His Woman (8 page)

“Aye,” Alexander said with sarcasm, “and let you steal the horse as you did Duncan’s amulet?”

“I told you, I did not—”

“Is Duncan dead?” Seathan demanded.

Her heart ached as she recalled Duncan’s sacrifices to help her—and of his promise to Symon. “No, he is alive.”

At least he had been when she’d left him.

No, she refused to think of such dismal thoughts. She’d lost her brother, was unsure if her father still lived, and but a slim chance to find the Bible and save her father existed. A hope that with each passing day was fading away. But she’d not let Duncan down.

She started to say more, but her vision began to blur. Isabel braced herself against the cold, stone wall. Gathering her strength, she squeezed her hands into tight fists and stepped forward to face the formidable warriors in one final stand.

“Do you not understand? If you do not help me bring Duncan home, he is going to die!”

Alexander crossed his arms and Seathan only cocked a speculative brow.

Tears streamed down her cheeks as Isabel tried to shove past the two warriors. “To Hades with the both of you! I will find a palfrey and manage to bring him back myself.”

Seathan’s calloused hand caught her shoulder. “Duncan would only part with his amulet if the situation was dire, or, as Alexander says,” he continued, his voice solemn, “he is in Frasyer’s hands and you are part of his devious plot to capture us as well.”

She jerked from Seathan’s hold. “I would never lie about something as critical as Duncan’s life, not even for Frasyer. Despise me, it matters not, but each moment we delay in leaving is time lost in saving your brother.”

Alexander snorted. “You think to deceive us with this pathetic tale of—”

Seathan raised his hand cutting off his brother’s reply, his hard gaze never leaving hers.

Alexander’s face reddened. “You are not telling me you are believing Frasyer’s whore?”

The blood rushed from her face. Whore. Yes, he would think that. Everyone did. But their opinion of her at this moment mattered not.

Seathan’s eyes bored into her with a look so deep it was as if he could see clear to her soul. At last, the earl nodded. “Order our mounts readied posthaste.”

“By my sword,” Alexander seethed. “She shows up dressed in naught better than rags with a farfetched story that reeks of Frasyer’s doing, and you are believing her?”

“Go,” Seathan said. It wasn’t a request.

Alexander’s muscled frame stiffened. “Rest assured”—his glare pinned Isabel—“we will be on the lookout for Frasyer’s treachery. And may God help you if you are telling us a lie, for I will end your deceitful life with my own hands.” He stalked toward the stable, the crunch of snow haunting his steps.

Seathan’s gaze on her never wavered. He watched her like a hawk focused on its prey.

“Thank you,” she said unsteadily.

Surprise, then understanding flickered in his eyes. An odd tingling crept over her skin. Did the earl suspect she still loved Duncan? No, Seathan believed her loyalty lay with Frasyer. Only the amulet had swayed him to believe her of Duncan’s peril.

Still, the intrigue in Seathan’s eyes worried her more than Alexander’s anger. Rousing the Earl of Gray’s curiosity meant regardless of the time or obstacles faced, Seathan would rout out the truth.

A truth she could never unveil.

Seathan rubbed his thumb against the hilt of his sword. “I find it odd that after walking away from Duncan three years ago, you appear on my doorstep begging us to help save his life.”

She hugged herself for more reasons than the cold. “As I explained, he was wounded as he helped me escape the dungeon.”

“A tale, I assure you, I will become intimately familiar with upon our return.” At the whinny of a horse, Seathan straightened. “Had I more time, we would discuss your true reasons for wanting Duncan safe.” He nodded to a guard.

A red-haired knight stepped forward. “My lord?”

“See that Lady Adair is given food and a room within the keep.” He paused. “And is not allowed to leave Lochshire Castle until my return.”

The knight nodded and took Isabel’s arm as Seathan started to turn away.

She struggled to break free; the guard held her arm tight. “No, you must take me with you!”

Seathan paused, his look fierce. “There is no need. I know the area well.”

He couldn’t leave her behind! She had to know if Duncan was alive. “There are several caves in the knolls to the north of Moncreiffe Castle. With the falling snow, even with a familiar eye, they will be difficult to find. And if you do not discover Duncan quickly…” She steadied herself. “I have lost too many hours in my journey here. Please, for Duncan’s sake, we cannot lose more.”

At her mention of evading Frasyer’s men, the earl’s eyes narrowed. “For Duncan’s sake,” he agreed. “If this is a trap, I am agreeing with Alexander’s frame of mind, it will be your last.” He nodded to the guard. “Bring her a dry cape and some warm meat wrapped within bread and some cheese.”

“Yes, my lord.”

As his guard departed, Seathan waved her forward.

Afraid he’d change his mind, Isabel hurried to catch up with him as he walked toward the stable, ignoring her exhaustion and the coldness numbing her from head to toe.

“Once we have returned, Duncan is cared for, and you have rested,” Seathan said as he walked at her side, “I will be knowing the details of why Frasyer would sentence you to the dungeon.”

She didn’t answer. Somehow, she had to keep Seathan from prying further. And she couldn’t do that by remaining at Lochshire Castle.

After Duncan was home and she was confident he would recover, she would slip away and return to Moncreiffe Castle to find her mother’s Bible.

Alone.

The steady thrum of the church bell reverberated through Duncan’s skull like the pounding of a siege engine. He opened his eyes, wincing at the effort.

A half-burned taper flickered on a corner table. A blurred, luxurious tapestry hung on the far wall. He squinted and tried to focus. His head pounded harder. Frustrated, he struggled to sit and pain shot through his left arm.

His arm.

The confrontation with the knights at Moncreiffe Castle streaked through his mind. The long hours throughout the night that he and Isabel had hidden under Frasyer’s bed, and how, with Isabel’s help and sheer will, they’d escaped and made it to a cave.

Then nothing.

He must have passed out. What of Isabel? Had Frasyer found them? Or had Isabel deceived him from the start and waited until he’d fallen unconscious to lead Frasyer to him?

Duncan frowned. That didn’t make sense. She could have called for help while they’d hidden beneath Frasyer’s bed. Or sought aid anytime during their escape for that fact. Still, Duncan couldn’t shake the feeling that something about her intent in helping him was amiss. Even if he was safe, she had far from earned his trust.

So where was he? If he was indeed captured, he doubted Frasyer had shown compassion for his injured state and moved him to one of his luxurious chambers. After Duncan had sworn fealty to William Wallace, Frasyer had branded him an outlaw.

He forced his eyes open again and struggled to focus. Slowly, his vision cleared. Between the taper near his bedside and the flames within the fireplace, he recognized the wooden chest at the end of the bed, then the muted design woven within the rug hanging upon the wall. He sagged with relief. ’Twas his chamber in Lochshire Castle.

A vague memory of giving Isabel his amulet tangled in his thoughts. He reached up to his chest. Nothing. Duncan frowned. He had no memories of travel, which had certainly occurred.

The amulet must have convinced his brothers she was telling the truth of his needing help. Even as he’d handed it to Isabel, doubts plagued him that the pendant alone would convince his brother that her request was the truth. What else had she explained to them? Or rather, how much?

“Isabel?” Raw, his throat ached at his effort to speak.

“Duncan! You are awake.”

The grogginess of her voice behind him alerted Duncan that he’d awoken her from wherever she’d been resting out of his sight.

She walked into view and knelt beside the bed, her eyes moving over him with worry. “How fare thee?”

Despite the lingering disorientation, the sight of her relieved a pressure in his chest. Had he been able to, he might have heeded the temptation to draw her into his arms and assure himself they were both safe.

“Well enough.”

She filled a goblet with water and held it to his lips. “Here.”

His fingers trembled as he wrapped them around her own. Irritated by the warmth contact with her brought, after a sip, he pushed the cup away.

She set the goblet on a nearby table, concern edged in her face.

“How long have we been here?” Duncan asked.

“Three days. Your fever broke early this morning.”

That explained his weakness. He moved his wounded arm.

“You need to keep your arm still. I have wrapped it and it is still healing.”

“It is a little stiff is all.” He’d suffered worse discomfort many times before.

“You are lucky the gash didn’t become infected.”

“Thanks to you,” he replied, realizing her efforts had kept the wound clean.

She cleared her throat. “I did naught but what anyone else would have done.”

Not true. Duncan had no delusions of his fate had Frasyer caught them. “Did you tell my brothers about Symon?”

The pain in her eyes bespoke her reply. She nodded.

Bedamned. He’d not meant his brothers to learn of Symon’s death this way. Neither had he meant for them to discover his vow to Symon concerning Isabel—the very fact he’d excluded from his missive to Seathan. Had either of his brothers learned of his intent to sneak into Moncreiffe Castle they would have stopped him.

Now they knew. They would be furious, more so now that they’d realized he’d twisted the truth about helping the rebels. But he’d not lied. As a loyal follower of Wallace, Symon counted as such. Except, they wouldn’t see his explanation that way. He sighed. It was too late to worry about their anger now.

Duncan took in her rumpled dress and the tiredness weighing heavy in her eyes. “You have slept little.” With her having half carried him to the cave, then having struck out on her own to reach his home, she had to have been exhausted. From her rumpled gown, he assumed she’d stayed within his chamber until now. Her reason derived from guilt, but the motive did little to ease his worry.

She shrugged. “I have caught naps.”

“Not enough.”

Her expression grew remote, as if she were a stranger. “I am well. Your growing upset will only tire you further.”

Refusing to be swayed, he shifted to a more comfortable position on his side. “It would seem the amulet convinced Seathan in believing I needed help, but that does not explain how you convinced my brother to allow you to care for me?”

She looked away, her expression remote. “He is a practical man.”

Her guarded words furthered his interest. Practical, aye, but his eldest brother was fierce in his protection as well. When their father had died, without hesitation, Seathan had taken responsibility to raise him, Alexander, and until his death, Patrik. The day he’d learned of Isabel’s betrayal, Seathan had sworn she would never again set foot in his home.

Now, for him to have permitted Isabel to remain within Lochshire Castle, much less tend to Duncan, something significant had passed between them.

“What did you say to Seathan to convince him to allow you to tend me instead of our healer?”

Wind whistled through the window in a soft hush. The candle sputtered, then held its own. The rich scent of burning wax filled his every breath as he waited for an answer.

She sighed, a soft and lonely sound. Then, as if a trick of the light, tears shimmered in her eyes. As quickly, they vanished. “That you almost died saving me, and I had a great debt to repay.”

“That may be true, but there is more that you are not telling me.”

At her silence, his suspicions built. What could she have told Seathan, that she loved him? Quickly, he cursed the foolish thought. Even if Isabel wanted him, he would never accept her back now. Neither could he believe that Seathan would accept such as truth from her.

Disgusted with his musings, he glanced through the window and into the night. Stars filled the sky, tinged with the hint of the oncoming morning. So like many of the nights of his youth. Nights where he’d looked out and crafted his dreams. Except now he was a man grown. And everything had changed.

His dreams of forever with Isabel, like his trust in her, had shattered.

The door eased open and Seathan stepped inside.

At the interruption, relief flashed across Isabel’s face.

Duncan caught the expression. He would discover the truth, but from Seathan’s hard look, it would be a blistering telling.

“You are awake then,” Seathan said.

“Aye.”

Isabel stiffened at Duncan’s side. “My lord.”