Page 277 of Wicked Highland Heroes

He gave a single shake of his head. “Nay.”

She shrugged. “Then Edward will have to wait.”

“A king never waits.”

“Tell him ye will return once you have captured your brother and dealt with the unrest amongst your people.”

“My people?”

She read the humor in his eyes. “Ye said you wouldna’ leave Castle Glenbarr to search for your brother for fear of leaving the castle unprotected. Kenzie was here only a month ago.” Things had been quiet since then, but she wasn’t going to remind him of that. “If ye leave and Jason takes Castle Glenbarr while you are gone, he will claim no’ only Glenbarr, but the lands that belong to the Earl of Baliman.”

“I doubt Jason has such high aspirations,” St. Claire replied.

“Ye do no’ know the man,” Rhoslyn said. “And dinna’ forget Kenzie. He would love nothing more than to wage war on ye while you are away.” Anger flickered in his eyes and she knew she’d hit home. “Do you want that?” she pressed on ruthlessly. “Do ye want him taking me and your unborn child?”

His eyes darkened with fury. Unexpected emotion fluttered in her belly.

“It would seem I have a dilemma,” he said.

Regret washed over Rhoslyn and she wished she could tell him to go serve his king as the loyal knight he was. What would she do if he didn’t return? She would be forced to marry again—for a son needed a father. Nay, it was far worse than just remarrying. Before she could choose a husband, before her son was born, Edward would marry her to another of his puppets. She imagined the message arriving telling of Talbot’s death, delivered by the man who bore another royal command from Edward that she marry. Her blood chilled at the thought of another man touching her while she still carried St. Claire’s child.

“To leave is a death sentence,” she said. “You must know that your brother will seize the opportunity to attack ye.” In truth, it seemed half of Scotland wanted him dead. He started to reply, but she cut him off. “I know you well enough to know you would leave a legion of men to protect me and take only a few for yourself. Ye have too many enemies to be riding the countryside without a host of men. I canna’ allow you to do it.”

He studied her for a long moment. “Why not?”

“Because a son needs his father.”

“Only a son?” he asked.

Embarrassment heated her cheeks. “The devil you know is better than the one ye dinna’ know,” she replied, and to her surprise, he threw his head back and laughed.

* * *

Rhoslyn forced her legs into motion and passed through the opening in the low stone wall where lay her family in their eternal rest, then turned right. In the nearest corner, alongside the larger stone that belonged to Alec, stood the smaller stone that marked her son’s grave. Her knees weakened, but she kept walking until she stood in front of the two graves.

She stared at the name on her son’s headstone. The letters floated before her as if she dreamed. She had held him as he died. Did Alec now protect him? How was it possible the tiny body lay all alone beneath the snow-dusted heather? Her heart jerked. In her absence, someone had placed the flowers over the freshly dug dirt and the seed had taken root.

Rhoslyn glanced at the flowers she gripped. Mistress Muira dried heather and scattered it among the rushes. She had filched a few for the graves. But others, braver than her, had taken up where she could not. Who had visited her son? Andreana? Her grandfather? It should have been her. She should have been there to throw the first clump of moist earth down on him. Now, the ground that covered his small body had settled into packed earth as if no body lay buried beneath.

She started to kneel, then realized it would be difficult to rise. She would have to grasp a headstone to leverage herself back up. Dread chilled her bone deep. It wasn’t the dead she feared, but the cold stone of her child’s grave beneath her fingers. Anger tightened her insides. She had already deserted him once. She owed her son more than a toss of flowers onto his grave before she fled.

Rhoslyn stepped alongside his stone and grasped the top, then lowered herself onto her knees. Wind whipped the plaid around her shoulders and she pulled the fabric closer about her. With a shaky hand, she brushed snow from the small plot, then carefully arranged the heather on the center of the grave amongst the withered flowers. The pink buds made the grave look almost...alive.

“I am sorry, Dougal,” she whispered. She brushed her fingers over the tiny flowers. “Ye are to have a brother. Would you like that?”

The wind whipped again, snapping the edge of her plaid. She shivered. It was cold, so cold. The heather skittered across the grave with another gust of wind. Rhoslyn caught it and set it back on the center. She glanced up at the darkening afternoon sky. A storm brewed. The wind would blow the heather off the grave.

Rhoslyn whipped off her plaid and laid it across the grave.

* * *

Rhoslyn hurried down the stairs leading to the great hall. Just as the maid had said, Abbess Beatrice sat at the table near the hearth. Rhoslyn nearly flew across the room. She reached the table and Beatrice rose.

Rhoslyn threw herself into the older woman’s arms. The abbess enfolded her in a warm hug and, for a moment, she could almost believe that she’d never left the convent. She suddenly longed to be back in her cell, listening to the abbess’ Bible stories.

Rhoslyn drew back from the embrace. “I canna’ believe ye are here. I am so happy to see you. Had I known you were coming, I would have made preparations.”

Beatrice smiled. “Ye can imagine that I prefer to travel without fanfare.”