His Woman (21 page)

He curled his fist against the stone. Nay, if indeed Isabel was pregnant, Frasyer would not claim his child. Whatever it took, Duncan would have Isabel back.

But how?

He stared at the yellow flames reaching toward the darkness of the cold night. For the first time in his life, Duncan was unsure of what next to do.

The howl of the wind woke him. Duncan surveyed the blackened space with a warrior’s eye. Shadows fell with meager relief, broken by the low, blue flames of the burning coals. Otherwise, he saw nothing to alert him of imminent danger.

The soft warmth of skin pressed against him. Isabel. Long after she’d fallen asleep, without any answers as to how he could free her from Frasyer, he’d climbed into bed beside her. While she’d slept, he’d held her close and wished for a miracle.

A hopeless wish if ever there was one.

What had started as a simple rescue mission had tumbled into a fine quagmire—one without answers. With the amount she’d stated that Lord Caelin had lost in his gaming to Frasyer, it was even beyond his brother Seathan’s reach. Then there was the added expense of recovering Lord Caelin’s home.

Duncan drew Isabel against him, the steady beat of her heart beckoning him to make love with her and never let her go. The desperation of losing her had him kissing the silky skin of her jaw and slowly working his way up to tease her lips.

Soft sighs tumbled to moans of need as she slowly awakened. “Duncan?”

Her soft, sleep-roughened voice thrummed through him. He covered her mouth and kissed her with infinite slowness. With each caress he showed her what he could never tell her. With their bodies entwined, they each found their release.

Isabel snuggled up against him, his heart still racing from their joining. “I love you, Duncan.”

Deeply moved, wanting to reply the same, instead he drew her closer. Moments passed. A sleepy smile grazed her lips, then she closed her eyes. Her soft even breaths assured him that she’d fallen back asleep.

Restless, he slipped from the bed. Coals glowed dimly in the fireplace so he applied himself to the simple task of building the fire, blowing on the coals until they ignited the dry timber. Flames built, snapping cheerily. He sat and watched as the fire continued to grow and warm the room, but inside coldness clung to his soul.

He rubbed his temple where a pounding was gaining ground. From the corner of his eye, he caught sight of the tip of the Bible peeking from the leather sack.

If only it held the answers he needed. He sighed. The Bible held the information to save Lord Caelin. That would have to be enough for now.

Another blast of wind buffeted the side of the crofter’s hut, promising their travel this day would be arduous at best. He walked to the slit used as a window, lifted the heavy tarp and looked out. Darkness clung to the sky, casting the surrounding trees and landscape into vague outlines that muted into sheer blackness. Hours remained until the first rays of sun would sever the night.

He looked toward Isabel. She slept soundly, what he needed to do as well, but with his mind spinning, he doubted if he’d find any more sleep this night.

The tip of the Bible again caught his attention. What exactly was the proof Lord Caelin spoke of? A chilling idea crept through his mind. What if whatever the drink-addled Lord Caelin claimed as proof of his innocence was naught more than a worthless writ? Or in his skewed mind, had he recalled evidence that didn’t exist?

He glanced at Isabel, thankful to find her lost in sleep. Please, God, let proof of Lord Caelin’s innocence exist. With his hands trembling in fear, Duncan withdrew the Bible.

On a prayer, he opened the aged leather, worn smooth by overuse. A hint of frankincense greeting him. Hundreds of pages of yellowed parchment, filled with handwritten inscriptions lay before him. Notations penned on some pages caught Duncan’s eye as did the folded edges on others. With each marked page he reviewed, he found naught but writings of a believer, a man struggling to understand why God had taken a loving wife from him.

His fingers flew through the rest of the pages, but found not a torn scrap or any other document that represented anything bearing proof of Lord Caelin’s innocence. Duncan flipped through the last few pages of parchment, each one driving his sense of doom deeper. As he turned over the last page, his worst fear was recognized.

Nothing.

No proof existed.

He closed his eyes. Their entire journey, the dangers he and Isabel had faced, was all for naught. A lump built in his throat as he turned toward Isabel. He rubbed the thick leather of the back cover. How was he going to tell her? The news would break her heart. Bedamned, why had her father told her such a lie?

Was Lord Caelin drunk at the time of the telling? A hysterical laugh festered Duncan’s throat. He’d never thought to ask. No, if her father had been inebriated when cornered by Frasyer and hauled away, she would have told him.

So why did Lord Caelin want her to fetch the Bible? After Frasyer had taken it, one would think he would have scoured it to ensure it held nothing of worth.

It didn’t make sense.

Nerves had him tracing his thumb across the hand-sewn stitching securing the leather to the hard cover of the back. Frustrated, he followed the intricate stitching.

Odd. Instead of a steady seam sewn around the back cover to bind it, the threads made an odd, intricate pattern. No, the strange sewing was only along the inner side near the bindings. Unless a person was looking for it, they would miss the finely sewn detail.

He stilled. A hidden compartment? Was the proof they sought inside? Relief swamped Duncan. Thank God.

Upon closer inspection, he found the hidden indent within the fabric that allowed him entrance to the secret compartment. He reached inside. His fingers grazed several pages of parchment.

His heart pounded as he withdrew the aged documents. He unfolded the fragile sheets, noted the dates starting the various entries, recognizing Lord Caelin’s writing. He frowned. A diary?

With a sinking feeling in his gut, he began to read the penned notes. Upon the first entry, he stilled. Stopped. Reread it.

Sweat beaded on his brow as he glanced over to where Isabel slept in peace, ignorant to the magnitude of the documents he held.

’Twas no wonder Lord Caelin desired to have the Bible delivered into safe hands.

The reason had nothing to do with Lord Caelin’s needing proof of his innocence. It had everything to do with Isabel.

Hands shaking, Duncan continued to read each dated entry, the decisions made, the risks taken by Lord Caelin throughout the time he’d raised Isabel humbling Duncan more.

He finished the last sheet, closed his eyes and hung his head. Oh, God, Lord Caelin wasn’t Isabel’s father.

No, that honor belonged to Sir William Wallace.

Stunned, Duncan stared at the worn pieces of parchment, then turned toward the woman who lay in the bed.

A bed they’d shared.

Was Isabel truly William Wallace’s daughter?

He again scanned the pages documenting in detail how Wallace, desperate to protect his only child from threats, had been forced to give up Isabel while he fought for Scotland’s freedom.

But how could a father give up his daughter?

With each line Duncan read, he felt the enormity of Wallace’s sacrifice in leaving his infant daughter with Lord Caelin, how he’d asked his friend to play the role of Isabel’s father until their country’s safety was secured. Each day apart from Isabel had torn a piece away from Wallace’s soul, proven by his secret visits to Lord Caelin, when in fact he’d come to see his daughter.

Duncan shook his head, awed by the sacrifices of both men.

He stared at Isabel, her hair the color of aged whisky fanning over the bed, how her chest rose and fell peacefully with each breath, her face soft with the innocence of those who slept. Did she truly not know?

Duncan flipped madly, scouring pages that detailed Wallace and Lord Caelin’s protective scheme. Nay, it would appear that she did not, as the men had skillfully shielded the knowledge from her throughout her life.

The name scrawled atop the next document had Duncan catching his breath.

Frasyer’s name. What was this?

The parchment made a crinkling sound as he pulled it closer. His mind reeled at Lord Caelin’s next admittance.

Sir William Wallace and Lord Caelin had set up Lord Frasyer.

Since King Edward had stepped up his search to find and kill Wallace, fearful a tie between Isabel and Wallace would be discovered, Lord Caelin and Wallace had agreed on a plan. Lord Caelin had pretended to be drunk and, on a bet, had purposely lost an enormous amount of money on that fateful night three years past to Frasyer.

Aware of Frasyer’s hatred of Duncan, of the earl’s impotence due to a battle wound, Lord Caelin had deliberately offered Isabel as Frasyer’s mistress instead of payment, in keeping with the well-planned tactics.

Confident, cocky, and believing he’d won a great victory by claiming Duncan’s betrothed as his whore, Frasyer had greedily accepted. Now, even if King Edward learned that Wallace had a daughter, they’d hidden Isabel in the one place English troops would never search.

By pretending to sacrifice Isabel, her father and Lord Caelin had actually saved her from greater danger. The lengths both men had gone to in keeping Isabel safe, their bravery, left Duncan humbled.

Aware of Isabel’s love for Duncan, ink written by a trembling hand as Lord Caelin had penned the entry revealed his agony in the decision to trick Isabel into moving in with Frasyer. With deep regret, he had used her big heart to sway her decision to become Frasyer’s mistress. In addition, though he wanted to lessen Duncan’s heartache, Lord Caelin had worried Duncan would confront Frasyer if he learned the truth, a risk he, nor Wallace, could take.

Emotion tightened Duncan’s throat as he carefully folded the pages of parchment. His fingers trembled as he slid them inside the secret compartment and secured it. He closed his eyes, the magnitude of the knowledge held within the Bible storming him.

Lord Caelin had suffered along with his daughter. No, not his real daughter. Isabel was of William Wallace’s blood.

If anyone would have told Duncan prior, he would have dismissed the telling as a poor joke made. He stroked his thumb along the worn leather. Truth of the fact lay hidden within, knowledge that must never fall into the wrong hands.

He released a harsh breath. If King Edward ever learned of Isabel’s connection to Wallace, he would use her to lure Wallace to his death. Without a strong warrior to lead the rebel forces, Scotland’s fragile hold on freedom would lay in jeopardy.

What would Isabel think once she knew? Should he tell her? He studied her as she lay peacefully within the straw bed. Wisps of whisky-colored hair curled around her cheek, her mouth caught in an innocent pout as she slept. She looked as if she was a wayward faerie who’d found peace.

No, until the ledger was in safe hands, he must shield her from the truth. If by chance they were caught, and if she knew of her birthright, Frasyer might torture information from her that could seal Wallace’s fate, as well as her own.

What should he do with the Bible? Lord Caelin had asked that the Bible be delivered to Lord Monceaux. His reasoning now made even more sense. With Lord Caelin’s close bond with Wallace, Lord Caelin must be aware that Lord Monceaux is a spy for Scotland—only known as Wulfe.

The pieces fell into place in Duncan’s mind. With Lord Caelin’s capture, unable to protect the Bible’s secret, he had let Isabel believe his innocence was hidden within.

A lie.

A lie to protect Isabel.

A lie that would inspire her to recover the Bible from Frasyer’s hands and deliver the secret of her parentage to safety.

A wry smile played on Duncan’s lips before falling away. If indeed Lord Caelin knew of Lord Monceaux’s secret life, Duncan also found it intriguing that the English lord’s sister, Nichola, had married Duncan’s brother Alexander. An unexpected mix to be sure.

With Lord Monceaux’s sister having married Duncan’s brother, Duncan had come to know the English lord well. Though King Edward’s adviser for the Scots, Griffin upheld what he believed right, the reason he’d become a spy for Scotland.

Aye, he would honor Lord Caelin’s request that the Bible be delivered to Lord Monceaux. He’d trust Griffin with his life.

Duncan turned toward Isabel, aching at what she had endured, some of it unknowingly at the hands of two well-meaning fathers.

The soft glow of flames caressed the gentle curve of her face, illuminating her soft lips parted in sleep.

God, how he loved her.

An innocent in so many ways still. He wanted to teach her the pleasures of the flesh. He wanted to love her, body and soul until they lay in each other’s arms exhausted. No, more than that.

He wanted her in his life.

Forever.

Except William Wallace being her father changed everything. Assuming the mess with Frasyer ever was resolved, how could he, a mere knight, marry a woman who was the daughter of Scotland’s true leader?

His fragile hope of creating a life with her shattered.

Last night’s anger at finding her a virgin paled in comparison to the challenges they now faced. The gentle buffeting of wind against the crofter’s hut, a soft, lonely sound, matched the emotions churning in his soul.

“Duncan?”

Isabel’s sleepy voice had him glancing up. She’d propped herself up on the bed, her eyes groggy. As she slowly awakened, her gaze trailed over his naked body boldly and dark with need.

Desire built inside him, a fact as natural as his each breath. With her it would always be so. “Aye?”

“What is wrong?”

If she only knew. He slid the Bible into the sack. “I cannot sleep.”

She frowned, her glance briefly flicking toward the sack before turning to him. “Your wound is aching?”

“Nay.” Aching didn’t begin to describe the intensity of what he was feeling. “Restless is all.”

A tense silence fell between them.

He sighed. Was it only hours ago that they’d made love for the first time? With his mind raging in turmoil, their joining seemed ages ago.

“Will you be coming back to bed?”

The desire in her voice slashed another chink in his willpower. In but hours they would leave the crofter’s hut for Rothfield Castle. Later, when he departed Griffin’s home, due to Isabel’s heritage, the real chance existed that they may never be this private, this open, with each other again.

Her, the secret daughter of Scotland’s most powerful rebel and, as yet, trapped as his enemy’s mistress.

Him, a knight with no claim save his reputation and a fool’s dreams.

Aware her true father was William Wallace, and knowing the unpredictable risk that Frasyer posed, if he had any doubts about her never returning to the earl before, they ended now. Regardless of what it took, she would never go back to that bastard.

The snap of the fire crackled softly in the silence, a subtle reminder that they were alone. Whatever happened once they left, they had the rest of this night. Precious hours until they would have to face the world again.

And return to their lives.

Overwhelmed by emotion, he took her hand and pressed his brow against their entwined fingers, needing to find the right words to explain his feelings for her.

“Last night,” Duncan started, then looked down.

As he struggled to find words, taking in the paleness of Duncan’s face, Isabel panicked. Did he feel guilty about taking her virginity?

“I am so sorry,” she whispered, “I never wanted to lie to you.”

He lifted his head, his green eyes ensnaring hers. “Do not be sorry. We are both but pawns to a greater purpose.”

Softness eased the worry across his brow, his gaze so intense, a look so tender, she wanted to lean against him and have him hold her forever.

They had until dawn. For the rest of her life, she must make that enough.

Isabel drew Duncan’s hand to her breast, and his fingers trembled across her tender flesh. “Make love with me.” At her request, angst flashed on his face, a desperation she’d never witnessed before. A chill shot through her. “What is wrong?”

“It is that I need you so much more than I had ever believed possible.”

The sincerity of his words should have offered her relief, more so in light of his anger but hours ago, except she sensed something awry. What had changed between then and now? Or were her nerves spinning troubles that weren’t there? They had these few precious hours until they would leave. She refused to lose them to her doubts.

On a half groan, he drew her to him, his kiss tasting of need, but tainted with a new sense of urgency. Isabel ignored her worry and gave herself completely, savoring his every touch upon her skin. She loved him, needed him, wanted this intimacy. In but hours they would arrive at Lord Monceaux’s and deliver the Bible. Then her father would be freed.

After, sadly, she must return to Frasyer.

So she lost herself to sensation as Duncan made love to her, the gentle skim of his fingers upon her curves, how he used his tongue to tease, then satisfy. Beneath his skilled hands, she found her release, but as if a man driven, with slow, mind-splintering strokes, he guided her up again until the well of feelings burst, again taking her under. Only when the flames within the hearth had burned low did Duncan join her to find his own release.

After, he rolled to his side and drew her into his arms. The steady beat of his heart echoed in her mind, his even breathing comforting her further. She could lay here forever. Happier than she could have ever imagined, with her body sated and a lethargic wash thrumming through her, she gave way to the lure of sleep.

A gust of wind slammed against the crofter’s hut; Isabel started. She blinked the wisps of sleep from her eyes and turned to Duncan, but where he’d lain by her side it was empty.

And cold.

She sat up. He sat before the fire. The troubled look on his face, the way he clutched the Bible in his hands stilled the teasing words on her tongue.

“Duncan?”

He turned toward her. The strained expression on his face eased. “You are awake then.”

She swallowed hard, not missing the tension within his voice. “The wind woke me.”

“It is picking up again.”

Again? Hadn’t he gone back to sleep as she had? “Why do you have the Bible?”

His mouth tightened. He shrugged. “No reason.” He stowed the bound volume within the leather sack as if unimportant, but she caught the whitening of his knuckles as he tightened his hold.

Trepidation built in her throat. “You have found something within the Bible.” It wasn’t a question.

Silence.

“Duncan?”

He shoved to his feet, his expression stoic. “The sun has begun to rise. We need to depart for Rothfield Castle.”

She sat up. “Not without your telling me what you found.”

“There is naught to be afraid of.”

“I do not believe you.” She looked at the Bible shielded within the sack, her heart pounding. “Tell me.”

His jaw tightened in a stubborn set. “There is no time for discussion. Once we have arrived at Rothfield Castle will be soon enough.”

“Soon enough? Duncan, the Bible is mine.” She held out her hand. “Give it to me.”

He shook his head. “I cannot.”

Anger shot through her. Isabel shoved to the edge of the bed. The slide of cool air against her bare skin had her grabbing her gown and donning it. Whatever he refused to tell her indeed had to do with the Bible. A strangled thought flickered in her mind. Her heart slammed against her chest. It couldn’t be.

She stilled and prayed she was wrong. “Duncan, tell me there is proof of my father’s innocence.”

“Isabel—”

“Do not keep secrets between us!”