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 andphantoms.
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 hersnotto 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.
