The Raider (Highland Guard #8)(11)

“You’ve been busy.” It was an understatement. In the past five years, since Robert Bruce had returned from the grave to rise like a phoenix from the ashes of defeat, her brother had barely had a free moment. She’d seen him only twice in the six years since that one fateful trip to Scotland.

“I wasn’t sure Sir Humphrey would ever give you leave to visit,” he said dryly.

She hadn’t been sure either. The earl had insisted that it was too dangerous, and…

Heat rose to her cheeks. “I think he was waiting for me to…ah…decide.”

Cliff’s expression changed. “And you have decided? This is whom you wish to marry? I will not have Hereford force you. I don’t care if you are the ripe old age of thirty—I’ll not have you tied to a man you don’t care for.”

“Two and twenty isn’t as ancient as all that.” She laughed. “Nay, you need not worry that Sir Humphrey has forced me into anything. He’s been very patient. Although between you and me, I think both he and the king despaired that I would ever pick anyone.”

“And you’re sure Sir Henry is the one?”

Something in his voice caught her attention. She studied his face, but her brother hid his thoughts well. “Do you not like him, Cliff?”

“The question is not whether I like him, but whether you do, little one.”

“I do,” she said with a soft smile. “Very much.”

Though she’d known Sir Henry de Spenser for only a few months, he had bowled her over with his gallantry and charm. If the lauded English knight was also tall, dark, and muscular, she was sure the resemblance to a certain Scot rebel was coincidental.

“Then that is all that matters,” he said firmly. She frowned and would have asked him more, but he added, “I must admit that as glad as I am to see you, I am relieved you will be returning with Maud and the children to Brougham at the end of the month to prepare for the wedding.”

Her formidable sister-in-law had insisted that they return to the Clifford stronghold in Cumbria (where Rosalin had been born and the closest thing to home for her), which was farther south and thus safer from “barbarians.” It was some some distance from Berwick, but Cliff would be able to visit occasionally.

“Has it become so very bad?” she asked.

He hesitated, but then apparently decided to tell her the truth. “Aye. The Scots have grown bold with Edward gone, and someone needs to stop them or—”

He stopped, his jaw clenched hard.

“Or what?” she asked.

“Or they won’t be stopped.”

Her eyes shot to his. It seemed inconceivable that the rebels could actually win. She bit her lip. Her brother tried to keep her insulated from the war and the politics, but something made her start to ask, “Do you ever wonder if…”

Embarrassed by what she’d been about to say, she didn’t finish the question.

But Cliff guessed. “I don’t wonder, Rosalin. My job is to follow orders and do my duty to the king.”

Feeling suddenly disloyal, she felt a fierce rush of pride in her brother. He was dutiful and loyal—one of the greatest knights in England—and she loved him. Of course he was doing what was right.

“Go on your ride to the fair, Rosalin, and take your little crusader with you. Roger is riding out with some of my knights; you can go with them. I think he will be proud to show his aunt his new squire’s skills. Norham is as safe as Berwick. Not even Bruce’s phantoms would dare anything near one of the most heavily garrisoned castles in the broad daylight.”

Two

Despite her brother’s warning, Rosalin never dreamed it would be this bad.

Only three miles separated Berwick-upon-Tweed from Norham, but the moment they left the outskirts of the great burgh, they might as well have entered a different world.

The bucolic countryside she remembered from when she’d passed through Berwick on her journey south from Kildrummy Castle was nearly unrecognizable. Every tree, every blade of grass, every building bore the black-charred scar of razing. But it wasn’t only the land that had been devastated, it was the people as well. She could see the fear on the peasants’ grim, forlorn faces as they gazed up from their work to watch the large party of knights, ladies, and men-at-arms ride by.

It broke her heart. “My God, who did this?”

She didn’t realize she’d spoken her thoughts aloud until her thirteen-year-old nephew Roger, who was riding beside her, answered. “King Hood himself. The usurper led his men through here last September. He started with the Earl of Dunbar’s lands, then came over the Cheviot Hills into Northumberland, raiding and harrying as far south as Harbottle and Holystone for nearly two weeks between the feast of the Nativity of Mary and St. Cissa’s Day, before scurrying back into his brigand’s foxhole.”

Rosalin had heard about Robert Bruce’s raids while she was at court at Whitehall last summer not long after King Edward returned to London. Cumberland had suffered a similar fate the month before, she recalled. But she’d never imagined…this.

Cliff had been safe at Brougham at the time with Lady Maud, so Rosalin hadn’t sought out every detail as she usually did. She didn’t want to take the chance of hearing his name.

“These poor people,” she said. “Was there no one to defend them?”