Page 161 of Wicked Highland Heroes

Chapter Four

Rhoslyn ascended the stairs ahead of St. Claire. He kept two steps behind, but she could still feel the heat from his large body. They reached the second floor and she glanced left. A blanket-covered figure slept in the shadows of the balcony overlooking the great hall. Movement and a guttural groan emanated from the blanket. She slowed and squinted into the shadowy corner, then veered toward the balcony. Rhoslyn yanked the blanket from the figure. She gasped. A man lay atop a woman. Her legs wrapped his waist. St. Claire muttered something and brushed past Rhoslyn. He grabbed the man by the arm and yanked him up and off the woman. Rhoslyn caught sight of the man’s sculpted body and healthy erection.

“Do no’ hurt him, laird,” the woman cried.

“Alana?” Rhoslyn took a step closer and the woman shrank deeper into the corner, covering herself with the blanket. “Alana, have ye lost your mind?” Rhoslyn demanded. She whirled on the two men. “You let your men abuse my women, St. Claire?”

“She does not look abused,” he replied.

“Daniel wouldna’ harm me,” Alana interjected.

“I do not want a brood of bastards running about Castle Glenbarr,” Rhoslyn snapped.

“Bastards have their uses, my lady,” St. Claire replied.

She rolled her eyes. “You are too sensitive. I meant that these women will be left with fatherless children to raise.”

“You cannot stop human nature,” he said.

“I can enforce rules. Your men must understand that their actions carry consequences.”

“You mean marriage?”

“Or prison.”

“Sir Talbot,” Daniel began.

“Beware, Daniel,” St. Claire warned, “you might find yourself in prison this very night, or worse—” Rhoslyn thought she detected a hint of amusement when he ended with, “married.”

“Get up, Alana,” Rhoslyn ordered. “As for ye,” she said to Daniel, “be gone.”

“Nay, my lady,” Alana cried, but the man made no such protestations. He grabbed his clothes and rushed down the stairs.

Alana leapt to her feet. “Nay,” she wailed.

“The man sported with you, nothing more,” Rhoslyn said in exasperation.

“He might have wanted more if ye hadna’ interfered.”

Rhoslyn pinned her with a hard stare. “You forget yourself, Alana. I am mistress here.”

The girl’s eyes dropped. “I havena’ forgotten.”

“Put on your clothes and go to bed,” Rhoslyn ordered.

Alana grabbed her dress from the floor and with the blanket around her shoulders, hurried down the hallway ahead of them.

“Keep your men away from my women,” Rhoslyn told St. Claire as they started forward.

“As you wish, my lady.”

Something in his voice caused Rhoslyn to look up at him. He lifted a brow, but she read nothing more in his expression than curiosity. But this time she was sure she had heard it: Amusement.

Rhoslyn tossed in bed, stomach churning. Sheila stirred in her sleep beside her and Rhoslyn stilled. The maid quieted. Rhoslyn stared up at the canopy in the near darkness, willing her mind not to picture her son’s crib beside her bed. How long had she lain in bed? Two hours? Longer? Try as she might, she still heard only Dougal’s ragged breathing in those moments before he breathed his last while cradled in her arms. The weight of his small form pressed against her arms. She’d told herself a thousand times it was her imagination, but he’d seemed lighter in that instant after he’d died. Did the soul have substance?

Rhoslyn forced back a sob. Fourteen months in the convent and the pain still cut like a knife. She was so certain it would lessen by the time she returned. Lies! She fled to the convent with the intention of never returning. Wasn’t that why she planned to dower her stepdaughter with Castle Glenbarr? A rustling caused her to start before she realized that their guard merely shifted on the bench near the hearth.

Oh Dougal! Dearest Alec. You left without seeing your son buried.