The Raider (Highland Guard #8)(68)

He turned back to finish what he’d started. He’s going to kill him! Despite what the man had been about to do, Rosalin didn’t want the brute’s death on her soul—or on Robbie’s.

She knew she should try to stop him, but someone else did it for her. Another cloaked figure emerged from the darkness on horseback. As he wasn’t wearing a helm, however, the blond hair identified him.

Sir Alex jumped down and swore. Crossing the distance toward the men, he pulled Robbie off. “Christ, Raider, you’ll kill him. He’s one of ours.”

Sir Alex had Robbie’s arms pinned back. Robbie twisted, attempting to break free with a quick movement of his arm that might have had Sir Alex on his back, too, if he hadn’t managed to block it.

Robbie said something to Sir Alex in Gaelic, but Rosalin didn’t need to translate that particular curse. “He deserves it,” he said, breathing hard. “He was going to hurt her.”

Sir Alex looked at her and when their eyes met, she knew he didn’t need to ask how the man was going to hurt her. The graveness of Sir Alex’s expression made her think he also knew about Robbie’s sister.

The commotion had alerted the occupants of the next tent, and Rosalin didn’t need to see his face to know that the Black Douglas was one of them.

“What is going on out here?” Douglas said, two of his men coming up behind him with a torch.

If Sir Alex hadn’t still been holding him back, Rosalin knew that Robbie would have launched himself at his friend. “This is how you watch over her? You f**king bastard, I should kill you for letting this happen.”

The man with the blackest heart in Scotland seemed taken aback by the vehemence of Robbie’s anger. His gaze shifted to her—still crouched up against the tree and undoubtedly pale and terror-struck—and then to the man lying still on the ground behind Robbie. His expression changed to one of grim understanding.

The Black Douglas swore, repeating one of the words Robbie had just used, and dragged his hand through his sleep-rumpled hair. “Uilleam just arrived with a missive from my wife. I didn’t think to tell him about the lass. He didn’t know who she was.” He turned to address her. “I’m sorry, my lady. That should never have happened. If you were hurt it’s my fault, and I shall take full responsibility for the mistake.”

She was so stunned that the Black Douglas was apologizing to her that it took her a moment to respond. She shook her head. “He didn’t hurt me.” Her voice came out scratchy, and she rubbed her bruised throat unconsciously.

Robbie growled like a ferocious wolf and surged forward with such power and force that Sir Alex couldn’t hope to hold him back.

Instinctively the Black Douglas squared to meet the attack, but by this time Rosalin had collected herself enough to intervene. She rushed forward to intercept Robbie, putting a gentling hand on his arm.

She swallowed hard through the pain to clear her throat. “Really, I’m fine.” He looked down at her, and the deep emotion burning in his gaze made her heart flip high in her chest. “Please,” she whispered. “It was a mistake.”

Though her brother would undoubtedly like nothing more than for these two men to beat each other to a pulp, Rosalin just wanted it over. She wanted to curl up against the black leather-clad chest, bury her head against his shoulder, and feel safe again.

She didn’t know who moved first, but one minute she was leaning against him and the next, he’d swooped her up into his arms and started to carry her back to the tent.

“You and I are going to talk tomorrow,” he said to Douglas as they passed.

The big man nodded grimly. “I’ll see to Uilleam—and your horse.”

The conversation sounded far away. Rosalin had already burrowed her head against him, closed her eyes, and let the relief of being safe in his arms overtake her.

Robbie didn’t want to let her go. Ever. Cradling her in his arms, her soft body warm against his chest, was unlike anything he’d ever imagined. The wave of emotion that rose inside him, crashed over him, and threatened to drag him under resembled tenderness, but it was bigger and far more powerful.

This was his fault. He never should have brought her here. It was his job to protect her, and if she’d been hurt, he never would have forgiven himself.

God, when he thought of what could have happened, it made his stomach turn. Bile climbed up the back of his throat. His sister’s face passed before his eyes.

He squeezed Rosalin closer, the pain of his broken ribs nothing compared to the burning pain in his chest. God, she smelled good. He pressed his mouth against the silky softness of her hair, inhaling the faint scent of lavender.

Not ready to relinquish her yet, he entered the tent and carried her toward his bed. Sitting with his back against the wall, he held her so that her head was resting against his chest like a pillow. He pulled off his helm and tossed it at the foot of the bed.

The movement caused her eyes to open. He watched her brow furrow as she took in his face. “You’ve been fighting,” she said, reaching out to brush a cut on his cheek. His body reacted to the soft touch, tensing. She tried to wipe the smudges from his face. “How did you get all this soot on your face? When I first saw you, I thought you were a ghost.” She glanced at the helm and shuddered. “Or a demon.”

Knowing she was treading close to dangerous waters, he took her icy fingers in his hand and brought them to his mouth. “Go to sleep, Rosalin. It’s been a long day. We’ll talk in the morning.”