The Raider_A Highland Guard Novel

Twenty-three





Forever was over too damned soon. When they returned to the castle at dusk, Robbie was informed by one of the guards that Seton and Douglas were waiting in the Hall.

He probably should have sent Rosalin upstairs, but she ran ahead of him so excitedly, he didn’t have the heart to call her back.

He was only a step or two behind her when she burst into the Hall and rushed toward Seton. “Was it as I said, Sir Alex? Did my brother explain that he had nothing to do with the attack in the forest?”

Robbie already knew the answer. One glance at Douglas’s black visage told him.

“Aye, my lady,” Seton answered. “It was as you said.” He turned to face Robbie. “Lord Clifford knew nothing about de Spenser’s plans to attack the camp. In fact, he was furious. Before we arrived Sir Henry had been reprimanded, ordered back to England, and,” he looked back at Rosalin, “the betrothal dissolved.”

Rosalin shot him a very pleased “I told you so” look.

Seton frowned, his gaze sliding back and forth between Rosalin and Robbie. Robbie swore inwardly; his partner was too damned perceptive. A trait that came in handy on missions, but not right now.

Robbie turned to Douglas. “Are you sure?”

“Where Clifford is concerned? Never. I don’t trust the bastard.” His gaze shot uncomfortably to Rosalin, and his mouth thinned as the next words seemed pried out of his mouth. “But he seemed in earnest. He’s worried about his sister. He wants her back. He told me to remind you of your promise.”



Robbie’s jaw clenched. He didn’t realize it until Seton’s eyes narrowed on him again.

Fortunately, Joanna Douglas, who had been visiting her family that afternoon (one of the reasons he’d decided to slip away with Rosalin), picked that opportune moment to arrive.

“You’re back!” She raced into her husband’s waiting arms. He spun her around (having care for her round stomach), kissed her, and smiled—the latter causing Rosalin’s eyes to round in surprise.

“Miss me, mo ghrá?” Douglas asked.

Joanna laughed. “Perhaps a bit. How was your journey to Peebles?”

Douglas restored his dark visage with a frown. “Not well. Seton was just filling in Boyd and the…”

“Lady Rosalin,” Joanna provided helpfully, sending Rosalin an apologetic smile for her husband’s rudeness.

But Rosalin was so happy, she didn’t appear to notice.

“There’s more good news,” Seton said with a hard look at Boyd. “Clifford will have the silver by the end of the week.” His gaze turned to Rosalin. “You will be going home soon, my lady.”

Robbie hoped he was the only one who noticed the despair that dulled the excited sparkle from her eyes. “That is good news indeed.” She managed a smile, and Robbie knew she was struggling not to look at him.

He was glad she didn’t, as he didn’t have an answer for the unspoken question in her eyes.

After Lady Joanna left to see to the evening meal, Rosalin excused herself to return to her chamber. Robbie wanted to follow her, but he needed some time to think. He watched her leave the room, but when he looked back, it was to see Seton watching him. Watching that grew steadier and darker as the evening progressed.



Robbie tried to ignore it, but he knew that sooner or later there was going to be hell to pay.

It came sooner. The meal was barely under way when Seton cornered Robbie on his way back from relieving himself of some of the Douglas ale. He’d gone outside rather than use the third-floor garderobe—a decision he was now regretting.

More distracted by his thoughts than he realized, in the shadowed torchlight, Robbie thought the man who stepped out in front of him was one of the guardsmen on patrol. When he was slammed up against the stone wall of the castle with a forearm across his throat, however, he realized his mistake.

“Tell me you didn’t do what I think you did.” Seton jammed his arm harder for emphasis. “Tell me.”

Seton’s mouth was pulled pack in a feral snarl and his eyes pinned Robbie with murderous rage. Robbie had seen him angry more times than he could count—hell, half the times he’d purposefully incited the anger—but never like this. Which could explain Robbie’s slower-than-usual reaction, and the fact that he didn’t break the arm that had him pinned when he shoved up against it and twisted to the side to free himself.

Although he had to admit it might not have been that easy. He rubbed his throat, staring at the other man in the shadowy darkness. Seton hadn’t worn mail since the early days of training, but his arm had felt as if it were covered in it. Hell, made of it. Seton might not be built as powerfully as Robbie, but he was bigger and stronger than most, with years of hard-wrought battle muscle on him. Robbie had realized it, but not with quite so much force.

Annoyed, he glowered back at his partner. “You can think whatever the hell you like, but I don’t have to tell you a damned thing.”



“You’re right. You don’t. I already know the truth. I just didn’t want to believe it. I didn’t think even you could be so dishonorable as to defile an innocent lass. But you proved me wrong, you bloody bastard!”

Robbie was ready for him this time. But cornered as he was between the staircase and the river with the castle at his back and Seton at his front, there wasn’t enough room for him to maneuver and completely evade the powerful fist that came pummeling toward his teeth, or the one that followed with a quick uppercut to his jaw from the left. Robbie retaliated with a hard blow of his own to the gut and a knee to Seton’s side that pushed him back far enough for Robbie to get in better position.

One of the guardsmen came rushing over, but Robbie yelled at him—all of them—to get back to duty.

The distraction gave his blood a moment to calm. “You don’t want to do this,” Robbie warned Seton. “You won’t win.”

“The hell I don’t. Someone needs to fight for that girl’s honor. I won’t let you get away with this. You might be the strongest man in Scotland, but that doesn’t make you right—or invincible.”

Robbie was used to Seton’s shiny-armor shite, but something about it this time angered him—maybe because it was deserved. “You always have to be the sanctimonious knight, don’t you, Seton? Even when it has nothing to do with you.”

“It has everything to do with me. You’ve shamed all of us with what you have done. You’ve made us into the brigands and barbarians they accuse us of being. She was our hostage, not a means of retribution. Do you hate Clifford so much that you have to ruin his sister?” Seton was seething now, fists clenching at his sides, circling and waiting for an opening. “The same sister who saved our lives? What the hell is wrong with you?”

Robbie wasn’t as immune to his partner’s jibes as he wanted to be. All the guilt he’d been trying to bury the past few days bubbled to the surface—nay, it roared to the surface. His chest pinched uncomfortably. “This has nothing to do with Clifford.”



“The hell it doesn’t. It’s always about Clifford or the English.”

Seton’s certainty planted a seed of doubt in his own mind. But no, damn it, it hadn’t been about revenge. “I told you I cared about her.”


“If you truly cared about her, you would have kept your bloody hands off her and returned her a maid. You knew nothing could come of this, but still you took her innocence. That isn’t care, that’s selfishness. Maybe if it were lust I could understand. But I know you too well, and you’ve never been consumed with anything other than vengeance. The only thing you care about, the only thing you’ve ever cared about, is destroying the English. I just didn’t think you’d use an innocent lass to do it. Do you even have a damned conscience anymore?”

The question seemed to hang uncomfortably in the air, even though it was clear that Seton didn’t expect an answer. Instead he attacked, spinning and whipping his leg around in a sweeping kick that would have taken Robbie to the ground if he hadn’t been the one to teach him the move himself. It did, however, knock him off balance enough for Seton to land a hard hit to the side of his head. A blow that snapped Robbie’s head back and sent blood trickling from his ear. A blow that left no doubt of Seton’s intent. This was no training, no sparring and grappling between partners. This was all-out war.

The rush of battle surged through him. The next time Seton attacked, Robbie was ready. He blocked the blow that came toward his head with his arm, turned, and using Seton’s momentum flipped him onto the ground. He inflicted a few more blows while trying to get a knee down on Seton’s chest. But Robbie had taught his partner well. Seton was able to angle his body away enough to avoid solid contact, while at the same time hooking his foot around Robbie’s leg to knock him to the side.



Robbie turned it into a roll and sprang back to his feet. Seton had done the same and came at him again. They exchanged jabs, punches, and hard strikes of the knee until they were both breathing hard, bloody, and bruised.

It was the longest fight Robbie had had in years. He tried to end it by leaving his injured side open, but Seton refused to take the bait. He was using his strengths—his quickness and youth—against Robbie, and for once, showing patience. Seton was proving a formidable opponent, and under different circumstances Robbie might have been proud of it. But right now all he wanted to do was shut him up.

The verbal jabs Seton was getting in in between those of his fists were landing just as hard. “What the hell did she do to deserve this? She helped us, and this is how you repay her?” Seton followed the question with a blow to Robbie’s ribs that would have broken a few more bones had he not twisted out of the way.

Hooking Seton’s feet, he tried to wrap his arm behind his back, but Seton dropped, turned, and jabbed the arm free with an elbow first to his stomach and then to his eye. In response, Robbie lifted his knee hard into Seton’s face, hearing an unmistakable crack.

“Was it worth it, Raider?” Seton taunted, blood pouring from his now broken nose. “Was your revenge against a woman part of your plan?”

Robbie’s muscles flared, guessing what he was about to say. “Don’t say it.”

Despite his battered face, broken nose, and bloody mouth, Seton smiled. “What? The truth is ugly, isn’t it? Did ruining this girl make up for what was done to your sister?”

Robbie snapped, rage turning to mad fury in an instant. He went from wanting to shut Seton up to wanting to kill him.



He lost control and went after Seton with everything he had, losing all patience in the effort to destroy his opponent. It was the very lesson he’d imparted on Seton hundreds of times not to do, but which he ignored, confident that his physical strength would win in the end like it always did.

No one could beat him. No one. He was proving it, too, pummeling Seton with blow after blow from every direction, hammering him to a bloody pulp.

But still his partner would not admit defeat.

Finally, whipping his leg around in a hard kick, he sent Seton to the ground on his knees. Robbie wrapped him in a chokehold with the crook of his right arm from behind. He moved his left hand into position at the back of his head. A few seconds of pushing and squeezing and Seton would lose consciousness.

It was one of Robbie’s most overpowering moves. No one could defend against it. He was too strong. Once his arms became locked and the other hand went into position, there was nothing an opponent could do.

Or so he thought. He had his left hand into position at the back of Seton’s head and was about to start pressing forward, when Seton reached up, grabbed Robbie’s two smallest fingers, and snapped them back hard. Hard enough to break them. Robbie let out a grunt of pain—there was a reason one of the most painful and effective means of torture was done with fingers. He released his left arm just enough for Seton to lever that arm down. With the added pressure of his other hand, Seton used the momentum to turn Robbie completely around and down on the ground with a hook to his leg. He pressed down on Robbie’s back with his knee, pulling his arm back with enough force to almost pop it out of the joint. The pain was indescribable. Pinned, Robbie’s arm was fully extended, and Seton had leveraged his body so that all his weight locked against it. If Robbie moved, his arm would break. “Concede.”



Robbie gritted his teeth until tears were in his eyes. Rage and disbelief converged in stubborn refusal.

Seton extended his legs to stretch the arm infinitesimally, but enough to make Robbie groan.

“Don’t make me break it.”

Seven years of Robbie’s trying to grind him into the dirt had given Seton’s words a biting edge. Robbie did not doubt that he would do it.

Still, he resisted until black spots appeared in his eyes, sweat poured down his face, and his teeth felt like they were going to shatter from clenching. But eventually he uttered the words he hadn’t spoken in over fifteen years. Since the man who’d taught him everything he knew about fighting, his father’s former henchman, Cormal, had bested him. “I concede.”

Seton let him go and Robbie felt the air surge back into this lungs. He rolled to his side, cradling his shoulder and arm until the pain receded to a bearable throb and burn.

He heard Seton struggling to his feet, but his partner’s equally battered state didn’t make Robbie feel any better. The rage that had given Seton the opening was still snapping around inside him dangerously. He’d lost. To Seton. He couldn’t bloody believe it.

By all rights, Seton should be gloating, but all Robbie could see when he stood and faced him was cold condemnation. “I’m done making excuses for you. I can’t do this anymore. Find yourself another partner.”

For seven years Robbie had longed to hear those words. Their pairing in the Highland Guard had been ill fated from the beginning. Still, he was surprised how much the words grated. “I made a mistake. Is that what you want me to say? I’ll f*cking marry her, if that will assuage your knightly sensibilities. God knows that would be revenge enough on Clifford.”





The shocked cry that had risen to her lips when Rosalin saw the two bloodied men died in her throat—and then in her heart.

She froze as Robbie’s words washed over her in an icy veil of hurt and disbelief. She didn’t know what was worse—to hear the words of marriage she’d so longed to hear uttered so crudely, or to hear that marriage linked to revenge on her brother.

He didn’t mean it, she told herself. He couldn’t mean it.


“How do you plan to do that?” Seton said. “She’s a hostage, remember? Clifford will never let you have her, and if you attempt to keep her, he’ll come at you with everything he has—which he might do anyway if he discovers what you’ve done. Do you think he’ll keep the truce if he learns you’ve violated his sister? You know how important this mission is. You were supposed to be keeping the Borders under control, and instead you are going to unleash a firestorm. Just when the king is getting a foothold in the Tayside, he’s going to have to come clean up your damned mess.”

“He didn’t violate me.” Rosalin spoke in a whisper, but both men turned to her as if she’d announced her presence with the boom of a death knell. “And as I told Robbie before, I have no intention of telling my brother anything. Your truce is perfectly safe.”

She lifted her chin, tried to control the shaking that threatened to consume her limbs, and descended the stairs as regally as a…princess. Both men watched her approach with varying levels of discomfort—Sir Alex with embarrassment and Robbie with two things she’d never thought to see on his face: shame and fear. He should be feeling both for what he’d just said.

“I decided to come down for the evening meal.” She looked at Robbie and despite her hurt, felt her heart lurch at the sight of his face. “When I didn’t see you inside, I changed my mind. On my way back upstairs, I heard someone shout.” She eyed them both, taking in every bruised, bloody, and battered inch of them. They looked horrible. Noticing the unnatural position of Robbie’s fingers on his left hand, she had to force her feet not to move to him. “I don’t need to ask what you were fighting about. I heard.”



Sir Alex recovered first and stepped forward. “I am sorry you had to see this, my lady. Sorry for all of this. You never should have been here in the first place. If you wish to return to England now, I will take you.”

Rosalin’s breath caught in surprise. She looked at Robbie, expecting him to argue, but his mouth was clamped shut. He didn’t seem to want to meet her gaze. What did it mean? What had happened here? Why wasn’t he trying to reassure her? And why was he looking so guilty?

He cared about her—loved her—this couldn’t be about revenge on her brother. He hadn’t meant it. A couple of hours ago he was teasing her and they were making love in the sunshine.

She turned to Alex and shook her head. “Thank you, Sir Alex, but that is not necessary. I do not wish to return to England.” Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Robbie relax. The relief on his face told her she’d been right: he did care. The question was how much. A question that could not be answered with Sir Alex standing in watch. “Would you give us a few moments, please?” she asked him. “I think there are some things Robbie and I need to discuss.”

Sir Alex looked as if he wanted to disagree, but after a long glance at Robbie, he headed off toward the river, presumably to clean himself up.

As soon as he was gone, Rosalin couldn’t wait any longer. She crossed the distance to Robbie in a few steps and put her hand on his battered face. “Are you all right?”



He pulled away—jerked away, actually. “I’m fine, Rosalin. I’m not a child—I don’t need comforting.”

She flinched. Were his words not enough, now he needed to rebuff her concern?

He swore and dragged his fingers—the uninjured ones on his right hand—through his hair. “Damn it. I’m sorry. This isn’t your fault. None of this is your fault. It’s mine. I’m not sure how much of that you saw or heard. We fought. I lost and said some things I didn’t mean.”

What hadn’t he meant, that he was going to marry her, or the reason? Suddenly her mouth dropped open, realizing what else he’d said. “You lost?”

She wished the words back when his face darkened. To say that it had to be a blow to his pride was an understatement, and the damage to his pride was obviously as raw and battered as his body.

His shoulders tensed. “Aye. He said some things to make me angry, I lost control, and he took advantage of my mistake, but that is no excuse. He beat me. Damn it, he beat me.”

“Surely you’ve lost before?”

“In that kind of contest? Not in a long time.”

Rosalin was quiet for a moment, watching the emotions war on his face. “What is really bothering you, the fact that you were beaten or that Sir Alex was the one to do it?” He gave her a hard look that told her the question had struck a nerve. “Somehow I don’t think if it had been the Black Douglas you would be so angry.”

His jaw hardened until the muscle in his jaw ticced, which she took to be agreement.

She took a step closer to him and put a hand on his arm, relieved when this time he did not shake her off. “I heard what he said about not being your partner anymore.”

Belatedly, she remembered she wasn’t supposed to know about his part in Bruce’s phantoms, but he didn’t appear to notice. “It’s for the best.”



“I feel to blame. I know Sir Alex was trying to defend my honor, but I never meant to get between you.”

“You didn’t. This has nothing to do with you—not really. The problems with Seton and me have been building for a long time.”

“But he’s your friend. I know how difficult—”

“He isn’t my friend.” He looked at her as if she were mad. “He’s bloody Eng—”

He stopped so suddenly, the silence that followed seemed as loud as a clap of thunder.

“English,” she finished softly.

He swore and tilted her chin to meet his gaze again. “That’s not what I meant, Rosalin. I’m just angry. I say a lot of things I don’t mean when I’m angry.”

“Like about marrying me to take revenge on my brother?”

He grimaced, which due to the injuries on his face must have caused him some pain. “Aye, like that. I didn’t mean it.”

“Which part? Marrying me or doing so out of revenge?”

Everything seemed to still: the cool breeze in the night air, the flicker from the torchlight shadowing his face, the sound of their breathing, even the drum of her heartbeat. Her eyes scanned his stony expression, looking for some kind of crack, some kind of softening. She was doing exactly what she hoped she would not have to do—push—but with Cliff about to fulfill his side of the truce, time was running out.

He cupped her face with his good hand—the one bloodied only at the knuckles—and stared down into her eyes. His expression did soften then, and she felt hope swell in her chest. “God knows, I have no right, and it would be a foolish thing to do for many reasons, but aye, if it were possible, I would marry you. The idea of sending you away…” His voice grew so tight, it cracked. “It’s killing me. I would love nothing more than to tell your brother to go to the devil, but too much is resting on this damned truce. We’re close, Rosalin. I can feel it. I can’t do anything to jeopardize that. It’s too important.” He paused. “I can’t let their deaths be for nothing; I can’t let them down.”



Of course he couldn’t. She understood, probably more than he realized. But it was what else he’d said that caused happiness to swell inside her like a big ball of sunshine. A broad smile curved her lips. “Do you mean it?”


Wariness flickered back into his gaze. “Wait, sweetheart—don’t get carried away. Did you hear what I said? Only if it were possible.”

“I heard what you said.” He wanted to marry her. He did love her. Needing to be in his arms, she buried her head against his leather-clad chest and waited for his arms to wrap around her. They did. Even dirty and with the stench of battle upon him, she savored the warmth and masculine strength. But realizing he was probably confused, she pulled back. “It is possible, don’t you see? I will write to my brother.”

For the second time in less than five minutes he looked at her as if she were crazed. “Just like that, and you think he will welcome me into the family?” He laughed without any humor. “It would be a cold day in hell before Clifford sanctioned the marriage of his sister to a ‘rebel’ Scot.”

She shook her head. “You are wrong. My brother loves me and will do anything to see to my happiness.”

“But he despises me. He will never agree to a marriage between us. I can think of only one person in Christendom who he would be less likely to betroth to his beloved sister—and Douglas is already married. You don’t understand, Rosalin—you have not been a part of this.”

“It is you who do not understand. I do not deny the truth of what you have said. He will be angry at first, refuse, and probably try everything he can think of to talk me out of it. But once he understands that I love you, and that you lo—um, care about me, he will agree.”



If he noticed her slip of the tongue, he didn’t show it. “How can you be so sure?”

“Because I know one thing: the love he has for me is stronger than the hate he bears you.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure of that.”

Her heart pinched. She stared up at him, and for a moment she felt a flicker of doubt. Love was stronger than hate. If he loved her, he would know that—wouldn’t he? She gazed up at him and said solemnly, “But I am sure of it. Let me write Cliff, and you’ll see.”

He studied her face, and she could sense him relenting.

“What harm is there?” she pressed. “The worst he can say is no. He won’t do anything while you have me.”

He didn’t look so convinced.

The pad of his thumb ran back and forth over her bottom lip. “I don’t want you to be disappointed.”

She brightened, sensing victory. “I won’t be. I may have to go to him when the truce is settled and persuade him, but eventually he will agree.”

From the way his arms tightened, she could tell he didn’t like that idea. His lowered his mouth to hers in a brief caress that followed the trail of his thumb. She suspected only the cuts and bruises prevented him from deepening it.

When he lifted his head, his eyes met hers. “Write your letter, Rosalin, and we will see what your brother has to say.”