His Conquest

by Diana Cosby

  Seathan believed they’d find Brighde, and prayed she was still sane after the horrific abuse she must have endured. He ached for his friend. He wouldn’t…couldn’t think of how he’d feel if—

  Giving himself a mental shake, Seathan pressed his ear against the stone.

  Tension hung in the air as potent as the foul stench of the dead and dying beyond.

  “I hear nothing.” He smothered the torch, then shoved.

  The door edged open.

  Sword drawn, he waited, ready in case a guard shouted an alert.

  Silence.

  Seathan peered out. Seeing no one, he relaxed and turned to his master-at-arms. “Pass the word back to take it slow.” Muffled orders sifted behind him as he stepped into the chamber that had spawned his nightmares.

  A shudder rippled through him, then another. He dragged a deep breath, steadied himself as he looked around. Torches shoved in sconces illuminated the dank prison and the filth of dying men locked within their cells beyond. Groans and pain-filled cries evoked horrific memories of how he’d suffered while locked within.

  Seathan stepped forward, grateful for Linet’s hand on his arm, a potent reminder that indeed, beyond evil, goodness did exist.

  As his men filed into the dungeon, he broke them into groups to search the cells and release everyone imprisoned, or to aid those incapable of fighting into the tunnel.

  Steps echoed. The rusty creak of a cell sounded, followed by cries of relief.

  In the center of the dungeon, Seathan stared up the stone steps descending from the keep. Jaw tight, he turned to where his men completed a final sweep of each cell.

  Linet walked to him, her eyes wide with concern. “She is not here.”

  He drew her to him, his frustration matching her own. “Tearlach must have secured her elsewhere.”

  “Within his bedchamber as he vowed,” Dauid rasped.

  Seathan eyed him hard, understanding his friend’s pain. He nodded. “We will find her.” Her condition another matter.

  “I will go,” Linet stated.

  “No.” Everything inside Seathan protested her intent. She mattered too much to take such a risk.

  “I must. Alone I have a chance to slip past the guards and search the upper floors.” Linet took in the men helping the injured into the tunnel. “If we all go, the odds are we will be seen and challenged.”

  Dauid blew out a harsh breath. “She is right.”

  Aye, Seathan silently agreed, not that he liked it. But if Tearlach was alerted to their presence, he would kill Brighde.

  Linet held Seathan’s gaze, seeing his frustration, his realization that her going unaccompanied was the only chance they had to find Brighde—if she still lived.

  “It is the only way,” she whispered. From the fierce look in his eyes, she thought he’d again refuse.

  Emotion flickered on Seathan’s face: worry, grief, and need. “Come back to me,” he growled, then hauled her to him in a hard kiss. Then he broke away.

  And she saw it in his eyes, the passion, the trust, and more, the feelings he’d never admit. An ache grew in her heart. By letting her go, he’d acknowledged her importance in the mission and, subconsciously, in his life. Yet she doubted he realized that he loved her.

  “We will wait within the tunnel until you return,” Seathan said. “Hurry.”

  At the top step within the dungeon, she glanced down. The last of Seathan’s men filed into the tunnel, but he stood by the stone entry and watched her as if her leaving broke his heart. She pressed a kiss to her hand, held it out to him, then slipped through the door.

  Heart racing, she hurried along the passage. Lowered voices had her pressing against the cold stone wall. She peered ahead.

  Beyond the alcove, with their backs toward her, two guards discussed a woman the other had bedded.

  She glanced at the turret beyond, hoping the servant’s garb she’d taken from a chamber outside the dungeon wouldn’t draw attention. She’d donned it and knotted her hair before smearing her face with ash to disguise herself.

  Fear trickled through her as Linet walked down the hallway as if she had not a care in the world.

  “Halt,” a guard ordered.

  She stopped.

  “Where are you going?” he asked.

  “To pick up the soiled laundry.” She kept her voice low and her eyes downcast.

  The man gave a dismissive grunt. “Be on with you.”

  She hurried down the corridor. Thankfully, the men resumed their talk about the woman.

  At the entry to the stairs, she made her way up. At the top floor, she began her search, room after room, turning up empty.

  Tired, her spirits eroding, she approached the next room—her chamber. A wisp of melancholy wove through her. The books her father had ordered copied for her sat cradled within the hand-carved shelves, the ivory comb her mother had given her the night before her death lay on a small table, and next to them, a carved dagger, a figure Fulke had made when he was but seven summers.

  Everything looked the same, untouched, as if time had stood still when more than a fortnight had passed. It was as if she could lie down, close her eyes, and the life-altering events of the days before would disappear.

  Except everything had changed. She’d learned of her brother’s evil, and had found Seathan’s love.

  She exhaled. Brighde. She must find her.

  Linet slipped into her parents’ chamber, now usurped by Fulke. Memories washed over her, of laughing with her parents at night, of her father telling tales of dragons and knights and a lonely princess saved from a horrible wizard.

  Except that the nasty villain had turned out to be her brother. She thrust the dark thought away.

  With quick, efficient movements, she searched the chamber, pushed aside the extravagant bed hangings of intricately woven silk.

  Tears burned her eyes. Brighde wasn’t here. Where was she? With her brother’s twisted ways, perhaps he’d already sent her elsewhere, or she was dead.

  Frustrated, Linet turned to the door. She dreaded breaking the news to Dauid, witnessing a man who’d lost so much devastated further.

  A slight scratch fractured the stillness.

  Linet turned. Listened. Faraway voices of servants murmured from down the hall. The laughter of a man echoed through a window from the outside bailey. Her shoulders sagged in defeat. She’d heard nothing.

  Linet reached for the door.

  A faint noise sounded, this time from the back of the chamber.

  Heart pounding, she whirled, caught sight of a large, full-length painting. She’d forgotten her father’s private chamber beyond her parents’ bedroom. He’d used it to keep household records, draft letters, and work on other estate details.

  Linet ran to the door. Her fingers trembled as she slid aside the painting, unlocked, then opened the hidden door.

  A woman stared back at her, her face battered, her clothes hanging in disarray, her eyes strangled with fear.

  “Brighde?” she asked softly.

  The woman trembled.

  Linet’s chest squeezed tight. Only God knew what this poor woman had endured. “I have come with Seathan and Dauid to save you.”

  A glimmer of hope flickered in her eyes. “Da-Dauid is here?”

  “Yes.”

  The joy on her face faded to shame. Fat tears formed on her lids, then rolled down her cheeks. “Go. Let him believe I am dead.”

  Linet resisted the urge to reach out and touch her, unsure whether she’d cringe from physical contact, but she needed to make Brighde understand. “Your husband loves you.”

  The woman looked away. “I am tainted, soiled, disgraced.”

  Fury tore through her. “Rape is the disgrace of the assailant, the act of a coward.”

  Brighde’s quiet sobs echoed within the chamber. “What does it matter, the deed is done.”

  “Dauid loves you.”

  She shook her head. “He loves the woman I was. One who would smile and wel
come him into his bed. He knows not what has been done to me, the men whose desires I have endured, the lustful acts they committed.”

  Linet shuddered inwardly, aching for her. “Do you love your husband?”

  She sniffed. “A-Aye,” she whispered, “but it is too late.”

  “No. Listen to me. If not for yourself, then for his safety, you must come with me. He loves you very much and will not leave without you.”

  Brighde lifted her eyes. Hope lingered.

  “Quickly,” Linet urged. “We have little time.”

  “I think not.”

  At Fulke’s voice, panic ripped through her. Linet whirled.

  Eyes the color of sun-burnt clay glared at her, the soft angle of his cheeks an awkward frame to the fury carved beneath. Muscles bunched as he crossed his arms. “Why, it seems I have an intruder.” His gaze crawled over her with malice. “By the looks of your filthy gown, your skin smeared from cleaning the hearth, a serving wench. My men enjoy a woman, especially one who has not learned her place.”

  Fear threatened to erode Linet’s bravado. “You disgust me.”

  Dark brows narrowed. “You released the Scottish rebel.”

  “I left Breac Castle alone.”

  Hatred, pure and simple, flashed on his maliciously handsome face. He stepped forward; his hand shot out.

  Pain seared her. She stumbled back.

  “Liar!” he spat.

  She raised her hand to where her face throbbed. “I am telling the truth.”

  He scoffed. “It is no coincidence that Lord Grey disappeared from my dungeon, nor that the dungeon guard was found unconscious after you escaped.” He leaned closer. “When the guard woke, he told us that his tongue was thick and his brain foggy. He mentioned a servant wench had surprised him with wine. It takes not a wise man to deduct who delivered it.”

  She took a step back, her body trembling.

  Fulke caught her shoulders with his hands. His fingers dug into her tender skin. “I should give you to my men for their use. Pity, ’twould soil goods that I need for other purposes.” His smile ominous, he shoved her away. “Then again, there are ways to cause pain without leaving marks, ways to make a man believe his new bride is pure.”

  “I shall never wed the Earl of Fallon.”

  Satisfaction oozed on his face. “Terms have already been discussed, the documents signed.”

  “You bastard!”

  “Now that you have returned, his carriage will be sent for on the morrow.”

  She angled her chin. “The earl will refuse to marry me. He expects to bed a virgin—which I am not.”

  “I care not who you spread your legs for,” Fulke drawled. “I will send a missive this night that en route from your latest travels, the Scottish rebels robbed your carriage and raped you.” He gave a cold smile. “Nothing has changed. The earl will accept you, whore or not.”

  She thought of Seathan, of the love they’d made, his infinite tenderness. “I was not raped. I gave myself to him, to the man I love.”

  A terrifying calm entered Fulke’s eyes, a void so dark she wished for his fury. At least that would indicate he had feelings, unlike the creature before her.

  “I will find the rebel,” her brother stated. “Then, I will kill him and display his head on a pike, a warning for all who dare touch what is mine.”

  “You do not own me.”

  He caught Linet’s hair, twisted hard. “That, my dear sister, is where you are right. You were bought and paid for by the Earl of Fallon.” He shoved her into Brighde.

  Linet’s head pounded as she fought to focus, as Dauid’s wife steadied her.

  Fulke glared at Brighde. “Tie her up.”

  Brighde’s hands trembled as she reached out for the rope Fulke held. “I am sorry, my lady.” Unsteady hands quickly wrapped the woven cord around her wrists.

  Her brother nodded. “Like your wrists, your shrewish tongue will soon be tamed.” Fulke paused. “I hear the earl prefers a whip.”

  “I refuse to go.”

  Fulke laughed, a cold, brittle sound. “When I am through with you, you will beg to leave here.” He walked over to her, grasped her jaw. “I do not make threats.” He shoved her away.

  Linet landed hard against the stone floor. Pain sliced through her skull. The room spun, her head pounded as if impaled by a mace.

  “Clean her up,” Fulke ordered. “She looks like the whore she is, fit only for rutting with the Scot. A gown will be brought in for her to wear.” His gaze narrowed on Linet. “Then we will talk. It can be within my chamber or in the dungeon with you naked and spread upon the rack.”

  “No!”

  He ignored her plea. “Now that I know you are no longer a maiden, I will not hesitate to turn you over to the inventive desires of my men. And I have new, creative machines that will bend the stoutest of men—or women—to my will. You will marry, that I swear to you on your life. The condition you are in when you say your vows is of your choosing.” Fulke turned, strode from the chamber. The door slammed in his wake.

  Through the haze of pain, Linet focused on his words. The dungeon! Where Seathan and his men waited.

  God in heaven, what was she going to do now?

  Chapter 20

  The bells tolled.

  Seathan stared up the steps. Too much time had passed. A sword’s wrath, where was she? “Linet should have returned by now.”

  “Mayhap her caution slows her down,” Dauid said, “more so if she has Brighde alongside. They would not want to take unnecessary risks.”

  His friend’s reasoning made sense, but he heard the worry, the fear that echoed his own concerns. Seathan glanced at the two bodies slumped within the passageway. “When these guards do not return from their rounds, others will come searching for them.”

  Dauid nodded grimly. “Time is running out.”

  Unease rippled through Seathan as he again glanced up the steps. Something was amiss, he felt it, sensed it as surely as his next breath.

  “Do you think she has found Brighde?” Dauid asked.

  Seathan exhaled. “I pray so.”

  Long moments passed. Sunlight illuminated, then slowly began streaming through the narrowed windows.

  Bedamned, he’d wait no longer. Seathan clasped his hand on the hilt of his sword. “I am going to find them. Remain with my men in the tunnel.”

  Dauid shook his head, his face grim. “I am going with you. ’Tis my actions that have led to the danger we face, and my wife that Lady Linet seeks to find.”

  “Your leg will slow us down. Alone, I have a better chance of slipping through the castle unseen.”

  “We have a solid number of knights,” Dauid said. “We could confront Tearlach’s men.”

  “Aye,” Seathan replied. “But if Linet has found Brighde, an attack might hinder their escape, or worse, expose them. Until Alexander and Duncan arrive with reinforcements, we are grossly outnumbered.”

  Dauid muttered a curse. “I do not like the feel of this.” He gave an abrupt nod. “Go then. If you have not returned when the bells again toll, by God we are coming for you.”

  Seathan nodded.

  His friend drew him into a fierce hug. “God’s speed.”

  On a prayer, Seathan hurried up the torch-lit steps. At the top, he turned. The last of his men were filing into the tunnel. With his sword readied, he edged open the door.

  The rich aroma of bread filled the air as well as the scents of sage, rosemary, and other herbs the cooks used in their daily preparation of food. In the distance echoed the murmured voices of women and children and an occasional man.

  He waited, listened for any sign of Tearlach or any of his knights.

  Nothing.

  Seathan shoved the door wider. Instead of opening to the great room as was common, the entry led to a corridor that branched off into several hallways. This unique feature underscored the massive size of the castle as well as its original Scottish owner’s meticulous planning and wealth.

&n
bsp; A pity such magnificence now belonged to a cruel noble obsessed with his own power.

  He hurried along the corridor, the torches burning in their sconces melding with the sunlight trickling through the carved windows.

  At the entry to the great room, he peered inside. Dogs lay sprawled in distant corners while servants cleaned trencher tables and children swept the floors with hand-bound straw.

  The knights had already broken their fast. Most likely, they were practicing with their swords in the bailey.

  He slipped past the entry. A short distance away, he paused before the two sets of steps leading up. Sparse walls adorned one entry, the other boasted paintings of prestigious nobles, each portrait illuminated by a candle within a sconce. He started up the painting-lined turret.

  The soft pad of footsteps echoed from above.

  Seathan glanced back. Christ’s blade. Not enough time to return to the floor below.

  A shadow rippled along the curved wall of stone in the stairwell. The soft pad of slippers scraped above him. A woman approached. He sheathed his sword and withdrew his dagger, hid it behind him.

  A servant rounded the curve, her arms filled with an empty jug. With a frown, she halted.

  “I am seeking Lord Tearlach,” he said with the authority of someone welcome within the castle.

  She hesitated. “My regrets, my lord, I know not where Lord Tearlach is. I was sent to fetch the empty water jugs. If you wish, I will find him.”

  “Nay, it is a task I can easily do.”

  “You are a Scot.” A blush crept up her face. “My apologies, my lord. My words are not said unkindly. It is just that as of late, more Scottish nobles than English enter Breac Castle.”

  Aye, those who were weak-kneed and have sold their honor for their safety instead of standing their ground against King Edward. “Go,” Seathan said. “I will find Lord Tearlach myself.”

  “Yes, my lord.” The woman half curtsied. With the jug held tight in her hands, she hurried by.

  ’Twas a sad day when during a time of war, a Scot within an English-held fortress was a common sight. Neither was he surprised by the woman’s lack of concern at his presence. With the English king all but dismissing Scotland’s rebels as a threat, to the residents within Breac Castle, war between their countries no longer existed.