The Raider (Highland Guard #8)(103)

He was glad she didn’t, as he didn’t have an answer for the unspoken question in her eyes.

After Lady Joanna left to see to the evening meal, Rosalin excused herself to return to her chamber. Robbie wanted to follow her, but he needed some time to think. He watched her leave the room, but when he looked back, it was to see Seton watching him. Watching that grew steadier and darker as the evening progressed.

Robbie tried to ignore it, but he knew that sooner or later there was going to be hell to pay.

It came sooner. The meal was barely under way when Seton cornered Robbie on his way back from relieving himself of some of the Douglas ale. He’d gone outside rather than use the third-floor garderobe—a decision he was now regretting.

More distracted by his thoughts than he realized, in the shadowed torchlight, Robbie thought the man who stepped out in front of him was one of the guardsmen on patrol. When he was slammed up against the stone wall of the castle with a forearm across his throat, however, he realized his mistake.

“Tell me you didn’t do what I think you did.” Seton jammed his arm harder for emphasis. “Tell me.”

Seton’s mouth was pulled pack in a feral snarl and his eyes pinned Robbie with murderous rage. Robbie had seen him angry more times than he could count—hell, half the times he’d purposefully incited the anger—but never like this. Which could explain Robbie’s slower-than-usual reaction, and the fact that he didn’t break the arm that had him pinned when he shoved up against it and twisted to the side to free himself.

Although he had to admit it might not have been that easy. He rubbed his throat, staring at the other man in the shadowy darkness. Seton hadn’t worn mail since the early days of training, but his arm had felt as if it were covered in it. Hell, made of it. Seton might not be built as powerfully as Robbie, but he was bigger and stronger than most, with years of hard-wrought battle muscle on him. Robbie had realized it, but not with quite so much force.

Annoyed, he glowered back at his partner. “You can think whatever the hell you like, but I don’t have to tell you a damned thing.”

“You’re right. You don’t. I already know the truth. I just didn’t want to believe it. I didn’t think even you could be so dishonorable as to defile an innocent lass. But you proved me wrong, you bloody bastard!”

Robbie was ready for him this time. But cornered as he was between the staircase and the river with the castle at his back and Seton at his front, there wasn’t enough room for him to maneuver and completely evade the powerful fist that came pummeling toward his teeth, or the one that followed with a quick uppercut to his jaw from the left. Robbie retaliated with a hard blow of his own to the gut and a knee to Seton’s side that pushed him back far enough for Robbie to get in better position.

One of the guardsmen came rushing over, but Robbie yelled at him—all of them—to get back to duty.

The distraction gave his blood a moment to calm. “You don’t want to do this,” Robbie warned Seton. “You won’t win.”

“The hell I don’t. Someone needs to fight for that girl’s honor. I won’t let you get away with this. You might be the strongest man in Scotland, but that doesn’t make you right—or invincible.”

Robbie was used to Seton’s shiny-armor shite, but something about it this time angered him—maybe because it was deserved. “You always have to be the sanctimonious knight, don’t you, Seton? Even when it has nothing to do with you.”

“It has everything to do with me. You’ve shamed all of us with what you have done. You’ve made us into the brigands and barbarians they accuse us of being. She was our hostage, not a means of retribution. Do you hate Clifford so much that you have to ruin his sister?” Seton was seething now, fists clenching at his sides, circling and waiting for an opening. “The same sister who saved our lives? What the hell is wrong with you?”

Robbie wasn’t as immune to his partner’s jibes as he wanted to be. All the guilt he’d been trying to bury the past few days bubbled to the surface—nay, it roared to the surface. His chest pinched uncomfortably. “This has nothing to do with Clifford.”

“The hell it doesn’t. It’s always about Clifford or the English.”

Seton’s certainty planted a seed of doubt in his own mind. But no, damn it, it hadn’t been about revenge. “I told you I cared about her.”

“If you truly cared about her, you would have kept your bloody hands off her and returned her a maid. You knew nothing could come of this, but still you took her innocence. That isn’t care, that’s selfishness. Maybe if it were lust I could understand. But I know you too well, and you’ve never been consumed with anything other than vengeance. The only thing you care about, the only thing you’ve ever cared about, is destroying the English. I just didn’t think you’d use an innocent lass to do it. Do you even have a damned conscience anymore?”

The question seemed to hang uncomfortably in the air, even though it was clear that Seton didn’t expect an answer. Instead he attacked, spinning and whipping his leg around in a sweeping kick that would have taken Robbie to the ground if he hadn’t been the one to teach him the move himself. It did, however, knock him off balance enough for Seton to land a hard hit to the side of his head. A blow that snapped Robbie’s head back and sent blood trickling from his ear. A blow that left no doubt of Seton’s intent. This was no training, no sparring and grappling between partners. This was all-out war.