by Cosby, Diana
Silence filtered between them, a quiet hum edged with awareness.
Though he’d not intended to, his gaze traveled the length of her body, taking in the soft swells that invited him to touch, the curves that bid him to linger. Beneath his heated gaze, her nipples tightened against the softness of her gown, offering their own invitation.
“Nichola is English,” Isabel finally said, her voice cautious with a throaty edge.
“She is.” Duncan damned the rasp to his voice, betraying that he wanted her.
“With Alexander a rebel…I never would have believed he would court an Englishwoman, much less marry her.”
“If asked before he met her, Alexander would agree.”
Isabel arched a brow in silent question.
“He abducted her a year ago to raise coin for the rebels.”
“But he married her,” Isabel stated, clearly confused. “That makes little sense.”
“Aye, it does not. Then, neither does life.”
“No,” she whispered, “it truly does not.” The crackle of flames echoed into the somber silence. A frown creased her brow. “A year ago? Is that not when Patrik died?” Apprehension sheathed her face. “Oh, God.” She swallowed hard. “Please, tell me the incidents are not related.”
Even after the months past, the reminder of his adopted brother’s death weighed heavy on Duncan. “Aye. When Alexander returned from England with Nichola as his captive instead of her brother, Alexander was half in love with the lass.” He grimaced, remembering his brother’s personal struggle with the fact. “Not that he wanted to be. It seemed fate would dictate otherwise.”
“How does Patrik’s death relate with Nichola being Alexander’s captive?”
“You remember how my father adopted Patrik when he was a lad?” Duncan asked.
Isabel nodded.
“The reason is known only to a few, but Patrik came to live with us after the English butchered his family before his eyes. He escaped, but with the horrific memories of that day. Ever since, Patrik’s thirst for English blood had been unquenchable. When he realized Alexander was falling in love with Nichola, he crafted lies to Alexander about her being an English spy. When those untruths failed to dissuade Alexander’s growing feelings, Patrik tried to kill her.”
Isabel covered her mouth in horror. “God in heaven!”
Duncan nodded, the turmoil and the sadness of losing a brother he loved still tearing at his heart. “Alexander and Patrik fought. The knife Patrik held during the struggle slipped from his hands and wedged between two rocks. In the end, Patrik rolled onto his own blade.”
“How tragic,” she whispered.
“Aye, his death haunts us still.” Duncan rubbed his brow, tired, saddened by the regretful memories, of his heartbreak at watching the guard leave with Patrik’s body. It was the last time he’d seen him. When they’d arrived home hours later, the guard had already buried Patrik’s body, so they’d gathered for a private ceremony.
“But from the tragedy, happiness arose as well. After the fight, Nichola’s brother, Lord Monceaux, whom Alexander was sent to abduct, showed up in search of his sister. When he saw Alexander with her, believing Nichola was in danger, her brother attacked Alexander in an attempt to save her life.”
“An Englishman dared venture this far into Scotland alone?”
Duncan hesitated. Though Isabel may be privy to rebel secrets from Symon, she was still Frasyer’s mistress. He would not divulge that Nichola’s brother, Griffin, the Baron of Monceaux, who was King Edward’s Scottish adviser, was also a spy for Scotland known by most by the code name Wulfe.
“He and his sister are close.”
“And the ransom?”
“Was paid.” Duncan didn’t add the details of the payment, specifics he would have informed her of before her betrayal. “Afterward, and with her brother’s blessing, Nichola married Alexander.”
“It is hard to believe the English noble would allow such a union, more so with his strong ties to King Edward.”
“It is.”
“I heard something about an Englishman being here during Patrik’s death,” she said, “but no more.”
Duncan nodded. An easy silence fell between them, a closeness that he’d missed. But to remain alone with her, to invite Isabel back into his life, was a mistake.
He stared at her, wishing this moment could be as simple as standing beside the woman he’d grown up with, the woman he’d once loved, a woman who’d also embodied his every dream.
She moved against him, and the moment shifted. Desire flooded him hot and hard. Her scent wrapped around him making his body ache with it’s demand. He could all but taste her on his lips, knew the satiny way her skin would feel against his hands.
Bedamned. He stiffened and shifted away.
At his action, worry marred her face. “I have kept you up when you should be asleep.”
“No, I…” He could hardly tell her the truth. That his body seemed to have a will of its own when in her presence.
“You are too weak to be up and about. You will reopen your wound.”
“It is healing.”
“And hurting you now by the way you are favoring it.”
He remained silent, refusing to confirm her words. Too aware of her, Duncan glanced around his beloved grandmother’s chamber, expecting to feel anger at Isabel’s breach within the room. Instead, a sense of how appropriate it was for her to be here washed over him.
Isabel gently caught his hand. “Sit for a moment and rest. Then I will help you to your chamber.”
Duncan held his ground. He didn’t want to feel the silkiness of her skin, or the intensity of his need to draw her body against his. “Why did you not tell Seathan and Alexander about the Bible or that Symon had told you of the rebel movements?” he asked, grasping on to other reasons that had spurred his midnight visit when most were asleep.
Her expression grew guarded. She released him. “I will be here but a short while. The Bible is mine to find. The conversations of my brother and I are in the past.”
At the stubbornness of her reply, anger stewed in his blood. “As for the Bible, I gave my vow to help you find it.”
Amber eyes blazed fire. “And was almost killed in the trying. Nay, your part in helping me is done. On the morrow, I will leave.”
The seriousness of her tone roused panic inside him. “You cannot.”
Isabel folded her arms across her chest. “I would think you, as your brothers, would be pleased to be rid of me.”
An excellent point, one he should have agreed with. So why was he protesting her intent to leave?
“Have you forgotten that Frasyer’s men are scouring the forest for you?”
“For us,” she corrected.
“Aye,” he agreed. “And at the very least, they will be searching every nook and cranny for the next couple of days. This afternoon, Seathan’s men reported seeing Frasyer’s men scouring his borders. With the continuing snow shielding their movements, we cannot say if their suspicions that you are here have not prompted them to keep a watch on Lochshire Castle.”
Despite his warning, Isabel held his gaze, her courage a trait he’d always admired and, begrudgingly, did so now.
“Frasyer would risk much if he infuriated Seathan,” she said.
“With you holding key information about the rebels, infuriating Seathan would be of low concern to Frasyer.”
She turned away and crossed her arms in a protective measure over her chest. “I would take my life before I would tell Frasyer of the rebel movements.”
A belief her brother had obviously shared. Not that it made sense. As if anything did since Isabel had walked away from their betrothal.
Needing to touch her, Duncan walked up behind Isabel and laid his hand upon her shoulder; she stiffened.
“Each day that goes by is one that I cannot lose,” she whispered. “Already, too much time has passed. For my father’s sake, I pray that I am not too late.”
Her obvious worry had him wanting to reassure her that he would protect her, to reveal the steps he and his brothers were already taking to ensure Lord Caelin’s safety. But could he trust her? He still didn’t know.
“Trying to return to Frasyer’s home is a foolish idea,” he said. “Do you not understand the folly of such an attempt? However much you wish to return to Moncreiffe Castle, to do so now would surely find you captured.”
She turned toward him with defiance. “I cannot stay here and do nothing.”
“No? How much good will you do your father if you are locked in Frasyer’s dungeon?”
She remained silent, but he saw the anger in her eyes, upset at the feeling of one’s hands being tied, a sense he understood too well.
“Promise me you will not try to leave until three days have passed.”
She shot him a hard look.
At her silence, Duncan stepped toward her. “I will have your word.”
Her jaw lifted in defiance. “Or you will have me imprisoned?”
Irritated she’d dare to push him, he caught her hand and clasped it within both of his. “I will do what I must to keep you safe. I promised your brother. It was his dying request.”
The bravado on her face crumbled. “Damn you, Duncan.” She pulled free and walked over to stare through the window into the star-filled sky. Moonlight streamed around her in a silvery embrace as if she were an abandoned faerie from the Otherworld.
As she had in Frasyer’s dungeon, she looked so fragile. Isabel was hurting, alone and feeling the outsider. She’d earned that and more. The anger he’d experienced in the past, and had expected when seeing her again tonight, did not come.
Only desire.
Her frailty appealed to his masculinity, to the warrior wanting to protect a woman he cares for, to a man who needs to defend his mate. Instincts were deeper than the emotions wrought by betrayal and infidelity.
He grimaced, frustrated that after she’d hurt him so deeply, he wanted her. Duncan exhaled a long sigh, walked over and stopped beside Isabel.
“I am surprised that Seathan and Alexander did not storm this room once they learned that I had not told them everything,” she said without looking his way.
“They wanted to,” Duncan admitted.
She turned to face him, moonbeams framing her face, and to Duncan, she couldn’t have looked more beautiful. “And what did they think when they learned of where I slept?”
He shrugged. “It is not where we would have chosen.”
“I know.”
For a long moment they stood in silence, each watching the other, the whirl of emotions plaguing Duncan falling away one by one. Until it was only him, only her, alone in the chamber.
As if a trick of the light, an aura seemed to surround her and slowly grow brighter.
Drawn, he reached over and touched her.
She gasped and stared down to where their flesh merged.
Warmth tingled up his arm, beyond the sensation a mere touch induced. An energy as if alive arched between them. Stunned, he pulled away.
Eyes widened with surprise met his. “What is it?”
He shook his head. The illusion of an aura had faded. Naught but moonlight grazed her skin. He owed the odd sensation of tingling heat to fatigue.
“What did you feel?”
At the waver in her voice, he studied her face. Lines of concern tugged across her brow.
“You sensed it as well?” she prodded.
“What?”
She looked around as if seeking something, then shook her head. “This chamber is…” She stepped to the side, putting much needed distance between them. Except that the lure, the pull to touch her, seemed to intensify. If he was smart, he’d let her go.
“I should move to another chamber,” Isabel said.
But he had to know. “What did you sense? What did you feel when I touched you?” As soon as the questions left his mouth, aware of their unearthly potency, Duncan wondered if they were questions best left unasked.
Isabel looked around the chamber as if searching for something. “The room is beautiful. I have never experienced anything quite so warm and welcoming in my life.”
“My grandmother would not allow anything else.” But she was hedging answering his question.
A blush touched her face. “I remember her. She would tell me stories of faeries. I should have guessed she would have had them painted on her ceiling and embroidered in her tapestries as well.”
“The embroidery was a gift from King Alexander III.”
Her brows raised in surprise. “She knew him?”
The story of their meeting so long ago filled Duncan’s mind with familiar fondness, and was a welcome distraction to whatever had occurred between them moments ago.
“Treated him is more like it,” he explained. “A healer, she was in the woods gathering herbs. The king was hunting with several men. His mount stumbled and the king was injured. She witnessed the entire event and offered to care for him.”
“And the king rewarded her with the tapestry?”
“Aye.”
“Then the faeries on the ceiling were painted to match?”
“Nay, they have always been there.”
Amazement shadowed her face. “But they match the tapestry as if copied. Do you not find that odd?”
“Not really. This room is said to be filled with magic. I grew up with my grandmother telling us that she often spoke with the wee folk here.”
She again looked around as if seeing the chamber for the first time. “Then it was not a dream.” She hugged herself, which didn’t suppress the shiver that shook her.
“What?”
“Earlier this night, the sapphire in the bowl seemed to glow. Not the rays of moonbeams, but that of an unearthly glow, almost as if the air was alive, breathing.”
The awe in her voice stoked Duncan’s irritation. He glared at the bowl as if a traitor, remembering too well Alexander’s story of how Nichola had mentioned a similar reaction when she’d first entered the chamber, or rather, was imprisoned within this room a year ago. He and Seathan had had a fine time teasing Alexander that their grandmother’s presence and penchant for matchmaking guided Nichola’s reaction.
Neither could he forget noticing the aura that seemed to surround Isabel but moments ago.
Though he believed in the fey and of his grandmother’s abilities, he would guide the decision of his life, not those of an old woman’s fancies. That he found Isabel alluring stemmed from their years together, of the dreams they’d once shared, not from a spell cast by a woman given to magic.
“What you witnessed was the moonlight shining upon the gem,” Duncan declared, “nothing more.”
Amber eyes sparked with conviction. “I know what I saw. And when I picked the halved sapphire up, it warmed in my hand. The same heat I experienced when you touched me moments ago.”
A muscle worked in his jaw.
“It means something, does it not?”
“It means that you are exhausted and in need of rest.” As he looked around the chamber, he almost sensed his grandmother’s spirit, the magic potency of her presence.
Determined to take Isabel from this chamber, Duncan took her hand. A mistake. Awareness speared him with a dangerous heat. His blood pounded, and his every breath filled with the scent of night and the alluring fragrance of woman.
“What is wrong?” she asked.
“Nothing.” Everything. He wanted her. Bedamned if he’d take her. Bedamned if he’d be pushed by magic against his will.
Though his body wanted her, his heart never would. Other than those weak moments when he’d almost died, the trust he’d held for Isabel was that of the past. A trust necessary before anything between him and Isabel could grow. A trust that he would never give her again.
It was ridiculous to stand here with her wanting what never could be. He glared around the confines, sure faeries lurked and laughed—at him.
“You look pale as if y
ou have seen a ghost.”
“A faerie more like it,” he muttered.
She stepped closer, her scent of woman and desire spilling through his senses.
He hissed out a breath.
“Why are you shaking.”
Duncan stepped back, wanting to laugh, to yell, to curse this moment of his embracing heaven and Hades. Unlike Alexander’s confusion when he’d placed Nichola in this chamber, and after watching his brother’s heart guided by magic, Duncan understood the full effects it could have on a man.
“Isabel.” He caught her. A mistake. His body ached with the need to touch her, to run his fingers along her delicate curves, to savor her taste in slow, satisfying regard.
She frowned at him, then her pupils darkened with understanding and filled with desire. “You need to lay down and rest.” She didn’t move, but stood there like a siren stealing his every breath. “Duncan?”
He cursed as he hauled her to him. With her lips shadowed against his, the heat from her body enveloping him like a fist, he claimed her mouth. His first taste of Isabel was devastating, pleasing, luring him to linger, to feel more than he should, to want more than he had sworn he would ever take.
A moan of pleasure slipped from her throat, destroying the last fragments of his will.
Lost, Duncan angled his mouth and took the kiss deeper, drowning in her softness, the innocence of her response. He cupped her face as he stole her every moan, savored her every shuddered breath, the softness of her silky skin.
“Duncan,” she murmured as he skimmed his mouth over her cheeks, her brow, then along the slender column of her throat, her taste pouring over him, filling him, seducing him with ruthless intent. His jaw grazed the curve of her breast.
Stunned, Duncan drew away, his breathing hard, his body urgent in its demand. It was as if time had stood still and three years had not passed.
Her sigh echoed his own sentiment. “It was always you,” she murmured.
Always him.
A vision of Frasyer seared his mind, shattering the image like handblown glass against jagged stone.
Furious with himself, Duncan stepped away. Here, within his grandmother’s chamber, he’d almost taken Isabel, stripped her naked and made love with her. Made love? As if she knew the meaning? How could he, even for a moment, have forgotten the reasons why such an act would be more than morally wrong?
