His Conquest

by Diana Cosby

  On a half growl, he shoved the cape away. With deft movements he splayed open her gown.

  Exposed to him, she felt no shame, but acceptance, as if fate guided her. And she realized, with Seathan, it would always be so.

  His eyes dark with need, he cupped the curve of her breast.

  Warmth, pure and hot, pierced straight to her core. She held his gaze, wanting to watch him as well. At least on this front, however much he denied it, they were equal. She saw the desire on his face, how his breathing had become quick and shallow, and the flush that had stolen up his neck.

  “How is it you affect me so?” he whispered.

  His raw, potent words stirred her needs. “I—”

  The door behind her slammed open.

  Seathan dropped his hand.

  Air, cool and blustery, slapped her naked flesh. Mortified by what she’d allowed, had almost given within this sacred place, she dragged up her gown. God forgive her, how could she have forgotten that she stood within a chapel?

  As Linet fumbled to repair her gown, Seathan glared toward the entry, his body shuddering with hard-won control.

  A burst of sunlight outlined his youngest brother’s furious form along with Linet’s bare shoulders. “I see you have found the spy.”

  Seathan ignored his brother’s condemnation, expecting no less, but neither would he tolerate it. “Leave us.” It wasn’t a request.

  Duncan crossed his arms over his chest. “So you can bed the lass on holy ground?”

  “Never would I bring such shame to our home.” Feeble words when he’d had no intent of stopping. Had Duncan not interrupted…Seathan muttered a curse, furious at himself.

  Aye, the lass would pay for her guilt, but not here. Neither would he invite her further humiliation.

  “Leave us.” The calmness of his voice was at odds with the turmoil churning within.

  Duncan’s mouth tightened. For a long moment, he stood there in challenge. Then he slanted a hard look at Linet, who now covered herself with her cape, before meeting Seathan’s gaze. With a curt nod, he turned and left. The chapel door thudded in his wake.

  Muted darkness encased them; silence infused the chapel as if a dark omen.

  Seathan focused on Linet. Hair mussed, lips swollen from his kisses, she looked like a woman well loved, a woman whom, under any other circumstance, he would finish making love to.

  Except, she was the enemy.

  Bedamned! Never would she fool him again. The depths of her treachery were astonishing. He drew himself up to his full height. “Before, I thought you an innocent,” he said, anger rolling through his words. “But an innocent, however overcome with passion, would not disgrace herself in a house of God.” He’d wanted to believe in her innocence, a belief she’d extinguished this day.

  Her face grew ashen.

  “Neither am I free of guilt.”

  “As if your admittance changes anything?” she hissed. “You are truly a bastard!”

  “Something, my lady, you would do well to remember.” Seathan caught her hand, drew her with him as he strode toward the exit.

  As before, she fought to break free.

  Seathan rounded on her. “The decision of how you leave the chapel is up to you. One word, the slightest sign of a struggle, and I will truss you up and carry you from here like a sack of oats.”

  “You would not dare!”

  He scanned her in a slow sweep, his blood hot. “At this moment, I would dare anything, propriety be damned.”

  Through her anger, he caught a shimmer of fear. Good, he wanted her afraid. His attraction to Linet was a curse, dangerous, a fact he deemed unforgivable. Without another word, he hauled her from the chapel.

  Voices within the great room melded with the clank of platters and the errant bark of a dog. Seathan tried to focus on the stew before him, but even though the tangy scent of onions, venison, and herbs teased his senses, each bite tasted like wind-tossed dust.

  Two seats away, Nichola set down her goblet and worried the stem. “I still cannot believe Linet is in league with Fulke.” She scanned the knights filling the trencher tables below the dais, then turned back to Seathan. “Even after I recognized her as Lord Tearlach’s sister, I don’t believe she had a part in planning to infiltrate the Scottish rebels. In the past, during the brief time we spoke, her manner was that of a kindhearted woman.”

  Seathan shoved aside the nearly full bowl, ignored the uneaten bread nearby, wiped his mouth, and tossed the cloth aside. “Mayhap, but war can change a person.” With time behind him and having calmed, he found his confrontation with Linet had only raised more questions. That he found himself agreeing with Nichola left him ill at ease. He shrugged. “One can see why Tearlach would draw her within his cause. Linet holds the ability to convince those around her of her sincerity, regardless the lie given.”

  Alexander swallowed a long draught of wine, set his goblet on the table with a clatter, and frowned. “The lass is not worth your concern.”

  “She means naught to me but an enemy caught.” And Seathan wished that were the truth. Ever since he’d left her in a guarded chamber, her devastated expression had haunted his mind. Why couldn’t he thrust her from his thoughts?

  But he knew. The genuine shock and dismay in her eyes refused to leave him. And the acknowledgment that from the start, there had been a part of him that believed in her innocence.

  Duncan grunted. “An enemy caught? Is that why you had the lass half stripped when I found you but hours ago?”

  Red slashed Isabel’s cheeks.

  Seathan needed no reminder of his foolery when it came to Linet. He muttered a curse. “Had I felt like dining with a lackwit—”

  Two of his guards burst through the entry supporting a battered man. Quiet swept through the great room, broken only by the crackle from the wood-filled hearth.

  Seathan’s gaze riveted on the man they half carried. “’Tis Bran!” He shoved to his feet, his brothers’ chairs scraping as they stood. Emotions stormed him as he strode toward his knight, a warrior he’d last seen fighting for his life when Tearlach’s men had ambushed him and his men. He’d believed Bran slaughtered like so many others.

  A pace away, he halted. “I thought you dead,” Seathan rasped.

  A grim smile cut through the warrior’s grief-weary face. “Aye, as did Lord Tearlach’s men. And the traitor, Dauid.” He nodded. “After everyone left, I dragged myself to a shelter by a stream. Over the days, with God’s blessing, I recovered enough to travel here.”

  Hope rolled through Seathan. One of his men had lived; mayhap more had done so as well. “Did anyone…anyone else survive?”

  Regret paled the knight’s face. He swallowed hard, his silence painting its own grim image of the horror he’d witnessed that night, of the carnage.

  “Nay.” He shook his head. “I am the only one.”

  God in heaven. Seathan laid his hand upon the man’s shoulder, his body trembling. He looked around the keep at his men. “We all grieve for the lives lost, but their sacrifice will not be in vain.” He looked straight into Bran’s eyes. “On that I swear before all this day. From their blood shall come Scotland’s freedom.”

  Murmurs of agreement rose throughout the immense chamber. In salute, one by one, the knights filling the great hall stood, swords raised.

  Pride filled Seathan at those around him, those who served Scotland, and those who would bring Scotland her freedom.

  “My lord,” his man said. “There is more. It is about Sir Dauid.”

  Seathan nodded. “We will discuss this in private.” With memories of that fated eve blackening his mind, he strode toward the war chamber.

  On either side of Bran, Alexander and Duncan helped him forward. The knights in the great room stepped back as they walked, clearing a somber path.

  Determination filled Seathan. More than blood bound his people. For a moment in this war-torn land, he felt hope, belief that not only would the rebels succeed in recovering their coun
try’s freedom, but once the battle cries grew silent, Scotland’s people would find peace.

  The guard opened the door to the war chamber as Seathan neared. He entered, followed by his brothers and the battered knight. The click of the door being secured echoed within the silence.

  Seathan faced his man. Flakes of dirt clung to his face, layered atop lines of fatigue, a testimony to Bran’s hard travel to reach Lochshire Castle this day.

  “Tell me,” Seathan stated.

  “As I remained hidden near Dauid’s hut, recovering,” Bran explained, “I saw him return home on several occasions. He looked battered and bruised.”

  Seathan raised his brows, as did his brothers, surprised Dauid would dare return anywhere he might be recognized. Mayhap confident in his ties to Tearlach, he feared none. If so, he was more a fool than Seathan had believed.

  “’Twould seem he believes his obvious fealty to the Viscount of Tearlach will provide him protection,” Alexander growled.

  Seathan agreed. After Dauid’s treachery, he should find no surprise in his former friend’s arrogance. Still, the fact gnawed at his gut.

  “Was his wife in residence?” Seathan asked.

  The knight frowned. “’Twas odd, but never did I see her.”

  “’Twould seem she holds more intelligence than her speck-brained husband,” Alexander spat. “If he ever had any.”

  Duncan crossed his arms. “Where do you think she is?”

  “If Dauid is wise,” Seathan replied, “he would have hidden her for her own safety. But then, with recent decisions made, he has proved himself a fool.” He focused on the knight. “Did he see you?”

  “Nay,” Bran replied. “Whenever he was about, I kept hidden.”

  Seathan nodded. “Dauid was battered and bruised?”

  “Aye, my lord, and walked with a limp.” Bran shrugged. “An odd one I never could figure out.”

  “It matters not, there could be many reasons,” he replied. “Your stealth and bravery will serve us well.” Seathan wanted nothing to alert Dauid that he’d escaped Tearlach’s grasp or that he still lived. When the bastard learned the fact, it would be with Seathan’s blade against his neck. He turned to his master-at-arms positioned near the door. “Raise a contingent of men. Prepare them to depart.”

  “Aye, my lord.” The master-at-arms hurried out.

  He nodded to Bran. “A healer will see to your wounds. Once you have eaten, rest.”

  “Thank you, my lord, but my wounds are well healed.” The knight straightened. “I would ask to accompany you as well. Sir Dauid…” He cleared his throat and looked away, but not before Seathan caught the grief in the Scot’s eyes.

  “Aye,” Seathan replied, understanding the man’s anger. The knight had lost a brother that day. Dauid’s betrayal had left no one within Lochshire Castle unscathed. Dauid had once trained within these walls, supped among the men, celebrated the birth of many a knight’s child. Nay, Seathan would not forbid Bran from accompanying him as he traveled to exact revenge. “Gather some food. Then, prepare to ride.”

  “Thank you, my lord.” With a bow, Bran left the chamber, aided by two knights. A guard pulled the door closed after them.

  Duncan muttered a curse. “I am surprised Dauid dared return.”

  Alexander curled his hand around the hilt of the dagger secured at his waist. “Aye, the bastard has the balls of a boar, but I will be stripping him of those as well.”

  “Dauid is mine,” Seathan stated.

  His brothers held his gaze, then nodded.

  “And when I depart,” Seathan said, “I will lead the contingent. Alone.”

  “What?” Alexander and Duncan boomed in unison.

  Eyes blazing, Alexander stepped forward. “By my sword, I shall not wait here as if a maiden fretting for news.”

  “No,” Seathan replied, cutting off Duncan before he could speak. He nodded to his youngest brother. “Isabel has recently given birth. In addition to a wife, you now have twin girls to think of.”

  “Having daughters or a wife does not castrate me,” Duncan replied, glowering.

  “Nor does it take away your responsibilities to ensure Lochshire Castle is well guarded,” Seathan stated. “Until my return, you will remain here and oversee your family as well as be charged with the protection of our home.” He turned to Alexander. “With the mayhem following the slaying of the Sheriff of Lanark, we know not the rebels’ next move.” He paused. “I have sent a missive to Wallace warning of Dauid’s treachery, and I anticipate a runner to arrive with orders as to our next move any day,” Seathan said. “Until my return, you will act in my stead.”

  “And what of Linet?” Alexander demanded.

  Linet? How, for even a moment, could he have forgotten her? Was it but this morning when lust had stormed his sanity, when he’d shamefully forgotten his surroundings and had almost taken her in the church?

  “I am taking Lady Linet with me,” Seathan decided.

  “Are you addled?” Alexander boomed, his outrage strangled with disbelief. “With Tearlach’s men about, travel will be difficult enough without hauling along a lass who will expose you the first chance that arises.”

  “Aye,” Duncan agreed. “You will need to bind her treacherous mouth the entire journey.”

  “I have plans for the lass,” Seathan said, “which, I assure you, are well worth the inconvenience of her presence.” He stared at the flames within the hearth, his fury burning as hot. “Once I have finished with Dauid, ’tis Tearlach who will pay.”

  “How?” Alexander asked.

  A smile tightened Seathan’s mouth as he imagined the viscount’s surprise. “Linet is now my hostage, a captive I will use as leverage against Tearlach.”

  Chapter 13

  The scrape of leather and the jingle of spurs muted the hoofbeats upon the soft earth, but Linet heard every step, felt the bunch of muscles, the heavy clop as Seathan’s steed moved with agile grace through the dense forest.

  Seathan’s prisoner.

  Even now, hours after he’d hauled her from the chapel, his cold words tormented her soul. She’d believed Seathan would cast her within his prison once he learned of her blood tie to Fulke. Instead, he’d placed her under guard within a simply furnished chamber. The minimal pieces within far nicer than those in the dank cell offered to Seathan by her brother.

  Remembering the cruel treatment Seathan had suffered at her brother’s hands, she sighed, then shifted to a more comfortable position.

  “Be still.” Seathan’s deep burr rumbled in the night.

  She tried to ignore his presence, the way her back molded against his chest. But with each step of his steed, she was rocked yet again against his muscled frame. Even if she wasn’t in such close proximity to him that each breath carried the tang of his male scent, she doubted that she would ever forget him.

  How could she have allowed Seathan into her heart?

  “When will we break for the night?” she asked, refusing to dwell upon dangerous thoughts of him.

  “Why do you ask?” Suspicion lingered in his voice.

  “You have pushed your men for hours.”

  He grunted. “They are warriors, men seasoned in arduous travel.”

  “Even when they are injured?”

  Silence.

  “Far from enough time has passed for your wounds to have healed.”

  “If you are cold, I will give you a blanket.”

  He refused to discuss the topic. So like a warrior, and so like a mule-headed, honorable man who put others’ lives above his own. However wrong his distrust of her, he was a man she would always respect.

  And sadly, love.

  The howl of a wolf echoed in the distance, a hauntingly forlorn sound.

  Exhausted by the emotional challenges of this day, she closed her eyes and succumbed to the temptation to lean against Seathan. He tensed, but she wasn’t surprised. Since he’d stormed into her chamber stating that she was accompanying him, he’d offered little
warmth.

  A gentle breeze brushed her face, soft with the night, rich with the scent of spring. A potent reminder of the passage of time and that, with each new day, the risk of Fulke finding them increased.

  How far had her brother expanded his search? He wouldn’t quit. Alive, she was collateral to secure a powerful tie. As for Seathan, recapturing him was fueled by her brother’s need to strengthen his ties with the English king.

  With deft skill, Seathan guided his mount through the dense forest.

  Whirls of stubborn snow clung in patches over the ground. Limbs clattered against each other as the warhorse pushed through the tangle of brambles.

  However much winter’s hand strove to reclaim its hold, with spring upon them, buds would soon appear, then leaves would unfurl upon the barren limbs, proof that life would go on.

  And so must she.

  Life awaited her, a life without Seathan, a life without his love. To linger on the emptiness before her would serve naught. At the first opportunity, she must escape, travel to safety within her clan in the Highlands. Except now the task presented a greater challenge.

  Before, she and Seathan had traveled alone. Now, they rode with a contingent of his men. When they made camp to rest their mounts, guards would be posted, men who knew of her connection to Fulke, men who watched her with distrust. She’d find no aid among them.

  Seathan’s horse stumbled but caught himself. Off balance, Linet gasped, reaching for the saddle.

  Seathan wrapped his arm around Linet’s waist, drew her against him. “Steady, lass.”

  As if she would ever be composed around him. She remained quiet, focused on their journey. With care, he guided his mount through a thicket of snow-covered branches, his touch given not to ensure she was safe, but to prevent her escape.

  At the slight pressure of his hand against her cape, she felt a dull pulsing against her side, then warmth.