The Raider (A Highland Guard Novel) Read online

  He’d never felt anything like this, and the force of it overpowered him, dulling everything else around him.

  Until he saw her eyes widen. The effect of that was like a dousing of ice water. He was brought back to reality with a hard jolt.

  “Christ, I’m sorry.” He took a step back. “I don’t know what—” He stopped and cleared his throat, trying to let the strange tangle of emotions in him calm before he said something he shouldn’t. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

  He turned away, giving her a chance to fix her gown and his blood time to cool. Only then did he allow himself to look at her again.

  She couldn’t seem to cover herself quickly enough. She’d donned not only her gowns, but her cloak and plaid, and was still eyeing him warily.

  He didn’t blame her. What the hell had come over him? He’d never so completely lost himself. He’d never allowed himself to lose focus of what was going on around him. He’d never allowed himself to be that distracted by a woman. Never. He was always in control. But something had come over him, and she’d seen it.

  But damn it, no matter what had come over him, he would never force himself on any woman, and he needed her to know it. “I am many things, but a rapist is not one of them, Rosalin. Believe what you will of what they say about me, but know that. I will never force you and would kill any man who tried.”

  The latter came out with a ferocity that surprised him, provoking questions he didn’t want asked. Such as why the hell did he feel so protective toward her?

  She lifted her gaze for a moment, and then dropped it again. “All right.”

  “I mean it.”

  She looked up at him again, this time meeting his gaze. He could see that some of her fear was gone, but not all of it.

  His mouth tightened with anger. Not at her, but at the subject he was about to broach. He hated talking about the past. Hated thinking about what had happened to his sister. He couldn’t recall ever talking about it—even to his Highland Guard brethren who knew what had happened. But he would raise the vile specter this one time to make her understand. “My only sister was raped.”

  She gasped. Her eyes locked on his, as if she knew the flat matter-of-factness of his tone hid a deep, searing pain—a wound that would never be healed.

  She put her hand on his arm, and he stared at it, feeling his chest tighten.

  “I’m sorry. That must have been horrible. But she is lucky to have a brother who cares for her so deeply.”

  Cared. She meant it as a kindness but didn’t know how much pain her words caused. He’d loved his sister more than anyone else in the world. Pretty and vivacious, always with a smile on her face, she hadn’t been much older than Rosalin the last time he’d seen her. “A hell of a lot of good it did her. I wasn’t there to protect her when the English garrisoned the King’s Inch castle in Renfrewshire and invaded our village. When the captain learned she was the sister of the rebels Robbie and Duncan Boyd, he decided to make an example of her. He didn’t use her once, but over and over. He made her his whore and raped her until she couldn’t bear it anymore and threw herself off a cliff into the sea to end her suffering.”

  She covered her mouth with her hand in horror. “Oh God, Robbie, I’m so sorry. But the fault lies with the soldier, not you. If you could have helped her, you would have.”

  Her confidence in him did nothing to ease his guilt. His help had come too late for Marian. But the soldier had paid for his deeds. Slowly, painfully, and ultimately with his life. Robbie’s fists clenched at the memory.

  “I tell you this not to earn your sympathy or your pity,” he said, “but so you understand that I would never hurt a woman like that.”

  Her eyes met his, this time without a trace of wariness. “I see that now. Thank you for telling me. No wonder…” Her voice dropped off. “You’ve lost so much. I’m sorry about your father and sister. And about your friend.”

  His brother Duncan and his mother, as well. She’d died of a broken heart not long after his sister’s death. He frowned. “My friend?”

  “Thomas.” She must have noticed his stiffening, because she hurried to explain, her hands twisting in front of her. “Sir Alex told me he died not long after you left Kildrummy. I understand why you would blame me for it—it was my fault he was beaten for leaving the food.”

  He grabbed her arm to put a stop to the anxious hand twisting. “I don’t blame you. As I told you that night, what you did was a kindness. The food gave him a chance.”

  Her breath hitched at his touch. He shouldn’t be touching her. Men didn’t simply go around touching ladies whenever they felt like it. But his impulses with her had never been normal. He dropped his hand, oddly unsettled.

  “Then why are you doing this? What have I done to deserve your hatred?”

  He frowned. This wasn’t about her, it was about her brother. “I don’t hate you.”

  He didn’t, he realized. That was part of the problem. The war was black-and-white for him. The English were the enemy, and they deserved his hatred. But she…she made him see gray.

  “Well, you are certainly doing a wonderful job acting like it. All these years that I wondered what it would be like if we ever met again, I never imagined it would be like this.”

  The touch of sarcasm in her voice sparked some of his own. “Did you think I’d be happy to learn that my rescuer was the sister of my worst enemy? The man I despise above all others? The man who was responsible for our capture and the execution of many of my friends?”

  It wasn’t until her eyes widened that he realized he was shouting.

  He swore and raked his fingers back through his hair. He knew he shouldn’t take his frustration and anger at the situation out on her, but he couldn’t seem to help himself. Something about this lass made him want to pull her into his arms at one moment and lash out like a lion in a cage the next.

  “My brother was only doing his duty. He—”

  He stopped her again, taking her by the arm and turning her to face him. “Don’t, Rosalin. Don’t attempt to defend your bastard of a brother to me. He is a subject upon which we will never agree.”

  Rather than be put off by his anger, she seemed amused. “Do you know he says the same thing about you?”

  He let her go, some of his anger dissipating. “I can imagine.” Robbie was sure Clifford had plenty of choice things to say about him. He eyed her speculatively. “He doesn’t know what you did?”

  She shook her head. “The food, but not the rest. If he ever found out…” Her voice fell off, and he could see her distress. “I couldn’t bear his disappointment.”

  Her brother’s opinion obviously meant a lot to her. Apparently Clifford’s well-known affection for his only sibling wasn’t one-sided.

  “He will never hear of it from me.” He supposed it was the least he could do. But if Clifford’s opinion mattered so much, why would she have risked so much to help him? She’d admired him, he knew. But was there something else? “Why did you do it?”

  “It was wrong,” she said simply. “And I couldn’t stand by and watch my brother put men to death for something that wasn’t right.”

  He laughed; he couldn’t help it. “Clifford has never let something like right and wrong get in his way of killing Scots.”

  It was her turn to stiffen, that patrician English beauty turning sharp and icy. “Are you accusing my brother of being a murderer?”

  His gaze turned just as hard. “I suppose it depends on your definition. He operates under the color of law—English law, which I assure you has very little justice for Scots.” Before she could attempt to defend her brother again, he said, “Come, they will be waiting for us.”

  She was quiet for a moment as they walked through the trees. When she finally spoke, he wished that she hadn’t. “Did you ever think of me?”

  Her voice sounded small and uncertain. He should have said no, but he found himself answering honestly. “I wondered who you were.” He thought about the kiss and