The Raider (32 page)

Robbie gritted his teeth until tears were in his eyes. Rage and disbelief converged in stubborn refusal.

Seton extended his legs to stretch the arm infinitesimally, but enough to make Robbie groan.

“Don’t make me break it.”

Seven years of Robbie’s trying to grind him into the dirt had given Seton’s words a biting edge. Robbie did not doubt that he would do it.

Still, he resisted until black spots appeared in his eyes, sweat poured down his face, and his teeth felt like they were going to shatter from clenching. But eventually he uttered the words he hadn’t spoken in over fifteen years. Since the man who’d taught him everything he knew about fighting, his father’s former henchman, Cormal, had bested him. “I concede.”

Seton let him go and Robbie felt the air surge back into this lungs. He rolled to his side, cradling his shoulder and arm until the pain receded to a bearable throb and burn.

He heard Seton struggling to his feet, but his partner’s equally battered state didn’t make Robbie feel any better. The rage that had given Seton the opening was still snapping around inside him dangerously. He’d lost. To Seton. He couldn’t bloody believe it.

By all rights, Seton should be gloating, but all Robbie could see when he stood and faced him was cold condemnation. “I’m done making excuses for you. I can’t do this anymore. Find yourself another partner.”

For seven years Robbie had longed to hear those words. Their pairing in the Highland Guard had been ill fated from the beginning. Still, he was surprised how much the words grated. “I made a mistake. Is that what you want me to say? I’ll fucking marry her, if that will assuage your knightly sensibilities. God knows that would be revenge enough on Clifford.”

The shocked cry that had risen to her lips when Rosalin saw the two bloodied men died in her throat—and then in her heart.

She froze as Robbie’s words washed over her in an icy veil of hurt and disbelief. She didn’t know what was worse—to hear the words of marriage she’d so longed to hear uttered so crudely, or to hear that marriage linked to revenge on her brother.

He didn’t mean it, she told herself. He couldn’t mean it.

“How do you plan to do that?” Seton said. “She’s a
hostage
, remember? Clifford will never let you have her, and if you attempt to keep her, he’ll come at you with everything he has—which he might do anyway if he discovers what you’ve done. Do you think he’ll keep the truce if he learns you’ve violated his sister? You know how important this mission is. You were supposed to be keeping the Borders under control, and instead you are going to unleash a firestorm. Just when the king is getting a foothold in the Tayside, he’s going to have to come clean up your damned mess.”

“He didn’t violate me.” Rosalin spoke in a whisper, but both men turned to her as if she’d announced her presence with the boom of a death knell. “And as I told Robbie before, I have no intention of telling my brother anything. Your truce is perfectly safe.”

She lifted her chin, tried to control the shaking that threatened to consume her limbs, and descended the stairs as regally as a…princess. Both men watched her approach with varying levels of discomfort—Sir Alex with embarrassment and Robbie with two things she’d never thought to see on his face: shame and fear. He should be feeling both for what he’d just said.

“I decided to come down for the evening meal.” She looked at Robbie and despite her hurt, felt her heart lurch at the sight of his face. “When I didn’t see you inside, I changed my mind. On my way back upstairs, I heard someone shout.” She eyed them both, taking in every bruised, bloody, and battered inch of them. They looked horrible. Noticing the unnatural position of Robbie’s fingers on his left hand, she had to force her feet not to move to him. “I don’t need to ask what you were fighting about. I heard.”

Sir Alex recovered first and stepped forward. “I am sorry you had to see this, my lady. Sorry for all of this. You never should have been here in the first place. If you wish to return to England now, I will take you.”

Rosalin’s breath caught in surprise. She looked at Robbie, expecting him to argue, but his mouth was clamped shut. He didn’t seem to want to meet her gaze. What did it mean? What had happened here? Why wasn’t he trying to reassure her? And why was he looking so guilty?

He cared about her—loved her—this couldn’t be about revenge on her brother. He hadn’t meant it. A couple of hours ago he was teasing her and they were making love in the sunshine.

She turned to Alex and shook her head. “Thank you, Sir Alex, but that is not necessary. I do not wish to return to England.” Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Robbie relax. The relief on his face told her she’d been right: he did care. The question was how much. A question that could not be answered with Sir Alex standing in watch. “Would you give us a few moments, please?” she asked him. “I think there are some things Robbie and I need to discuss.”

Sir Alex looked as if he wanted to disagree, but after a long glance at Robbie, he headed off toward the river, presumably to clean himself up.

As soon as he was gone, Rosalin couldn’t wait any longer. She crossed the distance to Robbie in a few steps and put her hand on his battered face. “Are you all right?”

He pulled away—jerked away, actually. “I’m fine, Rosalin. I’m not a child—I don’t need comforting.”

She flinched. Were his words not enough, now he needed to rebuff her concern?

He swore and dragged his fingers—the uninjured ones on his right hand—through his hair. “Damn it. I’m sorry. This isn’t your fault. None of this is your fault. It’s mine. I’m not sure how much of that you saw or heard. We fought. I lost and said some things I didn’t mean.”

What hadn’t he meant, that he was going to marry her, or the reason? Suddenly her mouth dropped open, realizing what else he’d said. “You lost?”

She wished the words back when his face darkened. To say that it had to be a blow to his pride was an understatement, and the damage to his pride was obviously as raw and battered as his body.

His shoulders tensed. “Aye. He said some things to make me angry, I lost control, and he took advantage of my mistake, but that is no excuse. He beat me. Damn it, he beat me.”

“Surely you’ve lost before?”

“In that kind of contest? Not in a long time.”

Rosalin was quiet for a moment, watching the emotions war on his face. “What is really bothering you, the fact that you were beaten or that Sir Alex was the one to do it?” He gave her a hard look that told her the question had struck a nerve. “Somehow I don’t think if it had been the Black Douglas you would be so angry.”

His jaw hardened until the muscle in his jaw ticced, which she took to be agreement.

She took a step closer to him and put a hand on his arm, relieved when this time he did not shake her off. “I heard what he said about not being your partner anymore.”

Belatedly, she remembered she wasn’t supposed to know about his part in Bruce’s phantoms, but he didn’t appear to notice. “It’s for the best.”

“I feel to blame. I know Sir Alex was trying to defend my honor, but I never meant to get between you.”

“You didn’t. This has nothing to do with you—not really. The problems with Seton and me have been building for a long time.”

“But he’s your friend. I know how difficult—”

“He isn’t my friend.” He looked at her as if she were mad. “He’s bloody Eng—”

He stopped so suddenly, the silence that followed seemed as loud as a clap of thunder.

“English,” she finished softly.

He swore and tilted her chin to meet his gaze again. “That’s not what I meant, Rosalin. I’m just angry. I say a lot of things I don’t mean when I’m angry.”

“Like about marrying me to take revenge on my brother?”

He grimaced, which due to the injuries on his face must have caused him some pain. “Aye, like that. I didn’t mean it.”

“Which part? Marrying me or doing so out of revenge?”

Everything seemed to still: the cool breeze in the night air, the flicker from the torchlight shadowing his face, the sound of their breathing, even the drum of her heartbeat. Her eyes scanned his stony expression, looking for some kind of crack, some kind of softening. She was doing exactly what she hoped she would not have to do—push—but with Cliff about to fulfill his side of the truce, time was running out.

He cupped her face with his good hand—the one bloodied only at the knuckles—and stared down into her eyes. His expression did soften then, and she felt hope swell in her chest. “God knows, I have no right, and it would be a foolish thing to do for many reasons, but aye, if it were possible, I would marry you. The idea of sending you away…” His voice grew so tight, it cracked. “It’s killing me. I would love nothing more than to tell your brother to go to the devil, but too much is resting on this damned truce. We’re close, Rosalin. I can feel it. I can’t do anything to jeopardize that. It’s too important.” He paused. “I can’t let their deaths be for nothing; I can’t let them down.”

Of course he couldn’t. She understood, probably more than he realized. But it was what else he’d said that caused happiness to swell inside her like a big ball of sunshine. A broad smile curved her lips. “Do you mean it?”

Wariness flickered back into his gaze. “Wait, sweetheart—don’t get carried away. Did you hear what I said? Only if it were possible.”

“I heard what you said.” He wanted to marry her. He did love her. Needing to be in his arms, she buried her head against his leather-clad chest and waited for his arms to wrap around her. They did. Even dirty and with the stench of battle upon him, she savored the warmth and masculine strength. But realizing he was probably confused, she pulled back. “It
is
possible, don’t you see? I will write to my brother.”

For the second time in less than five minutes he looked at her as if she were crazed. “Just like that, and you think he will welcome me into the family?” He laughed without any humor. “It would be a cold day in hell before Clifford sanctioned the marriage of his sister to a ‘rebel’ Scot.”

She shook her head. “You are wrong. My brother loves me and will do anything to see to my happiness.”

“But he
despises
me. He will never agree to a marriage between us. I can think of only one person in Christendom who he would be less likely to betroth to his beloved sister—and Douglas is already married. You don’t understand, Rosalin—you have not been a part of this.”

“It is you who do not understand. I do not deny the truth of what you have said. He will be angry at first, refuse, and probably try everything he can think of to talk me out of it. But once he understands that I love you, and that you lo—um, care about me, he will agree.”

If he noticed her slip of the tongue, he didn’t show it. “How can you be so sure?”

“Because I know one thing: the love he has for me is stronger than the hate he bears you.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure of that.”

Her heart pinched. She stared up at him, and for a moment she felt a flicker of doubt. Love was stronger than hate. If he loved her, he would know that—wouldn’t he? She gazed up at him and said solemnly, “But I
am
sure of it. Let me write Cliff, and you’ll see.”

He studied her face, and she could sense him relenting.

“What harm is there?” she pressed. “The worst he can say is no. He won’t do anything while you have me.”

He didn’t look so convinced.

The pad of his thumb ran back and forth over her bottom lip. “I don’t want you to be disappointed.”

She brightened, sensing victory. “I won’t be. I may have to go to him when the truce is settled and persuade him, but eventually he will agree.”

From the way his arms tightened, she could tell he didn’t like that idea. His lowered his mouth to hers in a brief caress that followed the trail of his thumb. She suspected only the cuts and bruises prevented him from deepening it.

When he lifted his head, his eyes met hers. “Write your letter, Rosalin, and we will see what your brother has to say.”

The wait for Cliff’s response seemed interminable.

Rosalin knew it was partly because Robbie had not been to her solar since the night of the horrible fight with Sir Alex. She’d slept in his arms after he’d washed and had someone tend his wounds, but they had not made love. She’d assumed it was due to his injuries, but now, two days later, she suspected it had more to do with Sir Alex and his not-so-subtle condemnation.

Whether Robbie wanted to admit it or not, whatever had happened in the yard that night had kept him from her bed. He blamed his removal from the tower on some problems with his men, and later on the return of the elder Lady Douglas (James’s stepmother) and Douglas’s sister Elizabeth, but Rosalin knew it was more than that. The realities that he’d been able to ignore while Sir Alex and Douglas were away were now staring at him full force. Neither man hid his feelings on the matter.

Rosalin understood that his friends’ disapproval weighed heavily on him, and it only made her more eager for her brother’s response. Even though Robbie spent as much time with her as he could when not busy with his duties, she missed the closeness and the reassurance of sleeping in his arms.

The only consolation was that he seemed just as miserable about the arrangement as she. The longing in his eyes when he looked at her almost managed to quiet the doubts that had risen from his harsh words to Sir Alex. Almost.

With the return of the Douglas ladies, Rosalin’s confinement to the tower was not quite as lonely. Elizabeth Douglas was charming, beautiful, and as refined as any lady of Rosalin’s acquaintance in England—in other words, she couldn’t have been more
unlike
her terrifying brother. At one and twenty Elizabeth was sophisticated for her years, and Rosalin wasn’t surprised to learn that she’d spent much of the last decade in France.

In some ways it made her as much of an outsider as Rosalin. Elizabeth had been uprooted from her friends—including Joanna—at a young age and returned to Scotland a stranger. Whereas Rosalin longed for the quiet, simple life of the countryside, she could tell that Elizabeth missed the excitement of her life at the French court.

But Rosalin wondered if there was something disturbing her. Elizabeth spent an inordinate amount of time staring out of the window as if expecting someone to come riding into the yard.

The elder Lady Douglas was polite, but she seemed to share her son’s feelings—if not his animosity—toward Cliffords. As she’d spent most of the time in bed recovering from an illness she’d suffered while traveling, however, her stepdaughter was free to spend as much time as she liked with their “hostage.” Joanna had taken to joining them after the midday meal to sew for an hour or two before she had to return to her duties.

Today they were in the solar Joanna shared with her husband on the second floor above the Hall. It was the most spacious chamber, with an enormous four-poster bed, a large fireplace, two large cushioned chairs, a desk, a bench, and two small windows that overlooked the courtyard. As in the other solars, the furnishings were surprisingly fine and comfortable for the castle of the family of a man who was supposedly an outlaw.

Since Cliff’s garrison at the nearby destroyed Douglas Castle had been sent home the year before, he had not attempted to fill it again. The English garrisons in the surrounding areas made periodic sweeps of Douglas, but Elizabeth told her they were more for show than anything else. The rebels left when warned and returned as soon as the English soldiers were gone. Cliff and King Edward might not agree, but the land had effectively been conceded to the Scots.

Elizabeth was asking about Rosalin’s previous trip to Scotland when the door suddenly burst open and the Black Douglas stormed into the room. Like Robbie, he had a way of making a big room suddenly feel small. Unlike Robbie, however, it made Rosalin’s skin tingle with fright, not excitement.

She did her best to sink into her chair and disappear. But it wasn’t necessary, Sir James Douglas only had eyes for his wife. He strode over and leaned down to brush a kiss over her cheek. “I’m sorry to disturb your
rest
, but I wanted to let you know that I’ll be riding out for a few hours.”

From the way he said
rest
, Rosalin could tell he was displeased to find his wife out of bed. The Black Douglas’s tender affection toward his wife still took some getting used to. Around Joanna, he seemed almost human.

Joanna brushed off the reprimand with a roll of her eyes. “Is something wrong?”

Rosalin didn’t miss the way his gaze slid in her direction. “Nay, just a short scouting trip. I’ll be back before nightfall.”

Joanna frowned, looking as if she wanted to question him further. But she must have sensed that he would not elaborate with Rosalin in the room and let the matter drop.

“No standing on your feet for too long today,
mo ghrá
,” Douglas said sternly, but with something in his voice that bespoke real concern. “You should not overtire yourself. You need to rest.”

Joanna reached up and put a hand on her husband’s glowering face. “I’m fine, James. The babe is fine.”

Their eyes held, and something so strong and powerful passed between them that Rosalin had to turn away, feeling as if she were intruding.

A moment later, the terrifying warrior left the room and Rosalin could breathe again.

Joanna must have noticed her reaction. She smiled. “You have nothing to fear from my husband, you know. He would never hurt you. He would never hurt
any
woman.”

Although she sensed that Joanna spoke true, Rosalin had heard too many terrifying stories and was too cognizant of his hatred toward her brother to ever be completely relaxed in Sir James Douglas’s presence. The same could be said for Robbie, she realized, but he was different. She’d seen the noble side of him before she’d heard the stories.

“Jamie has always had a chivalrous streak,” Elizabeth said. “Remember when we were caught on the other side of the burn near Boradleeholm, and the swell made it too wide to cross, and he and Thommy decided to carry us—”

She stopped so suddenly that Rosalin looked up from her needlework. Elizabeth’s faerie-princess-beautiful face looked as if it were made of ice and about to crack.

Joanna covered the awkward pause. “Aye, they carried us across. I remember.”

Elizabeth recovered and managed a small smile. “It was a long time ago. We were children.” She seemed to be telling herself this.

“Aye, but the important things do not change,” Joanna said softly.

Elizabeth met her sister-in-law’s gaze for an instant, and then turned away as if she didn’t want to hear whatever she was trying to say. She turned to Rosalin. “Jo is right. You have nothing to fear from my brother—reputation notwithstanding.” She smiled cheekily. “Besides, with the way Boyd looks at you, I suspect he’d kill James for frowning at you the wrong way.”

Rosalin tried not to blush but couldn’t help but be pleased that Elizabeth had noticed. Elizabeth stood near the window peering out into the yard. “Your Boyd is quite handsome in a fierce, imposing sort of way. Every time he arrives with James he causes quite a stir. All the young women from the village are quite put out, you know. There’s been a lot of talk.”

“Gossip, you mean,” Joanna said sternly. “You should not listen to the maidservants, Lizzie.”

Rosalin was dying to ask her what they were saying but managed to refrain.

Elizabeth moved away from the window, and Rosalin had to resist the urge to jump up and change places with her, realizing that Robbie was probably outside.

“How else would I learn anything?” Elizabeth grinned.

They spoke of other matters for a while, but eventually Rosalin managed to find a way to ask Joanna something that had piqued her curiosity the first time she’d heard James Douglas greet his wife, and then again today. “Joanna, what does
mo ghrá
mean?”

Joanna smiled. “It’s a term of affection—an endearment. It means ‘my love.’”

Rosalin felt her heart rise up high in her chest and lock in her throat, cutting off her breath.
My love
. Not “my beautiful one.” The sneaky devil! He’d lied to her!
Lied!

And she’d never been more happy in her life. He did love her. Her unease about his reasons for marrying faded away, and all that remained was happiness and excitement. She couldn’t wait for Cliff’s response to arrive.

Robbie felt as if his soul had been trapped halfway between heaven and hell, and the devil and God were battling over his fate. The wait for Clifford’s response was agonizing. The separation from Rosalin was unbearable. Literally. As in he couldn’t bear it any longer.

To hell with Seton! To hell with Douglas! He wasn’t going to waste any more of whatever time he and Rosalin had left together. God willing, it would be longer than a day or two.

As much as Robbie told himself that he must be half-crazed to let himself get carried away with the futility of her writing to Clifford, he couldn’t help being moved by her certainty and absolute belief in her brother. Robbie wanted to believe her. Wanted to believe it was possible. So much so that he’d gone against his instincts and done something he’d never thought he’d do in this lifetime: trusted an Englishman, or rather, woman.

Married?
Christ, he still couldn’t believe it. Three weeks ago, the thought would never have crossed his mind. Even after what had happened between them, he’d never thought it possible. But Seton was right. He’d acted selfishly. He’d wanted to make her his, when he knew damned good and well she couldn’t be. He had to at least try to make it right. He just hoped to hell he wasn’t making a huge mistake.

Seton had been right about a lot of things, it turned out. And now Robbie’s future hinged on the good graces of Sir Robert Clifford. The whole world seemed to have turned upside down.

With a plan in place for how he could right at least part of it, Robbie waited for his opportunity. Getting her alone wasn’t easy with Elizabeth Douglas seemingly tied to her hip, but the moment Joanna and Elizabeth appeared in the Hall to prepare for the evening meal, he slid up the stairs to Rosalin’s chamber. She rarely ventured into the Hall unless she was certain he would be there.

She was turned away from the door, looking out the window, when she bade him enter. “Just put the tray on the table,” she said.

Instead, he slid his arm around her waist and lowered his mouth to whisper in her ear, “Looking for someone?”

She yelped and spun around. “You startled me!” He grinned, and she put her hands on her hips. “As a matter of fact, I
was
looking for someone. I heard from Lady Joanna that Sir Thomas was expected in the next few days.”

He was beginning to understand why Douglas got so prickly every time Joanna mentioned Randolph’s name. He would have to keep her far away from MacGregor. He pulled her up hard against him and said darkly, “That isn’t funny, Rosalin.”

His warning tone had no effect on her grin and her eyes twinkling with mischief. “I disagree. I find it quite humorous. What is it about Sir Thomas that makes all the rest of you flare up like prickly bears? His handsome face? Those gorgeous blue eyes? The knightly—”

He stopped her with a kiss. A long, searing kiss that left them both flushed and breathing heavily.

“God, I missed you,” he groaned, sliding his mouth around to devour her neck.

He cupped her breasts and started to work the ties of her gown. “Wait,” she said, looking up at him. “Did my brother’s response arrive—is that why you are here?”

He shook his head, sorry to disappoint her. “Nay. I’m here because I couldn’t stay away any longer.” The feel of her body pressed against him was driving him wild.

But she pushed him back. “Why
did
you stay away?”

He’d hurt her, he’d realized—unintentionally. “I was trying to do the right thing.”

“Because of Sir Alex?”

He stiffened. “No.”

She didn’t believe him. “You have to talk to him.”

He clamped his jaw closed. “There is nothing to talk about.”

But she was right. The rift between him and Seton had never been so wide; the tension between them was so thick it seemed about to explode. He knew he probably owed him some kind of apology, but he kept waiting for Seton’s anger to die down like it always did. Except this time it didn’t. What really confused him, though, was why Seton hadn’t told anyone he’d bested him. Robbie would have thought he’d be shouting it from the damned parapets. God knew he had every right to. Robbie had been hard on him over the years. Maybe too hard, he acknowledged grimly.