The Raider (Highland Guard #8)(42)

Nor would she risk her nephew’s life on “needlessly.” Just look at him! Poor Roger looked as if he were about ready to fall from his horse. He was exhausted after the travails in the village and the seemingly endless hours of riding over rough and brutal terrain. He wasn’t alone; she was exhausted as well. They weren’t hardened warriors. But every time she’d tried to raise the subject with Boyd on one of their infrequent stops, he dismissed her pleas and seemed to grow increasingly angry.

They’d been riding for a few hours when she glimpsed what appeared to be the parapet of a castle and surrounding village before Boyd once again led them into the trees and hills (which she’d become certain must cover ninety percent of this godforsaken countryside). What she wouldn’t give for a proper English road! Her backside was going to be bruised for weeks after the abuse. Fortunately, the pain in her hands had subsided.

A short while later, near dusk, Boyd called for them to stop. She watched him ride off with one of the other warriors, presumably for more scouting. His diligence made her wonder whether Cliff was close.

After Callum helped her down, she approached Sir Alex where he stood talking to Malcolm and Roger. Though the two boys were both tall and slim, with only a few years separating them, the differences between them could not be more glaring. Malcolm had the hard, wiry strength and endurance of a warrior. He looked like he could ride for another day or two, whereas Roger looked as if his legs might collapse at any moment, though he was fighting hard to hide it. Her heart went out to him, knowing how much the proud youth would hate the idea of looking weak in front of the enemy.

“Will we be camping here for the night?” she asked hopefully.

Sir Alex gave her a sympathetic smile. “I’m afraid not. We’ve only stopped to water the horses.”

Rosalin tried to ignore the disappointment on Roger’s face, not wanting to draw attention to it before the men. “But it will be dark soon. Surely we must take time to eat something?”

“But you gave all our food away,” Malcolm said, with obvious surprise.

Rosalin turned to him. “I did?”

The boy nodded. “Aye, back at the village.”

She hadn’t realized they’d been left with so little after the Black Douglas had taken the plunder from the raid. No wonder Boyd had looked at her so strangely when Callum had brought him her request.

“We wanted to travel lightly and didn’t anticipate the delay in the village,” Alex said, gallantly trying to ease her guilt. “We would have been back at camp by now.”

But Rosalin did not regret her actions. The burned-out villagers would need the food more than they did. She could go a night without food. Her belly rumbled. Even if her stomach protested.

“If we had time, we could hunt something,” Malcolm said helpfully. It seemed Sir Alex wasn’t the only brigand prone to gallantry; Malcolm was also concerned that she not feel guilty.

She gave him a grateful smile that made the lad turn as red as his hair, before turning back to Sir Alex. “We will reach camp soon?”

“Not for a few hours. Maybe longer in the dark.”

She couldn’t stop the groan. Roger, too, looked like a pup who’d just been kicked.

“Sir Alex, if you have a moment there is something I should like to talk to you about—in private.”

He nodded and sent Malcolm and Roger off to tend the horses. He motioned for her to take seat on a rock nearby, but she shook her head. As tired as she was, the prospect of sitting on hard rock was not appealing. “Do you mind if we walk a little? I should like to stretch my legs.”

They headed toward the stream, but instead of joining the other men, he led her in the opposite direction. When they reached the water’s edge they stopped. In addition to forests and hills, there were streams or burns, as the Scots called them, everywhere. They were pretty, she realized. Even in the barren bowels of winter, the dark waters cutting through the small valleys of russet moorland, flanked by tree-covered hillsides, evoked a peacefulness at odds with the wild, war-torn countryside.

“I did not want to say anything in front of Malcolm, but you must see how tired my nephew is—though he’d die before admitting it. He’s not used to riding for this long over this kind of terrain. I don’t know how much longer he can take it.” She glanced up at him pleadingly. “I don’t know how much longer I can take it. Is there not a place nearby where we might stay for the night? An inn, perhaps?”

His mouth thinned. “I’m sorry, my lady. I would not have you forced to endure any of this. These are no conditions for a lady—or a lad.” He smiled, but it was without humor. “But you’ve seen how little sway my opinion holds around here.”

The bitterness in his tone was undeniable. She hadn’t been mistaken in identifying Sir Alex as a potential ally. She had, however, underestimated the level of his disaffection. Whatever disagreement there was between him and Boyd, it ran deeper than she’d realized.

She didn’t understand it. By all appearances the men were close companions who’d fought together for years. Half the time they didn’t even use words to communicate—just glances. So why the animosity and resentment?

She hated taking advantage of Sir Alex’s gallantry like this, but she had to do something to slow them down. Something to give Cliff a chance to catch up to them or for them to escape. The village and the castle she’d seen weren’t all that far away. If they could stop…