The Raider (Highland Guard #8)(28)

“Whatever you say, Captain.”

Boyd didn’t miss the sarcasm in Seton’s tone. His partner was still smarting from the fact that Bruce had put Robbie in charge. This was his mission, and therefore—as he’d told his partner many times over the past few hours—he didn’t have to listen to Seton’s opinion on what they should do.

He’d been in no mood to hear about Seton’s damned code of honor, and how they “had” to release her and the boy. How it was only “right” after what she’d done for them.

The only “right” thing was winning this damned war. That was all Robbie should be thinking about. His sole focus should be on doing whatever was needed to secure Clifford’s agreement and then collecting the money. If the lass and boy would help him in that regard, nothing else should matter. Honor wasn’t going to win the damned war.

But no matter how many times he told himself that, he couldn’t stop hearing her voice. You owe me. He did, damn it.

Honor—or what he had left of it—warred with duty. He owed her a debt, but he couldn’t just hand over the means to bring Clifford to heel.

He watched her hurry away with Seton, trying not to wonder what they were talking about. Or why she’d suddenly turned and given Seton a tentative smile.

Bloody hell! His fists clenched. Did she have to look like that? If he’d ever seen a more beautiful woman, he couldn’t think of one. Lady Rosalin Clifford was stunning. Breathtakingly stunning. By all rights, Clifford’s sister should have a forked tongue, horns, and all sorts of other manner of devilry. Or perhaps warts and moles, like a troll or witch.

Actually, she did have a mole. A very small one that looked like a freckle. And its placement on the edge of a very sensually curved upper lip didn’t make him think of witches or trolls, but of something else entirely. An unwelcome heat and heaviness tugged in his groin. He liked having his c**k sucked just as much as any other man—which was to say a whole hell of a lot—but never had the mere thought of it made him hard.

Clifford’s sister. He still couldn’t believe it. He couldn’t reconcile the sweet lass who’d saved him with the cosseted, spoiled English beauty she had to be. He was sure that once some of her fear dissipated, and she realized he meant what he said about them coming to no harm, she would start making demands and issuing orders. Her expression would change from looking as if he’d just torn up the pages to her favorite faerie tale and burned them before her eyes to haughty and condescending. She would look down that adorable little nose of hers not with disappointment and disillusionment, but with cold hatred.

She couldn’t possibly be as sweet as she looked. Not with a brother like that.

He frowned as Seton jerked off his plaid to cover a low boulder for her to sit on. Dragon and his damned knightly sensibilities. Even after seven years of fighting like a “pirate,” he still thought he was bloody Lancelot. It was how he’d earned his war name. Dragon was a jest, referring to the wyvern on the Seton arms that he’d so stubbornly held to wearing in the early days of their training—before he was forced to admit how ridiculous it was to wear mail and a surcoat doing the kind of fighting they would be doing.

“What in Hades is wrong with you?”

It took Robbie a minute to realize Douglas was talking to him. Hell, how long had he been staring? Too long, if the man’s narrowed gaze was any indication.

“I would have thought you would be more excited,” Douglas added. “We have Clifford by the bollocks.”

“I am,” he assured him, forcing the dark scowl from his face. “Did you receive the money from the good bishop?” Douglas had gone to Bewley Castle to meet with the Bishop of Cumbria.

But Douglas wouldn’t be so easily put off. “You seemed almost protective of the lass. I’ll admit, she’s a beauty, but I wouldn’t have thought you would be so easily deceived. The English bitch is Clifford’s sister, for Christ’s sake.”

Robbie had to be more tired than he realized, because he was feeling quite a few of Seton’s knightly sensibilities right now—as well as the sudden urge to slam his fist through his friend’s teeth. For what? Calling her a bitch? It wasn’t anything Robbie hadn’t said many times before about their enemy: English dog, English bitch—it was as common as saying it looks like it might rain or the skies are dreich today.

Which didn’t explain why his teeth were grinding. “I don’t need you to remind me who she is”—he could think of nothing else, damn it—“but the lass is under my protection and will be until she is released.”

“Why the hell would you release her? King Edward still holds Bruce’s wife, daughter, and sister. Why should we not do the same with our ‘overlord’s’ family?”

Robbie was just about as interested in hearing Douglas’s opinion on the subject as he was Seton’s. Nor was he going to explain himself.

He glanced over at Seton and the lady in question just in time to hear the soft tinkle of her laugh. Every muscle in his body tensed. The lad, Roger, was laughing, too. Both were stretching their feet out by the crackling fire, looking quite cozy.

“Hell, if you want the chit, why don’t you just keep her for yourself? Think how furious Clifford would be to learn that his precious sister is in Robbie Boyd’s bed.”