The Raider (Highland Guard #8)(23)

Bloody hell. Any flash of desire he might have experienced was quickly doused when he realized that not only had he taken Clifford’s heir, he’d also taken his sister.

His mouth tightened as he stared at the woman slowly getting to her feet and shaking the dirt and leaves off her skirts.

“Aunt?” he demanded, as if she’d somehow tricked him.

“Lady Rosalin?” Seton asked in a slightly stunned voice that told Robbie he’d seen her face and had been similarly affected.

Ignoring Robbie’s question, she looked at Seton and nodded.

Of course. Robbie should have guessed. The beauty of Clifford’s sister was well known. The English called her the Fair Rosalin, alluding to Clifford’s illustrious ancestor.

For once, Robbie was forced to acknowledge that the English stories that he’d assumed were exaggerations were true—perhaps even understatements. The lass was one of the most beautiful creatures he’d ever seen. The quintessential English Rose. His jaw tightened. But there was enough resemblance to Clifford to remind him of exactly who she was: the sister of the man bent on destroying them, conquering their land, and seeing them subjugated.

Clifford’s sister, bloody hell! He felt his face darken as blood surged through his veins in a hot rush. Somehow his attraction to the lass made it worse. It felt like a damned betrayal. In this case, his own.

God knew she was probably as arrogant and condescending as her brother. Aye, no doubt she was a spoiled, cosseted brat who’d never suffered a moment of hardship or strife in her life.

Beautiful or not, how could he have forgotten—even for an instant—that she was English? She might look sweet on the outside, but she was undoubtedly just as ugly as her brother on the inside. Beauty, in this case, was surely deceiving.

He stared at her coldly, calculatingly, forcing himself to see not the perfection of her features but the resemblance to his enemy and the added benefit she would bring him. Their raid had reaped far greater bounty than he could ever have dreamed.

“It seems fortune has shined on us twice today,” he said, as much for her benefit as that of his men’s who’d gathered around them. “Not only have we caught Clifford’s heir, but his beloved sister as well.” Clifford’s affection for his only sibling was well known. Apparently the bastard had a weakness for the women in his life. At one time Robbie had, too. But unlike Clifford’s sister, his hadn’t escaped the brutality of war. His mouth fell in a hard, unrelenting line as the familiar anger stirred inside. “I’d wager we have double the means to ensure a truce, don’t we, lads?”

He was answered with a flurry of “ayes” from all his men except for Seton, who managed to shake off his stunned trance for long enough to turn on him. “I thought—”

“The situation has changed,” Robbie said, cutting him off with a look of warning. If Seton was going to insist on voicing his objections—not that it would make a difference—it wasn’t going to be now. He wasn’t going to give up a boon like Clifford’s sister without consideration. A whole hell of a lot of consideration.

“What do you mean to do with us?” she asked. Her voice trembled, although he didn’t miss the way she angled herself in front of the lad as if to protect him.

Something about that voice bothered him. It wasn’t just that having a woman—even if she was Clifford’s sister—scared of him didn’t sit well, it was something else. Something he couldn’t put his finger on that made him feel as if a ghostly voice were whispering a warning in his ear, but he couldn’t make out the words.

He pushed the odd feeling aside and answered her question. “You and the lad will be taken someplace safe to wait while a messenger is sent to your brother.” He shrugged. “Whatever happens after that is up to him.”

Her eyes widened, and despite her obvious fear she managed, “You can’t do that!”

He would admire her courage later, but right now all he could see was the slight stiffening of the spine and offended lift of the chin that reminded him too much of her condescending brother. He leaned toward her threateningly. He was trying to emphasize his point. It wasn’t because she smelled so damned good. Although that was what hit his senses, engulfing him in her soft floral scent. Roses, of course. A big, heady, blooming bouquet of them. He managed not to inhale—just.

“I assure you, my lady, I can. Your brother’s authority does not run here. If I were you, I would remember that.” Her eyes widened further, and he had to force himself to stand his ground. Clifford’s sister…He quashed whatever foolish impulses were leaping inside him. But bloody hell, he wished she would stop looking at him like that. “Consider yourself fortunate that you are not being punished for attempting to escape.”

Her eyes scanned his face with an intensity that made him uneasy. She almost looked close to tears. “What happened to you?”

His brow furrowed. It was an odd comment to make, but he’d never understood the English. “War,” he said simply, turning away. She’d delayed him long enough. “Tie up the lad and separate them,” he said to Malcolm, who was still holding Clifford’s whelp.

That should prevent any further problems.

“No!” she shouted, grabbing his arm and swinging him back around to face her. He ignored the slam in his chest and spike in his temperature caused by her touch. His skin tightened. Actually, all of him tightened.