The Raider_A Highland Guard Novel

Eight





It took Robbie a minute to realize he was scaring her.

Before that he was lost. From the moment she’d turned, with every inch of that damp linen molded to her chest, he hadn’t had one rational thought in his head. With all the lustful thoughts swirling around, there hadn’t been room for anything else.

Hell, there hadn’t been room for much else since the moment he’d first laid eyes on her. Even his dreams had been filled with her. Images that had made him wake up hard and restless this morning. Images that had come back to him during the day, too many times to count. Images that it turned out were nowhere near as spectacular as reality.

This image was going to haunt him for the rest of his life. Every pair of breasts he saw from now on would suffer from the comparison.

The funny part was that she didn’t even fit what he’d thought of as his ideal. To be blunt, he liked them big and lush, with sweet, juicy nipples. He liked to bury his head between the soft mounds of flesh, to watch them bounce, jiggle, and sway as he drove in and out. He liked them to pour over his hands as he gripped from behind (aye, he especially liked that), to suck the hard peak of a substantial nipple into his mouth and draw it between his teeth and tongue.

Not that he opposed variety. But if he’d had an ideal, that would have been it.



Until now. The two perfectly rounded mounds of flesh before him were not generously proportioned by any means. They would fit in his hands with nary an ounce of flesh spilling over. But the shape was exquisite—masterful in its detail—putting any Grecian sculptor to shame.

They were high, round, and firm, and perfectly proportioned to her slim ribcage and waist. Her nipples were small and a dusky shade of pink. When they hardened under the heat of his gaze, they weren’t much bigger than two pearls. Not much to pluck between his teeth, but he could still practically taste the tiny points on his tongue, and it took everything he had not to reach out and rub one under his thumb. To circle the wrinkly edge and pinch the delicate tip gently between his fingers and see if it felt as perfect as it looked.

It would be. God, he knew it would be.

He felt like a child who’d just opened a door and found a room full of sugary confections waiting for him to gorge on. And God, she was sweet. Sweet and so damned ripe, it took his breath away.

Her skin was like freshly poured cream, smooth and velvety white. In God’s way of devising the perfect torture for a man, he’d matched the naughty little freckle on her lip with one above her left breast. He didn’t know which he wanted to put his mouth on first. But it was all he could think of.

Blood pounded through his veins. He throbbed hard with need. Seeing her like this had stripped away all pretense of control. His attraction to the lass went beyond rationality. His body didn’t care if she was English, if she was Clifford’s sister, if touching her would be the biggest mistake he ever made in his life. All his body wanted was to smooth his hands over every inch of her soft skin until it was just as hot as his, until her cheeks flushed and lips parted with pleasured breaths, until her hips pressed against his in silent entreaty, until he opened her with his fingers—and maybe even his mouth—and made her slick and wet for his entry. And until he came into her with a hard thrust and made her his. He wouldn’t stop thrusting until she came, until she screamed his name and every last shudder of her release had ebbed from her spent body.



He’d never felt anything like this, and the force of it overpowered him, dulling everything else around him.

Until he saw her eyes widen. The effect of that was like a dousing of ice water. He was brought back to reality with a hard jolt.

“Christ, I’m sorry.” He took a step back. “I don’t know what—” He stopped and cleared his throat, trying to let the strange tangle of emotions in him calm before he said something he shouldn’t. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

He turned away, giving her a chance to fix her gown and his blood time to cool. Only then did he allow himself to look at her again.

She couldn’t seem to cover herself quickly enough. She’d donned not only her gowns, but her cloak and plaid, and was still eyeing him warily.

He didn’t blame her. What the hell had come over him? He’d never so completely lost himself. He’d never allowed himself to lose focus of what was going on around him. He’d never allowed himself to be that distracted by a woman. Never. He was always in control. But something had come over him, and she’d seen it.

But damn it, no matter what had come over him, he would never force himself on any woman, and he needed her to know it. “I am many things, but a rapist is not one of them, Rosalin. Believe what you will of what they say about me, but know that. I will never force you and would kill any man who tried.”

The latter came out with a ferocity that surprised him, provoking questions he didn’t want asked. Such as why the hell did he feel so protective toward her?



She lifted her gaze for a moment, and then dropped it again. “All right.”

“I mean it.”

She looked up at him again, this time meeting his gaze. He could see that some of her fear was gone, but not all of it.

His mouth tightened with anger. Not at her, but at the subject he was about to broach. He hated talking about the past. Hated thinking about what had happened to his sister. He couldn’t recall ever talking about it—even to his Highland Guard brethren who knew what had happened. But he would raise the vile specter this one time to make her understand. “My only sister was raped.”

She gasped. Her eyes locked on his, as if she knew the flat matter-of-factness of his tone hid a deep, searing pain—a wound that would never be healed.

She put her hand on his arm, and he stared at it, feeling his chest tighten.

“I’m sorry. That must have been horrible. But she is lucky to have a brother who cares for her so deeply.”

Cared. She meant it as a kindness but didn’t know how much pain her words caused. He’d loved his sister more than anyone else in the world. Pretty and vivacious, always with a smile on her face, she hadn’t been much older than Rosalin the last time he’d seen her. “A hell of a lot of good it did her. I wasn’t there to protect her when the English garrisoned the King’s Inch castle in Renfrewshire and invaded our village. When the captain learned she was the sister of the rebels Robbie and Duncan Boyd, he decided to make an example of her. He didn’t use her once, but over and over. He made her his whore and raped her until she couldn’t bear it anymore and threw herself off a cliff into the sea to end her suffering.”


She covered her mouth with her hand in horror. “Oh God, Robbie, I’m so sorry. But the fault lies with the soldier, not you. If you could have helped her, you would have.”



Her confidence in him did nothing to ease his guilt. His help had come too late for Marian. But the soldier had paid for his deeds. Slowly, painfully, and ultimately with his life. Robbie’s fists clenched at the memory.

“I tell you this not to earn your sympathy or your pity,” he said, “but so you understand that I would never hurt a woman like that.”

Her eyes met his, this time without a trace of wariness. “I see that now. Thank you for telling me. No wonder…” Her voice dropped off. “You’ve lost so much. I’m sorry about your father and sister. And about your friend.”

His brother Duncan and his mother, as well. She’d died of a broken heart not long after his sister’s death. He frowned. “My friend?”

“Thomas.” She must have noticed his stiffening, because she hurried to explain, her hands twisting in front of her. “Sir Alex told me he died not long after you left Kildrummy. I understand why you would blame me for it—it was my fault he was beaten for leaving the food.”

He grabbed her arm to put a stop to the anxious hand twisting. “I don’t blame you. As I told you that night, what you did was a kindness. The food gave him a chance.”

Her breath hitched at his touch. He shouldn’t be touching her. Men didn’t simply go around touching ladies whenever they felt like it. But his impulses with her had never been normal. He dropped his hand, oddly unsettled.

“Then why are you doing this? What have I done to deserve your hatred?”

He frowned. This wasn’t about her, it was about her brother. “I don’t hate you.”

He didn’t, he realized. That was part of the problem. The war was black-and-white for him. The English were the enemy, and they deserved his hatred. But she…she made him see gray.



“Well, you are certainly doing a wonderful job acting like it. All these years that I wondered what it would be like if we ever met again, I never imagined it would be like this.”

The touch of sarcasm in her voice sparked some of his own. “Did you think I’d be happy to learn that my rescuer was the sister of my worst enemy? The man I despise above all others? The man who was responsible for our capture and the execution of many of my friends?”

It wasn’t until her eyes widened that he realized he was shouting.

He swore and raked his fingers back through his hair. He knew he shouldn’t take his frustration and anger at the situation out on her, but he couldn’t seem to help himself. Something about this lass made him want to pull her into his arms at one moment and lash out like a lion in a cage the next.

“My brother was only doing his duty. He—”

He stopped her again, taking her by the arm and turning her to face him. “Don’t, Rosalin. Don’t attempt to defend your bastard of a brother to me. He is a subject upon which we will never agree.”

Rather than be put off by his anger, she seemed amused. “Do you know he says the same thing about you?”

He let her go, some of his anger dissipating. “I can imagine.” Robbie was sure Clifford had plenty of choice things to say about him. He eyed her speculatively. “He doesn’t know what you did?”

She shook her head. “The food, but not the rest. If he ever found out…” Her voice fell off, and he could see her distress. “I couldn’t bear his disappointment.”

Her brother’s opinion obviously meant a lot to her. Apparently Clifford’s well-known affection for his only sibling wasn’t one-sided.

“He will never hear of it from me.” He supposed it was the least he could do. But if Clifford’s opinion mattered so much, why would she have risked so much to help him? She’d admired him, he knew. But was there something else? “Why did you do it?”



“It was wrong,” she said simply. “And I couldn’t stand by and watch my brother put men to death for something that wasn’t right.”

He laughed; he couldn’t help it. “Clifford has never let something like right and wrong get in his way of killing Scots.”

It was her turn to stiffen, that patrician English beauty turning sharp and icy. “Are you accusing my brother of being a murderer?”

His gaze turned just as hard. “I suppose it depends on your definition. He operates under the color of law—English law, which I assure you has very little justice for Scots.” Before she could attempt to defend her brother again, he said, “Come, they will be waiting for us.”

She was quiet for a moment as they walked through the trees. When she finally spoke, he wished that she hadn’t. “Did you ever think of me?”

Her voice sounded small and uncertain. He should have said no, but he found himself answering honestly. “I wondered who you were.” He thought about the kiss and found himself adding with a wry grimace, “And I wondered how old you really were.”

He glanced over in time to see a soft flush spread over her cheeks. But then she bit her lip, and he felt a surge of heat to his groin and had to look away. “Why did you kiss me?”

Robbie stopped in his tracks, but he recovered quickly and increased their pace. Christ, of all the questions to ask. She hurried alongside him, casting him expectant glances.

He sighed and answered slightly exasperatedly, “I have no bloody idea.”

The answer seemed to please her. A small smile turned her mouth and he realized he could stare at that smile for hours. A smile like that could be distracting.



But it disappeared quickly as they walked through the village to where the men were waiting, and he returned the wave of one of the women.

“Are you married?”

The question took him aback. “Hell—” He stopped. “Nay,” he said more calmly.

“Why not?” Her mouth pursed. “If those women are any indication, it certainly can’t be from lack of opportunity.” She sounded oddly annoyed by the observation. “And you must be over thirty.”

“By two saint’s days,” he provided. “I am not married because I do not wish to be. There is no place in my life for a wife or children.”

He hadn’t meant it as a warning, but it had come out as one.

They were nearly within hearing distance of the men waiting for them, but she asked, “You don’t want a family?”

Truthfully, he didn’t think much about it. That part of his life had never been important to him. He was too focused on the task at hand. Besides, look what had happened to his sister. A wife of his would be in danger. Aside from the threat were it ever to be known of his place in the Highland Guard, he was too well known.

“Maybe when the war is over. But until then, nothing else matters.” He paused and held her gaze so there would be no mistake. He wasn’t going to be distracted by anyone. “Nothing.”



Time was running out. Rosalin’s heart pounded anxiously, knowing that every mile they rode was bringing them closer to the forest that she’d come to think of as the place of no return. Though no one had as yet confirmed their destination, their southwesterly direction left her no doubt. She and Roger had to try to escape before they were swallowed up in the impenetrable Ettrick Forest, the dark and terrifying lair of thieves and phantoms.




After emerging from yet another hilly forest onto a track that might almost pass for a road by Scotland standards, she let another pale blue bow of ribbon slip from her fingers and had to resist the urge to glance over her shoulder. Was Cliff tracking them? Was that why Boyd was pressing them so hard? It seemed his urgency to reach their destination matched hers not to reach it.

She stared at the powerfully wrought back of the man who alternated between scouting and riding at the head of the band of warriors. Had he been as unsettled as she by what had nearly happened at the river? His desire for her had been so well hidden, she’d never imagined that kind of intensity. It seemed to have surprised even him. Clearly he wanted her, but it was equally clear that attraction wasn’t going to change anything. She was his hostage—a means to an end—that was all.

Her own attraction to him was just as confusing. The glimpse of the noble warrior that she’d seen today, and the insight into what drove him in what he’d revealed about his sister, didn’t change anything. He might not be the coldhearted devil she’d first thought, but he was focused and determined to win the war to the exclusion of everything else. He’d devoted his life to the fight for freedom. Dear Lord, he was the same age as her brother, who’d been married since he was eighteen and had six children.

“Nothing else matters,” Boyd had said. She believed him.

But it wasn’t just her unease about what had happened earlier and the realization that she was still ridiculously attracted to him that fueled her urgency to escape. Although she did not believe he would needlessly hurt her or Roger, she knew he would not hesitate to use them as a weapon against Cliff, and that she would not allow.



Nor would she risk her nephew’s life on “needlessly.” Just look at him! Poor Roger looked as if he were about ready to fall from his horse. He was exhausted after the travails in the village and the seemingly endless hours of riding over rough and brutal terrain. He wasn’t alone; she was exhausted as well. They weren’t hardened warriors. But every time she’d tried to raise the subject with Boyd on one of their infrequent stops, he dismissed her pleas and seemed to grow increasingly angry.

They’d been riding for a few hours when she glimpsed what appeared to be the parapet of a castle and surrounding village before Boyd once again led them into the trees and hills (which she’d become certain must cover ninety percent of this godforsaken countryside). What she wouldn’t give for a proper English road! Her backside was going to be bruised for weeks after the abuse. Fortunately, the pain in her hands had subsided.

A short while later, near dusk, Boyd called for them to stop. She watched him ride off with one of the other warriors, presumably for more scouting. His diligence made her wonder whether Cliff was close.

After Callum helped her down, she approached Sir Alex where he stood talking to Malcolm and Roger. Though the two boys were both tall and slim, with only a few years separating them, the differences between them could not be more glaring. Malcolm had the hard, wiry strength and endurance of a warrior. He looked like he could ride for another day or two, whereas Roger looked as if his legs might collapse at any moment, though he was fighting hard to hide it. Her heart went out to him, knowing how much the proud youth would hate the idea of looking weak in front of the enemy.

“Will we be camping here for the night?” she asked hopefully.

Sir Alex gave her a sympathetic smile. “I’m afraid not. We’ve only stopped to water the horses.”



Rosalin tried to ignore the disappointment on Roger’s face, not wanting to draw attention to it before the men. “But it will be dark soon. Surely we must take time to eat something?”

“But you gave all our food away,” Malcolm said, with obvious surprise.

Rosalin turned to him. “I did?”

The boy nodded. “Aye, back at the village.”

She hadn’t realized they’d been left with so little after the Black Douglas had taken the plunder from the raid. No wonder Boyd had looked at her so strangely when Callum had brought him her request.

“We wanted to travel lightly and didn’t anticipate the delay in the village,” Alex said, gallantly trying to ease her guilt. “We would have been back at camp by now.”

But Rosalin did not regret her actions. The burned-out villagers would need the food more than they did. She could go a night without food. Her belly rumbled. Even if her stomach protested.

“If we had time, we could hunt something,” Malcolm said helpfully. It seemed Sir Alex wasn’t the only brigand prone to gallantry; Malcolm was also concerned that she not feel guilty.

She gave him a grateful smile that made the lad turn as red as his hair, before turning back to Sir Alex. “We will reach camp soon?”

“Not for a few hours. Maybe longer in the dark.”

She couldn’t stop the groan. Roger, too, looked like a pup who’d just been kicked.

“Sir Alex, if you have a moment there is something I should like to talk to you about—in private.”

He nodded and sent Malcolm and Roger off to tend the horses. He motioned for her to take seat on a rock nearby, but she shook her head. As tired as she was, the prospect of sitting on hard rock was not appealing. “Do you mind if we walk a little? I should like to stretch my legs.”



They headed toward the stream, but instead of joining the other men, he led her in the opposite direction. When they reached the water’s edge they stopped. In addition to forests and hills, there were streams or burns, as the Scots called them, everywhere. They were pretty, she realized. Even in the barren bowels of winter, the dark waters cutting through the small valleys of russet moorland, flanked by tree-covered hillsides, evoked a peacefulness at odds with the wild, war-torn countryside.

“I did not want to say anything in front of Malcolm, but you must see how tired my nephew is—though he’d die before admitting it. He’s not used to riding for this long over this kind of terrain. I don’t know how much longer he can take it.” She glanced up at him pleadingly. “I don’t know how much longer I can take it. Is there not a place nearby where we might stay for the night? An inn, perhaps?”

His mouth thinned. “I’m sorry, my lady. I would not have you forced to endure any of this. These are no conditions for a lady—or a lad.” He smiled, but it was without humor. “But you’ve seen how little sway my opinion holds around here.”

The bitterness in his tone was undeniable. She hadn’t been mistaken in identifying Sir Alex as a potential ally. She had, however, underestimated the level of his disaffection. Whatever disagreement there was between him and Boyd, it ran deeper than she’d realized.

She didn’t understand it. By all appearances the men were close companions who’d fought together for years. Half the time they didn’t even use words to communicate—just glances. So why the animosity and resentment?

She hated taking advantage of Sir Alex’s gallantry like this, but she had to do something to slow them down. Something to give Cliff a chance to catch up to them or for them to escape. The village and the castle she’d seen weren’t all that far away. If they could stop…



“Please, Sir Alex?” The shimmer in her eyes wasn’t completely feigned. She truly was exhausted. “Is there nothing you can do?”


“Seton!”

The deep voice from behind startled her. She dropped her hand from Alex’s arm, not realizing she’d put it there, and turned to find Boyd standing right behind them.

“How do you do that?” she snapped guiltily. Which was ridiculous, as she had nothing to feel guilty about. He’d refused her appeals, so she’d brought them to a more sympathetic source.

“Do what?”

“Sneak up behind people.”

“Practice,” he said, his eyes dark with something she didn’t recognize. “Return to your nephew. I need to speak to Sir Alex.”

The way he emphasized sir sounded like a slur.

She was tempted to argue, but something about his expression gave her second thoughts. She looked at Sir Alex questioningly, and he nodded. For some reason, her appeal seemed only to make Boyd more irate. From the way his eyes darkened and his nostrils flared at Sir Alex, he looked like a bull ready to charge. She wouldn’t want to be standing in the young knight’s shoes right now.

She hoped whatever had provoked his anger toward the other man didn’t have anything to do with her.

She gave Alex an apologetic look and started to walk off, but Boyd stopped her. “Lady Rosalin.”

She turned.

“You dropped something.”

Instinctively, she looked to the ground, but he reached out, took her hand, and turned it palm side up. A moment later it was filled with blue bows and threads of pink satin.

She gasped, her eyes flying to his. But his expression was as hard as granite and utterly unreadable.



“Be more careful where you leave things,” he said icily. “We wouldn’t want anyone to follow us.”

She swallowed slowly, her mouth dry, and nodded.



Robbie barely managed to wait long enough for her to be out of earshot before rounding on his partner. He leaned toward him, his muscles flaring for battle. “Stay the hell away from her, Dragon.”

He knew he was overreacting, but the black emotion that was surging through his blood right now wasn’t rational or controllable. It seemed to come over him every time he saw Lady Rosalin conversing with his partner. In other words, about every time he turned around. But it had really gone wild, nearly blinding him with rage, when he’d returned from picking up more of her damned ribbon to see their two golden heads bowed together and her hand on Seton’s arm.

Seton didn’t move a muscle, giving no indication that he perceived the threat. Instead, he gave Robbie a long, steady look. “No. I don’t think I shall. I rather like Lady Rosalin.”

“What do you mean you like her?” Robbie exploded. “Have you forgotten who she is?”

Seton shrugged indifferently. “We have much in common—as you are always pointing out. Or have you forgotten?”

“So now you are English?”

“Haven’t you been telling me that for seven years? Maybe I’ve decided to start listening to you.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“It means I’m done trying to defend my loyalties to you. I’m done trying to prove that the blood I’ve shed over the past seven years is just as Scottish as yours. It means that if I see a lady who has been ripped away from her family and everything she’s ever known, who is scared and needs help, I’m going to try to put her at ease—even if she happens to be English.”



Robbie was so stunned for a minute he didn’t know what to say.

“What is this really about, Raider?” Seton paused, scanning Robbie’s irate face, bunched shoulders, and tight fists. “You know what I think? I think you’re jealous. I think you want her, and you can’t stand it that she might prefer me to you.”

Robbie had never struck his partner before—though God knew he’d been tempted more than once—but he was a hairsbreadth from doing so. He wanted to sink his fist through that knowing smirk so desperately his arms twitched. Mostly because he knew it was true.

He was jealous. For the first time in his life the ugly emotion was twisting him up inside, and he couldn’t stop it.

He was attracted to her.

Hell, attracted was putting it mildly. All he had to do was look at her and he was picturing her naked and under him again. Picturing her cheeks flushed and her lips parted as he made her cry out—nay, scream—with pleasure. Aye, the fair Rosalin—the perfect English Rose—screaming his name as he made her come again and again was something he just couldn’t get out of his head. But he’d be damned if he’d admit it to Seton.

“Sod off, Dragon. The lass has obviously identified you as an easy mark, and I’m just trying to make sure you don’t do anything foolish.”

“If being sympathetic to her plight makes me an easy mark, then I guess you are right. The lass needs someone to protect her.”

A fresh spike of rage set his teeth on edge. “Nay, she doesn’t. She has me. I will protect her.”

“Then I suggest you start doing so. Have you taken a look at her and the lad? They are so exhausted they can barely stand. You’ve dragged them halfway across Scotland in less than a day and a half with little food—”

“Whose fault is that?” Robbie snapped.



Seton gave him a look that said he knew very well that Robbie had been touched by her kindness and didn’t begrudge the loss of a meal. “What if one of them falls ill? What will you tell Clifford then?”

Damn it, he wasn’t blind. Seton wasn’t telling him anything he couldn’t see for himself. The conscience he’d unfortunately found tugged every time he looked at one of them. “I don’t give a shite what Clifford thinks, but I was coming to tell you that Fraser has ridden ahead with Keith and Barclay to Kirkton Manor to see about arranging a room for the night.”

The old laird was of unquestionable loyalty, and the accommodation was perfectly situated to ensure she wasn’t tempted to make another escape attempt. Though they weren’t in the forest yet, they were close enough and firmly in Bruce territory, despite the garrison at Peebles Castle a few miles back.

Seton smiled. “Good to know you aren’t a completely unfeeling bastard.”

Robbie’s eyes narrowed, having the distinct feeling he’d just been maneuvered. “Aye, well I might have let you know of my plans sooner had I not been forced to backtrack for ribbon.”

Seton’s grin deepened. “You have to admit, it was rather clever of her.”

A wry smile lifted one corner of his mouth. “Aye, well it’s a good thing Fraser noticed it or we might have led Clifford right to us. I should punish her for it.”

“But you won’t.”

It wasn’t a question. Maybe Seton knew him better than he wanted to think. God knew they’d been partners for a long time. Seton knew more about him than anyone. He frowned. Even more than his brother Duncan had.

“Maybe not,” he agreed. “But I’ll let her think about it.”

Seton laughed. “I don’t think it will work. With all the dark looks you’ve been casting her, the lass is strangely unintimidated by you. Perhaps she knows something the rest of us don’t?”



“I don’t know, Dragon. I think I stopped intimidating you a long time ago—or you wouldn’t be such a pain in my arse.”

It was an acknowledgment of sorts. A recognition that despite the imbalance between them at the start, the scales had started to even. They might never agree on the war and how it should be won, but as a warrior and a partner, Seton had his respect.


Seton nodded. Though a small acknowledgment, Robbie could see it meant something to him.

After a moment, his partner asked, “Do you want to tell them the good news or should I?”

They both knew there was more to the question than first appeared. He could let Seton continue in the role of champion or…

Robbie held his partner’s gaze. “I’ll do it.”

He didn’t know what kind of claim he’d just made, but he knew that he’d made one.