She lifted a brow. When he finally said her name, Rosalin gasped. Then she paled. “Bella’s daughter? I knew she looked familiar. Good God, Alex, you can’t marry her! It isn’t my husband’s sword you will need to worry about, it’s Lachlan’s dagger. He’ll kill you when he finds out.”

It wasn’t the first time the thought had occurred to him. “Why should MacRuairi care? He barely knows her.”

An odd look crossed her face. “That won’t matter. She’s family, and he won’t have her—” She stopped, embarrassed.

“Married to a traitor?” Alex said tightly.

Roslin nodded apologetically.

“Aye, well, we can’t always pick our relatives. I’m sure Boyd has expressed similar opinions.”

She laughed at that. “Maybe once or twice.”

“Let’s go find your brother. I wager he’s going to have something to say about this as well.”

Alex was right. Initially Clifford was just as happy to see her as Alex had been, but when he realized what she’d done, he’d been even more furious.

Alex left her with her brother with a promise to return in the morning and went in search of Joan.

But for the first time, he wasn’t looking forward to it. He hoped Rosalin had been wrong that Joan had seen them. He didn’t want to lie to her, but neither could he risk anyone knowing about Rosalin’s presence in the castle.

After fleeing the courtyard, Joan had returned to her room and was helping Alice remove the pins from her hair when Bess arrived with the message that Alex was waiting downstairs and had requested to see her.

Alice waved Joan off. “Go, do not let your duties to me interfere. Besides, you have been as glum as a child staring in the window of a closed confectioner shop all evening. I hope it isn’t a lovers’ spat already?”

Actually, it sounded as if she hoped exactly the opposite.

“I’m tired,” Joan said. “That is all. But I should see what he wants.”

“Don’t hurry back on my account,” Alice said, sounding very sorry for herself. “One of us should have some fun tonight. Henry is in another one of his meetings.”

That was the kind of information Joan should be focusing on—not why Alex had his arms around Robbie Boyd’s wife.

But she couldn’t get the image out of her mind. They’d looked so perfect together. The handsome, gallant knight and the beautiful “fair” maiden. With her blond hair, delicate complexion, and princess-perfect features, she looked to be in the first blush of womanhood and as innocent as an angel. It couldn’t have been more brutally—or cruelly—brought home to Joan that this was the kind of woman Alex was meant to wed. The perfect English rose. The Fair Rosalin.