Rosalin Clifford now Boyd was still laughing when Alex gave her one last squeeze and set her back down on her feet. He couldn’t remember the last time he was so shocked to see someone. Shocked and very happy. She reminded him of . . .

He stopped the thought. His old life was over.

She reached up and put a hand on his cheek. “Oh, Alex, it’s so good to see you. I’ve missed you.”

He took her hand and brought it to his mouth. “And I’ve missed you, too, lass.”

Suddenly, their location was brought back to him. They weren’t in Scotland, they were in the middle of a castle full of English soldiers, and she was the wife of one of the most hated men in England.

Perhaps his darkening countenance reminded her as well, for she hastily adjusted her hood back over her head, hiding her remarkable features. Rosalin was one of the most beautiful women on either side of the border—a face like hers would not go unnoticed.

He cursed. She’d heard worse from him and didn’t seem to pay it any mind. “God’s wounds, Rosalin. What the hell are you doing here?”

She wrinkled her nose as if annoyed by the question and the tone in which it had been asked. “Lower your voice. We are drawing enough attention as it is.”

He swore again and looked around. There were a handful of soldiers in the area, most of whom were looking at them curiously—and a few (who must have seen her face) enviously.

“Who is the woman?” Rosalin asked.

Alex frowned. “What woman?”

Rosalin looked around. “She was standing by the Constable Tower but she must have left. From the way she was looking at you, I assumed you knew her. Very pretty—sultry looking—dark haired.” She frowned. “She looked familiar.”

Alex swore again. Christ, Joan must have seen him. Sultry looking. He’d have to remember that—it fit.

“My betrothed,” he said. He was going to have some explaining to do to Joan later. But first, he had to deal with the more pressing problem.

Taking advantage of Rosalin’s shock at his announcement and noting the nearby chapel, he pulled her inside. Fortunately, it was empty.

“You are betrothed? Oh, Alex, I’m so happy for you. Do I know her? What is her name?”

“Later,” Alex said. He folded his arms across his chest and gave her a look that warned her not to lie to him. “Does your husband know you are here?”

She bit her lip, having the good sense to look chagrined. “Not exactly.”

Alex exploded, letting off a string of blasphemies and curse words that would have made MacRuairi proud. But his anger turned to something else entirely when she pulled back her hood again and unintentionally revealed something else—something he probably should have noticed when he was hugging her.