The Raider (Highland Guard #8)(29)

The image was sharper than Robbie would have wished, and included sweaty, naked limbs twisted in well-rumpled bedsheets. He clenched his jaw until the muscle started to tic. “I don’t want her, and I sure as hell don’t want a wife.”

Douglas smiled slyly. “I wasn’t thinking of her as your wife. You can’t marry an Englishwoman.” He shuddered dramatically. “Make her your leman.”

“I said I don’t want her, damn it!”

“Aye, I can see that,” Douglas said with a laugh—the bastard. “That’s why you keep looking over at Seton like you want to kill him—even more than usual, that is.” He lifted a brow. “Oh, look who just showed up! Didn’t take him long to find her. I told you he had a weakness for blondes.”

Robbie glanced over just in time to see Sir Thomas Randolph, Bruce’s nephew and nearly as much of a pain in his arse as Seton, bending over her hand like a gallant courtier and not the ruthless warrior he was—that they all were.

“My wife informs me that women find him attractive. I don’t bloody see it,” Douglas said with disgust. Obviously, Joanna Douglas was keeping her notoriously competitive husband on his toes by teasing him about his rival. Robbie was really beginning to like his friend’s new bride. She was tougher than she looked. “Maybe it won’t be you taking her to bed after all,” Douglas added.

Robbie thought his head might explode. “No one is taking her to bed, damn it. She isn’t going to be here long enough.”

Six

It took Rosalin a while to figure it out. Once she did, she had to wait for Sir Thomas to engage Roger in conversation so they would not be overheard.

She’d met Sir Thomas, Robert Bruce’s nephew, a number of times at court when he’d temporarily changed sides a few years back. The gallant, handsome knight hadn’t changed at all—he was still a charming rogue. His friendly presence had relieved some of the tension of encountering the Black Douglas.

But it wasn’t Sir Thomas with whom she wished to speak in private. “You were there, too,” she said softly to the blond-haired warrior who’d championed them earlier.

She hadn’t realized it before only because he’d changed so much. The tall, lean, boyishly handsome youth with the sun-bleached hair had added sufficient bulk and hardness to his build as to almost be unrecognizable. He was no longer a youth but a man full-grown—quite impressively, she might add. With his blue-eyed, golden-haired good looks, he seemed like every girl’s fantasy of a knight in shining armor.

Except he was a brigand.

He looked surprised but nodded. “Aye, I was there.”

He handed her another oat bannock fresh from the iron plate or “girdle,” as he called it, cooked over the campfire. Though she was starving and would have eaten anything, the simple fare was surprisingly tasty. She suspected the oats had been mixed with some of the fat from the strips of pork she was also offered.

“I remember you.” Indeed, had she not seen Boyd first, she probably would have found herself watching him. “I used to see you and Boyd talking all the time. You were friends even then.” His mouth tightened a little as if he might disagree. “There was another man as well. He had red hair.”

“Thomas,” he said. “A childhood friend of Boyd’s.”

“What became of him?”

He gave her a sad look. “He died two days after we escaped.”

Rosalin’s heart squeezed, more stricken by his answer than she would have believed. Learning that her efforts to save him hadn’t been enough made what she’d done seem so much worse. “I’m sorry.”

He nodded. “He was a good man.”

She did not doubt it. “Might I know your name?”

“Sir Alexander—Alex—Seton, my lady.”

He was a knight? She must have shown her surprise. One side of his mouth lifted in a wry smile that held a hint of sadness. “I know it doesn’t seem that way, but we are not all brigands.”

There was more than a little bitterness in his tone, which she thought it better not to explore. At least not yet. But it was clear that if she hoped to find a friend from among the rebels, this man would be her best prospect.

Suddenly, she realized what else he’d said. Her eyes widened. “Seton? Were you related to Sir Christopher?”

He looked down at the fire, prodding it with a stick. “He was my brother.”

He said it matter-of-factly, but she sensed the deep emotion underlying the simple words.

Her shock was complete. Like Wallace, Sir Christopher Seton had been one of the great Scot heroes in the early days of the war. Losing Sir Christopher’s brother would have been nearly as big a blow to Cliff as losing Robbie Boyd. “My brother didn’t know?”

Sir Alex shook his head. “Circumstances…Well, suffice it to say I had reasons for not making my name well known at the time. In the chaos and confusion of the surrender, no one made the connection. I was lucky. Others were not.”

The sick feeling in her stomach grew along with her guilt. Now she had not only the release of Robbie Boyd on her list of grievous betrayals of her brother and country, but Sir Christopher Seton’s brother as well.

He must have guessed her thoughts. “Thank you for what you did for us, my lady. I owe you my life. We all do.”