The Raider (Highland Guard #8)(86)

“Enough.” He cut her off, swinging the horse around to retrieve his sword. “You gave me your word, though why I should be surprised a Clifford did not keep it, I don’t know. I don’t have time for this. I’m sure Sir Stephen did not come alone.”

She bit her lip and nodded. “He said the others were not far behind.”

That put a swift end to the conversation. He raced back to camp at an only slightly slower speed than upon which he’d left.

The camp was in a state of organized upheaval. Douglas, Seton, and Fraser had already taken charge, gathering what supplies and belongings they could and seeing to the men and the handful of women.

Robbie immediately went to work alongside them, duty and experience temporarily quieting the tempest of divergent emotions storming inside him. Anger. Hurt. Betrayal. He focused on the anger. It was easiest to understand.

Fraser would see to the women’s safety, while Douglas and Robbie led the attack against the Englishmen. Seton would have charge of Rosalin. Robbie gave his instructions in Gaelic to forestall any protests from Rosalin, who watched him anxiously with big, accusing eyes that made him feel as if he were the one to blame. Surprisingly his partner didn’t argue, but just gave a grim nod in response.

He left Rosalin under Seton’s watch, while he returned to his tent to retrieve what he could. The tents could not be saved—there wasn’t time enough—but he packed his books and as many garments as he could from his trunk in leather bags. They would be hidden nearby and retrieved later. Seton had already gathered anything that could connect him to the Highland Guard, including his armor.

No more than five minutes after they’d arrived, Robbie was ready to leave.

He could no longer avoid those hurt eyes. “Seton will see you safely away.”

The color faded from Rosalin’s face. “You are leaving me?”

“Ironic, isn’t it.”

She frowned. It took her a moment to understand. “I told you I wasn’t trying to leave—”

“Do not worry.” His mouth curved in a semblance of a smile. “I don’t imagine this will take long.”

She gazed up at him, apprehension making her face look pale and frightened. He forced himself to be immune. She’d made a fool of him enough already.

“What are you going to do?”

“Give them the battle they came for.”

Fear leapt to her eyes. “No! You mustn’t—”

“Take her,” he said to Seton, her pleas for her countrymen falling on deaf ears. Or maybe not so deaf. They had drawn the battle between them again. How could he have forgotten which side she stood on?

He didn’t look back as they rode off. All of his attention was once again focused where it should be: on the war and killing any Englishman who got in his way.

Rosalin was silent for most of the journey. The speed at which they were traveling didn’t leave much opportunity for questions. In addition to Sir Alex, Callum, Malcolm, and one of her former jailors, Archie (dour Douglas brother number two), made up the party of men who had been charged with the task of seeing their hostage to safety.

As best she could tell from the position of the setting sun, they rode east for the first few miles—crossing a deep corrie thick with trees and brush that looked impassable until a narrow path was revealed—and then headed north for hours in the darkness.

For once she welcomed the hair-raising speed, stomach-knotting terrain, and bone-deep exhaustion of the journey, as they kept her mind from dwelling all night on the grim countenance she’d left behind.

The way he’d looked at her, the change in his expression, the change in him had been dramatic. Cold, merciless, impenetrable. It was a glimpse of the ruthless enforcer, the heartless raider, the man who’d laid scourge across the Borders. The man she’d convinced herself no longer existed.

Her pleas, her attempts to reach him, had slid off him like water on steel. The connection and deepening emotions she’d put so much store in had been unable to penetrate the shield that had gone up around him.

He’d been furious. He’d refused to believe that she hadn’t left voluntarily. Given how it had looked, perhaps she could understand. She’d tried to explain, but clearly he wasn’t in any mood to listen to her.

What bothered her was how quickly he’d assumed her guilt and how incapable he thought her of honor. Shouldn’t he have trusted her a little? At least enough not to immediately discount her explanation?

Sir Alex’s warning that he would never trust an Englishman—or woman—came back to her. She’d hoped Robbie thought her different. She’d just told him she loved him—how could he think she would leave him so easily? Obviously he hadn’t believed that either. What more proof could she give him?

The tangle of hurt and disappointment was exacerbated by fear. She was terrified of what was happening, of the battle being waged by the men they’d left behind in Ettrick Forest.

No matter how he appeared, Robbie was not invincible. As hurt as she was by his coldness before she left, the thought of him being hurt or—God forbid—killed made it feel as if she were riding with an icy claw wrapped around her chest that every once in a while squeezed.

But as much as she feared for him, most of her fear was for the men who must fight against him. Though she intended to break the betrothal with Sir Henry when she returned, she did not want to see him or any of his men killed. And Robbie’s face as she’d ridden off had left no doubt of his intentions.