His Conquest

by Diana Cosby

  She wanted neither.

  One day she would find love, but it would not be from a Scottish rebel intent on war.

  Seathan stumbled. “Bedamned,” he grunted as he righted himself. Lines of strain dug across his brow as he pushed forward.

  “You are keeping a good pace,” she lied. She stole a glance behind them. Soon Fulke would order his men to search beyond the castle walls. With the earl’s pace but a crawl, Fulke’s knights would find them before midday.

  The sun peeked above the trees when they finally topped the hill.

  She glanced at Seathan. Haggard lines furrowed his face, his breaths hard, ragged gasps. However much they must keep moving, he needed to rest. She started to halt.

  He scowled at her, broke free. “Go.”

  “Are you addled? Without my help, you are as good as dead.”

  A smile as cold as it was determined touched his mouth. “Dead? I grew up here. Unlike you, this forest is my home.”

  “And if I leave you here,” she said, “your grave.”

  “Better th-than rotting in Tearlach’s cell, or hanging from the bastard’s rope.”

  “In that we agree. However determined—or pigheaded—you are, you would not make it a league before you fell on your arse.” She jammed her hands upon her hips. “Which would serve you right.”

  Green eyes narrowed. “Be gone. I—I need not a weak English lass slowing me down.”

  Anger ignited inside her. “Weak English lass? I could have left you in the dungeon to die, or abandoned you anytime since.”

  “Tell me,” he said through gritted teeth, “wh-why does my freedom mean so much to you?”

  She firmed her lips.

  “No answer? I thought not.” Seathan waved his hand in dismissal. “You have served your purpose. Leave.”

  Outrage exploded through her like hot oil poured on fire. “Purpose? You are an arrogant, ungrateful malt-worm. Stay here then and die. I assure you, I will lose not a whit of sleep!”

  Linet turned on her heel and headed north. Let the braggart rot in his self-pride. Let him try to make the journey on his own. Yes, he’d make it—about ten paces before he fell on his stubborn, pride-filled face and passed out.

  Then Fulke’s men would find him.

  And kill him.

  She glanced back.

  Seathan hadn’t moved.

  The irritating Scot stood atop the knoll with unwavering defiance. Oh, he was trying to look fierce, as if even in his weakened state, single-handed he could take on a contingent of King Edward’s men.

  She stilled. Sweet Mary, his fierceness was but deception, proven by his swaying and ashen hue. And she understood.

  An intelligent man, he’d realized that at their pathetic pace, it was only a matter of time before Fulke’s guards would catch up to them and put her in danger. He’d pushed her away—to save her life.

  The lout!

  How dare he be noble and attempt to protect her when she was trying to save his sorry hide. Linet stormed back. At her approach, his mouth drew into a formidable grimace. A threatening tactic her brother had tried to use on her as well.

  And failed.

  Irritated, she poked a finger into his muscled chest. “Your fierce looks will not work. How dare you try to manipulate me!”

  Eyes bright with fever bore into her. “As you did to me back in the cell?”

  Her finger wavered, then fell. Guilty, but that wasn’t the point, neither did she miss that he didn’t deny the tactic. Why did he have to go and make this all a mired mess? Her plan was simple. She’d wanted nothing more from him than his escort. Once they arrived in the Highlands, when she walked away from him, there would be no looking back, no remembering him. He meant nothing to her. Never would.

  Except now he had to go and be noble.

  “I am not a weak-willed maid who will be running off at the first sign of threat.”

  No, Seathan agreed through the haze of pain storming his mind. On that he agreed. This lass, half English, half Scot, had a backbone many a man would admire. But he couldn’t tell her that, or allow her to remain at his side. If he passed out, he couldn’t protect her. Alone, he would hide within the woods as he had done many times throughout his life. Rest would help him heal. As for travel, somehow he would make it to his home, Lochshire Castle, to send a messenger to warn Wallace and the other rebels about Dauid.

  Seathan shot her a menacing look, one that had left squires trembling in their boots. “I told you to leave.”

  Lavender eyes flashed with defiance. “You did, but I am staying to help your ungrateful, stubborn hide as your mind is obviously mulled by fever.”

  Stunned, he stared at this wisp of a woman. The lass was looking out for him? Lured by his status or wealth, women never cared for him without thought of personal gain. She blurred before him.

  He focused, barely.

  She caught his tunic.

  “Wh-What are you doing?”

  “I need to check your wounds.”

  He had to convince her to leave before he collapsed. “I have changed my mi-mind. I will not escort you to the Highlands.”

  Shock streaked across her face. “But you—”

  “Lied.” An untruth, but if it would sway her to go, so be it.

  Her mouth fell open. She started to shake her head, then stopped. Linet angled her chin. “I do not believe you. You are a man of your word.”

  “You know naught of me.”

  “I know you are on the verge of collapse. Instead of thinking only of yourself, you are honorable enough to try to persuade me to leave for my own safety.”

  He opened his mouth to speak. A dizzying buzz assaulted him. Seathan closed his eyes to ward off the sensation.

  Gentle hands caught his shoulders. “Seathan?”

  The concern in her voice lured him to admit his tactic. Nay, she must go. He opened his eyes, focused.

  A gust of wind, laden with the rich softness of spring, spiraled around her, lifting soft strands of her amber-gold hair in a wayward drift. Magical. The unearthly thought whirled in his mind as if he’d drunk too much ale. A heady feeling that numbed the pain strumming his body and made the dangers around them fade.

  He inhaled deeply, as if to breathe in her scent would purify his mind, savoring the fragile innocence she wore like a mantle. He’d thought her beautiful in the cell, but with her face embraced within the golden rays, her cheeks rosy against her ivory skin, she seemed angelic. He grimaced. An illusion for sure.

  “Seathan?”

  The desperation of her voice forced him to focus. “Need to go.” Lord Tearlach would be in a rampage until he was recaptured. And Seathan needed to find and warn his brothers of Fulke’s search as well as Dauid’s treachery.

  Emotion overwhelmed him as he thought of the bodies of his knights hacked with merciless glee. John, a man he’d introduced to his wife, whose newborn babe he’d held. And Eoin, a man he’d grown up with, a warrior he’d called friend.

  “Do not pass out on me!” Linet demanded.

  He glared at her. Naught would stop him from serving justice to Dauid. “A-Aye, lass, we will go.” Through grim determination, Seathan started forward. Muscles screamed with his every step. Sweat rolled down him as if a dam had broken. Images of his butchered men drove him on.

  Relief poured through Linet as Seathan started forward. His stumbling gait mattered not. When he’d closed his eyes moments before, she’d thought he would keel over.

  Time trudged by with aching slowness as they pressed on. With the passing hours, the sun rose to its zenith.

  In the distance, the rush of water grew. Birds called out in trees green with buds that would soon unfurl to leaves, sprouts of grass dared to peek through earth ravaged by winter, and the scent of the air, rich with the tang of spring, sifted on the breeze.

  The joy she normally found in the rebirth of the land was overshadowed by the threat of danger.

  And her doubts that they truly would escape Fulke�
�s wrath.

  The earl halted.

  She turned toward him. “What is wrong?”

  Green eyes torn with indecision watched her.

  “Swear on your life what I…I am about to show you will st-stay secret.”

  Her body tensed. Had he found a sanctuary where they might rest? Linet scanned the area. Within a thick stand of ash, boulders lay in a large clump. Except for a sharp drop-off to the right that plunged to a gorge below, nothing that represented an entry existed. So why was he asking for her vow?

  Intrigued, she nodded. “I swear it.”

  He raised his hand, pointed; it trembled. “There.”

  She frowned. “The trees?”

  “Look between the trees. There is a pile of large boulders. A…A cave is hidden beyond.”

  “I see no entry.”

  “Do you see the moss?”

  Linet nodded.

  “The mo-moss is woven on a blanket that drapes across the entry.”

  “Brilliant.”

  A grim smile touched his lips. “Effective.”

  It was. The English knights would ride by the rebel hideout.

  From behind, a man’s yell broke the silence.

  Seathan turned toward the sound. “Tearlach’s men.” He caught her and stumbled forward. “Must get out of sight. Stay on the rocks.” He tugged her as he hurried forward.

  The steady thrum of hooves increased.

  A branch slapped her face; she caught the next one and shoved it away.

  He reached toward the moss, tugged the blanket, and moved aside.

  Linet hurried in.

  Seathan followed. The moss-sewn cover flopped against the entry, smothering them in muted darkness. “Wait.” He leaned against the wall, his chest heaving. “Le-Let your vision adjust.”

  A horse whinnied. The thrum of hooves sounded nearby.

  “Over here,” a man called out.

  “What have you found?” another man asked.

  “Footprints,” the first man replied.

  Linet gasped.

  Seathan motioned for her to keep silent, his pulse racing, the wound in his right side sticky with blood. Bedamned. If only there had been time to erase their tracks.

  “It looks as though the tracks lead to the rocks,” a man said. “Methinks they went into the trees.”

  “Mayhap,” a second man replied. Long seconds dragged past. The clomp of hooves upon rock and leaves echoed from outside.

  “I do not see anyone,” the first man said, this time his voice closer.

  Linet’s body trembled against Seathan’s. He leaned against the wall for support. Out of reflex, he drew her to him, his other hand clasp around his dagger.

  “They must have traveled farther,” yet another man stated.

  “With the freshness of these tracks,” the second man said, “not very much. Wherever they are, they are close. We will break up. Ulric, take two men and ride east. Everyone else, we will circle to the west and meet on the other side.”

  Hoofbeats sounded, and then slowly faded.

  Seathan heaved a sigh.

  “They have left,” Linet whispered.

  “Fo-For now. When they do not find me, they will return and search this area again. Come.” Head pounding, he released her. In the muted light, he staggered toward the rear of the cave, focusing on each step.

  The dismal surroundings grew brighter as they moved deeper inside. They rounded the corner and the cavern opened to the outside. Sunlight streamed into the darkness like a golden rain to erase the shadows.

  A look of awe painted Linet’s face. She stepped to the ledge, scanned the gorge sprawled below. “It is beautiful.”

  “Aye.” He stumbled.

  She whirled. Worry streaked her face as she hurried back and set his arm over her shoulder to steady him. “You must lie down.”

  He grimaced. As if he had an option. His legs were beginning to give, and his mind was quickly following. Even now, he fought for coherent thought. With her help, he settled against the layered rock, the sun upon his face.

  Linet glanced at his right side, frowned. “Why did you not tell me you were bleeding?”

  “Na-Naught but a wee scratch.”

  “A scratch?” she scoffed. “I have tended to warriors from enough battles to know the injury is more than that. I need to cleanse the wound. Stay here.”

  Before he could object, she stood, removed her cape, and withdrew the water pouch she carried. Sunlight streaming behind her framed the slender lines of her body shielded beneath a linen gown.

  His rebuke fell away as he took in the smooth curve of her ankle. Her gown concealed neither her slim waist nor generous breasts. Even confused by fever, he couldn’t help but admire her supple curves.

  Ignorant of her effect on him, after giving him a drink of water, she knelt before him. “I must remove your tunic to see the extent of your injury.”

  A part of him wanted to refuse. But the warrior in him understood the threat of a wound untreated. This lass, wrapped within her innocence, knew naught of her potent effect.

  “I can remove it my-myself.” Seathan tugged the tunic over his head, his muscles screaming at the movement.

  She grimaced as she leaned closer. Her soft breath skimmed across his inflamed skin, and he gritted his teeth.

  Linet looked up.

  Stilled.

  Green eyes held hers, hot, burning with fever, but also laden with desire. His feral look sparked awareness in her body like flint to steel. Her lips tingled with remembrance of their kiss within the cell, that dangerous moment when she’d forgotten her objective, the reason she’d sought out Lord Grey. She inhaled, and his scent, that of earthy male and domination, flooded her senses.

  She pulled back, but images of him covering her mouth and of her drowning in his taste remained. No, she could not ponder such sensual thoughts. He was a dangerous temptation, one she could never accept. They had little in common except her brother, a man they both despised.

  Taking a steadying breath, Linet tore a strip of cloth from her chemise, dampened it, and gently began to cleanse the wound. Honed muscles rippled beneath her touch, skin battered by scars, those of a man seasoned by war. Those of a man who fought for what was his. Those of a man loyal to his country and family.

  Unnerved by her attraction toward a man who was dangerous to her on so many levels, she removed the cloth. She wrung the strip of fabric out, redampened it, only to have to touch him again. To be reminded of the man who stirred desires best ignored.

  Under her touch, his body tensed and a pained breath hissed from his mouth, but he made no protest.

  “The wound is long, but thankfully not deep,” she forced out as she fought for calm. “As we travel, I will find herbs to pack against the gash to ensure it does not fester.” She again wrung out the cloth, then continued dabbing away the small flecks of dirt outlining the wound. “In time, you should be left with only a scar.”

  “You are a healer?”

  At the softness of his words, she tensed. His simple question fooled her not. He sought clues as to who she was, details she could never give.

  “No. I have aided our healer when the necessity arose.” She gave him an admonishing look. “You need rest, not meaningless talk.” Before he could push for further information, a trait she was learning to expect from him, she stood. “Though it is early, you need to sleep. Besides, with Lord Tearlach’s men searching for you, it is too risky to travel.”

  He eyed her a long moment, then started to get up.

  The fool! She caught his shoulders. “If you move about, you will reopen your injury.”

  Seathan grimaced, shoved her hands away, and pushed to his feet. He gestured toward the far wall. “Th-There are blankets behind the stacked wood. Lift them and you will see other provisions as well.”

  A grand concession on his part. “Stay there until I retrieve them.” With efficient movements, she withdrew the blankets and started to make a pallet, anything to try t
o keep her mind off Seathan, off a man who made her too aware of herself as a woman.

  After all these years, and all the many men she’d met, nobles, knights, warriors from other countries, none had ever inspired but a token of interest. Now, she was attracted to a Scottish rebel who, if he learned of her connection to Fulke, would use her as leverage against her brother. And his trust? No, the pittance she’d earned would be forever lost.

  “Linet?”

  Seathan knelt beside her, his eyes too sharp, his nearness too potent. “What is wrong?”

  The sincerity in his voice unnerved her further. “Nothing, I am but making a pallet.”

  “You are shaking.”

  She glanced down to find her hands trembling—from thoughts of him. She swallowed hard. “I am tired.”

  “Aye, af-after traveling through the night, we both need rest.” He lifted the edge of the blanket near him and helped spread it out.

  “I told you to wait until I was done.”

  Seathan scowled. “I am a knight, not a crippled old man.”

  “You never need anyone, do you?” she asked, annoyance slipping into her voice.

  Fevered eyes narrowed. “And what of you? Who do you need?”

  “No one,” she replied, and immediately regretted allowing her question to become personal. She shook her head. “Lie down and rest.”

  “You will do so as well.” By the ire in her eyes, Seathan expected her to argue. To his surprise, she nodded. Unsure how much longer he could remain on his feet, he lowered himself on the blankets. Every muscle in his body screamed, but they had made it to safety.

  The soft weight of worsted wool covered him. “Here is my rolled cape to put beneath your head.”

  Though her voice was cool, her thoughtfulness touched him. A part of him had expected her to leave, not remain, nor tend to him as one who cared about him. Aye, she cared—that he lived. But she’d freed him from the cell for her own purpose.

  Why?

  They both had their secrets, he reminded himself as he watched her gracefully move about. How would she react if she learned the rebels were planning an uprising? The bloody English were confident they’d conquered Scotland, a foolish belief. His countrymen were a different breed compared to the thin-blooded Englishmen. Unlike the Sassenach, the Scots would not cease to pursue their goal of freedom, regardless of the odds.