The Mist Rider

THE MIST RIDER by

Fiona Neal

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© copyright April 2004 by Carolyn Rickenbaker Cover Art by Jenny Dixon, © copyright April 2004 ISBN 1-58608-437-2 New Concepts Publishing www.newconceptspublishing.com

Chapter One The Border of England 1314 "Do not fret so, my lady." Standing before the hearth in the tower bedchamber, old Maude drew back her gnarled hands from the warmth of the leaping hearth flames. "Your marriage to Lord Bosworth will never take place." Agitated, Rosalyn, Lady Carrigston stopped pacing and met the maidservant's gaze. "You have been predicting that for months, Maude. Yet, Walter, Lord Bosworth bides here with his entourage. The wedding

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guests, including King Edward, have arrived." Shuddering, she wrung her hands and blinked away her tears of desperation. "Tomorrow, his lordship and I exchange our vows, and I would sooner bed a wild boar!" Lord Bosworth's hygiene left much to be desired. Besides being twenty-five years her senior, the man had a huge crescent-shaped scar, extending from his temple to his chin, which gave his face a sinister appearance. When she had played her harp and sung a ballad in the great hall earlier this evening, he leered at her like a cat looking at a bowl of cream. Rosalyn cringed, just thinking about him. "Have faith, my lady." Maude began to unlace Rosalyn's kirtle. "Help will come from where you least expect it." "From whom may I expect this miraculous assistance?" Testy, Rosalyn brushed back a lock of blonde hair that had fallen over her face. Maude's dark, hooded eyes glowed with intensity. "From a man who rides the back of the mist." "Nonsense! No man can ride the mist." "This one will." The woman cackled as she drew off Rosalyn's kirtle "Enough, Maude! I will hear no more wild ravings. 'Tis late. You may retire." I must take matters into my own hands and escape. "I shall go as quickly as my old sore knees will permit, but you will soon learn that I have spoken the truth." Folding the kirtle and putting it

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into the open trunk at the foot of the bed, Maude set down the lid and turned toward Rosalyn. "You will soon discover that my prophecies always come true, my lady." Shuffling slowly through the rushes on the floor, she left the room. Rosalyn dashed across the bedchamber to the row of leaded casements set in the tower wall. Below, night stalked the misty dale like a black cat on silent paws. Luckily, the weather provided a perfect opportunity to escape because the fog had diminished the visibility to the length of a man's extended arm. Beyond the hills lay Scotland and Inversruthan Abbey. Would the good nuns give sanctuary to a woman who was fleeing her sacred responsibilities to marry and provide heirs? Moreover, she was English. It was common knowledge that the holy sisters there had remained fiercely loyal to Robert the Bruce, the king of Scotland. Still, they might accept her into their order if they knew she was escaping from an English Lord and that her late mother had been Scottish. If they rejected her, she would find some other way to live. Now, however, she had no time for conjecture. She must gather a few necessary possessions and leave immediately. She hurried to the trunk. Suddenly, the door burst open. Smothering a gasp, she bitterly regretted failing to lock the door behind Maude, for in Lord Bosworth strode. Rosalyn's heartbeat broke into

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a gallop as he left the door ajar and swaggered toward her, a lecherous smile on his marred face. "And now, my golden-haired beauty, we are alone at last." A hard gleam in his eyes, he reached for her. Rosalyn skittered away. "Nay, my lord." "You dare deny your husband?" "We are not yet man and wife. I've not yet signed the marriage contract, nor have we spoken our vows before the priest, my lord." She hoped to God that somehow they never would. "Mere formalities that we shall fulfill on the morrow." He grabbed her wrist and pulled her close. "Besides, you have been enticing me all night with your looks and songs of love." Rosalyn had hardly given him eye contact. How could he possibly think that she had encouraged him? "And why did you leave your door unlocked and wait for me clad only in your shift if you did not want me here, my coy lady?" An omission I shall regret for the rest of my life. Still, she never dreamed anyone would intrude to ravish her in her own chamber. "If you do not go, my lord, I shall scream and alert the guards." He chuckled lasciviously. "Go ahead. Scream your bloody lungs out. No one will hear you. The guards on the ramparts are too far away,

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and the others, including your father, are unconscious from their overindulgence in drink. That is why I didn't bother to bar the door." Rosalyn's heart was battering against her ribs so rapidly she could barely breathe. Worse, Bosworth had backed her against the wall. "You mean to rape me!" "Nonsense, a man cannot rape his wife." "But we are not -- " He slapped his hand over her mouth. "No more nonsense about vows and signatures. You are mine, Lady Rosalyn, and I will take you when I want you. You may as well get accustomed to that right now." His breath reeked with strong drink, nauseating her. His arms binding her like a vice, Rosalyn fought furiously, but to no avail. "Aye. Resist me, my lady. It makes the sport all the more interesting." She tried to put her knee to his groin, but he blocked her attempt. Then he dragged her down to the warm flagstones before the fire. The rushes on the floor dung into her back, adding to her pain. "I thought to take you in bed your first time, but I see you need a lesson in submission," he growled. "A good grinding on these stones will tame your rebellious spirit." The firelight flickering on his damaged visage gave him the look of a gargoyle. Overcome with revulsion, Rosalyn screamed. If only she could reach the poker and render him unconscious.

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Hiking up the skirt of her shift, Bosworth put his knee between her thighs and pinioned her wrists to the floor with one hand. He pulled at the drawstring around his waist, which held his long hose, but the cord would not yield. When he released her hands to snap the cincture, Rosalyn clawed at his face. He roared. Leaping up, she ran. He caught her, and they crashed into the bedstead. He lifted his hand and struck her face. Pain exploded like a shower of shooting stars. Then all went dark. **** "I do not like the idea of spending the night on the English side of the border, Rory." Sir Hamish Kerr dismounted. "It does not please me either." Rory Kerr, Lord Glendarach, swung from the saddle and tethered his horse to a prickly gorse bush. "Then why not head back to Scotland?" Hamish secured his mount and their pack animal by Rory's destrier. "'Tis just a league to the border, and we should deliver our intelligence information to the Bruce as soon as possible. I think he will be surprised that Edward II has so large an army." "No doubt he will, and I plan to send him a report as soon as I reach Glendarach, but our horses need rest, Hamish. We've pushed them hard." Rory's great destrier nuzzled him, and his huge gray deerhound, Stout Heart, stood by faithfully.

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"I could stand some rest myself." Hamish moved to the packhorse. "And some food." Reaching into a leather bag for some oatcakes, he handed one to Rory. "We haven't eaten in hours." Rory accepted the offering. "True enough. My stomach thinks my throat has been cut." He bit into the cake. "Do not tempt fate with such talk." A breeze caught Hamish's wild mane of auburn hair. "We are still close to Carrigston Castle. Lord Carrigston may have patrols lurking about." "'Tis possible, but I doubt it." Rory's lip curled with contempt. "He, Bosworth, and all their men are likely drunk, celebrating the upcoming nuptials tomorrow." "'Tis too bad we did not take our men, Rory. We could have scaled the battlement and slew them all in their drink-induced slumbers. It would have served them right for what they did to Glendarach. What a coup that would have been with the English king there, too." Hamish began to eat the oatcake. "That it would. " Rory's gut tightened in anger as he recalled how Carrigston and Bosworth had tried to burn Glendarach. Luckily, a huge thunderstorm had extinguished the flaming roof. Still, the whole east wing now stood with its blackened walls open to the sky, and he lacked the funds to repair it. Material goods could eventually be replaced, though. Lives, especially those of loved ones, were quite another matter. Rory had lost his father to an arrow from an English longbow. After the

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siege, he had found what remained of his mother under the smoldering beams of the collapsed roof. Nevertheless, he and his men had repulsed the enemy. Glendarach still belonged to him and remained in Scottish hands. Rory wiped the crumbs of oatcake from his lips. "As much as I should like to get my personal revenge, I think the Bruce wants us to join our forces and mobilize for something truly big, something that will bring this war for our freedom to a victorious end." "That would suit me." Hamish untied the rolled sheep's fleece from the back of his saddle and spread it on the forest floor. Suddenly, Stout Heart leapt up and sniffed the air. A low growl emerged from deep in the deerhound's throat. Rory and Hamish started, their hands clasping the hilts of their claymores. Were a pack of wolves prowling the misty woods, or was Hamish right? Had Lord Carrigston sent a band of men to patrol these woods? **** Patterns of flickering light and long and deep shadows spun together in a blurring whirl. As Rosalyn struggled to sit up, her unfocused vision made her dizzy, and her jaw felt as if it were afire. She inhaled a deep breath, attempting to steady herself. As the images about her sharpened into clarity, she cried out in horror. Scrambling to her feet, she backed against the wall. Her knees

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trembling, Rosalyn's breath came in heavy gasps as she stared down at Bosworth. He lay on his back, his eyes staring sightlessly at the dark ceiling, his mouth open, the scratches she had inflicted, obvious. His chest did not heave with breaths, but remained quite still. A swath of blood stained his gray hair, pooled around his bashed skull, and had splattered on her shift, the floor, and walls. A gory poker lay by his body. Strangely, a pillow, its white case without stain, lay on the floor. She put her hands to her mouth to keep from screaming. My God, I have killed him! But how? While she had thought of reaching for the poker, she did not remember taking it into her hands, nor did she remember wielding it. What does it matter, Rosalyn? Who else could have perpetrated the act? Furthermore, she had wished him dead. However, Bosworth still wore his hose. He could not have violated her. To make absolutely certain, she lifted her shift. Strangely, none of the blood had soaked through her thick linen shift to sully her skin. Furthermore, not a drop of virgin's blood smeared her thighs, and she felt no soreness between her legs. However, the bruises elsewhere on her body ached. Even more bizarre, she had but a few specks of blood on her hands.

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Rosalyn focused on the heavy iron poker on the floor by his body. In an act of desperation, had she reached for it and dashed out his brains to protect her honor? Moreover, her door was now closed. Still, a draft could have blown it shut. That often happened, but from where had the pillow come? In the struggle, had she and Bosworth knocked it from the bed? She had no time for speculation now. She must flee before Bosworth's men discovered his corpse and denounced her to the king as a murderess, for everyone knew she had resisted the marriage. Rosalyn hurried to the washstand and tore off her bloody shift. Her hands shaking, she poured water from the pitcher into the basin. Dipping a small linen towel in the cool water, she put the cold compress to her throbbing face. Then she washed her hands. She must get away, far away, or the king would make an example of her. If not cold-blooded murder, she had committed homicide. Rosalyn knew she would pay with her life because Bosworth was one of King Edward's favorites. It mattered not a whit that she did not remember how she did it, nor did it signify that she had been trying to defend herself from abuse. Lord Bosworth lay dead, and she had obviously snuffed out his life. Dashing to her trunk, she withdrew her oldest garments. The king's soldiers would be looking for a noblewoman, so she must appear poor. After shrugging into her shift, she searched far beneath the layers of other clothing to the bottom of the trunk, her fingers coming in contact with

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a large leather pouch. She lifted the heavy purse, full of gold coin, and took it to her dressing table. Opening her jewel box, she emptied the valuable pieces into the pouch. Oh, if she just had the time to sew the valuables in the hem her shift, but she must not stop running until she had found her way across the border. Instead, she circled her waist with a cincture, then tied the strings of her purse to it. She then donned the old kirtle and a battered green woolen cloak. On her way to the door, she paused as she approached the small harp on the window seat. She could not bear to leave it, for it had belonged to her deceased mother. Grabbing up the instrument, Rosalyn groped her way down the long corridor and flight of steps, encountering no one. As she walked by the great hall, she saw that Lord Bosworth had spoken truly. Those who had not retired were slumped over the trestle tables in drunken stupors. Even the dogs did not stir. Rosalyn knew she would never be able to turn the heavy wheel that lifted the portcullis, so taking a torch from the holder on the wall to light her way, she descended the steps to the undercroft. The secret passage there led far beyond the curtain wall of the castle and into a cave in the woods. When her forebears had built the fortress, they had added the escape route in case of a siege. She entered the narrow tunnel. Spiders hung in webs, and mice scurried past her. Rosalyn hoped she would not collide with a bat, and she

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tried to keep from inhaling too deeply of the musty air. After she had traveled for a long time, she saw an ancient door before her. Praying its hinges had not locked with rust, she turned the great key projecting from the lock. Hearing it tumble, she shoved against the barrier. It opened, and Rosalyn smelled the clean fragrance of the damp forest. She closed the door behind her and found herself in a cave. In the torch light, its walls glistened with moisture. Rosalyn walked to the mouth of the cavern, but her torch did nothing to penetrate the thick blanket of mist enveloping the forest. She left the grotto and walked toward the sound of running water. Extinguishing her beacon in the stream, she suddenly became aware of how thirsty she was, for her tongue was sticking to the roof of her mouth. Kneeling, she carefully set down her harp, cupping her hands in the frigid rivulet. After Rosalyn drank her fill, she splashed the refreshing liquid on her hot, aching face. Her fingers now numb with cold, she wiped them on the soft wool of her old cloak and dabbed her lips dry, as well. She leaned back on her heels, trying to calm the wild hammering of her heart. Free now, Rosalyn faced the task of reaching Scotland and surviving once she arrived there. The feat would not be easy. Moreover, with the bounty King Edward would doubtless put on her head, she was fair game. ****

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"What is it, Stout Heart?" Sighing, Rory sat up on his bedroll for the fifth time as the dog growled again and began to pace restlessly. Hamish shook his head. "We should have continued on to Scotland. That hound will never let us get any rest. He's been uneasy for at least the last half hour." "I do not understand him." Rory frowned. "He is usually so calm." Suddenly, a scream echoed through the forest. The dog shot off like an arrow, and Rory and Hamish jumped up. Untying their mounts, they vaulted into their saddles, following the sounds of the animal's movements and swirling pattern the dog made in the mist. **** Rosalyn lay on the ground, her harp by her side. Thank heavens, she had not fallen on the instrument and broken it. Because of the fog, she hadn't seen the thorny bramble berry cane and had tripped on the long, prickly shoot. Ankle smarting, face throbbing, she sat up and pressed the hem of her shift to the bloody spot staining her stocking. She chided herself for screaming. Still, whom had she disturbed? Her cries would probably be mistaken for the screech of a barn owl, for by now, she had traveled at least a mile from Carrigston. All at once, she heard a stirring in the underbrush and the sound of galloping horses. Too late, she saw the huge hunting dog lunge forward. She leapt up, but the rough-coated canine knocked her down. His great

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paws on her shoulders, he pinned her to the ground. This time she stifled a scream. "Enough, Stout Heart," a male voice commanded. The dog immediately released her and sat. The man had a Scottish accent. What were these Scots doing on this side of the border? Terror seized her as she saw two men appear. The first man, who had dark hair, looked as if he were riding on the mist until he came a little closer, and she realized that his horse was grayish white and blended with the fog. Suddenly, she remembered Maude's prophecy, and her terror abated. They dismounted, and the dog settled by the heel of the taller, darkerhaired man. Rosalyn immediately knew the men were warriors, for they rode destriers and wore hauberks under their surcoats. Were they spies? Would they realize she was an English lady and take her as a hostage? "What happened, woman?" The dark-haired man asked. "I-I fell and hurt my ankle." He peered at her. "And from the bruise on it, your face, I trow." "A-Aye." Touching her smarting cheek, she slowly nodded, her gaze lingering on his incredibly handsome face. His eyes looked black in the murky light, and his wavy hair gleamed like a polished onyx. A wonderfully wide brow, square jaw, and finely

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chiseled nose comprised the configuration of his masculine features. His full lips, though, appeared soft and sensitive. He knelt by her. Sword still in hand, he lifted the hem of her skirts, slipped down her stocking, and inspected her wound.

"'Tis just a scratch,

woman." He rearranged her hose and replaced her skirts over her ankle. "Aye." She nodded, thinking that his eyes glowed with kindness. "I shall be all right." When he stood and helped her rise, Rosalyn noticed the top of her head barely reached his shoulder. Should she trust these men? Was Maude's prediction correct? Once news of her crime and escape reached them, they could deliver her to the English for the reward. Under no circumstances must they discover her identity. "What is your name, woman?" The dark-haired knight asked gently, still holding her hand. Gazing at her harp, Rosalyn had a sudden inspiration. "I-I am called Rose the Harper." "You're a minstrel?" The burly man with lighter hair inquired as he dismounted. "Aye, sire." "Yet, you speak like a lady." The burly man gave her a look rife with suspicion.

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"I was lucky enough to spend some time at a convent school." That, at least, was the truth. After her mother had died, her father had sent her to a convent, leaving it to the nuns to educate her. The dark-haired man gently released her. "Did you entertain at Carrigston Castle?" Rosalyn could not help noticing the breadth of his shoulders and how his skin-tight hose clung to his long, muscular legs. "Aye, sir. I played there this evening, but to whom am I speaking?" "You may call me Rory Kerr," the dark-haired man replied. "And I am Hamish Kerr." Rory raised his brows, a question in his dark, fathomless eyes. "I should like to know the reason you did not spend the night in the castle. That is the custom." "One of the men became overly amorous." Remembering Bosworth's attack, she trembled. Struggling to control her nerves, she added, "I-I thought it best to leave before he did me injury." A muscle in Rory's jaw twitched. "The swine should have his gizzard skewered on a sword." "Where were you going, lass?" Hamish asked. "To Scotland, sir." Rory stroked his chin, and his gaze penetrated hers. "That is an unhealthy place for an English woman." "No more unhealthy than England is for Scotsmen."

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Caution in their eyes, the men looked at each other. "Where would you like to go in Scotland?" Rory inquired. "To Inversruthan Abbey." "You seek to take the veil?" Rory picked up the harp and handed it to her. "Aye." Rosalyn wished she had another choice, but King Edward's men would be unlikely to find her behind the walls of the cloister. "You will need a dowry, lass," Hamish stated. "I have one." Rory frowned. "Where would a poor harper get that much money? Are you sure you haven't stolen the funds and are on the run?" "I have no way of proving my innocence, but I can tell you my mother left me a sum. The rest I have been saving since I was a little girl, performing with my parents," she lied. "The Benedictine order requires that you be a virgin." Hamish's gaze penetrated hers. Thanking God that Lord Bosworth had failed in his attempt to ravish her, she met the Scot's look square on. "I have never known a man" "Have you wanted to be a nun for a long while?" Rory crossed his arms. "Aye." Rosalyn felt guilty about all the falsehoods she had to tell, but she did not see another way out of her dangerous situation. "My life as a woman and wandering minstrel holds many dangers."

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"Like the beast who tried to molest you?" A look of sympathy stole into Rory's eyes. "I can see the incident shook you badly." She nodded. "Aye." "Not all men are rapist," Hamish remarked. "I know they are not, but I had best be on my way, good sirs." Rory shook his head. "You shouldn't make the journey alone, Rose. This border is dangerous. Someone else could attack you. Next time, you may not escape unscathed." He was right. Furthermore, the English would be looking for a woman traveling alone. "You will get to the convent faster if you travel with us," Hamish affirmed. When she hesitated, Rory held up his still unsheathed sword. "I swear on my sacred sword and by St. Andrew that I shall protect you, Rose Harper." "I swear to do the same," Hamish added. Their gallant gestures plus Maude's prophecy assured Rosalyn, for she felt confident that the men would keep their knightly oaths. Still, she did not want to make them accessories to her crime. If the English caught them, they would think these men were her conspirators and hang them, as well. On the other hand, they would all probably be safely over the border before anyone discovered Bosworth's body.

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Still, she delayed making a final decision. "But you know nothing about me." "We ken all we need to know." Rory smiled. "Right." Hamish nodded. "And I suggest we ride for the border now." "I agree." Taking the harp from her, Rory gave it to Hamish. "'Tis a fine instrument," Hamish observed. "I shall protect it with a fleece before I secure it to the packhorse." Rory brought his mount closer and helped her into the saddle. "Let us retrieve our sheepskins and pack animal, then head home." Hamish mounted, as well. As Rory swung into the saddle behind her and held her close, Rosalyn felt a strange pleasant tingling wash over her body. She shivered with pleasure. "Cold?" he whispered. "Nay." "Then you must be frightened. Do not be afraid, little Rose." His whisper teased the whorls of her ears. "I will never hurt you." Rosalyn desperately wanted to believe him, but what would happen if he learned her true identity? News traveled fast, and these men were bound to hear that Lord Bosworth had been killed. Would Rory and Hamish betray her for the reward? Some Scots sided with the English, after all.

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Chapter Two Rory woke. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he sat up. From the position of the sun, he estimated that they had slept past noon, for they had traveled for hours after they found Rose and didn't bed down until early morning. Still asleep, her old green cloak drawn tightly over her, she lay cuddled on the sheepskin he had given her. Even in the pale light of the cloudy spring day, her hair shone like a length of golden silk. The nasty bruise discoloring the left side of her oval countenance could not hide the lovely bone structure of her dainty nose, well-molded chin, fine wide brow, and cupid's-bow lips. Long, light brown lashes fanned out above her delicately sculpted cheekbones. He wondered about the color of her large eyes. Last night, in the dim light of the misty forest, he had been unable to discern their hue. He also speculated about how she came to be alone in the world. Why hadn't such a beautiful woman married? She had a dowry, so lack of funds did not present a problem. Perhaps she had had more than one

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terrible experience with men? No wonder she wanted the safety of convent walls. Yet, what a shame it was to hide all that beauty and sensuality behind a veil. His imagination began to wander. Would Rose be so eager to forsake the world if she had enjoyed the pleasures of the flesh? The mere notion of initiating her excited him. He longed to kiss those lips and to awaken the woman to the pleasures of desire and sexual fulfillment. How he enjoyed holding the young woman close as the rode. Her desirable, warm body had made him daft with need, one he had not satisfied in over two years. Unfortunately, that opportunity would never come his way. He must deliver her to the convent, to a life of prayer and contemplation. The prospect left him feeling bereft. You are daft, Rory. You should not be entertaining such thoughts about this woman. She is a commoner, and you know nothing about her...except that she had told the truth about being a harper. When he had taken her hand to help her mount, he had felt the callused tips of her long, tapered fingers, a distinct characteristic of harpists. Still, her speech and carriage seemed too refined for a mere minstrel. Perhaps, her dignified manner resulted from her time in the convent school? Hamish stirred. Yawning, the auburn-haired man sat up. "We are not far from Kelso. Let's stop at the Golden Thistle and break our fast. I'd also like to buy some good wine from the wine merchant there."

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"Aye," Rory answered, already anticipating the food from the tavern in the city below. "Some roasted beef or lamb would be good after a diet of oatcakes, barely water, and the dried fruit we had to subsist on while we were in England." "Did someone mention victuals?" Rose asked. "I did," Rory confessed. Speculation about her eyes ended. They sparkled like the deep blue waters of a loch on a summer morn. She stood, stretching her arms. The gesture caused her breasts to thrust forward, and Rory felt blood settle heavily in his loins. Still, the woman was forbidden to him, intended for the convent. He must think about something else. He got to his feet. "Rose, we must be on our way if we want to reach the abbey in time for vespers." "To be sure. I just want to wash my face in the stream we are following. The cool water soothes the pain." "Of course. Hamish and I need to do the same, and Stout Heart likely needs a drink, too." **** A short time later, they rode into Kelso, the deerhound loping along beside them. An air of excitement seemed to buzz through the town, and Rory surmised something was amiss. Were English spies lurking about? They often were.

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They entered the Golden Thistle and sat as Stout Heart obediently curled up under the trestle table by Rory's feet. "Good day, Lord Glendarach and Sir Hamish," the raven-haired serving wench said. "The same to you, Catriona," Rory replied. "You're as bonnie as the heather on the hills, lass," Hamish announced, smiling. The buxom young woman beamed. "I'll wager you say that to all the females you meet." Hamish laughed. "Not all, I can assure you." Taking their order, Catriona replied, "I shall return with your food in a moment." As the serving wench sauntered away, Rose gave him a look of reproach. "Why did you not say you and Hamish were noblemen?" Rory shrugged. "Would it have made a difference?" "Nay." She shook her head. "I knew you were knights." The ewerer came with a pitcher of water, a basin, soap, and towels. Rory, Rose, and Hamish washed their hands. Their ablutions completed, Catriona returned. Setting down the tray, she placed the platter of beef, the trenchers, and three tankards of heather ale before them. Stooping, the buxom girl also put a bowl of meat scraps on the floor for Stout Heart.

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As she straightened, the wench asked, "Did you hear about the murder, my lord?" Startled, Rory looked up at her. "Nay, Catriona, I did not. Who was killed?" "A traveler from Berwick arrived about an hour ago. He said the English lord, Walter Bosworth, was found dead at Carrigston Castle in Lady Rosalyn's bedchamber of all places, and him to marry her this day." "Serves the bloody bastard right after what he did to Glendarach," Hamish asserted. Catriona took the knives and spoons from the tray and set them on the table. "The English king is very angry and is offering a thousand pounds for the delivery of the murderer. They suspect the Lady Rosalyn, Lord Bosworth's intended wife. She is nowhere to be found, but they discovered her bloody shift on the floor next to the poker she used to dash out his brains." "Have they given a description of the woman?" Rory asked. "They say she is blonde and beautiful, my lord." Hamish rolled his eyes. "A good many pretty English women have fair hair. So do plenty of bonnie Scottish lasses." "They say her harp is missing," Catriona added. Apparently, she must have taken that with her. They think that she is likely traveling on foot because her palfrey is still in the stable."

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Rory and Hamish exchanged sharp looks as Rose stared at her trencher, her hands clenched. "Thank you for the information, Catriona. If we see anything, we will send a message to the English King. Both Sir Hamish and I could share the reward. I could use the funds to repair my castle." Rory paid for the food, and the serving girl left. He and Hamish hastily devoured their meals, but he noticed that Rose hardly touched hers, although she downed her ale. Rory never doubted for a moment that he had custody of Lady Rosalyn. The woman had lied. He vowed to make her pay for the deception. **** In a state of absolute terror, Rosalyn rode with Rory and Hamish to a secluded cave in the forest. Dismounting first, Rory pulled her from the saddle. "So, Lady Rosalyn, what would you have us do with you?" "Why ask me a rhetorical question when you know full well that you will turn me over to the English king." Hiding her fear behind a show of defiance, she lifted her chin and tried to keep from crying. "You both admitted that you could use the money." A look of remorse stole into Rory's coal-dark eyes. Still, he lashed back. "I said that because I was angry that you had deceived us. Suppose Hamish hadn't had the wit to cover your harp and someone reported us?

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Kelso might have been swarming with Edward's spies, and we could have been on our way back to England to hang at this very moment." "Aye." Hamish nodded, shooting her a look of reproach. "But I, for one, do not really want any part of blood money!" She glared at Rory. "Well, you were not exactly honest with me either. You never told me that you were Lord Glendarach." Rory raked his fingers through his long black hair. "You cannot compare our deception with yours. We never gave you false names or occupations." "Do not tell me you were in Scotland for any reasons other than espionage. You have been reconnoitering the area, so you can prepare for some kind of battle. If those activities do not amount to guile and deception, I do not know what does!" The glance Rory exchanged with Hamish confirmed her suspicions. She knew, though, that they would never admit that she had guessed their purpose for being in England. "And what about the vow, sworn on your sword, to protect me?" she continued. Hamish's eyes widened. "You cannot hold us to that, Lady Rosalyn. We made that oath when we thought you were innocent Rose Harper, an aspiring nun."

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Hands on his hips, feet apart, Rory scowled at her. "Aye, and what other falsehoods did you feed us? Was the statement about knowing no man another one of your lies?" "What does that matter now? You will find out after you rape me. That is really what this is all about, isn't it? Sex, money, and power are all men want. After you violate me, you will turn me over the English for your thirty pieces of silver." "How dare you!" Rory shouted. "I am no rapist." "And I am a married man who loves his wife," Hamish affirmed. "I have no intention of committing adultery with the likes of you." "But you will betray me for the reward." Rory and Hamish looked at each other, uncomfortable expressions on their faces. "Have mercy on me, my lords. Let me go to the Inversruthan Abbey." "And let the innocent nuns harbor a murderess who will bring English forces down on them? Nay!" "How will the king discover I am there?" Rory began to pace. "An abbey is a busy place, my lady, not immune to the news either. Furthermore, lay servants, laborers, and guests come and go. Someone is bound to suspect the new blonde postulant with the upperclass English accent and report it to the authorities for the reward, especially if she arrives carrying a harp."

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"So what will you do with me? My presence endangers you, as well, for if we are caught together, the king's men will think you are my accomplices." "Not if we explain we are bringing you to them for the reward," Hamish replied. Desperate to escape, Rosalyn remembered the jewels and money hidden on her person, but she hesitated to bargain for her freedom. These men could take the valuables from her and still turn her over to the English. "So what will you do with me, my lord?" Rory stopped pacing and shook his head. "I have not yet decided. Until I do, you will remain my captive." Stout Heart at his heels, Rory walked to the packhorse. Opening a saddlebag, he withdrew a pair of long hose, a shirt, short tunic with a lirapiped hood, boots, and a belt, and draped them over his arm. Luckily, he and Hamish always kept some changes of clothes, for they liked fresh garments if they had to spend several days in the saddle. "Get out of your vestments and put these on." "Are you suggesting I disrobe in front of the two of you?" "Take them off, my lady, or Hamish and I shall tear them off your body."

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Chapter Three

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"So, you do have rape on your mind!" Rosalyn looked from Hamish to Rory, her periwinkle blue eyes wide with terror. "Do not be ridiculous." Rory exhaled noisily. "For the time being, I am trying to keep us out of harm's way. How long do you think it will take for someone to report that a blonde woman carrying a harp traveled this way with two men?" Despite the truth of his words, the anticipation of seeing Rosalyn naked made Rory's loins throb. Strangely, the new information about her did not quell his attraction for her. "Oh, I see." She glared at him. "You do not want anyone else to capture me and claim the reward." "Precisely." He nodded toward the cave. "Inside, my lady. Hamish, stand guard." "Aye," the man answered. She entered the cavern and stood near its mouth. He followed. "I told you that if you did not remove those clothes, I'd tear them off. So, my lady, which method of divestment do you prefer?" Her arrogance gone, terror stalked the depths of her eyes. "I-I will remove them, my lord." Her long fingers trembled as she unclasped her cloak, and the battered green woolen garment fell in a soft heap. Next, she untied the cord at the waist of her kirtle, and the old dun-colored frock loosened.

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Rory's mouth went dry as he waited for her to discard the worn vestment, for he found Rosalyn's slightest movements immensely provocative. She shrugged out of her kirtle. Now, she stood clad in just her shift, but he fixed his attention on the leather pouch, hanging from a cord tied around her waist. He walked toward her and touched it. He tried, with little success, to ignore her nipples, poking conspicuously beneath the linen of her undergarment. He unsheathed his dirk. Rosalyn jumped back against the wall of the cave, a look of pure horror on her face. "I-I suppose the king will pay the same for my corpse as he would if you delivered me alive." He suppressed the pity that contracted his heart at the sight of fear in her eyes. "I do not mean you any harm, Lady Rosalyn." He cut through the girdle, and the pouch fell with a heavy clink. He backed away. "Pick it up." Trembling, she lifted the small leather sack. "Give it to me," he demanded. Moving away from the wall, she extended her hand, and he took the purse. Turning it over, he let the gold and jewels plummet to the ground. "Do you add theft to your list of crimes?" "I know you will not believe me, but the funds belong to me, and so do the jewels. 'Twas to be my dowry for acceptance into the convent."

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He arched a brow. "I remember. You worked as a minstrel since you were a little girl and saved it." "I also said I had inherited some money from my mother. Those coins and jewels were hers." "Of course," he replied sarcastically. "Now, take off your shift. "Even a murderess is entitled to some privacy." "I refuse to turn my back on you, Rosalyn. I do not trust you." "That is an excuse to indulge your voyeuristic tendencies. You are armed, and even if I managed to elude you, that shaggy gray beast of yours would tear my flesh to shreds." "Remove that shift!" "At least have the common decency to avert your eyes." Perhaps he should look away, for his loins were burning with need. He peered out toward the mouth of the cave, and he heard her slip off the shift. However, he could not resist looking at her body. He turned, and his mouth went dry, for the epitome of feminine perfection stood before him. His gaze traveled from her full firm breasts, scanned to her narrow waist, then to the flare of her hips, the triangular patch of glistening golden filaments between her thighs, and down her long, lovely legs. He also noticed the bruises on her arms and legs. She blushed, crossing her arms in front of her in an attempt at modesty. "Peeping Tom." Her lips pursed with contempt.

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"'Tis a good thing I looked because your breasts present a problem." "Not for me. I am quite attached to them." "Do not waste your wry humor on me, my lady. They need concealing. Flatten them by tying one of your stockings around them. Rosalyn slipped off her shoes and hosiery. Taking one stocking, she wrapped it around her chest, flattening the fullness of her bosoms as best she could. Then Rory handed her the garments one by one. They were too big for her, but that was an advantage, for the ill-fitting clothes hid her feminine curves. Before she pulled up the hood, he stepped behind her, taking her hair in his hands. He had wanted to feel those silky strands from the moment he saw them. He began plaiting the wavy golden tresses in a long braid as thick as his wrist. When he finished, he secured its end with a leather thong he pulled from beneath his surcoat. "How did you come by your bruises? Did that so-called amorous man give them to you, or was that just another lie?" "Bosworth gave them to me, my lord." "So you dashed out his brains." "I do not remember." "That statement is as callus as 'tis unlikely." He pulled up her closefitting hood, ensuring none of her hair remained visible and stepped back, a

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look of scorn in his dark eyes. "Do you know how to tell the truth, Lady Rosalyn?" "The truth is often not obvious." "Then suppose you explain." "It would be of no use. You just implied that I did not know how to tell the truth. You would believe nothing I said." "Enough of your sophistry, my lady. Let us go before we meet with an Englishman hungry for a reward." "For how long will I have to continue with this mummery of pretending to be a boy, my lord?" "For as long as I see fit, Robbie." "And then?" "I have not planned that far in advance. Now, cease your interrogation. I want to reach Glendarach before supper, so pick up your jewels and money." She gazed at him wide-eyed. "You wish me to keep them in my possession?" "I'd not steal from woman, Rose, even if she is a murderess." **** They reached Glendarach Castle in late afternoon. Its crenellated towers soaring toward a sky that promised rain, the sandstone fortress hugged the top of the incline as the high curtain wall undulated over the

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contours of the hill. The lovely site would have made Rory's heart swell with pride had the east wing not stood blackened and open to the sky. The roof needed replacing soon, or the walls would become unsound. If only this conflict with the English would end, he could concentrate on acquiring the funds needed to repair his beloved home. If.... As they approached the foot of the motte, Hamish turned toward him. "I shall leave you here, Rory." "You will not bide a while and take some refreshment?" "Thank you, but I have another hour's ride to my estate, and I am anxious to get home." Hamish smiled sheepishly. Rory bobbed his brows. "I understand completely. Have a happy reunion with Clare." "I fully intend to, old friend. Good day, Lady Rosalyn." Rory frowned. "Hamish, I think it wise to keep the lady's identity a secret until I make a decision about what I shall do with her." "Rest assured, Rory. I shall not even tell Clare. She might let the information slip. Then we should have Edward's forces swarming down on us like a hives of angry bees." "To say nothing of those who will try to abduct her for the reward," Rory added. Rory felt Rosalyn's body, so close to his, stiffen.

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She looked over her shoulder at him. "Aye, you cannot have anyone else claiming the reward, can you? Why do you condemn me before you know any of the circumstances surrounding my alleged crime?" "What circumstances?" "I am not sure I killed Bosworth." "Let me understand this. His body was found in your bedchamber by your discarded shift, which had blood on it. You admitted struggling with him, and you expect Hamish and me to believe you are innocent when you ran like a guilty felon? If you were innocent you would have stayed and defended yourself. I certainly should have." "You do not know what you would have done. You cannot really be certain until you are confronted with the situation." "I am not interested in any more of your lies or arguments, my lady." She turned away from him and looked straight ahead. "I think this is a good time to take my leave, Rory." Giving him a wary look, Hamish lifted his gloved hand. "Aye, go with God, Hamish." Rory returned the gesture of farewell. The burly man wheeled his mount around and rode off in the direction of his estate. With no distractions now, Rory became even more aware of Rosalyn's soft body. God! Why did this woman, the most beautiful and desirable he had ever seen, have to be a murderess? He did not grieve Bosworth's death, for the blackguard had led the siege against Glendarach. Still, that did not

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alter that fact that Lady Rosalyn had killed the man, probably in cold blood, too. He must stay away from her. He should also start thinking of her as Rose Harper, instead of Lady Rosalyn. A blast of wind hit them, and scowling clouds hovered over the glen. His destrier snorted and pranced restively, obviously sensing the brewing storm. Rory urged his horse up the steep incline to the arch flanked by two huge towers, which comprised the barbican. "Does a dungeon await me inside, my lord?" "No dungeon. I do not want anyone to know I am harboring a fugitive. For now, you will ply your trade as a minstrel. My clansmen could stand a bit of entertainment." "How very kind of you." Her tone redolent with sarcasm, she again looked over her shoulder and arched a brow. "Until you decide to collect your reward, am I to be Rose or Robbie?" "Once inside of Glendarach's walls, 'twill be safe to call you Rose." Rory had to admit that he found it difficult to think of her as a lad. **** Rosalyn and Lord Glendarach walked into the castle entrance, Stout Heart behind them, the dog's nails tapping on the flagstone floor. Under her arm, Rosalyn carried her harp and the old clothes in which she had fled.

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A dainty redheaded woman with even features seemed to float down the sandstone steps and approached. Was this lady Lord Glendarach's wife? Hamish had revealed his marital status, but Rory had never mentioned a spouse. Rosalyn waited anxiously, hoping this beautiful woman was not Lady Glendarach. Why should you concern yourself, Rosalyn? The man is your enemy. She had no reason to care if Rory and this woman had a relationship, but despite all logic, she did care, for she still felt powerfully attracted to him. "My lord." The redhead dropped into a graceful bow. "Lady Elspeth." He took the woman's hand, supporting her as she lifted herself from the curtsy. "This is a surprise, Lady Elspeth." Rory gave the redhead's hand a perfunctory kiss, but he did not seem enthusiastic about seeing her. The woman smiled. "I thought you might like some company after your long trip. I know I could enjoy some companionship. 'Tis been so lonely for me since my dear husband died." So, Lady Elspeth was not his wife. Rosalyn breathed a sigh of relief. The woman, however, gave the impression of being a lusty widow on the prowl, for the looks she was aiming at Rory scintillated with unveiled sexuality. Rosalyn felt a pang of jealousy.

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Lady Elspeth turned to her, a questioning look on her face. "Who is your companion, my lord?" "This is Rose the Harper, my lady," Rory explained. "I have engaged her to entertain us." "Rose? From the look of her, I thought you had found a new lad for a squire." The widow's cool gaze of appraisal swept over Rosalyn from the top of her hood to the tips of her boots. Rosalyn's gut knotted, and she took an immediate dislike to the woman. "Did his lordship find you in England or in Scotland, Rose?" "Scotland, Elspeth," Rory answered, before Rosalyn had a chance to respond. "My mission in England hardly gave me time to engage a minstrel." "I see. Well, I'm eager to hear you play, Rose. 'Twill be a lovely prelude to the evening's main amusement." Lady Elspeth gave Rory another sultry look of invitation. Rosalyn thought the redhead behaved more brazenly than a tavern wench. Suddenly, a lovely dark-haired girl of about six years old ran into the large entrance hall. "Father!" "Deirdre!" Rory swept the child up and swung her into the air, and the girl squealed with delight. Stout Heart pranced about, then stood on his

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hind legs, nosing his way between the embrace shared by Rory and the child. Rosalyn saw the family resemblance immediately, for the child had inherited her large dark eyes and raven hair from her father. If Rory had a child, where was his wife, or was Deirdre a by-blow? The look of annoyance on Lady Elspeth's face distracted Rosalyn from further speculation. "Down, Stout Heart," little Deirdre commanded. The large deerhound immediately sat, and the child stroked his rough gray coat. An elderly woman approached. "Come along, Lady Deirdre." Rory set the child down. "Let her stay with me, Mairead." "As you wish, my lord," the old woman replied. Rory turned toward Rosalyn. "Rose, here, needs lodging. Instruct one of the servants to prepare Lady Janet's old room." "That room is always kept as if Lady Janet were here, my lord." "Good," Rory replied. Lady Elspeth stared at him. "But, my lord, that suite adjoins yours." Rosalyn wondered how Lady Elspeth knew that the chambers were connected. Had she once occupied those rooms...and perhaps his bed? Rory ignored the redhead. "And, Mairead, please see that Rose and I are supplied with a bath, fresh clothes, and a goblet of wine. We've had a long journey and need to refresh ourselves before supper." Rory directed a

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glare at Lady Elspeth. "I have promised Rose my protection. I shall leave it to you to show her to her chambers and see that she gets all she needs." "Aye, my lord," Lady Elspeth replied, gripping her handkerchief so tightly her knuckles shone white. "Now, I should like to spend some time with my daughter. Come along, sweeting." He took Deirdre's hand. "You may stay with me until my bath water arrives." The little girl looked up at him, adoration in her eyes. "May I come back after you finish your bath, father?" "Well, I must write a report to the Bruce, love." He smiled down on her. "But I promise to send for you the moment I finish the missive. I intend to spend as much time with you as I can." Mairead curtsied. "I shall send a servant to light hearth fires in the chambers, my lord." She took the harp and bundle from Rosalyn's arms. "Let me bring these to your room, Rose. "Thank you, Mairead." When Rory and Mairead were out of earshot, Lady Elspeth turned to Rosalyn and gave her a look that would have withered a Scottish pine. "How many days did you travel with his lordship?" "One night and today." The woman arched a brow. "I suppose that gave the two of you plenty of time to become very well acquainted."

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Rosalyn did not like the woman's innuendo. "We were chaperoned by Sir Hamish Kerr." "Right." Lady Elspeth's wrinkled her nose as if she smelled a foul odor. "This way, harper." They mounted the long flight of stone steps to the second level of the great sandstone castle. As they entered the chamber, Rosalyn almost gasped aloud. The huge room sprawled before her. A large bed with fine Burgundy silk hangings and coverlet stood against the wall. The great row of leaded casements jutted out, forming an oriel window. In the pointed arch of each aperture, delicate limestone tracery formed a cinquefoil. Her harp and bundle of clothes rested on the dressing table in front of the exquisite bay, and a fire already danced in the hearth. The room was fit for a lady, not a mere minstrel. "I have no doubt you will be comfortable here." Lady Elspeth's look of naked hatred belied her polite words. "Thank you, my lady." "I suppose you are welcome, harper," Elspeth answered without sincerity. "But not by you." "'Tis not my home, Rose. Furthermore, there is much about you that I find suspicious. His lordship says that he found you in Scotland, but your speech has the sound of an Englishwoman."

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Rosalyn cringed inwardly. "My father was English, but my mother was Scottish." "Are you an orphan then?" "Aye," Rosalyn lied, denying her father was still alive. Elspeth walked toward her and picked up one of Rosalyn's hands, boldly examining the callused fingertips. "Well, I suppose you really are a harper, but you lack the humility of a commoner. The way you behave, one would think that you were born a noblewoman. If I were you, minstrel, I should conduct myself with more modesty." "Aye, my lady." Rosalyn seethed with suppressed anger. "This will teach you meekness." Elspeth drew back her arm and swung as if to slap, but Rosalyn caught the woman's wrist. Elspeth's wide, aqua eyes narrowed. "How dare you!" "I have the right to defend myself." Rosalyn met her glare unflinchingly. "You are nothing and nobody." Elspeth jerked free of Rosalyn's grasp. "You have no rights." "I have the right of his lordship's protection, of which he assured me, my lady. He would not like you abusing me." "You are his whore, aren't you?" Elspeth's face contorted with rage. "Nay." Rosalyn lifted her chin. "I am his ward."

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"You are a liar." Elspeth's words had the sting of an adder's venom. "Why else would he give you Lady Janet's chambers if not for easy access from his rooms to these?" "You will have to ask him that question, my lady. As for me, I am very tired, and I should like to rest." "Sweet Saint Ninian! Do you have the effrontery to dismiss me?" "'Tis you who are overly bold, Lady Elspeth. Lord Glendarach asked you to see to my hospitality, yet you tried to strike me. Shall I tell him you ignored his request?" "You will regret your impertinence to me, Rose." The angry redhead turned abruptly and left, slamming the door behind her. Suddenly, the brooding clouds seemed to burst, and the wind drove the rain against the casements, sending a stiff draft through the chamber. Walking to the hearth, Rosalyn held her fingers over the flames. Though it was June, the storm had brought a chill to the air. As she stared at the fire, Rosalyn mind's wandered back to Rory. Why had he given her, his captive, this wonderful chamber? Despite the fact that he said he wanted no one to know she was a fugitive, he could have assigned her to the servant's quarters. The man's changeable behavior confused her. At first, he seemed the answer to her prayers, and she had felt an immediate and powerful attraction to him. She could have sworn he reciprocated her feelings.

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And who was Lady Janet? Was she Rory's wife? If so, where was she? How will she feel to discover I am using her bedchamber? A knock interrupted her musings. A basket over her arm, Mairead bustled in, carrying a tray with a silver goblet on it. Two male servants followed, carrying a tub, buckets of water, linens, and soap. "I am bringing some mulled wine." Mairead placed the tray on the dressing table in front of the casements. "There is a hot stone in the basket, I shall put it in the bed to warm the sheets if you want a nap after your bath. The weather has gotten cold, and this castle is drafty." "That would be lovely. Thank you, Mairead." The two men set down the tub and buckets of water before the fire. They put the thick linen towels on a chair by the tub, placing the cake of soap on them. Then they made a hasty exit. After she put the wrapped hot stone in the bed, Mairead went to the trunk at the foot of the bed and removed a fresh shift. Next, she withdrew an under gown of cream silk and a sleeveless overtunic of sapphire velvet, its hem embroidered with gold thread in a pattern of thistles. She also pulled out a pair of hose and leather slippers. Closing the trunk, she draped the raiment over its convex lid. "Do those garments belong to the Lady Janet?" Rosalyn pushed back her lirapiped hood and began unbraiding her hair. "They did. The poor lass is dead now," the older woman answered.

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"Oh, I am sorry. Who was she Mairead?" "Och, she was my dear lady and his lordship's wife. She died almost two years ago. She hemorrhaged after giving birth to a stillborn son. She had lost several bairns since Deirdre's birth." The old woman's shoulders sagged. "His lordship was daft with grief. "Since then, the eligible ladies of the district have been throwing themselves at his head." Mairead shook her head. "But he will have none of them." "Lady Elspeth included?" A look of disgust flickered over Mairead's face. "The woman has been trying to get her claws into him for nearly a year, but he remains indifferent to her." "I assume you do not like her." Rosalyn raked her fingers through her unbraided hair, further loosening it. "I should not be talking out of turn, Rose. I am just a servant here." "Still, I detect that you do not want her for your mistress." "Nay, I do not. She is arrogant, and she ignores Lady Deirdre." "That's sad. The little girl is sweet." A wistful look stole over Mairead's face. "I've cared for her as I cared for her mother." "You came to Glendarach with his lordship's deceased wife?" "Aye. Poor, dear Janet was a lovely, kind woman." Rosalyn could see the sorrow in the old woman's pale blue eyes.

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"Shall I help you with your bath, Rose?" "I can manage." "I'll leave you then." "Thank you, Mairead." The woman left. Rosalyn then took her bath and shampooed her hair. Donning a fresh shift, she toweled her long, thick hair until it was almost dry. She found a comb on the dressing table. Sitting with her back to the fire, she carefully drew the ivory instrument through her locks, removing the tangles from her them. The heat soothed her tired body and soon banished the excess moisture from her tresses. Rosalyn went to the table, set down the implement, and picked up the goblet of mulled wine from the silver tray. Careful not to spill it, she slipped into the warm feather bed. After her journey on the road, she eagerly anticipated sleeping on a comfortable mattress again. As she sipped the spicy brew, relaxation spread to every nerve and muscle of her body. She began to imagine what life would be like if she had married a kind, handsome man who would love and cherish her. Putting the empty goblet on the prayer stand by the bed, she closed her eyes, and the vision of a handsome raven-haired lord with dark eyes and black lashes smiled at her. He offered her his arm, and they walked into a sunlit rose garden. He put his arms around her waist and drew her close.

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Slowly, deliberately, he inclined his head, his full sweet lips touching down on hers. Desire swept over her like a summer breeze blowing across a meadow. Suddenly, the sweet zephyr became a foul breath. Lord Bosworth was attacking her. "Nay, please!" she screamed as he shook her violently. "Rose, wake up," she heard someone say from far away, but her tormentor continued. "Rose!" She started and opened her eyes. Rory loomed over her, and a wideeyed Deirdre stood by his side. He brushed Rosalyn's hair from her eyes. "I did not mean to intrude, but I heard you cry out, so I entered through the adjoining doorway." "I am sorry, my lord. I had a nightmare." Tears distorted her vision. Deirdre took hold of Rosalyn's hand. "Don't cry, Rose. Father will make it go away. When I have a bad dream, he holds me in his arms and chases it far away." The child's attempt to comfort her touched Rosalyn's heart. "Have my father hold you, Rose." Rory caressed the child's head. "Sweeting, find Mairead and have her change your clothes for supper." The little girl's eyes brightened. "I'm to dine with you and not in the nursery?"

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"I told you I wanted to spend as much time with you as I could, lass." "May I wear my new red kirtle, father?" "Aye." He smiled indulgently. Rory seemed like a good parent. Until Rosalyn's father had decided to sell her in marriage, he had hardly ever paid her any attention. The child scampered away, plucking a string of Rosalyn's harp as she hurried past it. Then she stopped and turned. "Father, is Rose an angel? She looks like one, and she plays a harp." Rosalyn smiled through her tears. "I am not an angel, but thank you for your pretty compliment, Lady Deirdre." "You are welcome." Deirdre ran out and closed the door. "She is a lovely child, my lord." "Thank you." "I apologize for causing a disturbance." He shook his head. "You didn't. I'm sorry a bad dream interrupted your sleep." Rory withdrew a handkerchief from his jerkin and gently began dabbing the tears from her face. His kindness melted her heart, and Rosalyn viewed him as she had when he first offered to help her -- as her savior. As he leaned near, however, her tender feelings gave way to hot, hungry desire. Shaken by its intensity, Rosalyn swallowed hard, and fought the attraction. She must remember that she was his prisoner, and he would turn her over to the English King when he felt ready to do so.

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Suddenly, a knock on the door startled them. "Enter," he ordered. Lady Elspeth walked in. "There you are, my lord!" She sidled up to him. "I have been looking for you." "I heard Rose cry out. I entered and discovered she was having a nightmare, so I woke her." Elspeth arched an auburn brow. "How convenient that your suite adjoins hers, and you heard her." She glared at Rosalyn. Rory exhaled a deep, audible breath. "What is it that you want, Lady Elspeth?" "I thought you could accompany me to supper, my lord." "Oh. For a moment, I thought that you had come to check on Rose." "I have ordered Barbara to do that. She should be here shortly After all, my lord, I am not a lady's maid." "I see," he replied. "Do walk me into supper." She offered her arm. He took it, and as they walked out, the redhead looked over her shoulder and shot Rosalyn a look of triumph. **** The next day, Rosalyn strolled about the house and stopped to survey the devastation of the east wing. The scorched walls vaulted toward the sky. Charred beams lay where they had collapsed on the flagged floor. The

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delicate pointed arches of the window frames presented a depressing sight without their lovely leaded panes. "'Tis not a pretty sight." Startled, she whirled around. Rory stood in the doorway, which led to the sound part of the castle. She shook her head. "Nay, 'tis not." "'Twas Bosworth's handiwork." He walked toward her. "I am glad you managed to repel the vile beast's siege, my lord." "And I am glad you escaped him." "So you can collect the reward that is on my head?" "Perhaps." Again, he reverted from being her protector, as he had been last night, to her persecutor. Once more, she felt that the only reason he was harboring her was so he could return her to the English for the reward. It galled Rosalyn that she must die for a crime she was unsure she had committed. Perhaps she would more readily accept her punishment if she could be certain she killed the man. She had scoured her brain, yet she could not recollect a single detail of the act. "I suppose you will use the reward money to repair this wing." "Maybe." "Are you certain about anything, my lord?" she asked irritably. "Perhaps and maybe tell me nothing."

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"I have not yet made a decision, Rose. Besides, the reward may not cover the entire cost of the repairs." Now seemed like a propitious time to negotiate for her freedom. Rosalyn reached beneath her mantle for her leather pouch. Opening it, she withdrew a huge ruby. The gem in the hollow of her palm, she extended her hand to him. "Take this stone. It should at least pay for the roof." He pushed her hand away. "I do not accept bribes, Rose." Tears flooded her eyes. "Yet, you would accept blood money, even though extenuating circumstances about my guilt may exist. Sell me to the English King now, my lord," she blurted out between sobs. "The end of a rope will be a kinder fate than the cat and mouse game you are playing with me." "Rose -- " She did not wait for him to finish. Turning, she fled. **** His retainers about him, Rory sat in the great hall, his daughter on his lap, Lady Elspeth to his left. Stout Heart lay at his feet, gnawing on a big bone. The evening meal long ago finished, everyone listened to the rippling strains of Rose's harp as they resonated through the air. Her beautiful voice rang with the clarity of a silver bell as she sang the plaintive ballad. She emanated loveliness and seduction, and Rory wanted her more than he had ever wanted any woman, even his deceased wife, Janet.

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He had genuinely grieved when his spouse died, for she had been sweet and loving. However, what he had felt for Janet couldn't compare with the raw emotions Rose conjured up in him. 'Tis lust, Rory. Still, how could he lie with a murderess? Nevertheless, desire knew no morality. His feelings amounted to physical attraction, without conscience, just his body responding to hers. But you promised to protect her, Rory. However, his vow was now null and void, for he had made it, thinking she was an innocent girl. Why did he continue to protect her -- and at considerable risk to himself? The English could accuse him of aiding and abetting her. Furthermore, she had killed a peer of the realm. Would his hunger for her destroy him? He wouldn't be the first man to be ruined by his obsession for a woman. Rose finished the song and stood. Acknowledging the applause, she bowed. He nodded his dismissal, and she left the room. After another goblet of wine, Rory set Deirdre on her feet and rose. "Come, lass. 'Tis past your bedtime." "But, father," the child whined. "Not another word, Deirdre, or I shall not take you riding tomorrow." "Oh, all right." The child yawned and rubbed her eyes. Lady Elspeth looked up at him. "Will you be coming back?"

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"Nay. After I hear Deirdre's prayers and see her abed, I plan to retire for the night." Lady Elspeth stood, leaned forward, and whispered, "Well, if you have a need to tuck someone else in, I'll gladly share my bed." "Thank you, my lady, but not tonight." Not ever! He left, taking Deirdre to the nursery. After Mairead put the child to bed, Rory heard his child's prayers. Deirdre closed her devotion with, "And please let Rose Harper stay with us, Dear Lord, because she is as kind and as beautiful as an angel." Rory kissed his daughter's forehead. "Sleep well, my sweet." "Aye, father, I shall try, but I feel warm. May I have a drink of barley water?" "Now, Deirdre, no more ploys. Go to sleep." "But I am thirsty, father." "All right," he said on a deep sigh. Rory walked to the large table before the hearth. Taking up the pitcher, he poured the water into a goblet. Returning to Deirdre, he gave her the drink. "Thank you, father." She surprised him by draining the cup. He took the empty vessel from her. "Sweet dreams, love." "Same to you, father."

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Returning the empty goblet to the table, he left and made his way to his room. Unfortunately, the wine he had taken earlier inflamed rather than subdued his desire. He should avoid Rose, yet he found himself in front of the adjoining door. Unable to subdue the urge, he flung open the barrier and strode in.

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Chapter Four Rosalyn started and turned toward him. "My Lord!" The firelight turned her fair complexion to a lovely blush and transformed her hair to a glorious nimbus of gold. Ashamed of the way he had barged into the room, he walked to her. "I am sorry I startled you. I should have knocked." "'Tis your home, and I am a captive here." Her words caused him to bridle. "That is not true, Rose. I have treated you like a lady. Haven't I been a good host?" "Aye, until you decide that the time is right to turn me over to King Edward." He grabbed her wrists and put his face close to hers. "Perhaps, I should have done so days ago, when I first discovered your identity, my lady." "Then why didn't you?" "For the same reason that I helped a frightened minstrel girl who turned out to be a murderess." "I did not murder Lord Bosworth." He released her so abruptly she staggered back. "No more lies, Rose." Her shoulders sagged, and the fight seemed to go out of her. "Murder requires premeditation, my lord. I did not plan to kill Bosworth.

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All I can recall is struggling with him, and I wanted to reach for the poker, but not to kill him, just to render him unconscious, so he couldn't rape me." She began to cry. "I could not get to it, so, I scratched his face and ran. He caught me, and we fell. Then he struck me, and I think I fainted." She put her hand to the bruise on her face. "When I woke, I found him with his skull smashed in. I got out of my bloody shift and ran." Her story could be true. The bruises on her body bore out that someone had beaten her. "I may have killed him before I fainted, but I do not remember doing it. That does not constitute murder, for I never conspired to kill him." "Who else could have killed him, Rose?" She shook her head and bit her lip. The look of sorrow in her eyes wrung his heart. "Why would Bosworth rape you just hours before he planned to marry you?" "It did not matter to him whether we were wed in the eyes of God or not. He wanted to dominate and abuse me. With him, it would always be rape, for I would never willingly submit, and I believe he knew that. My resistance to the match was no secret." She pulled a handkerchief from the sleeve of her under gown and wiped her tears. "Your reluctance could be considered a motive for murder, Rose." "I know. I was also certain that no one would believe my story, so I fled."

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Rory knew her statement about Walter Bosworth's cruelty to be true. The man killed the prisoners he could not ransom, never giving any quarter. He also allowed his men to ravish the vanquished women. Rose trembled. "He even told me to fight him, that the sport amused and excited him." Could the poor woman be telling the truth about not remembering the killing? He had seen men shocked from the trauma of battle and unable to recall what had happened to them. "I am sorry if I took a life, my lord, but I cannot regret that I prevented him from raping me." She burst into tears again. "Was that what you were dreaming about when Deirdre and I woke you?" "Aye." She nodded and sniffed into her handkerchief. "Perhaps we should take Deirdre's advice?" Frowning, she tucked the handkerchief into the snug sleeve of her under gown. "What advice?" "That I should take you into my arms." She stared at the floor. "Aren't you afraid I will try to murder you, my lord?" He nudged up her chin and gazed into her amazingly blue eyes. "I believe I can defend myself if the occasion arises." He slid his hand over her cheek. "But I do not think you are in the mood to kill me. Are you, Rose?"

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"Nay," she whispered, her pupils dilated. He drew her into his arms, feeling the full length of her pliant body against his. She provoked a hunger in him that would not relent. "Have you ever been kissed, Rose?" "Nay," she murmured, closing her eyes and offering her lips to him. Instead of claiming her mouth, he nibbled her lower lip. The sweet sampling caused him to want a greater portion, and Rory then kissed her full on the lips. Her arms collared his neck. He became delirious with need as she moaned and writhed against him, and his manhood swelled. He poised his tongue at the seam of her lips, requesting ingress. As she opened to him, he savored her sweetness, for she still tasted of the wine she had drunk earlier. Without breaking the kiss, he picked her up and placed her on the bed. As she lay back on the pillows, he cupped her breast. She groaned and placed her hand over his, increasing the pressure. She smelled like sun-warmed heather on an August afternoon. Lying beside her, he tugged at the tie at her neck. The bow gave way, and the cloth separated, giving him access to her naked breasts. She gasped as he took her nipple into his mouth. She tasted salty yet sweet. He wanted more, so much more, for he could not get enough of kissing her, caressing her, and holding her. "Rose," he whispered.

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All at once, he heard a knock coming from the door in his suite "Damnation!" Frustrated, he moved away. Rose quickly arranged her shift and pulled the covers over her. He strode to his room and flung open the oaken barrier leading to the corridor. "Mairead! What is amiss?" "Please come, my lord. Lady Deirdre is ill. She is calling for you." He hurried to his child's bed and put his hand to the little girl's brow. Fear seized him. His daughter had a raging fever. Dear God, please do not let her die. "I feel terrible, father. My head hurts." "I shall sit with her, Mairead. You get some rest, for I think we shall have to take turns nursing her." "Very well, my lord. Is there anything I can bring you?" "Not at the moment." "Good night, my lord," she said and left. A few moments later, Rose appeared. "I could not help overhearing your conversation, my lord. I've come to offer my help." Rory left Deirdre's side and whispered, "You are taking a risk, Rose. You may catch what she has." She shrugged. "At home, I often nursed the sick. I never came down with anything." In addition to beauty and talent, Rose had courage and strength of character. The more he knew about her, the more he admired her.

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"I will stay tonight, Rose. I may need your help tomorrow." "As you wish, my lord." She turned and started toward the door. "Rose." She stopped and faced him. "Aye?" "Thank you." "You are most welcome, my lord." **** A few days latter, Rosalyn gently dabbed an ointment she had made of marigold petals, almond oil, and beeswax on Deirdre's measles. "There now, sweeting, does that feel better?" "Aye, Rose. Mairead says you really are an angel, an angel of mercy." Rose smiled and wiped her fingers on the linen cloth lying on the table by the bed. "Thank you, but now, I want you to finish your draft of willow bark and feverfew." The little girl stuck out her lower lip. "But it tastes nasty." "I know, but 'twill keep your headache and fever at bay." Taking the cup from the table, she held it to the child's lips. Deirdre complied, then shuddered, and Rosalyn put the empty vessel on the table. "I did not know you had a knowledge of herbs." Rory closed the door behind him and walked toward her, Stout Heart at his heels. "'Twas one of the things I learned when I spent some time in the convent, my lord."

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"How fares our patient?" He smiled at Deirdre. "I am much better, father." "Good." "Her fever is gone, my lord," Rosalyn remarked. "She will be well in about ten days if she stays in bed." "I remember." Rory chuckled. "My parents had a terrible time keeping me quiet. Did yours?" "I do not recall." "Rose, you had the measles, haven't you?" She shrugged. "I'm sure I must have. I do not remember, though. I should have been very young. I did get cowpox." He stroked his chin and gave her a doubtful look. "I hope you are right." "I'm sure everything will be fine, my lord." "Aye." He smiled. "Deirdre's measles did one good thing for us." Rosalyn frowned. "What is that?" "Lady Elspeth was afraid she would catch them and fled." "I'm glad, too, father." Stout Heart padded to the little girl, and she stroked his head. "I do not like her. Just before I got sick, I coughed near her, and she got very angry. I thought she would slap me" "I think the lady is overly fond of lashing out with the palm of her hand," Rosalyn added. The humor left Rory's eyes. "Did she strike you, Rose?"

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"Nay, but she tried." "Damn her arrogant hide!" he snarled through clenched teeth. Mairead appeared. "My lord, I've come to stay with our little moorhen for a while. Rose must be tired. She sat up with Deirdre all night." "Come along then, Rose." Rory took her by the arm and led her to the door. "We can't have you fainting from exhaustion." They walked along the long corridor to her suite and entered. Taking her in his arms, he kissed her, the sweetness of his lips making her feel as if she had drunk too much mead. He deepened the kiss, and she clung to him, wishing she could stay within the circle of his embrace forever. He dropped kisses along the length of her neck then caressed her breast, teasing her erect nipple through the layers of her garments. She sighed as strong spasms clenched pleasurably in her pelvic area. Suddenly, he broke away. "You must rest, Rose." She did not want him to go. "But...." "No arguments. Get some rest." She watched with deep regret as he left. **** Rory paced his chambers. Why hadn't he bedded the lass? She let him know by her response that she was willing. Therefore, he had no reason to torture himself.

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She is a lady of noble birth, Rory, and an innocent. You took an oath of chivalry. He had also promised to protect her. Furthermore, Rory dispelled further doubts about her innocence by observing that anyone as kind and as nurturing as Rose could never commit a murder. Besides, if Bosworth had tried to rape her, she had every right to kill him. Some homicides were justifiable. In any event, I shall believe Rose before I give credence to the accusations of Edward II. **** Later, Rosalyn tossed in her bed, her body a myriad of sweet yet powerful feelings, for she had awakened from a dream about Rory. Rosalyn touched her lips, remembering the gentle demands of his. The memory caused her body to quiver and feel hot all over. Her nipples became hard and tingly, and a strange hunger yawned widely in her lower abdomen, an insatiable craving that begged to be satisfied and caused her to moan with need. Yet, the man could still sell you to the English. With the money, he could repair his castle. Perhaps he hadn't made a decision because he had qualms about it. He wants you, Rosalyn, as much as you want him. In truth, he did not have to keep kissing and embracing her, but he had. Yet, he could use her and still give her to Edward II.

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What if she let him make love to her? Would they forge a bond that would make it impossible for him to give her up, or would he betray her? **** The next evening, as Rose sang her love ballads, her gaze seldom strayed from Rory's. Her eyes shone with a light that could not be mistaken for anything but invitation. Rory anxiously waited for the evening's entertainment to end. However, when he went to her chamber, he found Barbara putting Rose's clothes in the trunk at the foot of the bed. "Where is Rose?" he demanded. The woman curtsied. "She wanted a breath of fresh air and has gone up on the battlements, my lord." Rory strode away and hurried up the steps to the battlements. The door opened quietly on well-oiled hinges, and he saw her standing by the crenellated wall. This time of year, the sun did not set till well after eleven, so the sky still shone with refulgent light. The stiff breeze tousled her golden hair, and he longed to wind it around his naked body. As she turned, their gazes met, and the glow in her eyes caused his blood to run hot. The wind tugged at her cape, billowing out the garment, allowing him to see that beneath it she wore nothing but a gauzy shift and a dainty pair of slippers to protect her feet from the cold stones of the battlements. "Good evening, my lord."

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"You needn't address me so formally. I think enough has passed between us that you may call me by my name." "No matter what has transpired between us, I am still your captive." He took her hands and kissed the back of each one. "Then I should call you Lady Rosalyn because I am as much your prisoner as you are mine. You have enslaved my heart." He drew her into his arms and held her close. "I want you, Rose. Let me make love to you." She drew back, and her blue gaze fused with his. "You are asking, not attempting to take?" "I told you once that I am no rapist." Tears brightened her eyes. "You have no idea how much I appreciate your consideration." "I do not want your acquiescence, Rose. If you cannot give me fire and enthusiasm, I shall walk away." She put her arms around his middle, and when she raised her lips, he possessed them with his. Her eager response assured him beyond a doubt that she wanted him. Sweeping her up into his arms, he carried her toward the tower door.

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Chapter Five Rosalyn's heart tripped as they entered her chambers. He set her on her feet and kissed deeply and completely. His lips became more demanding as his mouth slanted over hers time and again, making her breathless and hot. He unclasped her cloak. The garment heaped silently about their feet, and he urged her to the hearth. He kissed her fingers and knelt before her, gently drawing off each of her soft leather slippers. His reverential approach made Rosalyn feel cherished. He stood and embraced her again, this time molding her body to his as he dropped kisses on her neck and shoulders. Rosalyn had never experienced such excitement, and a riot of emotions and sensations overpowered her.

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Just when she thought she couldn't feel anything more stimulating, he cupped her bottom, pressing her against the rock-like ridge beneath his skintight hose and tunic. Immersed in pleasure, her body screamed in protest as he broke away. With one graceful gesture, he bent and drew her shift above her head. Then he stood and gazed at her. "You're so beautiful, Rose." "I want to see you, too, Rory," she whispered huskily He smiled. "I planned on showing you. Unhook my belt." She quickly did, dropping it atop her shift. She then unfastened his knee-length sleeveless tunic. His linen shirt fell next, baring his magnificent, wide chest and shoulders. His arms bulged with muscles, and Rosalyn couldn't resist sliding her hands over his arms and raking her fingers beneath the hair on his chest. Rory moaned and drew her closer still, kissing her fiercely. Rosalyn sighed as the friction of his chest hair rubbed against her erect nipples. He again dropped kisses down her neck, to her collarbone, and shoulder. His lips fastened on her nipple. With each gentle tug his mouth exerted on it, she felt the muscles in her abdomen clench in an indescribably pleasurable way, and dewy moisture sprang between her thighs. He paid homage to her other breast, and she felt dizzy with need. Fingers trembling, she untied the drawstring holding his hose.

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He stepped away, shucking off his boots and peeling off the hosiery. As he stood in all his male glory, Rosalyn allowed her gaze to sweep over him. "Oh," she whispered, as she saw his erect phallus. Not only did the organ's length astound her, but its thickness came as a surprise as well. Fascinated by the appendage, Rosalyn wanted to hold it, but hesitated. Apparently, he read her mind. "Touch me, Rose." Rosalyn moved close, and the fingers of both of her hands curled around his erection, exploring its texture. Its strong throbbing amazed her "'Tis like a heartbeat." "Aye," he murmured. "It feels like one, too." He drew away her hand, and lifting her up, he placed her on the big bed. Lying beside her, he kissed her again. He slid his palm over her breasts, down her ribs, across her belly, ending his journey at the juncture of her thighs. He probed, finding her sensitive nub. "You're so wet," he whispered huskily as he began to stroke her. Rosalyn sucked in her breath, for pleasure shot through her like a shower of sparks. He continued his ministrations, and her blood began to pound. Her breath came in heavy pants as she began to strive for something, but she did not know just what. "Rory." "Aye?" "Promise me you will not stop."

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"I shan't until you ask me, sweetheart." He had never used a term of endearment in reference to her before. The affectionate phrase caused her heart to swell with joy. Overcome with emotion, she held him tighter. Returning his kiss, she took the initiative, her tongue probing and plumbing the depths of his mouth. She arched her back, lifting her hips and pressing her folds against his fingers. Rosalyn became desperate in her quest, groaning and writhing, her head lolling from side to side, her hands clenching and opening reflexively. Rory dipped his fingers into her moist spring, yet he continued stroking her sensitive spot. Suddenly, her being pulsed with sublime ecstasy. "Rory!" He held her close as her muscles squeezed around his long finger. Wave after wave of pleasure crashed over her then ebbed, leaving her breathless and sated. A short while latter, she whispered, "That was exquisite... beyond anything I ever imagined." "There is more to come." "I do not think I can feel anything more." He smiled. "Trust me, lass." He loomed over her, putting a knee between her thighs. He took the head of his member and swiped it against her moist cleft several times.

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She shivered. "Oh, delicious!" "I assume from your reaction that you can feel something more" "Aye." Entering slowly, he began his descent. Rosalyn felt a bit of pressure as he continued his journey. Suddenly, he stopped. "I can feel your maidenhead. Am I hurting you?" "Nay." The strain eased, and he proceeded his exploration, taking complete possession as he sank to his hilt. "Sweet heaven," he said, then kissed her deeply. She reveled as she felt him expand within her. "I feel replete, Rory, as if I found a lost part of myself." "Perhaps we have both discovered something we did not know existed." "Aye," she whispered. He retreated then advanced. The exquisite friction of his length caused Rosalyn to inhale an audible breath. "Oh, would you do that again?" "'Tis my plan," he replied, repeating the maneuver. This time she felt an even stronger sensation, and her pleasure mounted each time he withdrew and lunged forward. Her heart began to trip in a wild tempo, and she began breathing heavily. As his lips touched

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down on hers, she opened to him, again extending her tongue into his mouth. Rosalyn felt that she could not get enough of him, but as her pleasure grew more acute, her need became more demanding. Suddenly, he lifted her hips, putting her limbs over his shoulders. The new position stimulated her even more completely, and he filled her more deeply. "Your body is beyond description, Rose" he rasped out. "The texture of your sheath feels so wonderful against me. I wish I could hold you like this forever." She wished that, too. He lowered her hips, but continued his campaign by increasing the tempo of his thrusts, and her body reached a higher level of excitement. He plunged harder still. Then all creation seemed to fragment around her. Yet, Rosalyn had experienced more than mere pleasure. He made her feel content, complete, fulfilled, and joyful. She felt his seed burst from him, and he relaxed atop her, breathing heavily. Sometime later, he whispered, "I've never felt like this before, Rosalyn." "Nor have I, but I have never lain with a man before." "After coupling with you, I feel as if I have never been with a woman."

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"But you were married." She ran her fingers through his long dark hair. "And I am sure you had many willing partners before that." "Not so many, Rose, and no one came close to making me feel the way you do." His words touched her so deeply she began to cry. "Oh, Rory, I may bring disaster to your house." "Nay, do not say such things." "But there is a price on my head. If anyone discovers who I really am -- " His kiss stopped her words. "Only Hamish knows, and he will never betray us." She wiped her tears with her fingers. "I keep thinking that someone will suspect, and people will do anything for money. After all, someone betrayed William Wallace for the reward." Knowing Rory could not refute her statement, Rosalyn felt the full shattering realization that her presence in his castle could bring about his total destruction. Somehow, she must find the courage to leave him. **** Rory lay beside her, their naked bodies pressed together spoon fashion. A shaft of light speared through the leaded casement and fell on Rose. How beautiful she is and how I want her.

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What he had shared with her amounted to much more than mere carnality. He felt something more profound and more enduring. Rory caressed the length of her graceful arm and kissed her shoulder. Brushing aside her hair, he nuzzled her neck, tasting the salty flavor of her skin. Caressing her firm breast, his fingers began teasing her nipple. She sighed and stirred, then pressed her round bottom against his manhood. It sprung into a throbbing erection. She turned in his arms. A smile on her lips, she yawned. "I must say that is a novel way to be roused from sleep." Her soft hand slid down his flank over his thigh and around his phallus. "But I see I am not the only one who has been aroused. "Good morrow, Rose." He kissed the tip of her nose. "Good morrow," she crooned, holding his sacs with one hand and stroking his length with the other. "Are you ready for another adventure, lass?" She giggled. "Will this handful play any part in it?" He laughed. "A major part." Still caressing him, she kissed his shoulder. "If you are not sore, that is." "I am fine, Rory, and I would like to repeat last night's venture." He chuckled. "Actually, I thought we could try something new instead. Are you game, Rose?" "If 'tis anything like last night, I certainly am."

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"I'll be back in a minute. Rory swung from bed and went into his room, returning with a jug of wine, a goblet, and a silk scarlet cloak over his forearm. "Thirsty?" "Aye, but I usually have barley water at breakfast." "But this is a special occasion." "A celebration of our coming together?" "A celebration of life, Rose." He poured the wine into a goblet and took a swig, then handed it to her. "To us." "To us." She took a sip. "Now, what plans do you have?" She smiled at him seductively. "This time 'twill be better. You won't feel any pressure as you did when I breached your maidenhead." "'Twas nothing." She handed him the goblet. "I disagree. Your virginity is a special gift, one that you can give but once. I feel privileged that you chose to present it to me." He put the goblet on the small prayer table beside the bedstead and spread the cloak over the sheets and quilt. "Please, lie on it, Rose. I want to see your fair skin and golden hair against the red silk." She rolled onto it, and he stood for a moment, his gaze taking in every minute detail of her body, from the bright wispy curls at her hairline to the tips of her perfect pink toes.

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He reclined next to her. Her body felt as smooth and as luxuriant as the silk. "You were made for passion, my Rose, for evoking and satisfying it." "I think the same holds true for you, but I heard you had taken no lover since your wife died." "So you have been listening to gossip about me." He traced the shape of her lips with his index finger. She raised her brows. "'Tis true, isn't it?" "Aye." He lifted her hands and touched them to his lips. I was so stricken with grief that I did not want anyone...until I saw you." Then he kissed the crook of her arm, her shoulder, and finally her lips. "I cannot get enough of you, Rose." "When you touch me, I feel so alive, as if I haven't truly lived before, Rory." He broke away, reached for the goblet, and drizzled the wine on her breasts. She shivered as the cool liquid splashed on her fair skin. "Oh, Rory, you will ruin the silk." "It matters not." He began softly sucking and licking the drink from breasts. He loved the taste and texture of her puckered nipples and inhaled the fragrance of the wine mingled with the womanly scent of her body. Rose moaned and held the back of his head. "Suck harder, Rory." He obliged then he paid the same homage to her other breast. Hearing her

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breathing grow deep and rapid, he drew away and poured the wine in her navel, giving it the same treatment as her breasts. Finally, he splashed it between her thighs The wine beaded on the triangular blonde patch like glistening rubies. Rory touched his lips to her moist folds, his tongue sweeping over her feminine flesh then probing deeper until her back arched, and her body trembled. "Oh, Rory, 'tis gripping me again." After she found her release, he lay next to her, holding her tenderly. A blush crept over her skin, turning even her earlobes to the color of rosebuds. After a few minutes, she reached for his engorged member. "I want to return the favor." "I am yours, Rose. Do with me what you wish." She sat up and began stroking his sacs. Sliding one hand up his length, she held the rigid member while rubbing its tip with the other hand. Rory felt the blood thudding in his loins, every caress intensifying his pleasure. She leaned forward, taking the head of his swollen shaft into her mouth, her velvety tongue swirling over it. Jolts of pleasure surged through him. Then she began to suck, and the sexual tension compressed like a heavy coil ready to spring. Every fiber of his body clamored for release. Pulling free, he took her in his arms and placed her on her back, setting a pillow beneath her bottom.

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He took possession, conscious of nothing but the merging of his being with hers. She clung to him, moaning and wrapping her legs around him and came a second time. Now, mindless need overtook him, and he thrust harder. When she touched his sacs, his seed burst from him. He lay over her, reveling as a hot tingling sensation spread out to the tips of his fingers and toes. Totally spent, they lay together, gasping, their flesh moist with perspiration from the exertion. "Rose," he whispered. How had he lived so long without her? Of one thing he was quite certain. He would never let her go. They basked in the afterglow for sometime until a knock, which came from the door in his chamber, interrupted them. "My lord!" someone called out. "Let me throw on this robe, sweeting," he whispered. She rolled from the silken garment, and he slipped it on. Leaving the adjoining door ajar just a crack, he hurried to see who was summoning him. He flung open the barrier and saw old Fergus. "My lord," the old servant gasped out. "Sir Hamish is waiting in the great hall. He bids you to take up your sword, and call your men to arms. King Robert and all loyal Scots are converging on Bannockburn. The English king is marching there with a great army."

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So, Rory thought, Robert the Bruce has finally decided the time has come to determine the future of Scotland. "Tell my squire to fetch my sword and armor and hurry to me. Inform Captain Kerr to muster the men. Then inform Sir Hamish that we shall rendezvous with him presently." **** The man left, and Rory hurried back to Rose. He took her hands in his. "I must leave." "I know. I did not mean to eavesdrop, but I could not help hearing." "I may not come back alive, Rose." She slipped one hand from his and put her fingertips to his lips. "Please, Rory, don't say such things." He kissed her fingertips, then took them from his lips. "We have to face that possibility." Her eyes filled with tears and she nodded. "Before I leave, there is something that you must know." He took her in his arms. "I love you, Rose. I have never loved anyone the way I love you. I cannot even begin to let you understand how deep the feelings go. I just ken that I can never let you go." "Oh, Rory, I feel the same," she replied, clinging to him. "Will you wait for me then, sweet Rose?" "Forever if need be."

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He kissed her with all the passion flooding his heart, then broke away. "If I do not come back, you must flee to Ireland, Rose. I will leave instructions with David, my grieve, to see that you get to the coast." "Do not worry about me, love. Just take care of yourself." "I love you, Rose." "And I love you." **** Rosalyn stood on the battlements and watched Rory and Hamish leading their men away. Brilliant banners flapped in the breeze, and colorful surcoats covered the men's armor. They hadn't ridden two miles, but already she missed the touch of Rory's lips, the security of his arms, the fire of his passion. Please, God, keep him safe. Keep all of them safe. Still, even if he returned victoriously, could she forget that she had killed a man? But had she? Rosalyn still could not recall what had happened. All she remembered was the desperation she had felt, the loathing, and the need to stop Bosworth from raping her. Rory seemed unconcerned about the incident. In one of their conversations, he had said that the killing amounted to justifiable homicide because she was defending her honor. Nevertheless, Rosalyn needed to know if she, indeed, had taken the villain's life. After all, she had wished him dead.

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If she hadn't killed Bosworth, who had? Who had a motive? Furthermore, could she and Rory ever build a life if she had blood on her hands? Her presence in his house was a danger to him. She should leave. You promised to wait. Furthermore, if the Scots won, she need never fear the English again ...unless someone betrayed her, and Edward's men came to Scotland and captured her -- and Rory. Then their captors would take them to England and certain death. She decided to postpone her departure until Deirdre recovered. Then she must leave. She was in love with Rory. She knew she could not expose him to peril by remaining in his home. **** Astride his destrier, Rory wiped the perspiration from his brow as he and Hamish led their men through the encampment toward the battlefield. "'Tis damnably hot weather for combat," Rory observed. "Aye," Hamish agreed. "We'll roast beneath these hauberks and gambesons if we are not cut down by the English long bowman first, that is. Their arrows can easily pierce our armor." "I am more worried about being outnumbered four to one," Rory replied. "King Edward has twenty thousand men, both horse and foot. We have but five thousands. Still, the Bruce knows that. I sent that information to him when we returned from the border."

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Hamish nodded. "But, I have every confidence that our schiltrons will abort the English cavalry's onslaught." "To be sure," Rory affirmed. "No destrier will charge into a hedgehog of spears, and I suppose a good strategy and a superior position will compensate for our being outnumbered." Surveying the long rows of camouflaged pits, and the placement of calthrops, Rory had to admit the Bruce had prepared well. Moreover, the main line of the Scottish army extended inside the woods of New Park. Thick forest covered their right, and on their left, the escarpment allowed them a good view of the Carse, the low-lying area between the escarpment and the Forth. The English called this place the Pools because of the ditches that filled with the incoming tides. The position also encompassed Stirling Castle, so the English must either attack the wooded hill head on, or go around to the left through the Carse. The waiting, though, rattled Rory's nerves. At last, he and Hamish reached the battlefield to attend mass. The ceremony seemed to drag on forever. Finally, the Abbot of Inchaffray held up the sacred relic and everyone knelt for the benediction. Then donning their helmets, the Scots fell into position. Banners flapping, shields held steady, their archers covering them, they charged. The English sounded their trumpets and charged, as well. Edward Bruce, King Robert's valiant brother, ordered his schiltrons into a hedgehog formation and withstood the shock of the mighty enemy's cavalry.

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The English deployment encountered difficulty because of the battlefield, honeycombed with ditches and pools of water, but the Scots continued to advance. Above the sound of clashing swords and crying men, wounded horses whinnied pitifully and crashed to the earth. Arrows rained down, sending men pitching from their saddles. Foot soldiers toppled like felled trees. Under a blazing June sun, the dinning battle waged on hour after hour. Eventually, the English archers began to damage the Scots' left flank, but the Scots, commanded by Keith, rushed the bowman with cavalry. As the battle neared its crisis, Angus Og of the Isles led the MacDonalds against the English line, which now began to waver. The Scots continued to advance, driving their foes back, and arrows meant for the Scots missed their target and hit English troops in the back. Finally, King Edward retreated from the field, and demoralized, the rest of his army fled. Scotland had won her freedom. Muscles screaming with fatigue, throat parched with thirst, his armor covered with gore, all Rory wanted to do was to rendezvous with Hamish and their men and ride back to Glendarach. Now, he and Rose could live unafraid of Edward II. He smiled, thinking of the life they would build together.

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Chapter Six Rosalyn turned from the casement in the solar. Despite the pounding headache that had plagued her for two days, she smiled as Deirdre strummed the harp balanced on the table. "That sounds lovely. Soon, you will play the harp as well as I do." "Do you really think so?" The child's dark eyes sparkled with delight as she ceased playing and turned from the harp. "Certainly, if you keep practicing." Resolving to take some willow bark to alleviate the pain in her head, Rosalyn walked to Deirdre. "Rose?" "What is it, sweeting?" "I am glad that terrible fever and rash left me." "Aye. You will be all well for when your father comes home." "I am also glad Lady Elspeth left." Rosalyn brushed back a lock of the girl's raven hair. "She is not the kindest woman, Deirdre." "I hope she never comes back. Then you and I can have father all to ourselves, and I can surprise him by playing a song." "That you will, sweeting." Hearing footsteps, Rosalyn turned toward the open doorway. Mairead entered the solar, shuffling over the rushes.

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"Some men have arrived and have asked for you, Rose," Mairead announced. "They have a message for you from his lordship." Rosalyn's heart broke into a gallop, for it had been days since Rory had left. Although news had reached them that the Scots had won a great victory at Bannockburn, she had not heard from him. "Shall I have them come up to the solar, Rose?" the elderly woman asked. "Nay, Mairead. I shall go to them." "Come along, now, Deirdre." Mairead took the child's chubby hand. "'Tis time for your embroidery lesson." Rosalyn's spirits soared. She hoped Rory had written her a message that he was on his way home. She hurried down the steps to the entrance of the castle. Two roughlooking men stood in the great entry. "Good sirs, I am Rose the Harper. What news do you bring from his lordship?" "He has been hurt, woman. He bids you come to his side immediately." "Oh!" Rosalyn felt as if the breath had been knocked from her lungs. "I must prepare to travel." The taller man said, "We have everything you will need, Rose Harper. Just come, for the sooner we leave, the sooner we will get to him." "Aye." Rose agreed with that logic.

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Rory's grieve happened to be passing, and Rose hailed him. "Master David, would you please tell Mairead that I am going to his lordship. He has been hurt and has asked for me." "Aye, my lady." The grieve frowned and looked at the men. "Did Lord Glendarach have any tidings for me, good sirs." "Nay." They shook their heads. Then the tall man added, "The only news we brought was intended for Mistress Harper." The grieve nodded. "I shall give Mairead your message, Rose." "Thank you, Master David." "You are welcome, Rose. God speed you on your journey." Rosalyn quickly left the castle, riding beneath the portcullis, and down the road, her companions flanking her, the pack animal behind carrying provisions. The pain continued to hammer her head, and apprehension filled her heart. Had Rory been cut down in battle, or was he suffering from a dreaded illness, like dysentery? Shocked by the news that he wasn't well, Rosalyn never bothered to ask the nature of his indisposition. It didn't matter. She would know soon enough. She just hoped she would not be too late to help him. Please, dear God, let him live. As they rode beyond the village of Glendarach, they traveled into a thickly wooded glen. Ahead, Rosalyn saw a rider come out of a thicket of

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trees, a long brown cloak hiding the person's identity. As they approached, the stranger threw back the hood of the garment. The sun, filtering through the branches of heavy foliage, glinted off a mass of bright red hair. Lady Elspeth! Panic battered Rosalyn like an angry sea against a cliff. She sucked in her breath. Something evil pervaded the atmosphere, but she had no way of escaping. A man rode on either side of her, and the shorter man suddenly leaned over and grabbed her mount's reins. Lady Elspeth's palfrey stood, blocking a forward charge, the pack animal, a retreat. "Was I correct, Captain Avery?" Elspeth asked. "Indeed, my lady. I recognized the Countess Rosalyn from the time she once came to court." He turned to his companion. "Did you, Nigel?" Captain Avery had dropped his affected Scottish accent and now spoke like an Englishman. Nigel grunted an affirmation, and he pulled a heavy leather thong from his surcoat and lashed it about Rosalyn's wrists. "King Edward is most grateful for the information, and he sends you this." Captain Avery took the fat pouch dangling from his belt and delivered it into Elspeth's hands. The redhead loosened the drawstring and put a gloved hand into the purse. Smiling, she drew out several golden coins.

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"Since Lord Carrigston has fallen in battle and his only heir is a murderess, the king told me to inform you that the old count's castle is now yours, my lady," Avery announced. Lady Elspeth's smile broadened, and triumph glinted in her aqua eyes "Good. Now, I can leave that dreary tower house and live in style in England." On hearing of her father's death, Rosalyn felt a deep sense of regret. Though the man had never loved her, she grieved for the relationship they could have shared if he had cared for her. Furthermore, Rosalyn's home had fallen into the hands of this vile woman. So would Rory. Rosalyn became indignant. "You tricked me in the vilest of ways." "A murderess need not accuse me of anything," Elspeth spat back. "I am no murderess. The man tried to rape me. I was defending my honor." Elspeth sneered. "Honor, indeed! Tell that tale to the king when you get to London, but do not mention Rory. I have matrimonial plans for him. Have a good trip, Captain Avery, and deliver our merchandise to the king." "Aye, my lady." Elspeth urged her horse around and rode off into the woods, her great cape billowing in the breeze.

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Rosalyn's captors rode toward England. She could do nothing but continue. Trying to run would be fruitless, for the men's destriers could easily outrun the little mare they had provided. Even if her mount were swift, she could not have endured the jostling because the pain in her head had now reached unbearable proportions. Her throat ached, and her eyes began to water and itch. Worse, Rosalyn began to feel dizzy. Perspiration soaked her clothes, and thirst racked her body. The need increased as she heard the sound of running water. "I need to drink," she croaked. Captain Avery grunted a noise that sound like an assent. "Nigel, get her some ale from cask on the pack animal." "I need water, sir." She rubbed her eyes, trying to refocus her blurred vision. "Very well," Avery answered. "Our horses could use a drink, too, and so could I." They rode to the swift-flowing burn, and the two men dismounted. As Nigel helped her dismount, Rosalyn's head swam, and her knees buckled under her. "Holy Virgin!" Nigel let her fall. "Captain Avery, look! She has a rash." The two men stared at her, their eyes wide with fear. "What is wrong with her? Captain Avery asked.

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"I know not." Nigel shook his head. "Think you the woman is diseased?" "Aye." Avery nodded. "Why else would her skin have those red spots?" "She looks feverish." Nigel moved away. "I have no wish to catch her illness." "Nor have I." Avery followed suit. "I say we leave her." "What will his majesty say?" Nigel asked. "We can tell him that she died en route." "But shouldn't we kill her just to make sure, captain?" "I don't want to get near her again. Besides, she'll die out here anyway. If the fever doesn't finish her, the wolves will. The horses have drunk. Let be on our way." Too sick to care, Rosalyn lay under a tree. The forest floor, shaded by the rowans and oaks, felt cool against her feverish body, and the air smelled sweetly of wildflowers. Fragmented thoughts ran through her mind. Must get to Rory. My head hurts. I need water. The pounding of hooves vibrated the ground as they rode away. Then all fell silent. Even the twittering of the birds faded, and Rosalyn seemed to be floating in a thick gray mist. Feeling she would soon die, she began her Act of Contrition. If she had killed Bosworth, she must ask the Creator for his forgiveness.

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Oh, my God, I am heartily sorry for having offended thee, and I regret all my sins…. **** "My lord!" Master David walked toward Rory as he and his men rode into the inner bailey of the castle. "We heard you had fallen in battle and were hovering near death." Shocked, Rory asked, "Who gave you that news?" "Two men. They took Rose with them. They said that you asked for her. I thought it odd that you had not related instructions for anyone else because you usually send some for me, but we took the messengers at their word." Fear engulfed Rory, and he felt more terrified than he had when he had confronted the enemy in mortal combat. "By all that is holy! When did they leave, David?" "Yesterday, my lord." "Did you happened to see in which direction they rode? "Aye, my lord." David continued, "I was suspicious of them, so I went to the battlements and watched them travel for a good while. After they left the village, they headed straight for the Glen of the Great Oaks." That route would lengthen their journey, but if they wanted to avoid Scottish troupes coming home, that was the safest way. "Thank you, David. We'll see if we can pick up a trail because I have a feeling that the rogues have taken her to England."

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"England, my lord? Why?" "I'll explain later, David. Now, we must find her." Signaling his men to follow, he led them toward the Glen of the Great Oaks. No doubt, someone surmised that Rose was really Lady Rosalyn. The swine had betrayed her to the English for the large reward. But which one of his household would have done such a thing? Perhaps the scoundrel was not of your house, Rory. Hadn't Elspeth openly shown her disdain for Rose? The haughty woman also had a love of money and the finer things of life. The reward Edward II had offered would be enough for her to betray Rose. **** Rosalyn woke with a thirst so great that her throat felt as if she had swallowed fire. She must get water, and the leather thong lashed around her wrists was cutting into her flesh. Working the cord with her teeth, it took her some time to untie her hands. Every bone and joint aching, she rolled over and crawled the short distance to the burn. After drinking her fill, she splashed the icy liquid on her face and the back of her neck. She tried to stand, but fell on her back, exhausted from the exertion. The trees above spun in a sickening green whirl, and she closed her eyes to stop the dizziness.

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She began to think of Rory. He was ill. She must get to him. "Rory," she cried. **** Leading a search party, Rory journeyed through the Glen of the Great Oaks, following a trail of hoof prints. He thanked God it had not rained and washed away the tracks. But would he find Rose? The mist began to blanket the woods. Sometimes, the fog became so thick Rory couldn't see a foot in front of his face. Still, he had Stout Heart. The dog would guide them through the haze. As they rode through the woods, the fog became ever denser, so they proceeded at a slower pace. Suddenly, a female voice cried out, "Rory!" He and the others reined back their horses, and the deerhound pointed. Rory dismounted. "Stay, Stout Heart." "Rory," the voice cried again. "'Tis Rose!" he yelled. "Rose where are you?" Silence answered him. He knelt by the canine and hooked his finger in the big dog's collar. "Show me, boy." The animal began to walk, nose to the ground, while Rory and the others followed. "Rory."

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This time the voice seemed louder. "I am coming, Rose!" They found her by the edge of the burn. "Holy Mother!" Rory knelt down, cradling her in his arms. "She is burning with fever. Stay back," he ordered. "She looks as if she has the measles." Some of the men moved away. Others declared they had survived the illness as children. "Rory," Rose murmured, opening her eyes. "'Tis all right, sweet lass." "Oh, Rory, are you really here? Tell me I am not dreaming." "I am here, and I am taking you home. I warn you, though, Rose, I will never let you go." **** A month later, a completely recovered Rosalyn sat up in bed, refreshed after a bath and shampoo. As she lounged contentedly, a knock sounded, and she gave permission to enter. Wearing nothing but a smile and a loose silk robe, Rory entered through the adjoining door. "Mairead says that you are well enough to come to the great hall for supper." She smiled and nodded. "I am looking forward to leaving this room. Except to use the privy, I've not left it in a fortnight."

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"I know you were bound to get restless, but I hope you've become fond of the chamber." He bobbed his brows. "After all, we've spent some happy hours here." She chuckled. "Aye, that we have." He took her hand and sat on the edge of the bed. "I am hoping that we'll enjoy many more, Rose." "We shall, especially since I am no longer a hunted woman." "Edward II has greater problems than pursuing a poor lass. He has a tremendous war debt and his lavish gifts to his favorites has gained him some powerful enemies. 'Twill be a while before he ventures into Scotland again." She frowned. "What is it, Rose?" "I wish I could be certain about the circumstances surrounding Bosworth's death. Shouldn't I know it if I killed him?" "As I said before, even if you did, you were defending your honor, Rose." "I suppose," she answered. "Forget the past, sweetheart. Tell me you love me and say you will marry me." Her heart overflowed with a tumult of sweet emotions. "I do love you, Rory." "Make me the happiest man in the world. Say aye, Rose."

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"Aye," she sobbed out. He took her in his arms and kissed her. Immediately, the old familiar flames of desire warmed her blood, but he pulled away. "Mairead warned me that you still need to rest, Rose." He took the hem of the sheet and dabbed her eyes. "After all, Elspeth died from the illness. Deirdre must have infected you both." "To be sure, the little chit was generous with her sickness, but from the gossip I heard, I do not think Elspeth died from the measles. I believe that the physician bled her overmuch. If you remember, I refused to let him bleed either Deirdre or me." "You may be right, Rose." He stood. "Still, I am taking no chances." Smiling, she took his hand. "I am fine, Rory. My rash is all gone, and I haven't had a fever for ten days." "You're tempting me sorely, lass." She gave his hand a tug, and he reclined next to her. Taking her in his arms, he nuzzled her neck. "You smell like a refreshing west wind when it sweeps over the heather." "Ummmmmmm, I could get very accustomed to you saying things like that." She nipped his earlobe. "I'm counting on it, Rose." His mint-fresh breath fanned her face. He kissed her again, a sweet kiss, full of tenderness as well as passion.

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"I missed you, Rose. I cannot tell you how much." "And I missed you." She loosened the belt of his robe, and he shrugged out of it. "I went nearly mad when those men told me you had been injured." He dropped light kisses on her face as she raked her fingers through his mane of dark hair. He flinched as she carefully circled his nipples with the tip of her finger. "Such a soft touch," he murmured, trailing kisses across her collarbone. "I can get more vigorous." "I know, but I think we should exercise caution." She appreciated his consideration. "I love you, Rory." She caressed his face. "And I love you. Are you ready for a new adventure?" She smiled. "Are you telling me there is another way to make love?" "I know many ways, Rose." He picked up her hand and kissed the tip of each finger. "You are amazing." "No more so than you," he whispered, helping her discard her shift. He nibbled her bottom lip, then kissed her deeply. She shuddered with delight as he paid homage to her breasts then proceeded to drop love bites down her stomach, while caressing her dewy folds with the deft touch of his fingers. Finally, she pleaded, "I cannot take anymore, Rory. I need you now."

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Guiding one of her legs between his and resting her other limb over his hip, he found her moist sheath. "Oh, I like this," she cooed. "'Twill prolong the act," he murmured, gently thrusting. They continued loving in that way for a while. Each time he plunged forward, her muscles relaxed, then tightened as he made his retreat. Then he withdrew and propped her on her knees, possessing her again from a rear position. The penetration seemed deeper and more complete. He added to her pleasure by delicately stroking her breasts then charting a course that ended at her nether lips. Dizzy with need now, she strove for completion as he nibbled the back of her sensitive neck. As he lunged, she pushed against him, increasing the friction. Finally, sweet ecstasy gripped her in its thrall, and she shuddered fiercely, her muscles frantically clutching his deep penetration. He continued his charge for a few more seconds. After he found his release, she stretched out of her stomach, and he reclined over her back. Finally, he withdrew, moved to her side, and cradled her spoon fashion. "I love you, Rose." "And I love you, Rory." As she lay in his arms, Rosalyn thought that her life would be perfect if only she could remember what had happened the night she left Carrigston Castle.

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Chapter Seven The next morning, after Rory retired to his own chamber to bathe and dress, Rosalyn sat at her dressing table, combing her hair. A knock sounded. "Come in," she called out. Barbara, who was now her lady's maid, entered. "My lady, an old woman who calls herself Maude has asked to see you."

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Rosalyn's heart fluttered. "Oh, Maude!" She sprang from her seat. "My old nurse! Please bring her to see me." "Aye, my lady," the young girl answered. "Nay, wait. Help me into my kirtle." The chestnut-haired maidservant took the mauve linen garment, which was spread on the bed, and held it over Rosalyn's head, securing its laces. "Can I do anything else before I fetch your guest, my lady?" "Nay, I can manage." "I shall bring the woman here then." "Thank you, Barbara." Heart thumping with anticipation, Rosalyn tied a girdle of golden silk about her waist and secured her hair in a crispinette of the same color. A few minutes later, Maude entered the chamber. "Maude!" Rosalyn ran to her, holding her tightly. The old woman drew back. "There now, let me look at my lamb." "But how did you find me, Maude?" "In my mind's eye, I have followed your progress since the night you left Carrigston." "The night I killed Bosworth." "Nay, my lady. You did not kill him." Rosalyn froze. "I didn't?" "Nay." "Do you know who did, Maude?"

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"Aye, my lady. I did." "You?" The old woman nodded. "I knew of Bosworth's evil ways. When I left you, I saw him going toward your chambers. I had a premonition about what he would do. I stayed outside your door and listened. I entered just as he punched you senseless. His lust was so hot, he didn't even notice my shadow as I crept up behind him and grabbed the poker." She raised her fist and brought it down. "Then I dashed out his brains. "I tried to rouse you, my lady, but I couldn't. Still, when I put my ear to your chest, your heartbeat sounded strong, so I was not worried. I washed my hands and put a pillow beneath your head and closed the door." "So that was the reason the pillow had no blood on it!" Rose exclaimed. "Aye," the old woman replied. "Then I went to my chambers to get some spirits from my medicine box to revive you, so we could drag Bosworth's corpse out of your room and dispose of the poker down the privy. When they found his body at the foot of the steps, everyone would have concluded that he had smashed his skull in a drunken fall. "But when I returned, you had gone, my lady. As you know, I cannot move very fast because my old knees ache." Maude shrugged. "But I had another vision. I saw you fleeing to Scotland. I knew that you and the Mist Rider would marry, and you would be safe. So, I went back to my chamber,

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burned my blood-stained clothes, and feigned surprise when I heard of Bosworth's death." "But the king sent his men after me, Maude." "Edward II could have ordered his whole army after you. It would not have mattered. He cannot fight destiny, even if he is a king. My gift of prophecy has never failed me. Haven't you learned that yet, my lady?" "I believe now, Maude. I am sorry I doubted you." "Now, my lambkin, will you introduce me to the man who rides the mist?" Chuckling, Rosalyn walked to the adjoining door and opened it. "Rory! Come and meet the woman who predicted that you would help me." He entered. "I have to admit I was eavesdropping. I heard everything, Rose." Old Maude stepped forward and dropped an awkward curtsy. "My lord." "I am pleased to meet you, Maude." "'Tis good to meet you at long last, and I have another prediction, my lord." Maude's hooded eyes glinted with mischief. "A happy one, I hope." Rory's put his arm around Rosalyn's waist. "The best, my lord. You and my lady will live to be very old. You will enjoy the happiest of lives and will have many children." "Thank you, Maude." Rory smiled. "I hope you will stay with us and be a companion for my Rose."

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The old woman cackled. "That I will, but first I beg your leave to rest." "By all means." He gave her a nod of dismissal, and the woman left. Smiling, Rosalyn looked up at him. "Well, it seems we have a lot of work to do, my lord." "Work?" He quirked a brow. She nodded. "We have a great many children to produce. I think we should get started." "My pleasure," he answered, pulling her closer. "For the sake of our children, though, I think we should marry as soon as possible." "My sentiments exactly, my lord." The End