Page 171 of Wicked Highland Heroes

Chapter Six

Sword in hand, and Ross behind him with his own sword drawn, Talbot turned the knob on his brother’s door. To his surprise, it turned without resistance. He looked over his shoulder at Ross and gave a quick nod, then threw open the door. Nothing prepared Talbot for what he saw. His wife, the woman he had yet to touch, lay on the bed, arms tied above her head, and a gag tied around her mouth.

Fear tightened his chest. She wore the same simple gray dress she had worn on her trip from the convent. The skirt lay bunched around her thighs and thick strands of hair framed her face in tangled disarray. Yet she stared at him, chin held high, eyes aflame with fury. He recalled thinking that when he bedded her he would have to tie her hands to the bedpost, and guilt unlike any he’d ever known rolled over him.

“Sweet God in heaven,” Ross murmured.

Talbot sheathed his sword and reached the bedside in three strides. He was aware that Ross had turned back to guard the door—Talbot guessed, to spare Lady Rhoslyn her dignity. That was a kindness he would not forget.

He noticed a faint discoloration on her cheek that hinted at a bruise. Talbot tamped down his fury as he drew her skirt down over her legs, then pulled the knife from the hilt on his belt. No fear shone in her eyes when he inserted the point into the knot of the gag and carefully cut the fabric. He yanked the cloth from her mouth and she spat out a rag and coughed. He cut the bindings that bound her to the post. She bolted upright, coughing into her bound hands. Talbot gently grasped her wrists. She jumped, her eyes snapping up toward his face.

“Be still,” he said, and inserted the knife blade between the cloth and her wrists, then sliced the cloth in one clean cut.

Talbot glanced around the room, saw a pitcher and mugs on a small table against the left wall, and hurried to them. He sniffed the contents and the strong, fresh smell of ale filled his nostrils. He filled one mug, then crossed back to the bed. Rhoslyn stood, gripping the short post at the foot of the bed for support. She wavered and he grasped her elbow to steady her.

He offered her the mug. “Drink this.”

She reached for the mug with her free hand and he saw the violent tremble of her fingers.

“Sit, lady,” he urged.

She shook her head. “I will never again touch that bed.”

The fury that had been eclipsed by the sight of her tied to the bed rushed to the surface with a violence unlike any he’d experienced. Then he saw the blood on the sheets.

“Where is he?” Talbot demanded.

Rhoslyn’s head jerked up and, from the corner of his eye, he saw Ross turn. She stared for a long moment, and he noted that her eyes were red with crying.

“Where is he?” Talbot repeated.

“I do no’ know.”

“Ross,” he said, “see to Lady Rhoslyn.” Talbot strode toward the door.

Ross met him halfway across the room and grabbed his arm. “Ye might consider taking care of your wife first, lad.”

Talbot looked at him. “Did you see the sheets?”

Ross’ gaze shifted from Talbot to the bed. Ross cursed under his breath and released Talbot.

“’Tis no’ my blood,” Lady Rhoslyn said in a hoarse voice.

He swung to face her. “What?”

The fire in her eyes had rekindled. “It is your brother’s blood.”

He followed her gaze and saw a dagger lying on the floor between the foot of the bed and the hearth. She looked back at him, a challenge in her eyes, and Talbot realized she was unsure how he would react to the fact that she had tried to kill his brother.

“If it pleases you, my lady, I will bring him here, tie him to that bed, and let you finish the job.”

Her mouth parted in surprise and he was shocked to see her eyes shimmer with tears. The tears were gone as quickly as they appeared and she nodded. The burgeoning respect that had begun to form when she defended herself against him on the road swelled in his chest. How was it possible that he had been betrothed to a woman of such mettle? How was it possible she had been in his care less than a day and she had come to harm?

She took a step forward and gave a small cry. Ross started for her, but Talbot reached her as her knees gave way. He caught her and swept her into his arms.

* * *

Strong arms gathered her close and Rhoslyn wanted to collapse against the solid wall of warmth, but realized that St. Claire was headed for the door. It was enough that he and Ross had witnessed her shame. She could not bear for strangers to see her raw wrists and the hair falling from her braid in a tangled mess about her head. They would discern at a glance what had taken place in this room.