He didn’t hesitate. His sword clattered to the ground as he caught her around the waist and pulled her to safety in front of him.
She sagged against him, looping her arms around his shoulders and burying her face in his leather-clad chest. From the way her back was shaking, he knew she was crying. From terror or relief, he didn’t know. Probably both. Hell, he didn’t blame her.
His hand went to her back. He rubbed and muttered soothing words as he drew his horse to a stop, while the soldier galloped away. He was forced to let him go. For now. Crushing her to him, he inhaled her, taking her in and trying to assure his still-thundering heart that she was all right.
It wasn’t long, however, before the memory of her walking away intruded.
The hammering in his chest came to an abrupt stop. He unlatched her from his chest and pulled her back to look at her. Swollen, tear-stained eyes stared up at him, and he felt his lungs clench. Aye, hislungs, damn it. But he forced the sensation away, hardening his expression as well as whatever the hell else he’d been clenching.
“Were you so anxious to get away that you would kill yourself to do so?”
Her eyes widened a little at his tone. “I wasn’t trying to get away. I just didn’t want you to hurt him.”
His hold tightened on her, his anger going black. Who was she protecting? “God’s blood, was that de Spenser?”
She shook her head. “Nay, one of his household knights. Sir Stephen has always been kind to me—”
“Enough.” He cut her off, swinging the horse around to retrieve his sword. “You gave me your word, though why I should be surprised a Clifford did not keep it, I don’t know. I don’t have time for this. I’m sureSir Stephendid not come alone.”
She bit her lip and nodded. “He said the others were not far behind.”
That put a swift end to the conversation. He raced back to camp at an only slightly slower speed than upon which he’d left.
The camp was in a state of organized upheaval. Douglas, Seton, and Fraser had already taken charge, gathering what supplies and belongings they could and seeing to the men and the handful of women.
Robbie immediately went to work alongside them, duty and experience temporarily quieting the tempest of divergent emotions storming inside him. Anger. Hurt. Betrayal. He focused on the anger. It was easiest to understand.
Fraser would see to the women’s safety, while Douglas and Robbie led the attack against the Englishmen. Seton would have charge of Rosalin. Robbie gave his instructions in Gaelic to forestall any protests from Rosalin, who watched him anxiously with big, accusing eyes that made him feel as ifhewere the one to blame. Surprisingly his partner didn’t argue, but just gave a grim nod in response.
He left Rosalin under Seton’s watch, while he returned to his tent to retrieve what he could. The tents could not be saved—there wasn’t time enough—but he packed his books and as many garments as he could from his trunk in leather bags. They would be hidden nearby and retrieved later. Seton had already gathered anything that could connect him to the Highland Guard, including his armor.
No more than five minutes after they’d arrived, Robbie was ready to leave.
He could no longer avoid those hurt eyes. “Seton will see you safely away.”
The color faded from Rosalin’s face. “You are leaving me?”
“Ironic, isn’t it.”
She frowned. It took her a moment to understand. “I told you I wasn’t trying to leave—”
“Do not worry.” His mouth curved in a semblance of a smile. “I don’t imagine this will take long.”
She gazed up at him, apprehension making her face look pale and frightened. He forced himself to be immune. She’d made a fool of him enough already.
“What are you going to do?”
“Give them the battle they came for.”
Fear leapt to her eyes. “No! You mustn’t—”
“Take her,” he said to Seton, her pleas for her countrymen falling on deaf ears. Or maybe not so deaf. They had drawn the battle between them again. How could he have forgotten which side she stood on?
He didn’t look back as they rode off. All of his attention was once again focused where it should be: on the war and killing any Englishman who got in his way.
Rosalin was silent for most of the journey. The speed at which they were traveling didn’t leave much opportunity for questions. In addition to Sir Alex, Callum, Malcolm, and one of her former jailors, Archie (dour Douglas brother number two), made up the party of men who had been charged with the task of seeing their hostage to safety.
As best she could tell from the position of the setting sun, they rode east for the first few miles—crossing a deep corrie thick with trees and brush that looked impassable until a narrow path was revealed—and then headed north for hours in the darkness.
