The Raider_A Highland Guard Novel

Twenty-four





The wait for Cliff’s response seemed interminable.

Rosalin knew it was partly because Robbie had not been to her solar since the night of the horrible fight with Sir Alex. She’d slept in his arms after he’d washed and had someone tend his wounds, but they had not made love. She’d assumed it was due to his injuries, but now, two days later, she suspected it had more to do with Sir Alex and his not-so-subtle condemnation.

Whether Robbie wanted to admit it or not, whatever had happened in the yard that night had kept him from her bed. He blamed his removal from the tower on some problems with his men, and later on the return of the elder Lady Douglas (James’s stepmother) and Douglas’s sister Elizabeth, but Rosalin knew it was more than that. The realities that he’d been able to ignore while Sir Alex and Douglas were away were now staring at him full force. Neither man hid his feelings on the matter.

Rosalin understood that his friends’ disapproval weighed heavily on him, and it only made her more eager for her brother’s response. Even though Robbie spent as much time with her as he could when not busy with his duties, she missed the closeness and the reassurance of sleeping in his arms.

The only consolation was that he seemed just as miserable about the arrangement as she. The longing in his eyes when he looked at her almost managed to quiet the doubts that had risen from his harsh words to Sir Alex. Almost.



With the return of the Douglas ladies, Rosalin’s confinement to the tower was not quite as lonely. Elizabeth Douglas was charming, beautiful, and as refined as any lady of Rosalin’s acquaintance in England—in other words, she couldn’t have been more unlike her terrifying brother. At one and twenty Elizabeth was sophisticated for her years, and Rosalin wasn’t surprised to learn that she’d spent much of the last decade in France.

In some ways it made her as much of an outsider as Rosalin. Elizabeth had been uprooted from her friends—including Joanna—at a young age and returned to Scotland a stranger. Whereas Rosalin longed for the quiet, simple life of the countryside, she could tell that Elizabeth missed the excitement of her life at the French court.

But Rosalin wondered if there was something disturbing her. Elizabeth spent an inordinate amount of time staring out of the window as if expecting someone to come riding into the yard.

The elder Lady Douglas was polite, but she seemed to share her son’s feelings—if not his animosity—toward Cliffords. As she’d spent most of the time in bed recovering from an illness she’d suffered while traveling, however, her stepdaughter was free to spend as much time as she liked with their “hostage.” Joanna had taken to joining them after the midday meal to sew for an hour or two before she had to return to her duties.

Today they were in the solar Joanna shared with her husband on the second floor above the Hall. It was the most spacious chamber, with an enormous four-poster bed, a large fireplace, two large cushioned chairs, a desk, a bench, and two small windows that overlooked the courtyard. As in the other solars, the furnishings were surprisingly fine and comfortable for the castle of the family of a man who was supposedly an outlaw.



Since Cliff’s garrison at the nearby destroyed Douglas Castle had been sent home the year before, he had not attempted to fill it again. The English garrisons in the surrounding areas made periodic sweeps of Douglas, but Elizabeth told her they were more for show than anything else. The rebels left when warned and returned as soon as the English soldiers were gone. Cliff and King Edward might not agree, but the land had effectively been conceded to the Scots.

Elizabeth was asking about Rosalin’s previous trip to Scotland when the door suddenly burst open and the Black Douglas stormed into the room. Like Robbie, he had a way of making a big room suddenly feel small. Unlike Robbie, however, it made Rosalin’s skin tingle with fright, not excitement.

She did her best to sink into her chair and disappear. But it wasn’t necessary, Sir James Douglas only had eyes for his wife. He strode over and leaned down to brush a kiss over her cheek. “I’m sorry to disturb your rest, but I wanted to let you know that I’ll be riding out for a few hours.”

From the way he said rest, Rosalin could tell he was displeased to find his wife out of bed. The Black Douglas’s tender affection toward his wife still took some getting used to. Around Joanna, he seemed almost human.

Joanna brushed off the reprimand with a roll of her eyes. “Is something wrong?”


Rosalin didn’t miss the way his gaze slid in her direction. “Nay, just a short scouting trip. I’ll be back before nightfall.”

Joanna frowned, looking as if she wanted to question him further. But she must have sensed that he would not elaborate with Rosalin in the room and let the matter drop.

“No standing on your feet for too long today, mo ghrá,” Douglas said sternly, but with something in his voice that bespoke real concern. “You should not overtire yourself. You need to rest.”



Joanna reached up and put a hand on her husband’s glowering face. “I’m fine, James. The babe is fine.”

Their eyes held, and something so strong and powerful passed between them that Rosalin had to turn away, feeling as if she were intruding.

A moment later, the terrifying warrior left the room and Rosalin could breathe again.

Joanna must have noticed her reaction. She smiled. “You have nothing to fear from my husband, you know. He would never hurt you. He would never hurt any woman.”

Although she sensed that Joanna spoke true, Rosalin had heard too many terrifying stories and was too cognizant of his hatred toward her brother to ever be completely relaxed in Sir James Douglas’s presence. The same could be said for Robbie, she realized, but he was different. She’d seen the noble side of him before she’d heard the stories.

“Jamie has always had a chivalrous streak,” Elizabeth said. “Remember when we were caught on the other side of the burn near Boradleeholm, and the swell made it too wide to cross, and he and Thommy decided to carry us—”

She stopped so suddenly that Rosalin looked up from her needlework. Elizabeth’s faerie-princess-beautiful face looked as if it were made of ice and about to crack.

Joanna covered the awkward pause. “Aye, they carried us across. I remember.”

Elizabeth recovered and managed a small smile. “It was a long time ago. We were children.” She seemed to be telling herself this.

“Aye, but the important things do not change,” Joanna said softly.

Elizabeth met her sister-in-law’s gaze for an instant, and then turned away as if she didn’t want to hear whatever she was trying to say. She turned to Rosalin. “Jo is right. You have nothing to fear from my brother—reputation notwithstanding.” She smiled cheekily. “Besides, with the way Boyd looks at you, I suspect he’d kill James for frowning at you the wrong way.”



Rosalin tried not to blush but couldn’t help but be pleased that Elizabeth had noticed. Elizabeth stood near the window peering out into the yard. “Your Boyd is quite handsome in a fierce, imposing sort of way. Every time he arrives with James he causes quite a stir. All the young women from the village are quite put out, you know. There’s been a lot of talk.”

“Gossip, you mean,” Joanna said sternly. “You should not listen to the maidservants, Lizzie.”

Rosalin was dying to ask her what they were saying but managed to refrain.

Elizabeth moved away from the window, and Rosalin had to resist the urge to jump up and change places with her, realizing that Robbie was probably outside.

“How else would I learn anything?” Elizabeth grinned.

They spoke of other matters for a while, but eventually Rosalin managed to find a way to ask Joanna something that had piqued her curiosity the first time she’d heard James Douglas greet his wife, and then again today. “Joanna, what does mo ghrá mean?”

Joanna smiled. “It’s a term of affection—an endearment. It means ‘my love.’”

Rosalin felt her heart rise up high in her chest and lock in her throat, cutting off her breath. My love. Not “my beautiful one.” The sneaky devil! He’d lied to her! Lied!

And she’d never been more happy in her life. He did love her. Her unease about his reasons for marrying faded away, and all that remained was happiness and excitement. She couldn’t wait for Cliff’s response to arrive.



Robbie felt as if his soul had been trapped halfway between heaven and hell, and the devil and God were battling over his fate. The wait for Clifford’s response was agonizing. The separation from Rosalin was unbearable. Literally. As in he couldn’t bear it any longer.



To hell with Seton! To hell with Douglas! He wasn’t going to waste any more of whatever time he and Rosalin had left together. God willing, it would be longer than a day or two.

As much as Robbie told himself that he must be half-crazed to let himself get carried away with the futility of her writing to Clifford, he couldn’t help being moved by her certainty and absolute belief in her brother. Robbie wanted to believe her. Wanted to believe it was possible. So much so that he’d gone against his instincts and done something he’d never thought he’d do in this lifetime: trusted an Englishman, or rather, woman.

Married? Christ, he still couldn’t believe it. Three weeks ago, the thought would never have crossed his mind. Even after what had happened between them, he’d never thought it possible. But Seton was right. He’d acted selfishly. He’d wanted to make her his, when he knew damned good and well she couldn’t be. He had to at least try to make it right. He just hoped to hell he wasn’t making a huge mistake.

Seton had been right about a lot of things, it turned out. And now Robbie’s future hinged on the good graces of Sir Robert Clifford. The whole world seemed to have turned upside down.

With a plan in place for how he could right at least part of it, Robbie waited for his opportunity. Getting her alone wasn’t easy with Elizabeth Douglas seemingly tied to her hip, but the moment Joanna and Elizabeth appeared in the Hall to prepare for the evening meal, he slid up the stairs to Rosalin’s chamber. She rarely ventured into the Hall unless she was certain he would be there.

She was turned away from the door, looking out the window, when she bade him enter. “Just put the tray on the table,” she said.



Instead, he slid his arm around her waist and lowered his mouth to whisper in her ear, “Looking for someone?”

She yelped and spun around. “You startled me!” He grinned, and she put her hands on her hips. “As a matter of fact, I was looking for someone. I heard from Lady Joanna that Sir Thomas was expected in the next few days.”

He was beginning to understand why Douglas got so prickly every time Joanna mentioned Randolph’s name. He would have to keep her far away from MacGregor. He pulled her up hard against him and said darkly, “That isn’t funny, Rosalin.”

His warning tone had no effect on her grin and her eyes twinkling with mischief. “I disagree. I find it quite humorous. What is it about Sir Thomas that makes all the rest of you flare up like prickly bears? His handsome face? Those gorgeous blue eyes? The knightly—”

He stopped her with a kiss. A long, searing kiss that left them both flushed and breathing heavily.

“God, I missed you,” he groaned, sliding his mouth around to devour her neck.

He cupped her breasts and started to work the ties of her gown. “Wait,” she said, looking up at him. “Did my brother’s response arrive—is that why you are here?”

He shook his head, sorry to disappoint her. “Nay. I’m here because I couldn’t stay away any longer.” The feel of her body pressed against him was driving him wild.

But she pushed him back. “Why did you stay away?”


He’d hurt her, he’d realized—unintentionally. “I was trying to do the right thing.”

“Because of Sir Alex?”

He stiffened. “No.”

She didn’t believe him. “You have to talk to him.”

He clamped his jaw closed. “There is nothing to talk about.”

But she was right. The rift between him and Seton had never been so wide; the tension between them was so thick it seemed about to explode. He knew he probably owed him some kind of apology, but he kept waiting for Seton’s anger to die down like it always did. Except this time it didn’t. What really confused him, though, was why Seton hadn’t told anyone he’d bested him. Robbie would have thought he’d be shouting it from the damned parapets. God knew he had every right to. Robbie had been hard on him over the years. Maybe too hard, he acknowledged grimly.



“Saints, you are stubborn!”

She looked so put out he had to smile. “Aye. It’s one of my more endearing qualities.”

She let out a sharp laugh and shook her head. “Is that right? I’d hate to see the less endearing ones.”

He pushed her back up against the stone wall, pinning her hands to the sides of her head. “Do you want to keep talking about all my good qualities or should I show you a few?”

Her eyes flared with heat. “What did you have in mind?”

He moved his hips against hers, letting her feel exactly what he had in mind. “This, for one.”

Heat poured through his body and he groaned. It had been too long. She made the sweetest little gasp, and he was about to lean in and kiss her neck again when he heard a sound that made him glance out the window to his right.

He frowned.

“What is it?”

“Seton and Douglas. Damn it, I thought we’d have more time. They should have been gone for a couple more hours.”

He peered harder into the distance as they neared, and tensed. They were riding too fast. Something was wrong.

He turned back to her, the disappointment probably as keen on his face as it was on hers. Leaning down one more time, he gave her a swift kiss. “We’ll have to resume this later.”



She nodded. He was almost to the door when she said, “Wait! Do you think it could be something from my brother?”

He stopped, turning to look at her. “Perhaps.”

A few minutes later, when he met an arguing Seton and Douglas as they rode into the courtyard, he learned that it was a response from Clifford—just not the one he’d imagined.

Robbie clenched his fists, squeezing through the pain of his broken fingers in pure animalistic rage.

By God, Clifford would pay for this!



Robbie had heard the kind of story related by the lad so many damned times it should no longer affect him. The ordinary day. The happy, unsuspecting villagers going about their business. The first prickle of alarm when the soldiers are sighted. And the sheer terror and chaos that follows when the first sword starts to fall. But the horror of it always struck him anew. And this time it was worse. So much worse. This time he was to blame.

The lad was about Malcolm’s age and was fighting to hold back the tears as he described what he’d seen. “They were killing everyone, my lord. Women, children—it didn’t seem to matter. They blamed us for helping you. Said we were all rebels for keeping your camp supplied in the forest. Someone told them about the, uh…your women. The men were pulling them out into the street when my ma put me on the horse and told me to ride and try to find the Douglas. I didn’t want to look back.”

“But you did?”

The boy nodded and looked away. He’d already told them what he’d seen, and the images were still burning vividly in Robbie’s mind. Deirdre and the other women from camp being…



His stomach turned as bile rose to the back of his throat. Raped and probably killed because of him. How could he have let this happen? How could he have been so stupid?

“That’s when I saw the other soldiers riding toward me and I thought I would never get away. There were hundreds of them, swarming all over. I’ve never seen so many weapons.”

“Clifford’s men,” Douglas provided, even though Robbie had heard it before. The boy’s description of their arms had left no mistake. As had the description of Sir Henry’s and his men. Apparently, Rosalin’s betrothed hadn’t been sent back to England after all.

But he was going to wish he had been.

“This happened yesterday?” Robbie asked the boy.

He nodded.

Probably right after receiving Rosalin’s letter. She’d been right. Clifford’s first reaction had been anger. And look what it had cost them.

The lad had obviously reached the end of his tether. He’d been through hell and looked it. But he’d told them everything they needed to know. Robbie thanked the boy and sent him away to get some food and rest.

“I got here as soon as I could, my lord,” the boy said. “Do you think…”

Robbie wanted to lie, but the boy deserved the truth. He’d left his mother and younger siblings behind to ride for help. Robbie shook his head. There was no chance to save them. The villagers were dead and Corehead was no doubt burned to the ground.

The tears were falling unheeded now. “But you’ll do something, won’t you?” the boy asked.

“Aye, lad, I will.” He would strike back and strike back hard in a place that would hurt.

He exchanged looks with Douglas, and the other man nodded. They’d been through this so many times before, he knew exactly what to do. Douglas left the Hall to start readying the men. Robbie was about to follow when Seton stopped him. It was the first time the other man had spoken to him directly since their fight.



“What are you going to do?”

How his partner—former partner—managed to convey disapproval in a flat tone, Robbie didn’t know. But he did. “What the hell do you think I’m going to do? You heard what they did.”

“But it doesn’t make sense. Why would Clifford do something like this?”

Robbie’s jaw locked. Because Robbie had believed Rosalin when she said her brother would do anything for her and let her write him. “He had a reason.”

“What the hell did you do?”

The accusation snapped the last thread of Robbie’s temper. “I f*cking listened to you, that’s what I did! I tried to make it right, and look what happened. I let her write Clifford and open discussions—isn’t that what you are always wanting to do? Well, this is what you get from English negotiations. So if you have anything else to say, say it, or get the hell out of my way.”

“I’d tell you not to do anything rash, but I’d be wasting my breath. So which English village will feel the sword of your retribution this time?”

Robbie steeled his gaze, guessing at what the reaction would be. “Brougham.”

Seton flinched, shocked. “By God, I thought you cared for her. That is her home.”

Robbie gritted his teeth. “It isn’t Rosalin’s home, it’s his home. This has nothing to do with her.”

“It has everything to do with her. She might have spent most of her life in London, but that is where she was born. She will never forgive you. I hope to hell you know what you are doing.”

“I do. We are leaving within the hour—be ready.”



Seton shook his head. “I told you I’m done. I won’t be a part of this.”


The gauntlet had been dropped. “I could order you to go.”

“You could, and I’d refuse.”

They stared at one another, facing off as they’d done so many times before. But Robbie knew this time it was different. This time Seton wasn’t going to back down. Robbie should throw him into the damned pit prison. “Fine. You can stay here and guard Rosalin.”

“You mean pick up the pieces of the heart you are about to break.”

Robbie’s eyes narrowed, refusing to be goaded. “There’ll be plenty of time for me to put it back together.”

“What do you mean?”

“It means she will get her wish. She won’t be going back. I’ll marry her as soon as I return. Let’s see how Clifford likes that.”



For the second time, Rosalin caught the end of a conversation she wished she hadn’t heard. Elizabeth had come up and told her the men were leaving. Rosalin had raced downstairs beside her and stumbled into this…nightmare. Won’t be going back…marry her as soon as I return. Words she’d hoped to hear, but not like this. She didn’t understand. What could have happened?

Robbie looked over and saw them standing there. His face was a mask of black rage, and his eyes when they landed on her were as hard as onyx. He looked cold and unyielding, and so remote he might have been standing on a distant island.

“You are leaving?” she asked.

His eyes bit into her with…anger? Blame? Resentment? God, no, she must be imagining it. “I am.”

She took a step toward him. “But why?”

He didn’t say anything, but just continued to stand there with that horrible look on his face. Her gaze slid to Sir Alex. He looked just as enraged. “Tell her, Boyd. You owe her that at least.” He held out his hand to Elizabeth. “Come, Lady Elizabeth. Lady Rosalin will wish to hear this in private.”



Left alone—at least as alone as they could be in the corner of the chaotic Hall—Rosalin approached him cautiously. “Tell me what has happened.”

“What has happened?” he repeated. She could see the muscles flare in his shoulders and knew he was fighting for control. “What the hell did you write your brother?”

She drew back from the blast of anger. “Exactly what we discussed. That I wanted to stay in Scotland. That I was happy here. That I’d fallen in love and asked him to agree to a meeting in person under the color of the truce.”

“Aye, well he refused.”

She frowned. “I told you he might. But I will be able to convince him.”

“It’s too late for that. God, I can’t believe I let you talk me into this.”

She reached out and put a hand on his arm, but he was impervious to her touch. “Please, won’t you tell me what happened?”

And then he did. In cold, brutal detail until the blood leached from her face, her stomach dropped, and her knees turned to jelly.

“No,” she whispered. It was too horrible to contemplate. She’d come to think of some of those women as her friends. Jean. Oh God, poor Jean!

It couldn’t be true…could it? For a moment she felt a sliver of uncertainty. She knew her brother but not the military commander, the man who despised Robbie Boyd and had made it his mission to capture him. Cliff would have been angry, but to do something like this? No. She refused to believe it. Rosalin was under no illusions about her brother’s ruthlessness in war, but he wouldn’t sanction the killing of children and the rape of women. No matter how angry. And above all, she was absolutely certain he wouldn’t do something that could hurt her. There had to be an explanation. “There must be some mistake. Cliff wouldn’t—”



“Don’t say it!” He wrenched his arm away. “I don’t want to hear another damned word about what your sainted brother would or wouldn’t do. If I’d listened to my gut, none of this would have happened. I knew better. I can’t believe I let you talk me into this. I told you it would never work. You cannot reason with English dogs.”

Rosalin tried to control her frantic heartbeat. Tried to tell herself he was angry and didn’t mean it. But it was getting harder and harder to make excuses for him. Harder and harder to be understanding in the face of his cold distrust. “There has to be some explanation. Send someone to—”

“No!” His voice fell like the crack of a whip. “No explanations, no couriers, no bloody messages. Your brother will have my reply. The only reply he will understand.”

Rosalin had never seen him like this and didn’t know what to do. How to break through. How to reach him. “Please, Robbie, don’t do anything rash. Don’t do anything in anger that cannot be undone. Lashing out like this…it is wrong.”

“Christ, you sound exactly like Seton. I don’t need either of you to be my bloody conscience.”

Like Seton. Rosalin reeled from the truth. Why had she never seen it before? She was like Sir Alex and that’s how Robbie would always see her. As English. As someone incapable of being fully trusted. Robbie and Sir Alex had fought for seven years together and he still refused to see him as a friend. In seven years would she still be waiting for him to realize that he loved her?

What if he never did?

A sinking sensation settled low in her gut. She felt the happy future she’d imagined slipping away from her like the hazy figment of a dream.



She had to get through to him. “Don’t you? Do you even stop to ask whether it’s right or wrong anymore? Or maybe it no longer matters. Maybe it is only about who can inflict the most pain. What happened to all the principles in those books you love?”

His mouth tightened. “I’m not going to defend myself to you.”

“Then defend it to yourself.”

His silence was answer enough. Rosalin scanned his face, looking for a crack. Looking for anything to tell her she hadn’t been wrong. Where was the man who read philosophy, who kept a garden because it reminded him of a simpler, peaceful time, who helped save a village from fire, and who stood up for a woman most men would think beneath his regard? She’d convinced herself that that despite the ruthless shell, at his core, he was still a man of honor, still a man capable of knowing right from wrong. But she was wrong. All that mattered was vengeance and the single-minded determination to win at all costs, justified or not. “So you are going to fight back with a raid in England? Will you kill children and rape women as well?”

The mouth that had kissed her not an hour ago drew hard and menacing. He took her by the elbow and hauled her up against him. “Don’t push me, Rosalin. I’ve been pushed today about as far as I can go. Unlike your countrymen I do not slaughter innocents, but your brother will feel the pain close to home. Have no doubt about that.”

It took her a moment to realize what he meant. But she knew him too well, knew the way he thought, and her stomach knifed in horror. She gazed up at him incredulously. “Not Brougham. Dear God, please tell me you aren’t going to attack the only place in this world that was ever a home to me. How could you hurt me like that?”



He released her and backed away. “This has nothing to do with you.”

Every word felt like a betrayal. It was a betrayal. God, what a fool she’d been! She’d thought if she loved him enough, she could pull him back from the black abyss he’d been sinking in. She’d convinced herself there was more to him than the ruthless raider. But what if there wasn’t? What if this was him?


“This has everything to do with me, and if you don’t see that now you never will. When you hurt him, you hurt me. I know you want to pay someone back for your friends and for the people in the village, but this isn’t the way. This is wrong. I’m begging you not to do this. Give Cliff a chance to explain.”

Nothing. No reaction. No softening of his gaze. No relenting. Her words did not even dent the steely shell. He was breaking her heart and didn’t even care.

“You will not sway me, Rosalin. Not this time.”

“Do I mean so little to you then? God, I thought you loved me. Mo ghrá.” Her voice broke, emotion tightening like a hot ball in her throat. “You called me ‘my love.’”

He looked surprised, and maybe even a little embarrassed by her discovery. But if she was expecting a declaration, she was to be disappointed. Brutally disappointed. “My feelings for you are irrelevant.” Irrelevant. How little she mattered to him. He might as well have tossed her heart on the ground and walked right over it. “Stop trying to force me to choose between you or your brother. If you want any chance for this to work, I told you not to put yourself in the middle of it.”

Tears of frustration stormed to her eyes. “I am in the middle, don’t you see that?” Just like Sir Alex, she was caught between the two sides. “I will always be in the middle.”

“You are wrong. When we are married your allegiance will belong to me—only me.”



“So what do you intend for me to do, carve your name across my heart? Renounce my country, king, and family? None of it will change the fact that I will always be English and I will always be a Clifford.”

“Don’t bloody remind me.”

He had no idea how much his thoughtless comment hurt. How it seemed to epitomize the very futility of a future between them. “I knew how hard it was going to be to make this work, but I thought the challenges would be worth it. Despite what you may think, I am not a romantic fool living in a fantasy world. I knew what I was asking of you. I knew how difficult it would be for you to see past my being English and Robert Clifford’s sister. But did it ever once cross your mind to think about what I was giving up to be with you? Do you think I want to leave my friends, family, the man who has stood by and protected me for my whole life, and the life I had in England to come to live in a hostile, unforgiving land—a country at war—where I know no one? Where I must be locked in a tower for my own protection? Where the moment I open my mouth I’m viewed with hatred and suspicion—even by the man who I’m giving up everything to be with?” She paused, just as surprised by her outburst as he. Realizing she was shouting, she lowered her voice. “What about our children, Robbie? What will you tell them? Will you turn them against their uncle?”

Obviously, the thought had never occurred to him, and he seemed to be having a difficult time working it out in his own mind. “Our children will be Scot.”

“And half-English.”

His jaw clenched as if the sheer force of his will could make it untrue. “I will not discuss this with you now.”

“If not now, then it will be too late.” She moved toward him, giving him one last chance to make it right. “Please, Robbie, I’m not asking you to trust my brother, I’m asking for you to trust me.”



He gave her a long look. Some of her words must have gotten though, because for a moment he seemed to be wavering. But then his expression once again shuttered. He shook his head. “I did, and look what happened.”

Rosalin stared at him in disbelief. “So this is my fault?” Anger rose inside her. Anger and outrage. “I’ve told myself to be patient because I know what you’ve been through. I understand why you might view my countrymen with such loathing and distrust—God knows you have good reason—but I am tired of trying to prove to you that I am worthy of your trust. I have never given you a reason not to trust me, but every time I think I’ve finally gotten through to you, something happens and you assume the worst. Whether it’s me supposedly tricking you to set Roger free, allegedly lying to you about being betrothed, or breaking my word to escape with Sir Henry’s men. Well, I’m not going to do it anymore. Either you trust me or you don’t. My brother did not do this. I’m asking you to wait to hear from him before you seek your vengeance.”

He turned away, cold and implacable. “You ask for too much.”

He drove the final nail into her heart. This wasn’t the man she loved. She wondered if that man ever existed. “No, it is you who ask for too much. You expect me to sit by and watch as you destroy my home—my family? I won’t do it.” Too far gone. “Sir Alex tried to warn me that only one thing mattered to you—you tried to warn me yourself—but I didn’t want to listen. I convinced myself that you needed me. I told myself you loved me. That I could make you happy.”

“You have.” He made it sound almost like a concession.

She drew a deep breath. “But you will not make me happy. You are not the man for me. When I was sixteen, I fell in love with a noble young warrior who I watched do everything he could to save his friends under the worst conditions. I convinced myself that he was still there. But you were right. He no longer exists. War changed you. You’ve seen too much. You will never go back. You are too blinded by hatred to take the gift that is being offered you, and I’m done trying to make you see. Go. Have your vengeance, Robbie. But know that you are killing any chance of a future between us.”



“I thought you heard. You aren’t going back, Rosalin. We will be married as soon as I return.”

“I will not marry you. Not if you go through with this. I will not be a weapon to be used against my brother whenever he does something you do not like.”

His eyes narrowed. Without seeming to realize it, he took her by the arm and hauled her up against him. “I do not take to threats, Rosalin—or ultimatums. You will marry me, damn it.”

She looked up at him, seeing the cold fury imprinted on the handsome features. “I thought you did not force women?”

His icy expression cracked. All at once he seemed to realize what he was doing. He dropped her arm. “You are overwrought,” he said, perhaps trying to convince himself. “Eventually you will understand that I did what I had to do.”

Just as eventually he would see that she had done what she had to do. She turned her back, not wanting to see him walk away from her. “Goodbye, Robbie.”

Her heart squeezed as if wringing the last drop of her love to land in a pool at her feet.

He hesitated. She wanted to think him warring with himself. She wanted to think that he finally understood the truth of what she’d been trying to tell him. But his will—his hatred—was too strong.

He walked away, and with him, took the last embers of hope. It felt as if he were cutting her apart limb from limb. The pain—the heartbreak—was excruciating. She stood there until the sound of hoofbeats faded away into the distance.



Perhaps she’d been naive, and it was too much to expect that love could heal wounds as deep as his. Robbie had reasons for his hatred and distrust. But he’d let them consume him to the point that he struck back without questioning, and with a ruthlessness that enabled him not to care who he hurt in the process. Even her.


Rosalin had had enough. Enough of Scotland. Enough of war. Enough of loving a man who didn’t have the capacity to love her back. It was time for her to let him go. She went to find Sir Alex.