His Woman

by Cosby, Diana

  She sagged back. His anger toward her would serve him well. More so when he returned to find her gone. Then he would quit Moncreiffe Castle.

  Without her.

  Breath heaving in his chest, Duncan glanced at the unconscious men with disgust. Only after he’d thrown the torch atop the pile of straw filling the wagon and the flames had begun to build had their outlines come into view. By then it was too late. The men had noticed him.

  And charged.

  Thankfully, both were poorly trained. Still, one of their blades had sliced his left arm. Keeping pressure on the wound to stop the bleeding, he sprinted across the bailey.

  “The smithy’s hut is catching fire!” a guard shouted from the wall walk. Several other guards located farther away echoed the alert.

  Duncan bolted into the shadow cast by the keep as men raced past him toward the fire. Dragging in gulps of air, he braced himself against the cold stone wall.

  He swiped the sweat from his brow. He was a knight. Not an inexperienced lad. He knew better than to let his guard down, but moments ago, caught up in thoughts of Isabel, he’d missed seeing the men standing near the smithy’s hut.

  At the clatter of steps, he flattened himself against the cold stone.

  Torchlight outlined several guards as they rushed from the keep.

  That a way, lad, keep thinking about the lass and you will have your bloody arse in the dungeon.

  “Form a line,” a man yelled from across the bailey. “Pass the buckets!”

  Water sloshed from wooden buckets as they were quickly passed from man to man to be emptied onto the flames, then rushed back to the well.

  The door beside Duncan creaked open wider. Two more guards ran past. After a quick glance around to ensure no one saw him, Duncan slipped inside the keep.

  Servants hurried about, some grabbing empty cauldrons, others blankets to soak and beat at the flames.

  “Put your backs into it and put out the fire!” a commanding voice roared from the bailey.

  At the curt order, Duncan froze. He turned and looked out the stone exit. Outlined in the roar of flames stood Frasyer’s familiar outline.

  Bedamned! Isabel had said Frasyer was away. From the fear in her eyes, he’d believed her. Part of him marveled at how he seemed ready to accept her word at face value; the other part cursed his lingering naïveté, which had put him in this situation of wanting to help a woman who didn’t deserve it.

  A man ran past him and slammed the door to the keep, cutting off Frasyer’s next words.

  Holding his left arm tight against his chest, with the whir of activity, Duncan passed through the great hall unnoticed. When he reached the turret, he ran up.

  As he passed the second-floor exit, his legs grew heavy. It took his entire concentration to push forward. When he reached the third floor, his vision began to blur.

  Bracing himself against the wall, he lifted his cloak. Blood stained a wide swath of his undershirt and was seeping onto his robe. Grimacing, he tore a strip of cloth from the hem of his undershirt, then wrapped his arm tight to stop the flow of blood.

  By the time he reached the chapel door, his legs trembled as if weighted by stones. He shoved the door open and entered. Embraced by the scent of frankincense and myrrh, he glanced around.

  Candles flickered on a nearby wall, filling the chamber with a golden glow. The crucifix behind the altar lay haloed within the calm, its simple beauty lending to the surreal air.

  But the room stood empty.

  Where was she? He glanced toward the robes. “Isabel?” The garments hanging along the wall remained still.

  “Isabel?”

  Silence.

  Another wave of dizziness swamped him. He gritted his teeth. Slowly, his mind cleared, and Isabel’s words of caution echoed in his mind. Blast it. She’d told him to be careful, because she’d already decided to search for the Bible without him.

  How could he have again given her his trust? He glared down the corridor toward the opposite end of the hallway to where the stairs spiraled up one more level. A forth floor, a novelty that only a man of great wealth could afford. And Frasyer’s father’s pride and joy.

  Like father, like son.

  His anger built. As Frasyer’s mistress, Isabel had known the likelihood of the Bible being hidden on the elusive upper floor, but having planned on sneaking away, she’d kept him ignorant of where Frasyer’s chamber lay.

  Duncan started toward the steps. At the top, the corridor unfolded before him. Unlike the barren hallway below lit with several torches shoved within dreary wall sconces, a finely woven burgundy rug graced the entire length. Torches burned outside of each entry like polished sentinels, rigid within their ornate sconces.

  Portraits of the current Earl of Frasyer preceded that of the majestic parade of his ancestors hanging prominently along the walls in gilded frames, each of their faces captured in an unyielding stance. The array of finely crafted swords hanging on each side of the portraits embellished the obvious.

  Luxury. Wealth. Power.

  A slight scrape of the door to his immediate left was Duncan’s only warning someone was coming. He scanned the corridor. Bedamned, nowhere to hide!

  He flattened himself against the wall, his dagger drawn.

  A door creaked open.

  Duncan lunged and slammed the person against the door, his dagger against the neck.

  “Duncan, no!” Isabel gasped.

  He blew out a deep breath and secured his weapon, all too aware of the soft press of her body wedged against his. “I told you to stay in the chamber below.”

  “I—”

  “Never intended to remain and wait for me.”

  The flush on her cheeks betrayed her guilt. She glanced toward the window where outside, yellow flames from below in the bailey fragmented the night. Her mouth turned down.

  “You risked going outside to start a fire?” Isabel asked. “I cannot believe that you—”

  “Lass,” he interrupted, irritated by the awe in her voice. He was far from a hero. More of a fool. “We face a greater risk than my going outside. Frasyer is here.”

  Her face paled. “He cannot be. It should have taken him several days to ride to Lord Monceaux’s with my father and deliver the charges.”

  The sincerity of her reaction was believable, but he’d learned his lesson. “Then why has he returned early? Or have you been lying to me about his leaving all along.”

  “I would never betray you like this.”

  His arm throbbed. Her image wavered before him. He steadied himself. “And what do you call breaking your vow to wed me for Frasyer’s bed?”

  For a long moment she stared at him, her face filled with sadness, then crumbling to regret. “The only decision I had.”

  “Decision?” Her explanation was naught but twisted words. He shook his head to silence whatever she was about to say. “There is little time for your prattle.” With his arm hurting like the devil, he urged her forward. “Go.”

  The muted yells of men below supported his claim. Once safely away, then he would have his answers.

  Isabel tried to pull free.

  “What?” he demanded.

  She shook her head. “I…It is nothing.”

  “For this once, spare me your lies.”

  Eyes filled with anguish met his. “Only one reason would cause Frasyer to return early. My father is injured. Or”—she swallowed hard, her voice thinning, her entire body beginning to shake—“he is dead.”

  “Isabel.”

  She ignored him. “Mayhap en route, Frasyer arranged for my father to have an accident? Nay, Frasyer wouldn’t kill him,” she rambled. “He would never risk losing his control over me.”

  After her incarceration, the contempt in her voice didn’t surprise Duncan, but her comment resurrected suspicions that she harbored a far darker secret.

  “How long has Frasyer been gone?”

  “Two days.” She frantically searched his face. “But I need to k
now if my father is alive.”

  “Lord Caelin is not dim-witted,” Duncan said. “With his poor health, he would not be foolish enough to challenge Frasyer or his guards.” Unless he’d imbibed in one too many drinks, which wasn’t likely under the earl’s guard. “I believe he still lives.”

  Isabel seemed to find strength in his words. “Do you truly think so?”

  “Aye.” Duncan scanned the corridor, which was staggered by several doors. “Which room is Frasyer’s?”

  She didn’t seem convinced. “Duncan—”

  “Which one?” he pressed.

  A loud cheer roared from the bailey.

  “It sounds as if they have extinguished the fire. Hurry.” Another wave of weakness struck him. He pushed forward. He refused to pass out until after they’d escaped.

  Isabel shot him a nervous glance. “We may need to search more than Frasyer’s private chamber.”

  “I thought you said that is where he would keep the Bible?”

  “It could be.”

  “But you are not sure?” Duncan muttered, not liking where this conversation was heading or the anxious looks she kept sending him. “We will search every bloody room if need be.”

  Isabel opened her mouth to speak.

  “If you know what is good for you, do not even ask me to leave.”

  Her eyes narrowed, but she remained silent.

  Against the throbbing in his arm, he forced himself to walk by her side, her tantalizing scent doing nothing to improve his foul mood. Neither could he ignore the natural grace with which she walked, or how the fabric clung to her, revealing the soft swells of her breasts.

  “And if the Bible is not in any of his rooms,” he pressed, “where do you suggest we search next?”

  “I am unsure.” Isabel didn’t look toward Duncan. He was furious, how could he not be, but he didn’t understand how his mere presence was tearing her apart. All he could see was her betrayal.

  God, she hated living this lie, how even now, with her father’s life at risk, she couldn’t tell Duncan the true reason she’d walked away from their betrothal. Or of Frayser’s threat to Duncan’s life if she revealed the truth.

  She didn’t doubt Duncan’s abilities with a sword. Given a fair fight, he’d outmaneuver Frasyer as he had over and again throughout their youth. But she knew Frasyer. He wouldn’t fight fair.

  Over the years, she’d prayed to find a way to set things right, then she could tell Duncan everything. After three years, no answer had come.

  Only the passage of time.

  And regret.

  Until this moment, it had not mattered that she’d never visited Frasyer’s private room, that he’d not wanted her except as a reminder of what he’d taken from Duncan. She’d expected to conduct the search in private, her unfamiliarity of his personal living space going unnoticed. How could she fool Duncan? At least before he had arrived, she’d narrowed Frasyer’s personal chamber down to one door.

  “The one at the end.”

  “Of course,” he muttered under his breath. “We would not want his chamber to be close.”

  In silence, she walked beside him and noticed he seemed to favor his left arm. “What is wrong with your arm?”

  Not answering, he pulled his hand closer to his side as he continued forward. Then she noticed he winced.

  “You are hurt!”

  “It is naught but a wee scratch.”

  The stubborn fool, with an ego to match. “Try not to bleed to death before I can tend to the wound,” she couldn’t help but add, appeased when his mouth tightened.

  “You would like that.”

  She didn’t reply. She needed to keep her thoughts on finding her mother’s Bible and escape. Not on Duncan or the love she’d lost. Though, with him so close, how could she not help but wonder how their life might have turned out if they’d wed?

  Or not want him with her every breath.

  A muted shout of a guard echoed from below.

  Another, father away, replied.

  Duncan opened the outer door and nodded for her to enter ahead of him. Thankful for any excuse to change the topic, Isabel hurried inside. She didn’t miss his cool assessment of her, or the determination in his eyes to learn her secrets.

  Why would he even care about her relationship with Frasyer? How could he after she’d broken their vows to wed and, from all outward appearances, willfully occupied Frasyer’s bed?

  What if by some twist of fate, Duncan still did have feelings for her?

  Instead of joy, the possibility resurrected the old disappointment that had never quite faded. That of a home and children with Duncan.

  That of love.

  And of forever.

  Her heart ached with the knowledge that such dreams never would be. Their time together would be limited to a few hours at most. Then they would go their separate ways.

  Taking a steadying breath, Isabel halted inside. The scent of chamomile mixed amid the rushes filled her every breath. The welcoming glow of the wax candles greeting her did little to ease her nerves.

  She stepped past two large chairs that graced either side of an elaborate hearth. Ensnared by the beauty, Isabel paused before the chiseled stone. Engraved within the quarried borders stood two falcons, their wings arched high. She turned. Beneath the window sat a small, gilt table that held several unopened bottles of wine. Tapestries decorated the plastered walls, each as elaborate as those sprawled tastefully upon the floor. The bold colors of the decoration exuding a proud elegance, one befitting an earl.

  Except there wasn’t a bed.

  They’d entered Frasyer’s sitting room.

  Duncan’s gaze swept the ornate chamber. “The luxury suits you,” he said, a trace of anger sliding through his words.

  Turn toward me, she willed, her heart breaking. Look and tell me what you truly see. Wealth matters not to me. Only you. It has always been only you.

  As much as she wanted to admit the truth, she remained silent. To try and convince him otherwise would further prod his suspicions of her reason for leaving him for Frasyer. God forbid Duncan’s anger if he ever discovered the truth.

  He walked around the chamber. “You think he has hidden the Bible here? There are no chests, no compartments. Unless he planned to hide it in plain sight.”

  Heat stroked her face as she tried to think of an explanation for her lack of knowledge about the room. A fool could see the Bible couldn’t be concealed here.

  Except she hadn’t known otherwise. How could she. With her own chamber at the top of the stairs, she’d never been allowed entry into any of Frasyer’s private rooms. Her presence on the fourth floor was for appearance only.

  “I was unsure.” Another lie. God, she was sick of them. “His bedchamber is beyond that door.” Isabel gestured toward an adjoining entry on the other wall and prayed she was right.

  It should have occurred to her that unlike her own chamber, Frasyer would insist on an elaborate suite of interconnected rooms instead of a single chamber. As with everything else, he thrived on luxury, a show of his wealth.

  Duncan crossed to the door and opened it. Fury hardened the sharp angles of his face as he surveyed Frasyer’s bedchamber.

  She drew in a slow breath, aching at what he was thinking, even though for the last three years she was the one who’d encouraged him and everyone else into believing her actions were self-serving.

  Not even her father and Symon knew the complete truth of her private arrangements with Frasyer.

  “We need to hurry,” she urged.

  “Aye,” he drawled, his burr rich with sarcasm. “I have no desire to remain in your lover’s chamber longer than necessary.”

  With a heavy heart, she followed him inside. As with the adjoining chamber, wax candles fragmented the blackness of the chamber, framing within their tainted glow the massive bed centered against the back wall.

  A bed Duncan believed she warmed.

  Isabel tried not to focus on the large bed. Or on
how the thick posts arched upward in a magnificent display, each adorned by swaths of crème linen that connected and curtained the massive oak frame.

  In horrific fascination, her gaze was reluctantly drawn past the golden ties that secured the yards of the finely woven material and offered a blatant view of Frasyer’s intimate domain.

  Bile rose in her throat at the notion of sharing such luxury with a man she despised.

  Duncan walked past, his face carved with an ominous frown.

  She tensed. Please let him credit her nerves to his believing she found embarrassment in his being in Frasyer’s bedchamber. She forced herself to browse the room as if not awed by the magnificence of the plastered walls, each adorned with wall hangings of painted wool. Or how she was humbled by the intricate biblical paintings gracing the ceiling.

  At the sound of muted voices from the corridor, Duncan glanced toward her. “Where do you think he hid the Bible?”

  She shot a glance toward the door. “I do not know,” she whispered back. “Upon our return, I was immediately taken to the dungeon.”

  “Does he have a secret room off his chamber?”

  “I…”

  A muscle worked in his jaw. “Well?”

  “I am not sure.”

  With a curse, he strode to the nearest chest. “For a woman who frequents Frasyer’s private chamber, you seem to know little of his habits.” Duncan dug through a stack of finely woven silks of magnificent reds, greens, and even the coveted blue of royalty.

  Her heart pounded as she moved to kneel before another of several chests within the room. She prayed they would find the Bible soon. The longer they remained, the greater the risk of Duncan learning the truth.

  Or of them being caught.

  Isabel opened the lid. Wrapped within cloths, the pungent scent of ginger, cinnamon, and several other spices reached her.

  “Is it there?” Duncan asked.

  She shook her head as she closed the lid. “No.”

  He moved to another chest. A creak sounded at her side as he opened the top. “I have an idea. Where does Frasyer keep his jewels?”

  “His jewels?” She frowned as she turned toward him. “You are not going to rob him are you?”

  Duncan gave a rude snort. “I want nothing of his.” His emphasis on the word nothing struck clear to her heart. “I asked where he kept his jewels, because he would perhaps keep the Bible in a place where he stows his most prized possessions.”