The Raider (Highland Guard #8)(110)

The tears were falling unheeded now. “But you’ll do something, won’t you?” the boy asked.

“Aye, lad, I will.” He would strike back and strike back hard in a place that would hurt.

He exchanged looks with Douglas, and the other man nodded. They’d been through this so many times before, he knew exactly what to do. Douglas left the Hall to start readying the men. Robbie was about to follow when Seton stopped him. It was the first time the other man had spoken to him directly since their fight.

“What are you going to do?”

How his partner—former partner—managed to convey disapproval in a flat tone, Robbie didn’t know. But he did. “What the hell do you think I’m going to do? You heard what they did.”

“But it doesn’t make sense. Why would Clifford do something like this?”

Robbie’s jaw locked. Because Robbie had believed Rosalin when she said her brother would do anything for her and let her write him. “He had a reason.”

“What the hell did you do?”

The accusation snapped the last thread of Robbie’s temper. “I f**king listened to you, that’s what I did! I tried to make it right, and look what happened. I let her write Clifford and open discussions—isn’t that what you are always wanting to do? Well, this is what you get from English negotiations. So if you have anything else to say, say it, or get the hell out of my way.”

“I’d tell you not to do anything rash, but I’d be wasting my breath. So which English village will feel the sword of your retribution this time?”

Robbie steeled his gaze, guessing at what the reaction would be. “Brougham.”

Seton flinched, shocked. “By God, I thought you cared for her. That is her home.”

Robbie gritted his teeth. “It isn’t Rosalin’s home, it’s his home. This has nothing to do with her.”

“It has everything to do with her. She might have spent most of her life in London, but that is where she was born. She will never forgive you. I hope to hell you know what you are doing.”

“I do. We are leaving within the hour—be ready.”

Seton shook his head. “I told you I’m done. I won’t be a part of this.”

The gauntlet had been dropped. “I could order you to go.”

“You could, and I’d refuse.”

They stared at one another, facing off as they’d done so many times before. But Robbie knew this time it was different. This time Seton wasn’t going to back down. Robbie should throw him into the damned pit prison. “Fine. You can stay here and guard Rosalin.”

“You mean pick up the pieces of the heart you are about to break.”

Robbie’s eyes narrowed, refusing to be goaded. “There’ll be plenty of time for me to put it back together.”

“What do you mean?”

“It means she will get her wish. She won’t be going back. I’ll marry her as soon as I return. Let’s see how Clifford likes that.”

For the second time, Rosalin caught the end of a conversation she wished she hadn’t heard. Elizabeth had come up and told her the men were leaving. Rosalin had raced downstairs beside her and stumbled into this…nightmare. Won’t be going back…marry her as soon as I return. Words she’d hoped to hear, but not like this. She didn’t understand. What could have happened?

Robbie looked over and saw them standing there. His face was a mask of black rage, and his eyes when they landed on her were as hard as onyx. He looked cold and unyielding, and so remote he might have been standing on a distant island.

“You are leaving?” she asked.

His eyes bit into her with…anger? Blame? Resentment? God, no, she must be imagining it. “I am.”

She took a step toward him. “But why?”

He didn’t say anything, but just continued to stand there with that horrible look on his face. Her gaze slid to Sir Alex. He looked just as enraged. “Tell her, Boyd. You owe her that at least.” He held out his hand to Elizabeth. “Come, Lady Elizabeth. Lady Rosalin will wish to hear this in private.”

Left alone—at least as alone as they could be in the corner of the chaotic Hall—Rosalin approached him cautiously. “Tell me what has happened.”

“What has happened?” he repeated. She could see the muscles flare in his shoulders and knew he was fighting for control. “What the hell did you write your brother?”

She drew back from the blast of anger. “Exactly what we discussed. That I wanted to stay in Scotland. That I was happy here. That I’d fallen in love and asked him to agree to a meeting in person under the color of the truce.”

“Aye, well he refused.”

She frowned. “I told you he might. But I will be able to convince him.”

“It’s too late for that. God, I can’t believe I let you talk me into this.”

She reached out and put a hand on his arm, but he was impervious to her touch. “Please, won’t you tell me what happened?”

And then he did. In cold, brutal detail until the blood leached from her face, her stomach dropped, and her knees turned to jelly.

“No,” she whispered. It was too horrible to contemplate. She’d come to think of some of those women as her friends. Jean. Oh God, poor Jean!