The Raider (A Highland Guard Novel) Read online

  His men might view her with varying degrees of animosity, but there was no denying her beauty, nobility, and innocence. Well, perhaps she was not so innocent, but he sure as hell shouldn’t think about that.

  Yet it seemed all he could do was think about that. Robbie…

  Ah hell.

  He must have sworn aloud.

  “Is something wrong?”

  “Nay, just hurry it up, lad.”

  He should be telling himself the same thing. Robbie knew he was playing with fire. The sooner the “Fair Rosalin” was gone, the better. She had him all twisted up in knots. He was afraid to sleep in his own tent, he was irritable and ill-tempered from lack of sleep, he was shaving in the middle of the day, he’d found himself bellowing at Iain and Archie Douglas for frowning, and he’d agreed to let a hostage—his means of bringing Clifford to heel—have free roam of the camp.

  He’d also agreed to try to be nice—friendly. Christ, what the hell had he gotten himself into? He liked her too damned much already.

  If their conversation earlier in the tent was any indication, she would know his life story before she left here. His schooling? Wallace? A farmer? For a moment he’d actually pictured himself with a wife and bairns running all around him. Pretty soon he’d be confiding in her how he’d come to join the Guard.

  But it was her reaction that was the problem. Compassion, understanding, and a deep sense of justice were the last things he expected to find from an Englishwoman, let alone the paragon of injustice’s sister. But Rosalin was still the same sweet girl who six years ago risked everything to right a perceived wrong. Wrapped up in a more sophisticated package, perhaps, but in all the ways that mattered, unchanged.

  He wished he could say the same. But six years of war had hardened him. Focused him. Leaving no room for anything else.

  For both their sakes, the sooner her brother agreed to the truce, the better.

  Malcolm finished and handed Robbie a damp drying cloth to wipe away any stray hairs.

  “That’s an unusual blade,” the lad said, handing it back to him. “Where did you get it?”

  Robbie took it and slid it back into his sporran. “A friend of mine made it for me.”

  Magnus MacKay, known by the war name of Saint in the Highland Guard, wasn’t just the toughest bastard Boyd knew, with more knowledge of the hazardous terrain of the Highlands than any other man, he was also skilled at forging unusual weapons, and on occasion, improving other everyday tools like the razor.

  Ironically, he was also standing in front of him a few minutes later, along with Kenneth Sutherland, the newest member of the Guard, Ewen Lamont, Eoin MacLean, Arthur Campbell, and Gregor MacGregor. The six members of the Highland Guard had arrived with Douglas from Dundee. Douglas was one of the handful of the king’s closest advisors who knew of the secret band of warriors—and their identities.

  Right away Robbie knew two things: Bruce had a mission for them, and it must be an important one if it required nearly all of his elite Guard. Only Tor MacLeod, Erik MacSorley, and Lachlan MacRuairi were absent.

  They stood on the edge of camp in the clearing that they used for practice, where Robbie had greeted them when he’d been informed by the scouts around camp of their arrival.

  “What’s the occasion?” MacKay said with an eye to Robbie’s jaw, exchanging grasps of the forearm by way of greeting. “I can’t remember the last time I saw you clean-shaven.”

  Robbie swore inwardly, cursing the impulse that would give his brethren even a whiff of a scent to follow. They were tenacious curs, every last one of them. If they connected his shaving with Rosalin’s presence, he would never hear the end of it.

  “It was at your wedding, Saint,” MacGregor offered helpfully.

  Robbie shot him a glare. “The only reason you know that was because you’re still angry about the lass. I know it’s hard for you to believe, but not all women prefer a pretty face.”

  Even after seven years, MacGregor hated being reminded of his dubious distinction of being known as the most handsome man in Scotland. For a warrior as skilled with a bow as he was, it was particularly galling to be known for something so embarrassingly un-warriorly.

  MacGregor shot him a glare. “Sod off, Raider.”

  Seton looked as if he might say something, but reconsidered after Robbie gave him a look that promised retribution if he did.

  Douglas wasn’t as circumspect. “I hope this doesn’t have anything to do with our hostages? The king was troubled by the taking of the lass. I told him it hadn’t been intentional and that you intended to let her go. But he’s made you personally responsible for them both.”

  “Too bad, too,” MacGregor added. “I would have liked to see the Fair Rosalin. If even Douglas here conceded her beauty, the lass must be sensational.”

  Why the hell did Robbie suddenly feel the urge to make that face of his not so pretty? Masking the annoyance he felt at MacGregor, he turned back to Douglas. “Aye, well, there’s been a change of plans.”

  Douglas’s face darkened. “What kind of change of plans?”

  “The lad got away.”

  There was a moment of dead silence as the men stared at him. Robbie Boyd didn’t make mistakes like that.

  “You let Clifford’s son escape?” Douglas spit out, giving voice to what all of them were thinking.

  “I didn’t let him do anything. The lad shimmied down a forty-foot-long rope from the garret of Kirkton Manor in the middle of the night and made it to Peebles Castle before I realized he was gone.”

  Douglas was furious. “Was no one standing guard? How the hell did you let this happen? He’s Clifford’s heir, for Christ’s sake!”

  Robbie wasn’t used to being taken to task like a wet-behind-the-ears squire—even if in this case, it was deserved. “I was standing guard, and if you have a problem with my abilities we can put them to the test on the practice yard.”

  Douglas didn’t take him up on the challenge and backed off. “But you still have the lass?” he said.

  “Aye.”

  Douglas was looking at him as if he knew there was more, but sensed that he’d pushed Robbie about as far as he could.

  Excusing himself, Douglas left to see to his men, who had gone to the Great Hall to find food and drink after the long ride.

  As soon as he’d gone, Robbie turned to MacKay. “I assume you are here for a reason?”

  The big Highlander nodded. “Aye. You and Dragon need to gather your things. We’ll need to leave as soon as possible if we are to make it by nightfall.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “Lochmaben. We’ve received word of a shipment of silver from Carlisle heading north to pay the garrison at Stirling. The coin will be heavily guarded—the English aren’t taking any chances of it not getting through.”

  “Your information is reliable?”

  “Extremely,” Lamont interjected. Hunter’s new wife, the former Janet of Mar, had worked with a source inside Roxburgh Castle who had never been wrong, and Robbie assumed from Lamont’s confidence that was where the information had come from. They’d taken to calling their informant the Ghost.

  “The English have taken a few of our lessons to heart,” Sutherland added, “and have set up a diversionary shipment going to Caerlaverloch. Chief, Hawk, and Viper are monitoring the coast, just in case, but we intend to intercept them before they reach Lochmaben for the night.”

  “How many?” Seton asked.

  “We’re not sure,” Lamont said.

  “Possibly as many as fifty,” MacLean said with a shrug.

  Robbie lifted a brow, anticipation for battle already surging through his veins. “What are the rest of you going to do?”

  He even managed to get a chuckle out of Arthur Campbell at that. The famed scout was one of the quieter members of the Guard.

  Robbie was just about to send his brethren to the Hall to get some food while he and Seton headed off to Douglas’s tent (where he’d removed from prying eyes t