Page 194 of Wicked Highland Heroes

He was going to catch the goat—and with very little effort—after she had so worked hard to catch him! She ran faster, heart pounding. St. Claire reached the creature and grabbed the dress trailing from his horns. He would tear the dress, Rhoslyn realized with horror.

Mary must have agreed, for her shout of “Nay,” went up behind them.

Rhoslyn reached them, and shoved St. Claire while they were still in motion. The dress whipped across her face in a stinging snap. She jammed her eyes shut and felt fingers seize her arm in the instant before she fell chest-to-chest on top of a hard body. The air rushed from her lungs and she struggled to drag in a breath.

Rhoslyn shoved upright to find herself straddling St. Claire’s hips. She jerked her gaze onto his face and he lifted a brow. Heat flushed her cheeks. Muffled laughter caused her to look up. The crowd chasing the goat stood staring at them, knowing grins on each and every face. She swung her gaze back to St. Claire. He shrugged. Rhoslyn’s heart pounded.

The bleating goat broke the quiet. She started to shove off St. Claire, but he grasped her waist and lifted her off. He sprang up and she staggered back a step as he sprinted after the goat. The crowd surged after him and Rhoslyn stumbled forward in their wake.

St. Claire reached the goat. Rhoslyn was sure the animal would elude St. Claire as he had her, but the goat darted left and St. Claire lunged and seized the horns. St. Claire dropped to his knees, bringing the goat down onto its side. He swung a leg over the goat, straddling him. The goat gave a loud bleat of protest, but St. Claire held him fast and began to untangle the fabric from its horns.

Rhoslyn and the crowd reached him as he pulled the last of the dress free, then rose and stepped away from the goat. The creature jumped to its feet and trotted off with a recriminating bleat.

Mary stepped forward and took the dress from St. Claire. “‘Tis ruined,” she wailed. “Ruined! I am to marry tomorrow, but now I have no wedding dress.”

“Surely, it can be fixed?” he said.

Rhoslyn took the dress from Mary and examined it. The bodice gaped open clear to the waist, and the hem was torn in several spots where mud caked the fabric.

She shook her head. “Nay, the dress canna’ be salvaged.”

“I will kill that goat and make Christine pay for the dress,” Mary snarled.

“Ye canna’ blame Christine for what her goat did,” a lad said.

“Aye, she can,” a woman rebutted. “That goat is always causing trouble.”

A murmur of agreement went up amongst the onlookers and Rhoslyn feared the crowd would recapture the goat and slaughter it on the spot.

“Leave the goat to me,” St. Claire said. “And Lady Rhoslyn will replace the dress.”

“She will?” Mary said, the surprise in her voice mirroring Rhoslyn’s.

“What say you, Lady?” he asked.

“Aye,” she said. “I will replace the dress, so long as ye agree to leave the goat be, Mary.” The girl hesitated, and Rhoslyn added, “I must have your word, else you will wear your work dress when you wed.”

The girl’s lips pursed, but she nodded.

“And the rest of ye,” Rhoslyn said. “Do you agree?”

A chorus of ‘ayes’ followed.

“Then I will speak with Christine. But she is old, and everyone know she loves that goat.”

* * *

One man’s loneliness was another man’s solitude. Talbot sat alone at the head of the largest table in the great hall. Laughter, music, and loud voices echoed off the walls of the great hall. The wedding celebration was a success—despite those that didn’t accept him as the new lord of Castle Glenbarr. His own captain harbored a grudge. Baxter haunted the large hearth while nursing an ale.

Yet, Talbot had never felt more at peace.

Rhoslyn chatted with Ralf, Ingram, and their two companions near the far end of the table. Color had returned to her cheeks and her spirits seemed higher than they had been this morning during the wedding ceremony. Her red mane blazed in a weave of braids that hung past her shoulders. Her olive green, velvet dress befitted her station, but he recalled her grimy face and the dusty dress she’d worn when she chased the goat, and thought her just as beautiful then as now. When she’d straddled him her exquisite weight on his cock made him wish the villagers far away. That memory would keep him awake tonight.

He reached for his mug and took a drink as he watched Rhoslyn’s mouth curve upward in a laugh. Ralf grinned back and her smile broadened. Talbot read no womanly wiles in the action, but couldn’t help wishing she would smile at him with that much ease. But why would she? In the four days she’d known him, she’d been kidnapped by him and his brother, and Dayton had done far worse than move into her home.

In truth, had he considered for an instant that he might feel anything more than and perhaps affection for his wife he might have...might have what? Begged Seward not to marry her to another man—then wooed her? Nothing Talbot could have said would have changed the old man’s mind. In fact, Talbot would have done the same were he in Seward’s place.

He took another long draught of ale. Rhoslyn now spoke animatedly with the four men. Talbot recognized the male appreciation in Ralf’s eyes. He couldn’t see the other men’s faces, but he wagered they found her just as enticing. Rhoslyn, however, seemed oblivious to their thoughts.