Chapter 3

3

S he is bonnie.

And his big hand almost consumed her own. Braden wondered if he was generally too big compared to her, but he quickly shook his head. This was Kenna's friend. She was to be his tutor, for God's sake. And she was a duke's daughter. No, he'd better keep his thoughts at bay. Though, the rosy tint in her cheeks made him eye her suspiciously.

Roselyn gently removed her hand from his and smiled politely, but her eyes didn't meet his again. Interesting .

"I'm afraid we hadn't expected you so soon" she said with another smile, apologetic this time. "I'm sure your journey here must have been very tiring. I will ask a maid to prepare the guests chamber for you. And when you wake up and break your fast in the morning, I shall be ready for our travel."

She turned on her heels to go, Braden assumed, do exactly as she promised, and he took in her feminine figure as she walked away.

This is going to be a long night.

"Goodbye, Roselyn, I'll miss you terribly. You'll write, won't you?" Grace said, as she embraced Roselyn the next morning.

"As often as I can. But it won't be for long, Grace. I'll be away for a few months, then I'll return. How difficult can it be to teach the laird how to communicate properly?" Roselyn replied.

With the corner of her eye, she caught her guard frowning. His mood had changed tremendously since last night, and he had been brooding while Roselyn had been saying her goodbyes. Would it kill him to smile a little? They were to travel long together!

"Goodbye, Roselyn, my dear. I'll write to you. It's a strange business, but if you're certain you want to go…" Roselyn's mother said, bringing her back to her senses, and she nodded.

"I'm certain, mother. I want to see the highlands, and I'm looking forward to seeing Kenna again, too," Roselyn replied.

Her mother kissed her on the cheeks and clasped her hands in hers.

"Come back to us… ready for what comes next," she said, as the Duke stepped forward.

"Goodbye, Roselyn. Remember what I said. This doesn't change anything – One month, whether in Scotland or not. Do you understand?" he said, and Roselyn smiled.

"And what if I find a man to marry in Scotland?" she asked, and her father raised his eyebrows.

To that, her travel companion smirked. He was capable of having other facial expressions than brooding then.

"You won't," her father replied.

Matilda was standing at the top of the steps, and now she came to bid Roselyn goodbye, embracing her awkwardly and sighing. "I suppose you'll come back with all sorts of new ideas to impart. You'll be insufferable," she said, and Roselyn laughed.

"You always think the worst of me, Matilda. Practice the harpsichord – you'll have plenty of time to learn something new," Roselyn replied.

She turned to find her guard watching her. Her escort was a curious man, sometimes looking amused, sometimes staring intensely, sometimes serious and lost in thought. But in all of these cases, he somehow managed to seem completely unfazed. Or maybe it was because he had yet to utter a word that he gave that impression.

Roselyn couldn't say she was equally unfazed by him though. His hair was dark, extenuated by a neatly clipped beard, and his eyes were striking – a bright, cat-like green. With his height and body, he looked like a predator himself. Roselyn's heart beat faster at the thought, and she decided she couldn't deny he was a very handsome man.

One that seemed too contained in their English manor, and too eager to be back at the Highlands.

"Shall we set off?" she asked, and the guard nodded a little too quickly, holding out his hand to help her onto her horse.

Roselyn was not a confident rider. She had spent more time with books than horses, and whilst she could boast many skills, horsemanship was not amongst them. In this, Matilda was her superior, and she knew her sister would be watching with glee to see her fail to mount the steed. She took the guard's hand, trying to lift herself into the saddle with the stirrup, and failing, much to Matilda's mirth.

She really wished she could use one of her father's coaches, but Kenna had explained in her last letter that it would slow them down significantly. Also, she wanted to make it on her own. This was her adventure. If she wanted to prove to her father she didn't need to marry some gentleman from the ton to survive, this seemed like a good start.

"You need to pull yourself up, Roselyn. You'll never get on like that," Matilda said.

Roselyn did not look back, but tried again, reaching over the horse's saddle, and hauling herself up with some difficulty. But as she did so, she lost her balance, and instead of righting herself on the horse's back, she fell backwards with a cry. The guard caught her in his strong arms, and she found herself looking up into his handsome face, the flicker of a smile playing across his lips.

"Oh, goodness me," she exclaimed, as he set her down on the ground.

Matilda was in fits of laughter, and even Grace was giggling, though she herself knew nothing of horsemanship.

"Allow the man to help you, Roselyn. Don't be so proud," the Duke said, and Roselyn allowed her escort to help her into the saddle, where she found her balance and sat clinging to the reins.

"I'm quite all right. Let's go," she said, knowing Matilda was still laughing at her.

The others bid them goodbye, and Roselyn and the guard – whose name she did not yet know – set off along the track through the valley, leaving her familiar home behind, as Roselyn struck out on this new adventure. She had never journeyed further north than the border, and apart from the occasional visit to Lincoln to visit her godmother, Roselyn's world had been confined to the valley and its immediate district.

Thank goodness I've brought something to read with me. I fear my silent friend won't be very good company, she thought to herself, but she couldn't help glancing at the guard, and wondering what he was thinking about.

In the end she didn't touch her book. She gave in her curiosity and as they rode, Roselyn tried to make conversation, pointing to places she knew, or interesting flowers or birds.

"I do so love the wildflowers blooming in the meadows – look at all the primroses growing there," she said, pointing to the carpet of yellow flowers growing beneath the trees in the woodland they were now passing through.

The man nodded, though he did not appear particularly interested in admiring the flora and fauna of the valley. His eyes kept darting left and right, as though ever on guard against attack, though there were times when Roselyn felt his gaze linger on her.

Whilst she tried to keep her gaze fixed resolutely ahead, she could not help but wonder if he was as impressed with her as he was with him. Well, not that she was that impressed.

It was just that, all the English gentlemen looked like children compared to him; small and frail, while he was big and rough and mysterious and…oh what was she thinking about? She blamed the dizziness from the travel.

It wasn't like a warrior like him would regard a spoiled English lady like that either. And it would kill her father to know she entertained such thoughts for someone who was not their peer.

He's just your guard, she scolded herself, tearing her eyes off him and hoping her blush was not obvious.

At the end of the valley was a village – the furthest extremity of her father's estate. The name of the village was Abbeyford, and an ancient church stood at its center, surrounded by cottages, with an inn opposite the church. As they passed through, several of the villagers came to greet them, and Roselyn smiled, nodding, as they rode by.

"God bless you, Lady Roselyn. I'll never forget your kindness to Eve," one of the women said.

Roselyn smiled warmly at her. She had taught many of the village youngsters to read and write, and she always felt like she did something important for those girls.

"Is she doing well?" Roselyn asked, as they passed by, and the woman nodded.

"She's teaching her sister now, my lady – and all thanks to you," the woman called back, and others said the same.

Roselyn was glad to have helped the villagers, and as they took to the moorland road heading north, she felt certain she could help the laird, too.

"What's your laird like?" she asked, turning to the guard, who just shook his head and kept his gaze straight ahead.

Did that mean that the laird was cruel? Impolite? That she didn't really want to know?

"All right…I guess I'll find out soon enough. Are all the Scottish so…quiet?" she asked, giggling. "If that is a case, I'm sure they won't like me much. Am I driving you crazy with my questions? I could stop. I guess I'm just…curious."

The man's face changed, and looked serious for a moment, before turning to her and holding her gaze, shaking his head no . Roselyn blushed.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be rude. But I'm intrigued, that's all. I want to know more about your way of life," she said, hoping he hadn't misunderstood her.

The guard shrugged, waving his hand dismissively. Roselyn sighed – this was going to be a very long journey indeed. At least the man was easy to look at.

They rode on in this way for much of the day, pausing to eat a simple meal of bread and cheese around the noon hour. The guard refused to sit down, standing by the horses, as Roselyn sat by a spring of water. The sun was high in the sky, and she felt warm, taking off her riding cloak and lying back to look up into the sky. She watched the clouds drifting by, her eyes closing as she yawned. A hand shook her awake, and she looked up at the man, who was shaking his head.

"What's wrong? I was only dozing. It's warm, and we've had a long ride this morning. Where will we stay tonight?" Roselyn asked.

Kenna's letter had said little about the man, merely telling Roselyn she was sending someone to escort her to the north that was sure to keep her safe. Roselyn had trusted her friend's words, but she knew the potential danger of such trust, and was curious as to the man's motivations. The guard pointed along the path, his hand going to his sword hilt.

"Are we in danger?" Roselyn asked, sitting up and glancing around her.

They had met no one since leaving the village that morning. The road north was lonely, and it was known to be the haunt of robbers and highwaymen. But the woodlands appeared peaceful, and the noise of the water gushing in the stream was the only sound she could hear.

"I don't think there's any danger," she said, but the guard was listening intently, and now he hurried to the horses, untethering them, as though he intended for them all to make a hasty escape.

Roselyn scrambled to her feet, picking up her cloak and throwing it around her shoulders. Her heart was beating fast, and she looked at the man in astonishment, even as he beckoned her to mount and ride.

"But what's the matter? What are you worried about?" she asked.

But no sooner had she spoken the words when another sound filled the air – the sound of a crying child. It was distinct – the shrill cry of someone evidently in distress. Roselyn looked around her in surprise.

"Did you hear that? A child – it's crying. We've got to help," she said, hurrying to the edge of the trees, even as the guard grabbed her by the arm firmly and gently pulled her back.

She turned to him, her arm tingling at his touch, and he shook his head, pulling her away.

"But we've got to help the child," Roselyn insisted, stopping him.

She was not about to ride away and leave an infant crying in the woods. It was probably lost, and the sooner it was reunited with its parents, the better. She pulled away from him, stepping into the trees and calling out to the child, who continued to cry, even as she could not see it.

"It's all right, you can come out. No one's going to hurt you," Roselyn said, taking a few steps forward into the trees.

The child was nowhere to be seen, and yet its continued cry echoed over the otherwise silent woodland. Roselyn glanced back towards the guard. He was still standing by the horses, glancing from left to right, an anxious expression on his face.

"It's just a child. We need to find it," she said, looking around her, and calling out again in the hope of attracting its attention.

It was then she saw it – a child of no more than five years old, dressed in rags, standing between two large oak trees. It was rubbing its eyes, screaming at the top of its voice. Roselyn hurried forward, snatching up the child, even as the guard came running towards her, his hand on the hilt of his sword.

"There, there, my dear, it's all right. We'll find your mother, then you'll be safe. Oh, but what are you doing?" Roselyn exclaimed, as the guard grabbed her by the hand.

She was holding onto the child, but now she let the little one on the ground again before turning to her escort. She was about to berate the guard for his strange behavior, when a sudden cry caused her to startle. Two men – each with drawn swords – had emerged from the behind the oak trees. Bandits. They struck out at Roselyn, knocking her to the ground.

"Your money. Now!" one of them cried, as Roselyn rolled onto her back, dazed by the blow the bandit had struck her.

She was about to cry for help, but the guard now leaped forward, his sword clashing with that of the bandit, knocking him to the ground, even as the other attacked him with a roar. Roselyn scrambled to get up, seeing no sign of the child, who had disappeared into the trees. The bandit lying on the ground had drawn a dagger, and he lunged at Roselyn, just as the guard struck out at him with his sword. He fell back, dead, and the other bandit charged at her escort, flinging himself onto his back. Roselyn screamed.

"Help us! Someone, help us!" she cried, but the guard spun around, throwing the other man to the ground, and drawing the dagger from his belt, he stabbed him through the heart.

The bandit's piercing scream echoed through the trees, and then all was still, the silence of the forest returning, as Roselyn scrambled breathlessly to stand. She stared at the guard in astonishment – he had just fought off two armed bandits, strong men, who now lay dead at her feet. He shrugged and tossed the dagger aside, cleaning his sword on a patch of moss and beckoning for Roselyn to follow him.

"But I… you can't have… who were they?" she stammered, and the guard shrugged, gesturing for her to hurry.

Roselyn had no desire to remain in the presence of the dead, and glancing down at the motionless bodies, she hurried to where the horses stood by the side of the stream. The guard held out his hand to her, gesturing for her to mount.

"Please, won't you say something? Can't you say anything?" she said, but he just shook his head again, looking uninterested.

Roselyn climbed onto the horse's saddle, glancing fearfully around her, half expecting a dozen more bandits to emerge from the trees. But as they rode on, and she looked at his face pondering the dreadful event, Roselyn could not help but feel a sense of admiration for the handsome man that had rescued her from certain death.

She owed him. And she'd find a way to return the favor. A way that would probably include more time spent with him. Something she wasn't opposed to in the least…