The Raider (Highland Guard #8)(31)

He sat opposite her on the stump vacated by Seton. “Nothing. You are under my protection. You have nothing to fear from Douglas.”

She made a sharp sound that was halfway between a laugh and a choke. “Does he know that?”

Robbie almost smiled before he caught himself. “Don’t worry about Douglas. I’ll take care of him.”

She eyed him warily, clearly not sure whether to believe him.

He had to fight the urge to reassure her, which was sure as hell not anything he’d ever felt compelled to do with a hostage before. Of course, he’d never had a woman as a hostage before. A woman who was so beautiful it was hard to look at her without his blood heating.

What the hell was wrong with him? She was English, damn it. Clifford’s sister. The enemy.

His mouth tightened. “Go home, Lady Rosalin. I’ve given you what you asked for. I suggest you take it.”

“I asked for you to release both of us. I will not leave Roger here alone.” With you, she didn’t need to add. Her gaze turned imploring. “Please, won’t you just let us go?”

He couldn’t, even if he wanted to. This was too important. He’d been handed a way to bring Clifford in line, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to throw it back—not all of it, at least. The king was counting on him.

“You heard Douglas. You should consider yourself fortunate that I’ve decided to let you go. Your brother is causing trouble. Your nephew will ensure it stops.”

“Then keep me and let him go.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“The boy is more valuable. You might be his sister, but Roger is his heir.”

“To most men, perhaps, but not my brother. He loves me. He’ll do anything—”

She stopped, probably realizing she shouldn’t be saying that.

“The lad stays.”

She looked up at him, her big green eyes luminous in the misty moonlight. “Won’t you have pity? He’s only a boy. Just thirteen last month.”

He steeled himself against the sheen of tears in her eyes. An onslaught he’d never faced in battle, and one that was proving more effective than any sword. God’s breath! He squeezed his fists. “That ‘boy’ would have put a blade through my back or slain any one of my men if given the chance. I’ll remind you that I wasn’t the one to put him in the battle.” It was hard as hell being cold and matter-of-fact with her looking at him like that. He relented—just a little. Her devotion to her nephew and attempt to protect him were admirable. “Your fears for the lad are unfounded. He does not need you here to defend him. He will be perfectly safe.”

“And I am to believe that from you?” Her eyes met his. “Your reputation is well known, my lord.”

There was just enough English haughtiness in her tone to set his temper right back on edge. “Perhaps you should have thought of that earlier.”

It took her a moment to realize to what he was referring. When she flinched, he almost wished he could take it back.

“I didn’t know who you were.” Her eyes searched his with an intensity verging on desperation that made him want to look away. She wanted something from him that if it ever had been there was long gone. “At the time, I thought I saw something worth saving. Something noble and honorable. Apparently, I was wrong. A man who would use a woman and child to his advantage—as a weapon in war—is without honor. A knight would never—”

“Bloody hell! You English and your damned knights!” For a moment, staring into those fathomless green eyes, he’d been in danger of forgetting who she was. “You don’t need to tell me what a knight would do. I know all about English chivalry. If you think your countrymen are like heroes in some troubadour’s tale, you are dead wrong. Your king put a sword in my hand when I wasn’t much older than your nephew, and he invited my father and some other local chieftains to a parley—under a truce—and then treacherously slaughtered them all.”

Her eyes widened and blinked, slowly.

“Whatever I have done,” he continued, “I assure you, your countrymen have done far worse. Should I remind you of the two women who were hung in cages from English castles for over two years? Where the hell is the chivalry in that? Bruce’s queen, sisters, and daughter are still imprisoned by your king. The English have done everything they can to destroy and impoverish us: razing our countryside, taking our castles, raping our women, and killing our people for over fifteen years. So if winning this war and seeing my country free from English occupation and subjugations means I have to use a squire to do so, you can be damned sure I will do it. There is very little I wouldn’t do to win, so perhaps you’ll remember that before you start spouting off about rules and codes of which you know nothing.”

She drew back at the onslaught but did not cower. “My God, you are nothing more than what they say: the Devil’s Enforcer. Bruce’s hired muscle. A brigand and a thug.”

He’d been called a hell of a lot worse, but somehow her words pelted like stones—deeper and sharper than he would have thought possible.

Furious, he stood and hauled her up beside him. It was a mistake. Standing close to her was like being caught in a fierce undertow. His senses flared as wildfire ignited through his blood.

Their eyes held. He swore he could see the tiny flutter of her pulse at her neck and had to fight the urge not to reach down and caress it with his thumb.