The Raider (A Highland Guard Novel) Read online

  Robbie refrained from asking him why he had signed up—other than the fact that his dead hero brother had been Bruce’s closest companion.

  “That ‘boy’ is Clifford’s heir, and a squire old enough to wield a blade at Fraser. The woman got in the way and will be released as soon as it is feasible. As to why, I should think that would be fairly obvious. The taking of hostages is common enough on both sides.” He paused, unable to resist adding, “Even for English knights.”

  It was the truth. Hostage taking, particularly of an heir to serve as surety, had been an established practice undertaken throughout Christendom for centuries. Both sides did it. Not even Seton could argue with that.

  “Hostages are given, not taken,” Seton said stubbornly.

  “As I did not feel like waiting around to ask someone, I’d say the distinction is meaningless. But feel free to return to Norham and wait for Clifford so you can negotiate. Although I would think from previous experience that you might not like the way those negotiations turn out.”

  Seton knew better than to wade into that cesspit. The manner of their capture at Kildrummy was still a sore point even after all these years. His teeth clenched until the muscle in his jaw ticced. “I don’t like it.”

  “You don’t have to like it,” Boyd replied bluntly. “The king wants Clifford’s truce, and the boy will ensure that this time Clifford negotiates in good faith.”

  His partner didn’t say anything, although it was clear he wanted to.

  Suddenly, Robbie understood what it was, and in spite of the current tension between them, it packed a surprising sting. “Hell, Dragon, after all that we’ve been through, you can’t think I’d hurt the lad?”

  Seton pinned his gaze to his, his mouth pursed in a hard line. “I don’t want to think so, but I know how much you hate his sire.”

  Robbie’s fists squeezed at his side. “Aye, I want vengeance, but against Clifford, not a green squire. Despite my reputation to the contrary, I do not slaughter innocents or make war on those weaker than me.”

  His partner should know that.

  Perhaps Seton realized it as well. “Everyone’s weaker than you,” he said dryly.

  Robbie managed a small smile at the jest, and what he suspected was meant as an apology. “You know what I meant.” He couldn’t abide bullies. Perhaps because of his strength, he was even more conscious of fighting worthy opponents.

  Seton bent down, picking up his helm and handing it to him. “You intend to let the woman go?”

  Robbie tucked the helm under his arm. “I wouldn’t have taken her in the first place, but she’d latched on to the boy and Fraser was having a difficult time separating them. I figured the boy would put up less of a fight if I took her.”

  “Who is she?”

  Robbie shrugged. “I don’t know. Probably a servant—a nursemaid, perhaps.”

  “She isn’t a nursemaid,” Fraser said, approaching them from the trees where they’d left the horses. MacLeod’s young brother by marriage, Sir Alexander Fraser had become one of their regular companions in the war along the Borders.

  Robbie frowned. “How do you know?”

  “One look at her face.” He shook his head. “If I had a nursemaid who looked like that, I would never have left the nursery.”

  So the nicely shaped bottom wasn’t an aberration. Still, Robbie was sure Fraser exaggerated.

  “I wasn’t aware that beauty precluded servitude, but I’ll take a Scottish serving maid over an English Rose any day,” Robbie said.

  “My partner here is convinced nothing of any worth grows below the Roman wall,” Seton added.

  “Aye, well, be prepared to change your mind,” Fraser said.

  Suddenly curious, Robbie glanced through the trees to where he’d left the hostages. The dense trees and thickening mist prevented him from seeing anything. He scanned the area around him, frowning when he saw Malcolm kneeling by the stream, apparently filling up his skin with water. The young warrior stood and started back up the hill.

  “Who is watching the boy and the woman?” he asked Fraser.

  “I thought you told Malcolm to. I left Clifford’s whelp with him before I came to find you.”

  Robbie swore.

  “What’s wrong?” Seton asked.

  But Robbie was already striding toward the horses. He reached the clearing only moments after Malcolm, who was standing there stunned, looking around.

  “Where are they?” Robbie demanded.

  Malcolm’s face paled. “The lady fainted. I went to fetch her some water. I was only gone for a few minutes.”

  Robbie swore again. He was really beginning to regret not being the type of man who would knock a lass out of the way.

  The young warrior shirked back in the face of his anger. Robbie didn’t need to tell him that he’d made an enormous mistake. And he would be reprimanded—but later. Right now, all Robbie was focused on was getting the hostages back.

  He quickly organized his men into a search party. In a low voice that contemplated no other result, he ordered, “Find them.”

  “Hurry!” Rosalin grabbed Roger’s hand, pulling him into the river behind her. “They’re coming.”

  The icy water splashed at her knees as they raced toward the felled tree. She was almost too scared to notice how cold it was—almost. Heart pounding, every few feet she glanced around behind her, expecting to see the beasts snapping at their heels.

  Knowing they wouldn’t be able to outrun a dozen warriors on horseback, Rosalin had ignored the instinct to run and instead used the precious few minutes of lead time they had to search for a place to hide. Not an easy task in the barren wintry countryside, but as opportune hiding places went, the felled tree was better than she would have dared hope.

  Propped up on one end by a rock, the tree must have been there for some time, as the inside was partially hollowed out. Moss and ferns had grown over the log almost like a blanket, creating a space underneath that was just large enough for her to crawl under.

  Roger didn’t need to be told what to do. He practically dove into the hollowed-out tree as she did the same underneath the mossy curtain.

  It was just in time. No sooner had they scampered into position than she heard the sound of voices.

  “They couldn’t have gotten far.”

  Her heart stopped, recognizing the deep voice of her captor. Shivering, and not just from the cold, she waited for them to approach.

  “Damn, I wish we had Hunter with us,” another man said. She couldn’t be sure, but she thought it might be the man who’d objected to their abduction.

  “The ground is too hard, and there are too many tracks,” the deeper voice said. “I can’t tell which are theirs.”

  That voice…a chill ran down her spine. There was something familiar about it.

  She quickly pushed the thought away. It couldn’t be. Her captor’s voice was deep, but hard and humorless, with a clipped, authoritative cadence. The prisoner’s—Boyd’s—had been softer. Kinder. He’d sounded like a man who knew how to smile, not a harsh, unforgiving brute.

  “Do you think they crossed the river?” the second man asked.

  “I don’t think so,” her captor replied. “We would see some dampness on the ground where they came out.”

  “Unless they decided to swim farther downstream.”

  “If they did, they won’t have gotten far—not if they don’t want to freeze to death. You take some men and go on the other side of the river. I’ll try down this way.”

  “Captain, here!” she heard a shout, possibly from the young warrior whom she’d tricked. “Tracks!”

  “Go,” her captor said. “I’ll see what Malcolm has found.”

  He moved out of hearing distance for a while, and all Rosalin could hear was her heart pounding and the chattering of Roger’s teeth.

  “Do you think they’re gone?” he whispered.

  “Not yet,” she replied. She sensed her captor with the hard, uncompromising voice