His Conquest

by Diana Cosby

  Seathan’s halved gemstone! She’d forgotten she still had the moss agate.

  Had he felt it? A foolish question. If so, he would have snatched it from her pocket.

  As Linet again shifted before him, for the hundredth time since they’d departed Lochshire Castle, Seathan questioned his sanity in having the lass ride with him. One would think knowing she was his enemy would smother his desire. But his body seemed not to care. He was hard as a rock and aching with the pain of it.

  Seathan glanced at his master-at-arms to inform him he would be carrying the lass the remainder of the night, then he stayed the impulse. She was his responsibility, a duty he’d not foist upon his men. Though her actions had set them on this twisted path, he would finish the journey, on his terms.

  He scanned the moonlit sky, then the woman sitting before him. Linet’s silence fooled him not. He understood well how her mind worked.

  “You will fail.”

  She stiffened. “What?”

  “In any attempt to escape.” When she remained silent, he motioned to one of his men to pass him a blanket.

  A guard handed him the woolen spread. “My lord.”

  “My thanks.” Seathan wrapped the blanket around her.

  She tensed—again. “I was not cold.”

  “Lie back against me.” She’d begun shivering shortly after the sun had set. Not that she’d admit it. The lass was stubborn as a mule and twice as ornery. ’Twould serve her right if he abandoned her in the wilds with naught but her wits.

  Still, however much she deserved his contempt, he refused to lower himself to such cruelty.

  Forcing his hands not to linger, he tucked the blanket around her, then drew her against him, her curves warm and soft. He grimaced. Never could he care for a woman who deceived him, a woman he could not trust. And if she smelled like his every fantasy, invoked erotic images of her naked in his bed, ’twas fatigue that skewed his mind.

  Linet shifted. “I—”

  He gritted his teeth, prayed for sanity. “Unless you are ready to admit the truth, speak no more lies.”

  She twisted and glared up at him. “For a well-respected lord, you are quick to condemn.”

  “Had I not proof of your deceit, I would agree.”

  Her nose tilted up with disdain. “Proof of deceit? You accept a blood tie to Fulke as proof of treachery?”

  “Why should I believe you would refuse to aid your brother?”

  She shook her head. “I explained before, Fulke lied to me, had promised that I would marry the man of my choosing.”

  “An insignificant lie in a time when women are rarely allowed such a choice.”

  “To you perhaps, but I was not raised within the normal guidelines of nobility.”

  That he could attest to. Since they’d met, she’d challenged him on every front. Her lack of fear in facing adversity was admirable. Neither could he deny she was knowledgeable. Qualities he respected, but they changed nothing.

  “We are at war.”

  Though shadows framed her face, anger rolled off her. “War is not a reason for injustice, but an excuse for those who are weak, like my brother, Fulke. For what he has done, I detest him. Never again will he dictate my moves. That I swear to you.” Her eyes narrowed. “Nor will you.”

  “And in the Highlands you will have such a choice?”

  “I…” Linet stilled, then faced forward. Until this moment, she’d never fully pondered her life with her mother’s clan. She’d focused on her escape, on procuring her freedom. She’d assumed she’d be welcomed among them without question. And once settled, that she would be allowed the life of her choosing.

  She’d never pondered further.

  Now, she understood the folly of her belief. To secure protection from the clan, she must uphold their laws, dictates passed down from the clan chief. And if those decisions included her marriage to procure the well-being of the clan, so be it. What if the man chosen for her to wed was brutal? Or what if after everything, her mother’s clan turned her away?

  Panic tore through her. She should have sent a missive ahead, explained to her mother’s people her circumstances, prepared them for her arrival.

  Hand trembling, she reached within her pocket, clasped the halved gemstone until it bit into her palm. She hadn’t even thought to carry an heirloom to prove her family tie. Linet swallowed hard. Now, she had nothing but a prayer.

  A lone cloud swallowed the moon, casting the forest into a vat of gloom. Darkness clung to limbs illuminated by moonbeams moments before.

  “Linet?”

  Tears burned her eyes. “Why badger me with questions? Regardless of my replies, you will hold them false.”

  The hopelessness of her words stunned Seathan. What had drained the strong woman of moments before? He’d only asked about her clan in the Highlands. Then he thought he understood.

  “You have no family in the Highlands.”

  “I owe you no explanation.”

  “Or,” he continued, undeterred by her curt reply, “if indeed your destination is true, they know naught of your existence.”

  Silence.

  “And you are afraid.”

  “I fear nothing.”

  But he heard the dread in her voice. He steeled himself against feeling anything, but against his good sense, his heart softened. She was struggling, had no one to turn to, no one to protect her.

  “Once we arrive at your destination,” Linet asked, “will you release me?”

  Guilt tasted bitter in his mouth. Nay, not guilt. After her lies, she deserved the fate he planned.

  “Seathan?”

  Lord Grey, his mind echoed. Her address should invite no familiarity. Days of travel remained until they reach the lands where Dauid lived. And once Seathan had dealt with him, days more until the private meeting he would arrange with Tearlach—a meeting he anticipated with great pleasure.

  He should be focusing on that, find relief that once he turned her over to her brother, Linet would be out of his life. The last thing he should be doing was pondering the worries of his lust-inspiring, sharp-tongued captive.

  “You will let me go, will you not?” Linet demanded.

  He guided his mount around a partially snow-covered stump. “We have far from reached our destination.”

  At his elusive reply, Linet turned, needing to see his face. Shadows greeted her. A sense of doom infused her. Mouth dry, she wet her lips. If there was a God in Heaven, let her be wrong.

  She drew a steadying breath, exhaled. “You promised to escort me to the Highlands.”

  “I did,” Seathan agreed. “But that was before I knew you were Tearlach’s sister.”

  Chapter 14

  Fear tore through Linet. “Why does my being Fulke’s sister matter?”

  Silence.

  “What?” she asked, her mind racing. “Do you think to use me against Fulke?” A brittle laugh stumbled from her lips. “I detest him.”

  “My reasons matter not.”

  They did, but Seathan would not reveal them to her. “And what of my escort to the Highlands?”

  Green eyes narrowed. “My word to escort you to the Highlands was given to a woman whom I believed held secrets, but not one who wielded treachery.”

  The arrogant oaf! “Treachery? And which of my actions spoke of treachery? I fulfilled my word and freed you from your foul cell, aided your escape from Breac Castle, and tended you when you could barely crawl.” She paused, fighting to control her temper. “If anyone has misjudged the other, it is I who believed you were a man of honor.”

  “My decision is not up for debate.”

  Linet angled her jaw in defiance. “Why? Because you are a man? Or,” she barreled on, damn the consequence, “because you are a powerful earl surrounded by a contingent of men who will obey your every wish. Wait, I know,” she rolled on, reckless with fury, “it is because I am half English. Yes, a damnable, horrific crime indeed.”

  The arm around her waist drew her tight agai
nst his frame. His mouth paused a wisp from her ear, his action far from that of a lover. “Do nae try me further, unless you wish your mouth and hands bound, and to be carted on the rump of my steed as if a forgotten sack of oats.”

  He had the brains of a mud-dipped hen! Linet opened her mouth to flay him as he desperately deserved, then stayed her words. However much he deserved a set down, if he bound her, it would end any chance of escape.

  She forced herself to relax against him, satisfied as his body hardened against hers. Though he said he despised her, he could not deny he wanted her, a reality that must rub him raw.

  In the distance, the soft thrum of hooves echoed through the woods.

  Linet searched the moon-swept trees for the rider, the tension from Seathan’s body seeping into her own.

  Seathan gave a soft whistle, withdrew his sword, and pulled his mount to a halt.

  His men followed suit.

  Tense seconds passed. The thrum of hoofbeats increased. As if crafted from magic, cast in the silvery wisps of moonlight, a lone rider, carefully weaving his way through the wash of trees, came into view.

  “’Tis Latharn,” a knight whispered.

  “Aye,” Seathan said, relaxing behind her.

  Moments later, a stocky knight pulled up before Seathan. “My lord, Tearlach’s men are camped beyond the craig.”

  “Less than a half-day’s ride.” He paused. “How many?”

  “At least fifty, my lord.”

  “Is the viscount with them?”

  Linet heard the muted fury in Seathan’s voice, anger he fought to control. The thought of seeing her brother did not please her either. She would rather face a rabid wolf.

  “Nay, my lord,” Latharn replied. “I saw no sign of Lord Tearlach.”

  Seathan turned his horse to face his men. “We will ride north until dawn.”

  “Aye, my lord.” His master-at-arms rode through the men, passing along the order.

  Seathan shuffled through a pouch. Without warning, he secured a gag over her mouth.

  Linet reached up, caught hold of the woven cloth.

  He clasped her wrist, drew her arm to her side. “I will not allow you a chance to scream. Try to remove the gag again,” he said in a fierce whisper, “and your hands will be bound as well.”

  Never would she expose Seathan to Fulke, but ’twould seem he hesitated to believe her. Fine, then, let him think he’d won. If he was fool enough to think she would obey him, he deserved to awaken and find her gone.

  Frustrated, tired of sparring with a man who would exhaust a saint, she closed her eyes, and fought to ignore the task of wool upon her tongue. She tried to rest, to wipe thoughts of him from her mind, but as Seathan guided his men north, away from any chance of being sighted by her brother or his men, sadness built inside to a steady ache.

  She wished it possible to turn back time to when they had arrived at Lochshire Castle. Once she’d ensured Seathan was within the care of his family, she should have left. She’d known Nichola would eventually remember her.

  But she had remained, had foolishly allowed her emotions to guide her. However much Lord Grey despised her now, for a moment within the tower, she’d tasted the man, his wants, his desires, needs that had matched her own.

  Her heart aching, she focused on the night, on the soft whisper of her breaths as they made a counterpoint to the thrum of hooves around her. But with every inhale, every hoofbeat upon the pine-and leaf-strewn earth, she wanted him more.

  Linet pressed her eyes shut, willed sleep to come, mindless hours filled with naught but rest. Even as weariness swept over her, doubts persevered that she would find any reprieve this night.

  Rain, iced with the last taste of winter, battered Seathan’s face as he guided his mount through the woods. Thick, low clouds blocked any hint of the sun. A sheen of mist clung to his lashes as the fog before him smeared the weather-torn landscape.

  In the murky gloom of morning, he took in the slender woman draped in the blanket before him. Though Linet now dozed, from her restless shifting throughout the night, she’d slept little. When he’d lifted the cloak to check on her, she’d feigned sleep. A man well versed in reading a person’s actions, he’d seen through her attempt. Once convinced she’d fallen into a deeper sleep, he’d removed the gag.

  If he had not gagged her last night, would she have called for help? A part of him believed she would never expose them. But however much he wanted to have faith in Linet, with his men at his side, he refused to take the risk.

  Tiredness swept through him. He wiped his eyes, then studied their surroundings. After pushing his men throughout the night, he needed to find a place to break for camp.

  They crested the next knoll. Wrapped within the thick layer of mist, a dense copse of firs spread out before him. Unease crept through him as if an ill-fed wind.

  With his pulse racing, he scoured the stand of trees, looking for any sign of men, anything to warn of danger, but he saw naught more than shadows.

  He lifted the reins to urge his horse forward, and then lowered his hand. God’s teeth, why was he hesitating? Tearlach’s men lay hours behind them. The fog and the dense copse of trees would provide excellent cover to shield his men while they rested, a respite they sorely needed. Naught but tiredness spawned the worries in his mind.

  Seathan motioned toward the dense firs. “We will break camp ahead.”

  Tired faces nodded in agreement.

  Pride filled him. Though exhausted, his knights persevered without a grumble. Unlike the bloody English, who surrendered when faced with the first adversity, like dogs with their tales between their legs.

  A breeze stirred around him, laced with the heavy scent of earth and winter-decayed foliage. He guided his mount down the steep slope, holding Linet secure against his chest. Her face was angelic in sleep, and he found it easy to linger upon the sweep of her lashes, the soft, full curve of her lips.

  If her deception had not stood between them, he would have claimed her in his bed, enjoyed making love with her. Irritated by his weakness when it came to her, he turned his focus to the task at hand.

  As they neared the stand of trees, he guided his steed into the circle of the sturdy pines.

  Needled limbs trembled beneath the flutter of the wind.

  Seathan reined in his mount and raised his hand; his men halted. The unease he’d sensed on the knoll returned, this time stronger. He scanned the forest ahead, the wall of trees on either side, listening for any sign of another presence.

  Wings flapped. A hawk flew from the thick wave of green, its massive wings spread. The predator’s shadow rippled across the ground with steady grace before the majestic bird disappeared from sight.

  Seconds passed. Naught more filled the air but the breeze.

  Linet shifted before him. With her amber-gold air teased by the wind, she looked like a bedraggled fairy awakening from a spell.

  He frowned, irritated by his compassion. After the painful lesson with Iuliana, he was well aware how innocence could be feigned.

  “What is wrong?” Linet whispered.

  Turning his focus on the forest, he blew out a deep breath. Wrong? That was the problem—he wasn’t sure. After the hours of hard travel, he should be ordering his men to break camp. Yet…

  “My lord,” his master-at-arms asked, “are we to dismount here?”

  Seathan yielded to his intuition, instinct that had saved him many times in the past. He shook his head. “Turn the men around. We will travel farther north.”

  “Aye, my lord.” The master-at-arms passed out orders. In moments they were retracing their path.

  As Seathan guided his steed toward the break in the trees, the overwhelming sense of foreboding increased.

  “Why did we not make camp?” Uncertainty crept into Linet’s voice, as if she, too, sensed something amiss.

  “I—”

  Shouts avalanched through the silence, harsh cries tangled with fury. Mail-clad men, hidden behind the dense
trees, charged into the opening, swords drawn.

  Leather scraped as Seathan withdrew his sword. “To arms!” His shout melded into the first clash of steel. “Hold on,” he ordered Linet. He wheeled his steed, charged the nearest aggressor, driving his blade into Tearlach’s colors emblazoned upon the man’s surcoat.

  Shock streaked the knight’s face. He staggered back, red staining the sturdy iron rings of mail.

  Linet gasped.

  Bedamned! He wished to spare her the horrors of battle, but there was no helping it now. “Hang on!” Seathan turned and met the next aggressor’s attack with the slash of his blade.

  The knight’s sword fell, but he ducked then retrieved a dagger.

  Before he could throw the knife, Seathan slid his sword across the man’s throat.

  Lifeblood spurted. The warrior dropped to the ground with a helpless gurgle.

  Another warrior charged him.

  Sweat streamed down Seathan’s face as he pressed through the melee, Linet gripping his arm.

  Another knight rushed him from his flank.

  Seathan turned, met the swing of the attacker’s blade with his own. His hand shook with the impact.

  The man swung again, missed.

  Linet screamed.

  “Steady, lass.” How could she not be terrified?

  “To the left,” she yelled.

  He glanced to his other side.

  Another warrior was charging toward them.

  Seathan shoved his closest attacker back, kicked his mount forward, and drove his sword deep into the man’s chest. Yanking his blade free, he whirled his mount, charged, and finished off the other knight struggling to his feet.

  Seconds stumbled past as if hours, each one tainted by the screams, the screech of steel, and the stench of death. Around him, blood stained the earth as if a melancholy rain.

  As his next attacker fell beneath his blade, Seathan took stock of his men. His knights were pushing Tearlach’s men back. From the corner of his eye, he caught several of the bastard’s men scrambling for the trees.

  “They are retreating,” Seathan yelled.

  Cheers arose from his men. They fought harder. The sense of victory filled the air.