They had, but not in the way she’d hoped. His mouth curled in an ugly sneer. “An English bitch as a hostage? A whore, more like.” His hand covered her breast and she tried to cry out as fear stiffened every inch of her body. “I hope the cap’n taught you something. Let’s see ’ow much yer worth.”
She could see the intent in his eyes and renewed her struggles. She clawed at the arm across her neck. “He’ll kill you,” she managed.
He caught her hands and pinned them up over her head, the soft skin of her wrists digging into the bark. But it was nothing compared to the pain and horror of having his body pressed against hers. She twisted against him, trying to break free, wanting to retch nearly as much as she wanted to breathe.
“Boyd?” he laughed. “He hates the English as much as I—”
A noise behind him made him turn. A dark figure plunged out of the shadows on a horse. As he leaped down, his cloak flying like the wings of a demon behind him, Rosalin caught a glimpse of his face and nearly fainted. Beneath the darkened nasal helm there seemed to be only emptiness.
Her scream was strangled even though the man’s arm was no longer at her throat. He’d turned to defend himself, but he could barely get his hands up before the battering ram of a steel-gauntleted fist came crashing into his jaw with enough force to send him flying through the air a few feet before landing with a thud on his back.
The dark, cloaked figure was standing over him a moment later, pounding him into the ground with powerful blow after powerful blow.
She’d seen something like it once before. “Robbie!”
The word escaped from between her lips as if in answer to a prayer.
He paused long enough to glance at her. Beneath the shadow of the terrifying mask she could just make out his familiar features. But his expression was one she’d never seen before. It was fierce and menacing, without a hint of mercy. It was the face of a warrior in the heat of battle, the face of one of the most feared men in Scotland.
He turned back to finish what he’d started.He’s going to kill him!Despite what the man had been about to do, Rosalin didn’t want the brute’s death on her soul—or on Robbie’s.
She knew she should try to stop him, but someone else did it for her. Another cloaked figure emerged from the darkness on horseback. As he wasn’t wearing a helm, however, the blond hair identified him.
Sir Alex jumped down and swore. Crossing the distance toward the men, he pulled Robbie off. “Christ, Raider, you’ll kill him. He’s one of ours.”
Sir Alex had Robbie’s arms pinned back. Robbie twisted, attempting to break free with a quick movement of his arm that might have had Sir Alex on his back, too, if he hadn’t managed to block it.
Robbie said something to Sir Alex in Gaelic, but Rosalin didn’t need to translate that particular curse. “He deserves it,” he said, breathing hard. “He was going to hurt her.”
Sir Alex looked at her and when their eyes met, she knew he didn’t need to ask how the man was going to hurt her. The graveness of Sir Alex’s expression made her think he also knew about Robbie’s sister.
The commotion had alerted the occupants of the next tent, and Rosalin didn’t need to see his face to know that the Black Douglas was one of them.
“What is going on out here?” Douglas said, two of his men coming up behind him with a torch.
If Sir Alex hadn’t still been holding him back, Rosalin knew that Robbie would have launched himself at his friend. “This is how you watch over her? You fucking bastard, I should kill you for letting this happen.”
The man with the blackest heart in Scotland seemed taken aback by the vehemence of Robbie’s anger. His gaze shifted to her—still crouched up against the tree and undoubtedly pale and terror-struck—and then to the man lying still on the ground behind Robbie. His expression changed to one of grim understanding.
The Black Douglas swore, repeating one of the words Robbie had just used, and dragged his hand through his sleep-rumpled hair. “Uilleam just arrived with a missive from my wife. I didn’t think to tell him about the lass. He didn’t know who she was.” He turned to address her. “I’m sorry, my lady. That should never have happened. If you were hurt it’s my fault, and I shall take full responsibility for the mistake.”
She was so stunned that the Black Douglas was apologizing to her that it took her a moment to respond. She shook her head. “He didn’t hurt me.” Her voice came out scratchy, and she rubbed her bruised throat unconsciously.
Robbie growled like a ferocious wolf and surged forward with such power and force that Sir Alex couldn’t hope to hold him back.
Instinctively the Black Douglas squared to meet the attack, but by this time Rosalin had collected herself enough to intervene. She rushed forward to intercept Robbie, putting a gentling hand on his arm.
She swallowed hard through the pain to clear her throat. “Really, I’m fine.” He looked down at her, and the deep emotion burning in his gaze made her heart flip high in her chest. “Please,” she whispered. “It was a mistake.”
Though her brother would undoubtedly like nothing more than for these two men to beat each other to a pulp, Rosalin just wanted it over. She wanted to curl up against the black leather-clad chest, bury her head against his shoulder, and feel safe again.
She didn’t know who moved first, but one minute she was leaning against him and the next, he’d swooped her up into his arms and started to carry her back to the tent.
“You and I are going to talk tomorrow,” he said to Douglas as they passed.
The big man nodded grimly. “I’ll see to Uilleam—and your horse.”
The conversation sounded far away. Rosalin had already burrowed her head against him, closed her eyes, and let the relief of being safe in his arms overtake her.
