The Raider (A Highland Guard Novel) Read online

  Sir Alex stared at her intently. “Have you told anyone else of your suspicions?”

  “Of course not!”

  “Then promise me you will not voice them again to anyone—even Boyd. Especially Boyd.”

  His fingers had tightened and his face had grown so dark she almost didn’t recognize him. She nodded, a little fearfully. “Why?”

  “Because it’s dangerous.”

  Rosalin’s eyes widened at that. They continued walking. She was more disturbed by Sir Alex’s comments than she wanted to let on. Not about the phantoms, but about Robbie’s determination to win at all costs. Sir Alex was right—it was hard to reconcile the Devil’s Enforcer with the noble warrior she remembered.

  But maybe they weren’t so far apart after all. Though she loved her brother and understood he was doing his duty, she’d come to sympathize with Robbie’s cause—if not his methods. In the quest to win at all costs, he’d lost sight of what he was fighting for. But recently she thought she might have helped him remember.

  He might not be the knight in shining armor riding in on a white steed that she’d created in her mind, but she refused to believe he was the empty black shell of vengeance that Sir Alex suggested, either.

  Just as they were about to enter the Hall she turned to him. “You are wrong, Sir Alex. I think he is still greatly affected by right and wrong. I think that’s why he fights so hard. He might act ruthlessly and harshly when he has to, but he won’t do anything truly dishonorable.”

  Alex held her gaze steadily. Her impassioned defense perhaps had revealed more than she wanted it to. “Don’t give yourself false hopes, my lady.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’ve known Robbie Boyd a long time, and he will let nothing get in the way of winning this war. Nothing. When the time comes, he’ll send you back. He needs Clifford’s cooperation, and this is the only way he’ll get it. Do you think your brother would agree to a truce and to the payment of two thousand pounds if Boyd didn’t have you to hold over his head?”

  He wouldn’t, although she hadn’t wanted to think about it. Her brother was just as stubborn and single-minded as Robbie. If it weren’t for her, he would never agree.

  If she’d been harboring a secret hope that when the time came Robbie would not be able to send her back, that he would stop seeing her as a weapon to use against Cliff, that he’d want to hold on to her just as strongly as she wanted to hold on to him, she knew she’d been deluding herself.

  He would send her back, and then what? Would he forget all about her? Fight for her? Or worse, do nothing?

  Rosalin didn’t have long to ponder the question, for no sooner had they sat down to eat than the door slammed open, and Robbie and the men who’d gone to meet her brother stormed into the Hall.

  She had to clutch the edge of the wooden trestle table to prevent herself from jumping up from her seat. But the moment of relief she felt upon seeing him safely returned died when their eyes met. His burned with an unholy rage that turned the blood racing in her veins to ice.

  Unconsciously, she leaned toward Sir Alex, who was seated beside her. If anything, the movement only served to make Robbie’s eyes burn even darker. He crossed the distance of the room in a few strides.

  “You’re back,” she said softly.

  Her heart clenched as his eyes bit into hers. Something was wrong. Very wrong. “Come with me,” he demanded.

  She’d never seen white lines around his mouth like that. Her pulse raced wildly. “I haven’t finished my meal.”

  “What’s this about, Boyd?” Sir Alex said, getting up protectively at her side.

  It was the wrong thing to do. Robbie looked like he might level his friend with his fist rather than just his gaze. Instead, he reached over the table and plucked Rosalin from her seat. She was so startled, all she could do was gape as he carried her out of the suddenly silent Hall.

  Eighteen

  She’d turned him into the bloody barbarian some accused him of being, but Robbie didn’t give a shite. He’d controlled his rage for the long journey back to the forest, but the moment he’d seen her there sitting with Seton—looking so damned beautiful it made his chest squeeze—the tethers had broken free.

  His jaw clenched and blood roared through his veins as he stormed out of the Hall through the forest to his tent. He was careful not to look down at her. Her soft scent was torture enough. As was the way she wrapped her hands around his neck and seemed to burrow against his chest, tucking her cheek against his shoulder.

  She didn’t say anything. Just went with him calmly. Bloody hell, didn’t she see how furious he was with her? Couldn’t she tell that he was at the end of his damned rope? Shouldn’t she be shaking with terror and begging to know what was wrong?

  Obviously she trusted him too much. The foolish chit thought he wouldn’t hurt her.

  Damn her for knowing me so well.

  Cradling her against him, he ducked through the tent flaps and stood at the entry, letting his eyes adjust from the sunlight.

  “Are you going to put me down and tell me what this is all about?” she asked gently.

  He looked down for the first time, seeing that beautiful face staring up at him. The pang in his chest nearly cut off his breath. She looked so innocent—so guileless—but she’d been lying to him from the start.

  Jaw locked, he put her down and set her firmly away from him. “What this is about? How about the fact that you lied to me?”

  Her brow furrowed with confusion. “I have never lied to you. Does this have something to do with my brother? Did he refuse your truce?”

  “Nay. Clifford agreed to everything.”

  Her face fell. What was wrong with her? Why the hell did she look disappointed?

  She turned away from him. “Then why are you angry? You have everything you wanted. You can send me back and get on with your war.”

  That was exactly what he should do, damn it. But for the first time in a long while, he was thinking about something other than war. When he’d made his demand of Clifford to hold on to her until he received the money, he’d been thinking of one thing and one thing only. “Your brother agreed readily enough, but your betrothed,” he said as he took a step toward her, “your betrothed had need of some assurances.”

  He had the satisfaction of seeing every drop of blood slide from her face. Guilt froze the no-longer guileless features. “S-sir Henry was th-there?”

  He didn’t know whether it was wanting to make the trembling stop or anger that made him grab her elbow and bring her up hard against him. “Aye, he was,” he said in a voice not far from menacing. “And he didn’t seem all that happy to learn that his affianced might have been spending time in my bed.” Her eyes widened, but she didn’t say anything. No protest. No “how could you tell him such a thing?” Nothing. “Why did you lie to me, Rosalin? Why didn’t you tell me you were to be married?”

  Something cracked in his voice. Something that went beyond anger. Some kind of emotion he didn’t want to acknowledge.

  Whatever it was, she heard it. Her eyes softened, and her voice was soothing. The type of soothing voice his mother had used when he’d taken a tumble as a young boy. “I didn’t lie to you. Nor did I mean to hide it from you.” A pink blush stained her cheeks. “I simply did not think of it—or of Sir Henry.”

  Robbie was no fool. He might not be an expert on such matters, but he’d wager Sir Henry would give MacGregor some competition—and not with the bow. “Sir Henry might be a hotheaded arse, but he is not the kind of man a lass is likely to forget.”

  She tilted her head, studying him. “He’s quite handsome, yes, but in truth he is but a pale substitute for another.”

  The spark of rage at the mention of “handsome” died as the truth hit him. Christ. No wonder the knight bothered him so much. He reminded him of someone, all right—himself. A younger, prettier version of himself, that is.

  She stepped toward him. “Did you not see it?”

&nbs