, perhaps?”

His mouth thinned. “I’m sorry, my lady. I would not have you forced to endure any of this. These are no conditions for a lady—or a lad.” He smiled, but it was without humor. “But you’ve seen how little sway my opinion holds around here.”

The bitterness in his tone was undeniable. She hadn’t been mistaken in identifying Sir Alex as a potential ally. She had, however, underestimated the level of his disaffection. Whatever disagreement there was between him and Boyd, it ran deeper than she’d realized.

She didn’t understand it. By all appearances the men were close companions who’d fought together for years. Half the time they didn’t even use words to communicate—just glances. So why the animosity and resentment?

She hated taking advantage of Sir Alex’s gallantry like this, but she had to do something to slow them down. Something to give Cliff a chance to catch up to them or for them to escape. The village and the castle she’d seen weren’t all that far away. If they could stop…

“Please, Sir Alex?” The shimmer in her eyes wasn’t completely feigned. She truly was exhausted. “Is there nothing you can do?”

“Seton!”

The deep voice from behind startled her. She dropped her hand from Alex’s arm, not realizing she’d put it there, and turned to find Boyd standing right behind them.

“How do you do that?” she snapped guiltily. Which was ridiculous, as she had nothing to feel guilty about. He’d refused her appeals, so she’d brought them to a more sympathetic source.

“Do what?”

“Sneak up behind people.”

“Practice,” he said, his eyes dark with something she didn’t recognize. “Return to your nephew. I need to speak to
Sir
Alex.”

The way he emphasized
sir
sounded like a slur.

She was tempted to argue, but something about his expression gave her second thoughts. She looked at Sir Alex questioningly, and he nodded. For some reason, her appeal seemed only to make Boyd more irate. From the way his eyes darkened and his nostrils flared at Sir Alex, he looked like a bull ready to charge. She wouldn’t want to be standing in the young knight’s shoes right now.

She hoped whatever had provoked his anger toward the other man didn’t have anything to do with her.

She gave Alex an apologetic look and started to walk off, but Boyd stopped her. “Lady Rosalin.”

She turned.

“You dropped something.”

Instinctively, she looked to the ground, but he reached out, took her hand, and turned it palm side up. A moment later it was filled with blue bows and threads of pink satin.

She gasped, her eyes flying to his. But his expression was as hard as granite and utterly unreadable.

“Be more careful where you leave things,” he said icily. “We wouldn’t want anyone to follow us.”

She swallowed slowly, her mouth dry, and nodded.

Robbie barely managed to wait long enough for her to be out of earshot before rounding on his partner. He leaned toward him, his muscles flaring for battle. “Stay the hell away from her, Dragon.”

He knew he was overreacting, but the black emotion that was surging through his blood right now wasn’t rational or controllable. It seemed to come over him every time he saw Lady Rosalin conversing with his partner. In other words, about every time he turned around. But it had really gone wild, nearly blinding him with rage, when he’d returned from picking up more of her damned ribbon to see their two golden heads bowed together and her hand on Seton’s arm.

Seton didn’t move a muscle, giving no indication that he perceived the threat. Instead, he gave Robbie a long, steady look. “No. I don’t think I shall. I rather like Lady Rosalin.”

“What do you mean you like her?” Robbie exploded. “Have you forgotten who she is?”

Seton shrugged indifferently. “We have much in common—as you are always pointing out. Or have
you
forgotten?”

“So now you are English?”

“Haven’t you been telling me that for seven years? Maybe I’ve decided to start listening to you.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“It means I’m done trying to defend my loyalties to you. I’m done trying to prove that the blood I’ve shed over the past seven years is just as Scottish as yours. It means that if I see a lady who has been ripped away from her family and everything she’s ever known, who is scared and needs help, I’m going to try to put her at ease—even if she happens to be English.”

Robbie was so stunned for a minute he didn’t know what to say.

“What is this really about, Raider?” Seton paused, scanning Robbie’s irate face, bunched shoulders, and tight fists. “You know what I think? I think you’re
jealous
. I think you want her, and you can’t stand it that she might prefer me to you.”

Robbie had never struck his partner before—though God knew he’d been tempted more than once—but he was a hairsbreadth from doing so. He wanted to sink his fist through that knowing smirk so desperately his arms twitched. Mostly because he knew it was true.

He
was
jealous. For the first time in his life the ugly emotion was twisting him up inside, and he couldn’t stop it.

He was attracted to her.

Hell, attracted was putting it mildly. All he had to do was look at her and he was picturing her naked and under him again. Picturing her cheeks flushed and her lips parted as he made her cry out—nay,
scream
—with pleasure. Aye, the fair Rosalin—the perfect English Rose—screaming his name as he made her come again and again was something he just couldn’t get out of his head. But he’d be damned if he’d admit it to Seton.

“Sod off, Dragon. The lass has obviously identified you as an easy mark, and I’m just trying to make sure you don’t do anything foolish.”

“If being sympathetic to her plight makes me an easy mark, then I guess you are right. The lass needs someone to protect her.”

A fresh spike of rage set his teeth on edge. “Nay, she doesn’t. She has me. I will protect her.”

“Then I suggest you start doing so. Have you taken a look at her and the lad? They are so exhausted they can barely stand. You’ve dragged them halfway across Scotland in less than a day and a half with little food—”

“Whose fault is that?” Robbie snapped.

Seton gave him a look that said he knew very well that Robbie had been touched by her kindness and didn’t begrudge the loss of a meal. “What if one of them falls ill? What will you tell Clifford then?”