Page 13 of Warrior’s Lady

"Regardless of my name, I have been appointed as Lady Violet's nursemaid by Mother Agnes. Until a suitable replacement can be found, I must remain with my charge as instructed by the abbess."

His contemptuous gaze raked her.

"That girl has already lost everything. Don't take me away from her as well." With all the courage she could muster, Rhiannon straightened and met his hard gaze. "Hate me, milord. Despise my family, but don't make Lady Violet suffer for it."

His jaw clenched in anger, Camden watched the woman stride away, her head held high, toward his keep. He could force her to go. Even if the abbess had designated her as Violet's governess, he was the child's uncle. His gaze dipped to Clara's pale, delicate face frozen in death. He was Violet's guardian. And, with a final glance at James' freshly turned grave, he reminded himself that he was also the leader of the Lockhart clan.

Camden sought out Orrin in the crowd around the graves. "Get the men to dig a grave for Lady Lockhart. Call me when you are done. It will be dark soon."

"What about the woman?" Orrin asked.

A Ruthven female? He'd had no idea any daughters had been born to Malcolm Ruthven. Or he never would have given the order that sentenced her to death. "What have I done?" His words jolted him into action. "Secure the portcullis and close the gates. No one enters without my permission," he instructed the gatekeeper. "Double the guards at their posts."

The grinding of the iron chains filled the air as the heavy portcullis slipped back into place. When the heavy doors closed a moment later, relief surged though Camden. Yet even with the castle secure, unease settled in the pit of his stomach.

Camden had sentenced all the Ruthvens to death. All of them. And if the attack on the ridge told him anything, it was that the assassin he'd hired knew more about the Ruthven family than he himself did.

A woman?With a curse, Camden ran a hand through his hair. He had never considered the possibility.

Camden found her in the great hall next to the hearth. Rhiannon stood off to the side, staring into the flames while the others went about their evening duties. She twisted in her hands the lace cap she'd worn earlier. Thick, luxurious waves of gold cascaded across her shoulders — shoulders that dipped with the weight of her burdens. She looked as vulnerable as a child. All of her previous bravado had vanished.

In the moments since he'd discovered who she was, his temper had cooled. An inexplicable irritation took its place. He was partly to blame for how discomfited she appeared now. He shouldn't have thrust James's and Clara's deaths in her face. Simply being a Ruthven didn't mean that she'd killed them.

Even so, it was difficult to accept that his enemy's spawn stood before his hearth. He balled his fists, fighting his own revulsion.

She cast a glance sideways and he could see by the redness surrounding her eyes that she'd been crying.

She looked away. "I must apologize. I had no right to talk to you that way. You are lord and master here, and regardless of what Mother Agnes has said, you are in charge of your niece. I shall leave immediately."

She faced him. Backlit by the fire, her blond hair turned to burnished gold, and a delicate pink tinted the pale ivory of her cheeks. Something inside him stirred. Irritated at his response, he bristled.

She paled and swallowed thickly, no doubt fearing what he would do to her now. "Before I go I must deliver something." She reached into the folds of her gray gown and produced a small packet, wrapped with linen. "Mother Agnes asked me to deliver this parcel safely into your hands." She pressed the packet against his fingers. "I am so very sorry to have troubled you."

She took two steps from the fire when Violet raced across the room and wrapped herself around Rhiannon's legs. "No, Rhiannon, you can't leave me," she wailed.

Rhiannon's amber eyes widened with surprise. She stared down at Violet and drew a shaky breath. "That decision is not up to you or me." With trembling fingers, she patted his niece's head. "I am sorry, Violet."

Violet's blue eyes, eyes so like his own, brimmed with tears. "Uncle Camden, you can't make her leave. Please. I want her here."

"You are with me now, Violet. Nothing will hurt you as long as I am here."

"That's what father said…" Tears spilled onto her cheeks in twin ribbons of sorrow. Camden clutched the parcel in his hand, battling his own grief.

"You will be safe, I swear it with all my heart," Camden vowed with a catch in his voice. Violet continued to sob softly against Rhiannon's body.

Two women. One melted his heart, the other fired his anger.

He would like nothing better than to toss Rhiannon Ruthven out of his castle and out of his life. But how could he when he knew an assassin lay in wait? An assassin he had unleashed. "She can stay for now," he said more harshly than he had intended. Both Violet and Rhiannon startled at his response, fear in their eyes. "Show her to the room next to yours, Violet."

The girl nodded, her face still wreathed in grief. She grasped Rhiannon's hand and tugged her toward the stairway that led to the castle's private sleeping chambers.

What had the world come to? In the past two days his life had been turned upside down. He had gone from a warrior who protected his country to a warrior who now protected his enemy.

Camden balled his fists, suddenly remembering the packet in his right hand. He unwound the linen wrapping to reveal a silver coin held by a chain. Set into the center of the groat, the legendary Charm Stone glistened brilliantly, catching the light from the fire.

His family's legacy.

The reason Clara was dead. Camden tensed at the thought. His sister-in-law had accepted her role as healer to the Lockhart clan or anyone who came in search of her talents.