Free Claimed by a Scottish Lord by Melody Thomas Page B

only to come to an abrupt stop.

    As if she had magically conjured him from her earlier thoughts, Lord Roxburghe was kneeling before her in the mist-washed light, his dark cloak pooling on the ground around his muddy boots. He picked up the ring with his thumb and forefinger and met her gaze over the circlet.

    ―Yours, I presume?‖ His eyes went to the ruined antiquity she held crushed in one hand, then to Jack, then returned to settle on her face. ―Or not yours?‖ He held the ring to a beam of moonlight where it seemed to beckon and glow. ―It looks to be a man‘s fit.‖ His eyes slid over her with amusement. ―Rather like breeches and jerkins . and a certain red stallion.‖

    She reached to take it. ―Give it back, my lord.‖

    He closed his fingers over the silver orb, startling her. She realized at once her mistake in appearing so nearsighted and eager. So this was to be her deliverance, she thought, feeling a new rise of panic. She had prayed for something to happen to change her life. But surely this was God‘s jest upon her.

    Anger seized the whole of her body. She could not believe this was happening. ―You have to give it back, your lordship,‖ Jack piped up before she could speak. ―Miss Rose hasn‘t made her wish. Tell him, Miss Rose. Tell him you have te make a wish.‖

    A faint flush heated her cheeks. But before she could deny Jack‘s unwelcome revelation, a horse‘s low wicker pulled her attention from Roxburghe.

    He had not come from Hope Abbey alone. Two men on horseback sat on mounts at the wood‘s edge beneath the alder and oaks, casually watching their laird. Rising, she swallowed reflexively past the sudden tightness in her throat. Roxburghe followed her to her feet, unfurling his grand height and forcing her to tilt her chin. In a land where lawlessness was a way of life, she realized she was caught in the open with no accessible weapon. Roxburghe would be on her the moment she attempted to go for her dirk.

    ―I do not think he is interested in anything I have to say, Jack.‖

    ―I am very interested in everything you have to say, Lady Roselyn,‖ he said with a hint of steel lining his soft tone. ―Lady Roselyn Elena Lancaster. Rose, to those who think of you fondly.‖

    She froze, unable to stop the dizziness washing over her in waves.

    A dark brow rose at her silence. ―You do not dispute your name,‖ he said, clearly surprised by her lack of outward response.

    She saved them both from a tedious lie. ―Nay, I do not.‖

    ―Then you understand why I am here.‖

    She refused to succumb to panic. The loss of the precious ring faded momentarily as a newer foreboding clutched her gut. If Roxburghe knew her name, then he knew she was Lord Hereford‘s daughter.

    ―What have you done with Friar Tucker? How did you find me?‖

    ―Now, that is a story that will take as long to tell as it took me to find you tonight. Take off your boots.‖

    She blanched. Did he mean to strip her naked? And with Jack present?

    ―Take off your boots, Lady Roselyn, and give them to Jack. I have no intention of chasing you should you decide to run. One of us might get hurt.‖

    Rose sat on a rock wall, the remnant of an ancient foundation to the gatehouse that once guarded the cemetery. She bent her head, and turning her back to Roxburghe, removed each boot, giving first one and then the other to Jack. Fear made her feel weak in front of him. She forced herself past it and stood.

    Roxburghe looked down as Jack sidled closer to Rose. Withdrawing a key from beneath his cloak, he said, ―Friar Tucker will appreciate being let out of the tower. He might be hungry.‖

    ―Go,‖ she told Jack when he failed to move.

    He peered up at her. Jack was too young to understand the machinations of border politics and did not seem convinced of her safety. But she could take care of herself and wanted him gone. She gave him what remained of the sorcerer‘s box. ―Take the key. Return to the