An Oath Sworn (11 page)

Colyne pressed a kiss upon her brow. In sleep, the lines of worry that had marred her face since they'd first met had smoothed. She was beautiful. 'Twas as if the fairies had delivered him a princess.

The princess.

King Philip's daughter.

She was still out there. And he prayed his kinsmen had found her. Odds were, even if she had been rescued, Renard had long since sailed to France and would have begun planting seeds of doubt about the Scottish rebel's treachery in the king's ear. Until King Philip's bastard daughter was returned or the sovereign read the writ, the French king wouldna learn the truth.

However much he wished to linger, responsibility dictated otherwise. Aware he tempted fate, Colyne nibbled his way across the soft curve of her lips, then slowly claimed her mouth in a deep kiss.

A frown draped her brow, and then thick, honey-blond lashes raised. Through half-closed lids groggy with sleep, a smile, warm and sated, curved her mouth. “Make love with me.”

At her breathy request, he was lost. Colyne touched her with infinite care, amazed at the feelings she evoked. Would the passion she aroused always be so strong? He found himself believing 'twould be so.

A while later, with her body trembling from release, Colyne lifted himself on his elbows and stared at her.

“Good morning, my lord,” she said.

The husky purr of her words lured him back. He promised himself he'd only take a wee taste of her lips. Colyne leaned closer. Their lips touched. Melded. Heat stormed him and his mind hazed.

With regret, he pulled away. “I must leave to speak with my friend in Glasgow.” Then he made the mistake of glancing down. Beneath him, her breasts pressed against his chest, their bodies merged to where her warmth brushed against his hardness.

Her eyes, warm from their lovemaking, watched him, their invitation clear.

Colyne swallowed hard. “You are making it difficult to leave you.”

After a soft kiss upon his mouth, Alesia leaned back. “Can you not stay a while longer?”

“If possible, I would remain here forever.” He glanced through the grimy window to where the sun slowly rose into the sky and grimaced. He couldna delay his departure further. With a grumble, Colyne sat up, and then retrieved his braies.

She rolled onto her stomach. Naked, she watched him with sinful invitation. “How long will it be until you return?”

He silently lauded his stamina, comparing it to a saint's as he tugged on his trews. “I should return before midday.”

“Do you think the men searching for us will be in Glasgow?”

“Aye. We have been lucky nae to have crossed paths with them over the past several days.” He resigned himself with one last glance over her tempting body. “Stay within the room until I return.”

Alesia's mouth softened into a sensual pout. “I will miss you.”

“Aye, you will,” he said, with a boldness she aroused. Her laughter trickled through him, reminding him of all the reasons he wished to remain.

After he'd donned his garb and topped it with his cloak, Colyne gave in to one last kiss, slow and deep, until her hands wove around the back of his neck and she tried to pull him into bed. The chains of his forged mail clinked as he broke free.

She gave a frustrated groan. “You did that on purpose,” she softly accused.

He winked. “Indeed. But I am a man who never starts anything he canna finish.”

A wanton smile on her face, she sat up, her breasts jutting proudly, as if beckoning his return. “You could—”

“I must go,” he interrupted, too familiar with where his tarrying would lead. He shifted the tie of his trews, his teasing leaving more than her frustrated. “Upon my return, we shall finish this . . . discussion.”

“Colyne,” she called when he'd reached the door.

“Aye?”

Her hand slid to cup her breast as her gaze held his. “I shall be waiting.”

He clenched the handle of the door. A sword's wrath, the lass was a temptress. He'd faced many an adversary on the battlefield with the odds against him. Surely he could resist the lass's charms until his return. “Stay here,” he ordered. “Do nae go anywhere until my return, nay matter the cause.”

At his reminder of the danger, she lowered her hands and her face paled. “What if you do not return?”

“I will be back.” Even if he had to crawl.

“Be careful.”

Colyne shot her a smile, wanting to ease her worries. “I will.”

A cool breeze greeted him as he stepped from the ramshackle inn. The early morning light exposed the poverty of the streets, the air ripe with dank smells oozing from the crumbling buildings shoved against one another.

Well familiar with the dangers of Glasgow, he made a slow sweep around him. Several people were out, but they kept their gazes averted as they passed. Confident he wasna being watched, he hurried toward a narrow side street.

Three streets away, as he rounded a curve, he spied several knights halting travelers and questioning them. With a curse he drew back and then peered around the corner.

One of the men turned.

He flattened himself against the wall. 'Twas the man who'd shot him with the bolt. He glanced down the alley. If he backtracked, 'twould make his journey twice as long. He grimaced. Alesia would worry at his being late, but he dared nae take the street.

Several hours later, the bells announcing the arrival of midday tolled as Colyne reached the Glasgow Cathedral. He grimaced. Alesia would be expecting him. At least she was safe where at the inn. But what if the men had discovered her whereabouts? Nay, he'd hidden their identities well.

He slipped into a side entrance. The scent of frankincense and myrrh hung in the air. Having visited the cathedral many times before, he moved with sure steps through the solemn hallways adorned with intricately woven tapestries.

At the end of the corridor, he gently pushed open a thick oak door. Stained-glass windows encased by sturdy, handcrafted frames arched toward the ceiling, designed with various finely crafted pictures of Jesus, Mary, and several biblical settings. With his every entry into this chamber, the enormous sense of spirituality filled him. 'Twas as if he could feel God's presence.

The murmurings of a deep voice in Latin had Colyne glancing toward the front of the room.

On his knees, a bishop with his head bowed, adorned in long flowing robes, flanked by two priests, continued with their prayers.

Colyne walked forward, the thick woolen rug muting his steps. Several paces from the altar, he halted.

Melodic chants filled the chamber.

Familiar with the prayer, he silently followed along, saddened by his dual purpose here. He'd come to request aid in ensuring Alesia's safety and future travel to France. But he also needed to break the news of the loss of their mutual friend, a man who had saved the bishop's life.

Over the years he'd always anticipated his visits and enjoyed their time together. But he'd never considered that he'd offer Robert Wishart, a man who'd acted as his mentor throughout the years, such heartbreaking news. Though his friend wore the robe of a bishop, it wouldna protect him against the grief of learning about Douglas's death.

With a heavy heart, Colyne brushed his hand against the place where the document lay hidden. Nay, he wouldna fail their friend. The writ would be delivered to King Philip.

The murmurs ended. Whispered strains of the prayer faded.

“Leave us,” Bishop Wishart said to the two members of the clergy without turning.

Colyne smiled at his friend's ability to sense the presence of others. Another reason he'd chosen Robert to watch over Alesia. His innate sense would add another layer of safety against those who sought her. And though a bishop, with his broad shoulders and sturdy frame, his friend appeared more as if a knight.

Both priests rose. As they noticed Colyne, surprise, then recognition flashed on their faces. They nodded and then walked past. Moments later, the door closed with a soft swish behind them.

Robert made the sign of the cross. He stood and turned, his wizened face wrought with concern. “I am surprised to see you. The last I had heard, you were attending a secret meeting of Parliament in the Highlands.”

“Aye,” Colyne replied, nae shocked his friend would be so well informed. His station provided him with many venues in which to gather news of importance to Scotland's fight for freedom. “You have heard about the abduction of King Philip's bastard daughter?”

The bishop gave a solemn nod.

Hope filled Colyne. “Have they found her?”

Thick, shaggy brows dipped in worry. “Nay. Wherever the Duke of Renard has hidden her, 'twas with a crafty hand.”

“I had hoped they would have found her by now.” Colyne paused, hating the sad news he brought.

He frowned. “What is wrong?”

“Douglas is dead.”

The warmth in Robert's eyes shattered to sorrow. “How?”

“By Robert Bruce, Earl of Carrick, Guardian of the Realm of Scotland's dictate, Douglas was carrying a writ to King Philip, explaining the English duke's treachery,” Colyne replied. “En route to the coast to sail to France, Renard's knights attacked him.”

His friend's face paled. “God in heaven! Renard has the writ Robert Bruce intended for King Philip?”

With a hard swallow, Colyne touched his cloak. “Nay, I have it. I came upon Douglas wounded and dying. I swore to him that I would deliver the writ.” He stepped forward and clasped a firm hand upon the bishop's shoulder. “I give you my oath that his death will nae be in vain.”

Wishart's fingers trembled as they touched the cross hanging from his neck. “I thank God you made it here safely.”

Silence hung between them.

Colyne stared at the crucifix secured behind the altar, at the blood weeping down Christ's body. “I need to ask three favors of you.”

“Anything.”

A muscle worked in his jaw as he held Robert's anguished gaze. “The only way the English duke could have known of the missive was if one of his informants were seated in the private meeting.”

“A traitor?” Though a whisper, the bishop's question cut through the room like a curse.

“Aye,” Colyne replied, his own anger as fierce at deducing the reason. “I mention it as Robert Bruce needs to be informed of this news.”

“Consider it done.”

“My thanks.”

“Would your second request be to secure passage for you aboard a ship to France?”

“Aye, but if possible, I would sail with someone trustworthy instead of an unknown merchant.”

“The writ is too important to risk falling into untrustworthy hands,” Robert agreed, his voice trembling, evidence he struggled to contain his grief. “I shall send a runner to learn who is in port. If any captain's ship we trust is moored at the pier, once he learns of the graveness of this matter, I am confident he will adjust his itinerary and sail to France posthaste.” He rubbed his thumb over the cross. “And the last?”

“There is a woman.”

Robert's brow lifted. “A woman?”

“During my escape with the writ, I was wounded,” Colyne explained. “A French missionary named Alesia found and cared for me. Her party was attacked while traveling in the Highlands. She said they were returning from Beauly Priory.”

With a frown, the bishop rubbed his jaw. “I was nae aware of missionaries visiting from France.”

Unease swept him. “You did nae know?”

The bishop shook his head. “I have heard naught of such an arrangement.”

That didna make sense. One would think with the strife between England and Scotland, Alesia's party would have taken every precaution to ensure their safety. So why hadn't they informed the bishop of their arrival?

L
ate afternoon bells tolled, sending nerve-shattering bongs through the waning spring day. The strong tang of the sea and the stench of the city invaded the confines of the chamber. Marie's stomach churned.

She wrung her hands and again looked at the door. “Where are you, Colyne?” Hours had passed since he'd left. Had he reached his destination? Had his pursuers seized him? Or had they killed him, and his body now lay on the street?

There could be many explanations for his delay. She searched her soul for reassurance, found naught but ominous reasons.

On a sigh, she turned toward the bed, and images of Colyne flooded her. The way he'd loved her, how he had ignited feelings she'd never imagined. With memories of him making her body tingle, the dankness of the chamber seemed less threatening. Marie released a calming breath. He would return.

And then what?

His fierce possessiveness as he'd loved her staked its own claim.

Mon Dieu.
How could she have been foolish enough to believe that news of her betrothal would deter such a strong-willed Scot? He was an earl, a man used to wielding power.

Footsteps echoed outside.

Withdrawing her dagger, Marie flattened herself against the cool wood adjacent to the barred door.

The pad of firm steps halted.

Pulse racing, she strained to hear the murmurs of other men, grumbles to alert her if they were English. Seconds dragged, each one stretching her nerves tighter.

“Alesia?”

At Colyne's whisper, she sagged back.

The door thunked against the wooden bar as he tried to enter. “Alesia?” he whispered, this time louder.

Relief sweeping through her, she sheathed her dagger, tugged the barrier free, and flung open the door.

Colyne stepped inside.

She ran into his arms and poured herself into a kiss, erasing the hours of uncertainty.

The door shut against his body's weight as Colyne turned with her and pressed her against the wood, his mouth taking hers as desperately.

A long moment later he drew back, his eyes dark with desire. “Had I known of your hearty welcome, I would have spent time away before.”

Heat stroked her face at his playful taunt, but when she made to turn away, he caught her chin. “You must think me foolish.”

“Alesia, I was but teasing.”

She floundered for a second. “I missed you.”

Laughter simmered in his eyes. “Is that what you would be calling launching yourself in my arms and sweeping my breath away?”

He was enjoying himself, she mused, feeling even more foolish. As her pulse slowed, she studied him. An earl. How had she missed his aristocratic mien when his every act, the very chivalry of his decisions, stated the obvious?

But she knew. Since her youth she'd seen too many within the gentry who used their powerful positions for their own benefit. And with each selfish act she'd witnessed, her views on nobility had grown jaded.

Marie tried to pull free, but he held her snug in his arms.

“I have missed you as well,” Colyne said, his mouth covering her own with ferocious heat.

Lost in the tumble of sensations, she wasn't sure at what moment he carried her to the bed. He quickly relieved her of her gown and himself of his mail and the remainder of his garb. With his mouth skimming over her flesh, nothing else mattered.

“I want you,” he murmured as he caressed her breasts as his tongue teased hers, driving her blissfully insane.

She tried to maintain her grasp on sanity, but as he continued to kiss her, touch her, he shattered her hold on that as well.

Until it was only him.

Only her.

As if the dangers beyond their chamber didn't exist.

Her cries entwined with his husky murmurs. She arched as he sank deep within her over and again. And with his every stroke, she ascended higher. Until her world exploded with a rain of purple mist and swirls of lavender.

Then she was floating, drifting back to find herself in Colyne's arms, his mouth claiming her every cry, his body's trembling matching her own.

The rightness of the moment made her yearn for all she could never have. Shifting in his arms, she settled against his chest. How did one's heart ache and swell in the same instant? But hers did, painfully so. She truly loved Colyne, and the acknowledgment made the pain of leaving him all the more unbearable. “Colyne?”

 

At Alesia's sated whisper, a breath of male satisfaction slid through him. “Aye?”

“Why were you so late in returning?”

He lay his head against the curve of her neck and allowed himself this moment of peace. But as he listened to her slowing heartbeat, he couldna dispel the disquiet Robert's ignorance of her or her party's journey to Beauly Priory had caused. “I took another route back.”

She caressed his cheek. “Why?”

“I was recognized by the men searching for me.”

“What?” She tried to sit up, but he drew her back for a soothing kiss.

“Nay worry,” he said against her mouth. “I know the streets and hid in an alley until they'd passed.”

Worry flickered in her eyes. “I was hoping you were wrong when you suspected the men following you had made it to Glasgow.”

He nodded. “As much as I wish we could make love again, we need to travel to safer quarters this night.”

“Is that why you dragged me to bed upon your return?” she teased.

“Dragged you, did I?” He nuzzled lower and kissed his way to her breast. “As I remember, 'twas you who launched herself into my arms.” And kissed him with such intensity, logic had hazed his mind.

Now, with his body sated, his doubts concerning her reason for being in the Highlands resurfaced. A sword's wrath! He hated this not knowing. When he'd first arrived, he should have asked her about Robert's ignorance of any French missionaries visiting Scotland. His questions would be answered and his doubts gone.

Or would they?

She had withheld the fact of her betrothal. Even if she confessed her true reason for traveling to England, could he trust that she was telling him everything?

Torn, he drew her to his side. He wished these secrets between them didna exist, but until he'd delivered the writ and could tell her the reason for his own mission, wasna he just as guilty of withholding information?

At his silence, Alesia lifted her head, and the desire in her eyes flickered out.

A sword's wrath! He should never have allowed them to make love again until he learned the truth.

“What is wrong?” she asked.

Though encased in control, he heard the fragility of a woman who'd suffered too many of life's blows, a woman who could erect emotional barriers with lethal effectiveness and shut out everyone.

Including him.

Colyne despised tainting their last moments of intimacy, but for his own peace of mind, he needed an explanation. “While I spoke to my friend of our need for safe lodging and passage to France, he informed me that he had heard naught about French missionaries in Scotland.”

“A friend?” she whispered, her voice growing cold.

Nay, she wasna going to avoid his question this time. “Why did you come here?”

She tried to roll away, but he stopped her.

Her gaze grew guarded. “You believe I lied to you?”

“Did you?”

“Why ask me when it is obvious you believe I have?”

Damn her evasion. “Trust me with the truth.”

“Trust.” Though she breathed the word, he heard the catch in her voice, proof she struggled against whatever boundaries prevented her from telling him. “
Oui
, I trust you. More than is wise.”

“Are you a missionary?”

Honey lashes lowered. “I have told you all I can.”

“Have you?” The regret in her eyes left his heart aching, but the surge of guilt haunting her face spurred his anger. Colyne caught her wrists when she would have moved away. “Why—”

“They are nearby,” a man's deep voice called from outside.

Renard's men! Colyne motioned for her to be silent.

Eyes wide with fear, she nodded.

With honed stealth, he slipped from the bed, crept to the window, and peered out.

“What do you see?” Alesia whispered.

He turned, finding irony in the fact that he would still want her in light of the imminent danger. “Our pursuers are outside.”

She grabbed her garments. “We must slip away before they search the inn.”

“Aye,” he replied as he dragged on his garb and then hurried to don his mail.

 

Marie tugged on her chemise, the muted voices of the men outside the window leaving her shaken. But that was far from her only concern. How had Colyne's friend known that no French missionaries had traveled to Scotland? Who exactly was this man?

With them having to flee the inn, she'd evaded answering, but Colyne wouldn't rest until he had received a satisfactory reply. Somehow she must avoid the issue until they parted. His ignorance of her royal tie was the only way to keep him safe.

He peered out the window and then turned. “Are you ready?”

“Oui.”
She donned her cape. Her heart squeezed as she took in the chamber one last time. At least they'd had a few hours of intimacy. Once he'd sailed to France and delivered the writ, he would never find her.

After securing his sword, Colyne pulled on his cloak. Tenderness touched his face. “All will be resolved.”

It wouldn't. It never could.

In silence, he cracked open the door, peeked out. “Nay one is outside at the moment. We can leave.” Taking her hand, he led her from the inn.

As they traveled, she took in the growing night. A murky haze shielding the moon, casting the city in a bloody hue. Dread curled tight within her. Was it a premonition? Did it forebode Colyne's death?

Or hers?

He slowed as they reached the end of the alley, scoured the busy corner. In the shrouded light, the hard angles of his face were carved into a frown. “Are you well?”

An ache began to pound in the back of her head. “I am fine. We need to hurry.” Enough danger lay around them without her hindering their pace.

“We are almost there and then you can rest.”

The concern in his voice touched her. Though angry with her, even though she'd hurt him, he still found compassion. And, regrettably, she would cause him further upset.

He moved ahead of her with catlike grace, his steps sure, his body tensed, prepared to react.

The warrior.

“What is wrong?” he whispered, studying her with unnerving intensity.

“Naught.” But there was. Colyne had never told her who he'd met with earlier. His friend was clearly a knowledgeable man who apparently knew the comings or goings of missionaries and could destroy her story.

“We canna linger.” He started forward.

She followed, her mind spinning through the possibilities. Was Colyne so determined to find out her secrets that he might inadvertently ruin any chance she had of returning to France?

Panicking, she slowed. She couldn't risk facing whoever they were going to meet. Marie glanced around at streets that offered anything but safety. Neither could she risk leaving Colyne's protection.

Mon Dieu
, what was she going to do?