Page 196 of Wicked Highland Heroes

“How could I when ye ran off without a word. Why did you not tell me you were leaving—at least tell me where ye were going?”

A serving girl emerged from the kitchen and turned their way. Rhoslyn quieted. She glanced at St. Claire. He stood with two men, his back to her.

The maid passed, from earshot and Rhoslyn said to Duncan, “I didna’ tell anyone I was leaving.”

“Except your grandfather.”

“Of course,” she said peevishly. “If I simply disappeared, he would have turned the countryside over in search of me.”

Duncan’s mouth thinned. “And you think I didna’ want to do that? I begged him to tell me where you were.”

Rhoslyn was at a loss. This was insane. She had no idea he felt this way, and wanted to say it wouldn’t have mattered. She wouldn’t have married him, but good sense—and the strange fervor in his eyes—stopped her.

“It makes no difference. I am married.”

His eyes narrowed. “Ye almost sound glad.”

“‘Tis simply the way of kings and men. I had no choice.”

His gaze turned shrewd. “What would you do if ye could choose?”

“Sweet Jesu, Duncan. I willna’ torture myself with useless questions.”

He glanced around, then leaned closer despite the fact the nearest guests stood too far away to hear them speak above the din, and said, “If ye are no’ happy, we can change things. Ye are married but a day. If St. Claire was gone, you could marry another man and no one would know—or care—if a babe was born nine months hence.”

Rhoslyn realized with horror that he meant. “Are ye saying murder—”

“For God’s sake, be quiet.” He glanced around, then cupped her elbow and urged her along the wall to the hallway. He stopped after a few paces into the hall and swung her around to face him.

“Do you want to be rid of him or no’?”

“Have ye gone mad, Duncan?” But she realized insanity wasn’t the sickness he suffered. “You would kill a man in order to be laird of Castle Glenbarr.”

His face reddened in rage. “I served Alec faithfully all these years. I have more right than does St. Claire.”

“More right to be my husband? Or more right to assume Alec’s place, take his land and possessions as your own?”

“Ye have no reason to accuse me of being a power monger.”

“Aye, I clearly have every reason, for a man who is willing to murder an innocent man—”

“Innocent?” he cut in. “St. Claire wasna’ born innocent.”

Rhoslyn scowled. “Sir Talbot has no’ lifted a hand against even a dog here at Castle Glenbarr. Why do you hate him so? Is it because he is English, or because he took what ye believe is rightfully yours?”

“Me hate him? Ye are the one who should hate him. He took possession of your home ‘er he met you. He took what was rightfully yours. He has no right to Castle Glenbarr, or any of Alec’s property—you included.”

Rhoslyn stiffened. Even St. Claire hadn’t treated her as mere property. “You go too far, Duncan.”

“Do I? Alec coddled ye. Before that, your grandfather.” He gave a harsh laugh. “He still coddles you, letting you run off as he did.”

“You forget your place. You are no’ my father nor my husband.”

“Nay, for if I was, ye would not have run wild as you have all your life.”

“Then I count myself fortunate not to be your wife.”

“You prefer that English bastard over a Scot?” he snapped “Edward will tax us into poverty. Why do ye think Edward gave him Dunfrey Castle? Edward planned all along to marry him to you.”