Page 233 of Wicked Highland Heroes

“Make no mistake, she is hurting his family. He has no close relatives, and those he does have are not strong enough to hold the land once she is gone.” Isobel leaned in closer. “I have heard that she took Sir Derek Camdem as lover and plans for him to have Narlton Keep and her other lands when she is gone.”

“A lady does no’ take a knight as lover,” Andreana said.

“She does if she is sixty-three-years-old and wealthy.”

Andreana grimaced. “She is ancient.”

“No’ too ancient to—”

“Lady Isobel,” Rhoslyn cut in.

Isobel closed her mouth, but no remorse shone in her eyes.

“Ye seem to know a great deal about the Kenzies,” Rhoslyn said with asperity.

“Lady Taresa and my mother are friends.”

Rhoslyn wondered if Lady Taresa would appreciate Isobel’s gossip.

Shouts went up and Rhoslyn’s attention snapped to the racers as they shot forward from the starting line. St. Claire and two other men raced neck and neck ahead of the others.

“Why is Sir Talbot not pulling ahead?” Andreana asked. “He can easily outpace the other men.”

“I suspect Sir Talbot is a man who knows how to pace himself.” Lady Isobel looked at Rhoslyn. “Is that no’ so, Lady Rhoslyn?”

Rhoslyn had had enough. “Beware, Lady Isobel. St. Claire is no’ a man to toy with.”

One man pulled ahead as the racers reached the halfway mark. St. Claire stayed three paces behind the man, while everyone else strained to keep up with them.

Shouts of encouragement went up, and Rhoslyn listened to bets on who would win. Most favored St. Claire’s competitor. The racers neared the finish line and St. Claire shot past the other man and beat him by little more than a nose. The onlookers voiced a great cheer. A cheer for their laird: Sir Talbot St. Claire.

* * *

Talbot didn’t know his wife well, but he did know she was pregnant. She hadn’t told him. She didn’t have to. The last month she had welcomed him into her bed enough nights that he should have felt guilty. But he didn’t. He liked bedding her. More than liked. He needed her.

He’d regretted Rhoslyn’s decision to return to Castle Glenbarr, but it turned out for the best. She settled into a routine that seemed to please her—and he gleaned interesting tidbits from the servants. It had taken her seven years to conceive with her first husband, and he suspected she believed, and probably hoped, that she couldn’t conceive right away, if at all. That would have assuaged her worry that a child born too soon might be Dayton’s.

The inability to conceive had to have been her husband’s fault, not hers, for since Talbot had begun making love to her, her flux hadn’t come. She might be a woman whose flux was less regular, but she had grown short of temper, which told him she was worried.

He’d begun to suspect last week, but now... His head spun with the thought of becoming a father, a dream longed for, and now within sight. Edward loved him much, for Talbot achieved his goals too well, and made himself too valuable as a warrior. Then the Maid of Norway perished and the opportunity to bring Scotland to heel had been Talbot’s salvation. Or was Lady Rhoslyn his salvation?

He’d waited, hoping she would tell him about the child, but wasn’t surprised by her silence. Another three months and she wouldn’t be able to hide the truth. Might she wait that long? She might, but he wouldn’t.

Talbot thought to find her in her usual spot this time of afternoon, going over the household rolls in their private solar, but she wasn’t there. She wasn’t in her chambers, either. He turned from the room and happened a glance out the window. Their chambers overlooked the bailey. East, beyond the stables, grew a large oak tree—which his wife was climbing. Half a dozen women stood at the foot of the giant oak looking up at a cat. He knew that cat.

Talbot spun and hurried down to the great hall and out the door. Moments later, he reached the women. Their chatter ceased and they backed away as he reached the tree. Rhoslyn stood on the second branch, which was level with his chest. Half of her hem draped an arm, revealing a generous portion of leg. She stilled and looked down.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

She scowled. “What do ye think I am doing?”

“I think you are being foolish.”

“I am capable of climbing a tree, St. Claire.”

“Rhoslyn, come down.”

“Not until I fetch Lucifer.”