Page 148 of Wicked Highland Heroes

“Eleven months past,” he said.

“Eleven months?” Only a few months after her arrival here.

She couldn’t think, couldn’t fathom all the consequences of Margaret’s death. Why hadn’t her grandfather told her? Because, she realized with a rush of emotion, it was like him to protect her. He had been protecting her since the death of her parents at age five. Then he rescued her again after the death of her husband...and son.

“More than a dozen claimants to the throne have come forward,” Sir Ascot went on. “The Guardians fear civil war between the Bruce and Balliol’s supporters, so asked King Edward to arbitrate.”

Rhoslyn snorted. “He used the unrest to demand sovereign lordship of Scotland.” And the Guardians acquiesced. The pea-brained men had no sense. She forced her eyes back to the missive, ashamed to find that her hands trembled. Her heart stopped cold at sight of the royal command for her to—“Marry Sir Talbot St. Claire.” She pinned Hildegard with a stare. “Ye said I was to marry Lord Melrose.”

The nun looked helplessly at Sir Ascot.

“Aye, my lady,” he said. “Your grandfather has arranged for ye to marry Melrose before St. Claire can obey his king’s command.”

“What? That is madness.” To defy Edward at any time was dangerous, but to do so when he had such power was suicide.

Why St. Claire, a mere knight? A knight born in sin at that, despite the fact Edward legitimized him after their return from Wales. She was the daughter of a baron, widow to a wealthy earl. Her noble lineage stretched back two hundred years. Her mind spun and she wished she could return to her cell and bar the door against the world.

“My lady,” Ascot began, but she waved him off, tilted the parchment toward the light, and read on.

Edward commanded them to recite the vows a month from now. The letter outlined the details of the contract, which endowed her grandfather with property in England. Anger pricked at seeing the properties her husband had bequeathed her listed as part of her dowry to St. Claire—with Castle Glenbarr, the wealthiest of the properties—at the head. The castle abutted Dunfrey Castle, she realized with a flash of clarity. Edward had given Dunfrey Castle to St. Claire after he quelled a revolt in Wales three years ago.

Her property combined with St. Claire’s would make him a force to be reckoned with. But she couldn’t forget—and she was certain Edward hadn’t forgotten—her grandfather’s property would come to her upon his death. Combined, the lands would make the knight one of the most powerful lords in the northern Highlands. Here was why the king had chosen him. Only a man like St. Claire could defend and keep the land should the need arise. And the need would arise. Edward knew it. So did she.

Yet all this wasn’t enough, she read with mounting anger. Edward also demanded a year’s salary from these properties. How much of her dowry would pay the debts for his past military campaigns? She gave a grim smile. He generously allowed her grandfather two years to pay. No doubt Edward had already sent word to his money-lenders that they could expect a large payment in the coming months. How many other Scottish nobles were paying Edward’s debt—a debt he incurred long before he achieved power in Scotland?

The sovereign had planned well. The English estates he bequeathed her grandfather would pass to St. Claire upon her grandfather’s death, and her Scottish property would pass from the house of Seward to St. Claire...and his liege lord, King Edward. Her stomach roiled. The bastard knight would even inherit her grandfather’s title as Baron Kinsley. She pictured the knight rising from their marriage bed ‘ere his seed dried inside her to take possession of Glenbarr. Her heart twisted. She had intended the castle as part of her stepdaughter’s dowry.

Aye, Edward knew his business, she thought bitterly. This was the king to whom the Guardians had handed Scotland.

“Forgive me, my lady.” Sir Ascot’s voice interrupted her thoughts. “We must make haste. Your grandfather awaits us at Longford Castle.”

To prepare her future husband for battle, no doubt. St. Claire was well known for ruthlessness in battle. He would not take well the news that his newly awarded prize had slipped through his fingers. The slight to him—and his king—would not go unanswered.

“We flee in the night like cowards,” Rhoslyn muttered.

Wasn’t that exactly what she had done fourteen months ago? Her heart clenched with memory of her son, not two months old, laid to rest in the cold ground. When he had died two weeks after his father, Rhoslyn begged her grandfather for time in a convent. The guilt she had submerged beneath long hours of exhausting work now resurfaced. She had left her stepdaughter Andreana in her grandfather’s care.

Rhoslyn thrust the letter back toward Sir Ascot. “My grandfather cannot have thought this matter through.”

He took the letter with a deferential cant of his head. “Sir Talbot arrived a week ago, and Lord Melrose returned from Edinburgh tonight. Your grandfather could no’ act before now. But he wishes as much leeway as possible before Sir Talbot discovers ye are married.”

Shock reverberated through her. Her grandfather hoped Melrose would get her pregnant before Sir Talbot learned he had been tricked. Sweet God, her grandfather had gone mad. Melrose was an honorable man, but he was sixty-five.

“How does my grandfather expect an old man to sire a child?”

Sir Ascot shook his head. “Ye are to marry Jacobus Auenel. The old earl is dead.”

“Dead?” She was to marry Lord Melrose’s son?

Her pulse sped up. Was it possible to become wife and future mother in a few days’ time? Disgust displaced the hope that surged through her. Jacobus Melrose was but twenty-one. A pup. A pup would have no trouble siring a child. It was Rhoslyn who might not conceive. Rhoslyn twisted the wedding ring she still wore. She wanted neither child nor husband.

Damn the sovereign to hell. He interfered where he had no business. And her grandfather was still trying to protect her. In the process, he would get himself and young Melrose killed. This she could not allow.

Rhoslyn faced Hildegard and gave her a fierce hug. “Thank ye.”

The prioress’ gnarled fingers tightened on her shoulders. “May God keep ye safe, lady.”

They drew apart.