Page 192 of Wicked Highland Heroes

Chapter Ten

“Jacobus,” Rhoslyn cried.

She stepped forward, but St. Claire yanked her back and behind him as the remaining men drew their swords. The nearest warriors leapt to their laird’s aid. St. Claire lunged and drove a fist into Jacobus’ belly.

“Hold,” St. Claire shouted to the men as Jacobus doubled over, then dropped to his knees, wheezing loudly.

St. Claire seized his sword, yanked it from its sheathe then threw it to the floor. Metal clanged against stone in the now silent room, and rushes kicked up as the claymore furrowed a path across the floor, then skidded to a stop.

Her grandfather sheathed his sword. “Have ye lost your mind, Jacobus? You are lucky I dinna’ run my sword through your belly just to teach you a lesson.”

Jacobus shook his head and drew another pained breath. “I dinna’—” he wheezed again “—understand.”

“Then you deserve to die,” St. Claire said in a flat voice.

The other two men sheathed their swords, and the surrounding warriors followed suit.

“Damn fool,” her grandfather muttered.

Jacobus shoved to his feet, still grasping his stomach. “What did I do?” He looked from one to the other of the men, but they only stared.

Rhoslyn stepped forward. “Surely, your father taught ye never to lay hand on your sword hilt unless you mean to use it?”

His brows dove down in a frown, then understanding dawned on his face. He swung his gaze onto Talbot. “I would no’ attack an unarmed man. If I intended to kill ye, I would do it in a fair fight.”

“Fair fight?” Her grandfather snorted. “St. Claire would slaughter you.” He motioned to St. Claire. “Mayhap ye are the better choice, after all—English king and all.”

Jacobus looked at her grandfather, hurt in his eyes. “I would protect her. I will protect her, if she but asks.”

Rhoslyn groaned inwardly. Sweet God in heaven, save me from the stupidity of youth.

“St. Claire’s fist is but a taste of what ye will receive if you continue this idiocy,” her grandfather said. “Go home, Jacobus—and I suggest you spend some time under the instruction of a knight. You are too old to start learning, but mayhap someone can keep ye from losing your damn head before your next birthday.”

Jacobus’ face reddened. His eyes narrowed on St. Claire, who met the boy’s gaze squarely. For an instant, Rhoslyn feared Jacobus would make some sort of foolish challenge, but he whirled and strode to where his sword lay. He scooped up the weapon, then left.

“Dinna’ let that go to your head,” her grandfather said to St. Claire when the door closed behind Jacobus. “Just because you are more of a man than the new Earl of Melrose doesna’ mean I want ye as my granddaughter’s husband.”

“Fortunately, your opinion is not the one that matters,” he replied.

A gleam entered her grandfather’s eyes. “Nay, but Rhoslyn is a Seward. She has as much backbone as I do.”

“She is now my wife, a St. Claire,” St. Claire said, “and if you interfere in our marriage, you will go the way of that boy.” He faced her. “Lady Rhoslyn, I would ask that you do not entertain any male visitors without my knowledge.”

Ire piqued, but Rhoslyn was all too aware that she stood poised at a crossroads that could drive a permanent wedge between the man who was now her husband and her grandfather.

“I will make sure ye know of any male visitors—who are no’ family,” she said.

He surprised her by chuckling and saying, “That could be the whole damn village.”

* * *

Rhoslyn exited the castle through the kitchen door and headed for the gate. The day was still young, but not so young that she dared waste a moment. Any chance she could abort a possible pregnancy before her new husband claimed his husbandly rights would be gone after tonight. If she became pregnant immediately after St. Claire bedded her, she would never truly be sure whose child she carried until it was too late.

Too late? What did that mean? Would love turn to hate if she someday discovered the child she loved belonged to Dayton instead of St. Claire? She certainly wouldn’t be able to end the child’s life then as she planned to now. Her stomach cramped. God have mercy. What was she doing?

“Lady Rhoslyn.”

Rhoslyn paused in her walk and turned. She blinked against morning sun to see St. Claire striding toward her. After the altercation with Jacobus, St. Claire had sequestered himself in his chambers with Ralf and Ingram, plotting—she assumed—to catch his brother.