Page 283 of Wicked Highland Heroes

Chapter Twenty Three

Rhoslyn lifted her eyes to the Christ in the alcove of the small chapel. “I beg you, Saint George, heed my prayer and save, protect, and defend the Dragon, Sir Talbot St. Claire.”

Surely, Saint George would give aid, for St. Claire was fighting to save her and their child. St. George would understand that, this time, the Dragon fought for the right.

She bowed her head and whispered the prayer.

Her knees began to ache, but she pressed on, begging that her prayers be heard. Despite her efforts, her mind wandered to the battle that must be waging outside the castle. Here, within the chapel, she was insulated...as she had been in St. Mary’s. Yet, her grandfather’s men had shown up in the middle of the night and ripped her from her peace. Would it be St. Claire who appeared in the chapel to tell her all was well or would—Rhoslyn opened her eyes and looked up at the statue of Mary.

“Forgive me.” She grasped the ledge of the alcove and pulled herself to her feet.

She stood for a moment, catching her breath. Only a little more than seven months pregnant, yet she felt as if she weighed as much as a horse. Rhoslyn caught her breath and felt her legs steady, then hurried from the chapel and up the stairs to the north tower. Before she’d gone halfway up the stairs, her breathing came in heavy gasps and her legs felt as if she waded through sand. She stopped and rested.

Twice more she was forced to rest before she reached the top floor of the tower. St. Claire had forbade her from leaving the castle, but he could not stop her from watching the battle from the north tower. And she could no longer sequester herself away from the world.

Rhoslyn paused in the doorway, startled by the silence. Sounds of a battle this large would penetrate even the thick stone of the tower walls. She hurried to the window and drew back the shutters. Campfires dotted the field in the darkness beyond the wall. She squinted, but could discern no riders approaching in the distance. Had St. Claire decided to wait until morning to attack? He had said nothing of this to her. But then, he wouldn’t. The English army would surely have scouts watching for danger. Wouldn’t they know if St. Claire approached?

She placed a hand over her belly and gently soothed as if to quiet the babe. Castle Glenbarr could easily withstand a yearlong siege. St. Claire had seen to that. Not that he’d believed it would be necessary. Lady Taresa had seven hundred warriors, and her grandfather, five hundred. The two hundred men inside the castle walls would stay while those three hundred who lived in the village and on his land would follow him into battle. Altogether, St. Claire would ride with at least fourteen hundred men. They would easily beat the English army back. But none of that guaranteed St. Claire would survive the battle.

Thank God they had discovered Edward’s plot to kill him. At least, that way, he stood a chance of surviving. Rhoslyn gave a small gasp upon realizing she hadn’t thanked the abbess for warning them of the plot. She murmured a prayer of thanks and one asking forgiveness for her selfishness.

Gratitude brought the desire to cry. The abbess was so kind to deliver the message personally. Rhoslyn could only wonder how Sister Beatrice had heard of Edward’s plan, but the abbess was a powerful woman. In the time Rhoslyn spent at the abbey, she had seen some of the Guardians visit. Even William Wallace once came in the early morning hours. Like the wee hours of the morning when her grandfather’s men arrived to take her to Lord Melrose.

Rhoslyn had been unlucky enough for the abbess to be away the night the men came for her. How different might things have turned out if she’d been there. Might the abbess have counseled her not to go? Might she have known something that would have better guided Rhoslyn? Had things turned out so badly?

The abbess had said she knew St. Claire would be glad for the baby.

For an instant, Rhoslyn was back in her cell, feeling Sister Hildegard dress her. “She sent me,” Hildegard had said of Beatrice. Beatrice had been there. Why, then, hadn’t she intervened? The appearance of her grandfather’s warriors to take her away in the middle of the night in order to avoid marriage to St. Claire was no small matter.

Rhoslyn’s thoughts came to a screeching halt. Aside from the men sent to bring her from St. Mary’s, only her grandfather and Lord Melrose knew she would be leaving the abbey that night. Her mind jumped forward. Was it possible one of the warriors had betrayed them and sent word to St. Claire? Possible yes, but probable? More probable than the possibility that Beatrice was the one who told him?

Beatrice hadn’t seen Rhoslyn off with the warriors because she had left for Castle Glenbarr before Hildegard came and told her the men were there.

It couldn’t be. Beatrice would never betray her. Never.

If not her, then who?

Rhoslyn mentally counted through the men who had been there that night. She knew them all. Not a one would betray her grandfather. But one of them had. How could she possibly prove it? St. Claire would know. Maybe. The traitor might have sent an anonymous letter. If Beatrice stayed at the convent, why hadn’t she come to Rhoslyn when the warriors arrived? If only she could speak with the warriors her grandfather had sent for her.

Sir Ascot. Her grandfather had left him at Castle Glenbarr to help St. Claire.

Still no signs of St. Claire. Worry tightened her belly. Had something gone wrong? Either way, there was nothing she could do. In the darkness, she wouldn’t be able to distinguish St. Claire.

She turned from the tower and hurried from the room. She stopped at the stairs and stared down. The climb back up would be difficult. Rhoslyn glanced back at the room, then turned and started down the stairs.

Sir Ascot wasn’t in the castle and Rhoslyn was forced to wait as one of the lads fetched him from the wall. She ascended to her private solar and waited. At least once she was done speaking with him, she would be rested for the trip back to the north tower.

He arrived a little while later.

“Sir Ascot, thank ye for coming. Will you sit?” She nodded at the other end of the bench were she sat.

“Nay, my lady. I canna’ stay long.”

“Of course. Forgive me for calling you here. No signs of St. Claire?”

He shook his head.

“I expected him before this,” she said.