The Raider by McCarty Monica

Author:McCarty, Monica [McCarty, Monica]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Romance, Historical
ISBN: 9780345543936
Amazon: 0345543939
Barnesnoble: 0345543939
Goodreads: 18007522
Publisher: Ballantine Books
Published: 2014-02-25T07:00:00+00:00

Fourteen

Rosalin had her freedom, but she was too scared to use it. After coming face-to-face with the Black Douglas, she’d scurried back to her tent like a frightened mouse. Three hours of waiting later—with no Robbie appearing to reassure her—she decided that she was being ridiculous. Robbie had told her Douglas wouldn’t harm her; she would believe him. She was also hungry. The removal of her guards meant she would have to fetch her own food.

Mustering her courage, she wrapped her plaid around her shoulders and headed out of the tent into the cool evening mist. From her experience so far in Scotland there seemed to be little else: morning mist, midday mist, and evening mist. Today, the gloom was heavier than usual, almost seamlessly switching back and forth between a drizzling, dreary rain.

Remembering the reaction her arrival in the Hall had caused earlier—and the discomfort of being stared at by so many—Rosalin decided to seek out a smaller number of curious-wary-angry gazes and headed toward the camp kitchens, which had been set up against the back wall of the Hall. A wooden roof protected the pots and fires from the rain and snow, but the walls that enclosed the area were only on three sides and didn’t go all the way up, offering little insulation from the cold and wind.

It was a crude but efficient setup. In addition to the pots hanging in fires, there were a few tables to prepare the meals and a large bread oven constructed of stone.

Apparently, the women at camp weren’t here just to be companions for the men. They were also serving maids for the meals. One woman looked up as she approached and whispered something to the dark-haired woman standing beside her.

Rosalin’s foot seemed to stutter mid-step, and she nearly stumbled. It was the woman who’d kissed Robbie. Deirdre.

A pit of dread sank to the bottom of her stomach, and her courage faltered. The last thing she wanted to do was be confronted by an angry mistress. After years at court, Rosalin was under no illusions about women. They could be every bit as cruel and ruthless as men. Perhaps more so.

But she forced her feet forward and her chin up. She was Lady Rosalin Clifford, sister of one of the most important barons in England. She did not cower and run.

Usually. But she was painfully aware that none of that mattered here. Her rank would afford her little protection with these women. They didn’t care who she was, they only knew what she was: English, a hostage, and the sister of the man who was probably the most hated in Scotland.

A third woman had joined the first two by the time Rosalin drew close enough to hear them. Of course they were speaking in Gaelic, so she couldn’t understand a word. From the way the two other women deferred to Deirdre, however, Rosalin guessed that she must be in charge.

She was older than she’d appeared at first glance. At least a

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