The Raider (Highland Guard #8)(45)

“For good reason,” Roger pointed out. “Who in their right mind would climb out this window?”

Rosalin knew he was right and was just as scared as he was, but they had to at least try. This might be their only chance. She wouldn’t let Boyd use them against Cliff. “It won’t be that bad. You’ll see. And once we are down, it’s not that far to the castle we passed earlier.”

Roger nodded. “I saw it, too. I wish I knew where we are. But if you are right that they are taking us to Ettrick Forest, it is probably Melrose, Selkirk, or even Peebles—all of which are held by the English.”

She nodded. “Your father is probably racing to one of them right now.”

Roger seemed to be warming to the idea. “Perhaps you are right. We have to at least try. It will be much harder to try to find our way out of the forest. If we do this, though, I have one condition.”

She tried not to smile at his authoritative posturing and nodded.

“I will go first.”

“Absolutely not—” She started to object, but he cut her off.

“If something goes wrong, I can jump farther than you.”

If something went wrong, jumping was the last thing they needed to worry about. She wanted to refuse, but she could see that stubborn look of Cliff’s on Roger’s face. She considered him for a moment. “Very well, but you will give me a promise as well. If something goes wrong, you will not stop and wait for me but go for help.”

He held her gaze and nodded. Neither of them was pleased with the conditions, which she supposed was the indication of a good negotiation.

Sweeping an errant lock of hair from his forehead, she gave him a tender smile. “Get some sleep. We will have need of it. I will wake you when it is quiet.”

Roger nodded, too tired to argue. “I’ll sleep in there.” He pointed to the garret. “You take the bed.” He frowned uneasily. “Or maybe I should sleep at the foot of your bed. I don’t like how he looks at you.”

Rosalin wasn’t sure she did either, but the look on Roger’s face was so concerned and the instinct to protect her so sweet, her heart squeezed.

Yet it was her job to protect him. “I don’t think that will be necessary.” Cognizant of his pride, she added, “Though I thank you for the offer. But he will not hurt me like that.”

After what she’d learned today, she knew rape was the one thing she need not fear from Robbie Boyd.

Either her confidence had impressed him or Roger had reached a similar conclusion on his own. He looked at her pensively. “You like him, don’t you, Aunt Rosie-lin?”

She hoped her shock at his perceptiveness didn’t show. “I…” She bit her lip. “I don’t know what to think,” she finished honestly.

Roger frowned as if he, too, were undecided. “He is not what I expected. He doesn’t act like a brigand—at least not all the time. But Father hates to even hear his name mentioned. So I’m sure he must have done a lot of bad things.”

Rosalin thought for a moment, pondering all that Boyd had confided in her today. “I’m sure he must have, but lots of bad things have been done in the name of war by both sides. It’s hard to find someone all good or all bad. People are usually somewhere in between.”

Roger seemed troubled by what she’d said but nodded. Like most people, he wanted to see in black or white, not shades of gray. But Rosalin was beginning to see that Robbie Boyd was very gray indeed. Behind the ruthless shell lingered some of the man she remembered. Perhaps he was not the black-hearted, merciless brigand, but not the noble knight on the white steed either. Probably the same could be said of Cliff.

As she didn’t dare close her eyes, Rosalin kept herself occupied for the next few hours by preparing the strips of sheeting she and Roger had made before he went to bed. Working by the sliver of moonlight coming through the cracked shutter, she twisted them into plaits and tied the ends together. When she was done, she’d constructed a strong, forty-foot-long rope.

Fortunately, the wooden bed was sturdily built. Tying one end of the sheeting to the thick post, she let the other end drop out the window. They might have to drop the last few feet, but it should be long enough.

When the sounds from below had completely died down, and she was certain everyone was sleeping, she woke Roger.

Moving about the room like ghosts, they climbed atop the bed and carefully drew the shutters wide. Giving the rope a hard tug, Roger stepped onto the sill and looked down. His face paled, and his Adam’s apple bobbed, but he didn’t hesitate. They exchanged a look, and he started down. She held her breath, wanting to reach out and grab him. He must have sensed her turmoil. “Remember your promise,” he whispered.

She stilled. “You, too.”

And then he was gone. For five agonizing minutes she watched the rope strain against his weight. A few times the bed creaked and her heart dropped to the floor. But it held. It held! And finally—finally!—the rope went slack. He’d reached the bottom.

She peered down, unable to see him, but didn’t hesitate. Tugging the rope as he’d done to test its strength, she started to climb onto the sill. But before her foot touched the wood, disaster struck. The shutter hadn’t been open all the way, and she accidentally knocked it with her elbow, causing it to clatter against the outside wall—loudly.