His Woman

by Cosby, Diana

  “Duncan?”

  Isabel’s sleepy voice had him glancing up. She’d propped herself up on the bed, her eyes groggy. As she slowly awakened, her gaze trailed over his naked body boldly and dark with need.

  Desire built inside him, a fact as natural as his each breath. With her it would always be so. “Aye?”

  “What is wrong?”

  If she only knew. He slid the Bible into the sack. “I cannot sleep.”

  She frowned, her glance briefly flicking toward the sack before turning to him. “Your wound is aching?”

  “Nay.” Aching didn’t begin to describe the intensity of what he was feeling. “Restless is all.”

  A tense silence fell between them.

  He sighed. Was it only hours ago that they’d made love for the first time? With his mind raging in turmoil, their joining seemed ages ago.

  “Will you be coming back to bed?”

  The desire in her voice slashed another chink in his willpower. In but hours they would leave the crofter’s hut for Rothfield Castle. Later, when he departed Griffin’s home, due to Isabel’s heritage, the real chance existed that they may never be this private, this open, with each other again.

  Her, the secret daughter of Scotland’s most powerful rebel and, as yet, trapped as his enemy’s mistress.

  Him, a knight with no claim save his reputation and a fool’s dreams.

  Aware her true father was William Wallace, and knowing the unpredictable risk that Frasyer posed, if he had any doubts about her never returning to the earl before, they ended now. Regardless of what it took, she would never go back to that bastard.

  The snap of the fire crackled softly in the silence, a subtle reminder that they were alone. Whatever happened once they left, they had the rest of this night. Precious hours until they would have to face the world again.

  And return to their lives.

  Overwhelmed by emotion, he took her hand and pressed his brow against their entwined fingers, needing to find the right words to explain his feelings for her.

  “Last night,” Duncan started, then looked down.

  As he struggled to find words, taking in the paleness of Duncan’s face, Isabel panicked. Did he feel guilty about taking her virginity?

  “I am so sorry,” she whispered, “I never wanted to lie to you.”

  He lifted his head, his green eyes ensnaring hers. “Do not be sorry. We are both but pawns to a greater purpose.”

  Softness eased the worry across his brow, his gaze so intense, a look so tender, she wanted to lean against him and have him hold her forever.

  They had until dawn. For the rest of her life, she must make that enough.

  Isabel drew Duncan’s hand to her breast, and his fingers trembled across her tender flesh. “Make love with me.” At her request, angst flashed on his face, a desperation she’d never witnessed before. A chill shot through her. “What is wrong?”

  “It is that I need you so much more than I had ever believed possible.”

  The sincerity of his words should have offered her relief, more so in light of his anger but hours ago, except she sensed something awry. What had changed between then and now? Or were her nerves spinning troubles that weren’t there? They had these few precious hours until they would leave. She refused to lose them to her doubts.

  On a half groan, he drew her to him, his kiss tasting of need, but tainted with a new sense of urgency. Isabel ignored her worry and gave herself completely, savoring his every touch upon her skin. She loved him, needed him, wanted this intimacy. In but hours they would arrive at Lord Monceaux’s and deliver the Bible. Then her father would be freed.

  After, sadly, she must return to Frasyer.

  So she lost herself to sensation as Duncan made love to her, the gentle skim of his fingers upon her curves, how he used his tongue to tease, then satisfy. Beneath his skilled hands, she found her release, but as if a man driven, with slow, mind-splintering strokes, he guided her up again until the well of feelings burst, again taking her under. Only when the flames within the hearth had burned low did Duncan join her to find his own release.

  After, he rolled to his side and drew her into his arms. The steady beat of his heart echoed in her mind, his even breathing comforting her further. She could lay here forever. Happier than she could have ever imagined, with her body sated and a lethargic wash thrumming through her, she gave way to the lure of sleep.

  A gust of wind slammed against the crofter’s hut; Isabel started. She blinked the wisps of sleep from her eyes and turned to Duncan, but where he’d lain by her side it was empty.

  And cold.

  She sat up. He sat before the fire. The troubled look on his face, the way he clutched the Bible in his hands stilled the teasing words on her tongue.

  “Duncan?”

  He turned toward her. The strained expression on his face eased. “You are awake then.”

  She swallowed hard, not missing the tension within his voice. “The wind woke me.”

  “It is picking up again.”

  Again? Hadn’t he gone back to sleep as she had? “Why do you have the Bible?”

  His mouth tightened. He shrugged. “No reason.” He stowed the bound volume within the leather sack as if unimportant, but she caught the whitening of his knuckles as he tightened his hold.

  Trepidation built in her throat. “You have found something within the Bible.” It wasn’t a question.

  Silence.

  “Duncan?”

  He shoved to his feet, his expression stoic. “The sun has begun to rise. We need to depart for Rothfield Castle.”

  She sat up. “Not without your telling me what you found.”

  “There is naught to be afraid of.”

  “I do not believe you.” She looked at the Bible shielded within the sack, her heart pounding. “Tell me.”

  His jaw tightened in a stubborn set. “There is no time for discussion. Once we have arrived at Rothfield Castle will be soon enough.”

  “Soon enough? Duncan, the Bible is mine.” She held out her hand. “Give it to me.”

  He shook his head. “I cannot.”

  Anger shot through her. Isabel shoved to the edge of the bed. The slide of cool air against her bare skin had her grabbing her gown and donning it. Whatever he refused to tell her indeed had to do with the Bible. A strangled thought flickered in her mind. Her heart slammed against her chest. It couldn’t be.

  She stilled and prayed she was wrong. “Duncan, tell me there is proof of my father’s innocence.”

  “Isabel—”

  “Do not keep secrets between us!”

  His face darkened and his mouth tightened into an ominous frown. “Secrets?” he demanded. “You have not trusted me since a week before our betrothal and have lied to me ever since. Yet you dare issue me such a dictate?”

  He had a point. Yet she shook her head. “Your anger is justified, but that does not change what news of importance you are keeping from me.”

  “It does not.” He stared at her a long moment. “You said that you loved me. Now I am asking for your trust.”

  She frowned. “You always had that.”

  “Nay, if you had trusted me, when you learned of your father’s predicament, you would have turned to me for help.”

  “I told you my reasons.”

  “Aye, that you dismissed me as having any ability to have helped you or your father.”

  Heat stroked her cheeks, but she angled her chin. “Since my decision three years passed, you are still a knight. As much as I wish otherwise, nothing has changed.”

  At Isabel’s words, Duncan stiffened. But he couldn’t deny them in one regard. Frasyer was still an earl, while knighthood belonged to him.

  “You are wrong,” he said at last. “Much has changed. We made love.”

  “Last night has nothing to do with this.”

  He rose. “Does it not? We have given ourselves to each other in the most intimate of ways, as a woman gives to a man whom they trust. W
ill you trust me?”

  “Let me see the Bible.”

  He shook his head. “Once we have arrived at Rothfield Castle.” Or so he hoped he could. He prayed Griffin was in residence and her father, no, not her father, Lord Caelin, was safe.

  Isabel stared at him, her mouth slightly parted, her hands fisted at her sides.

  She started toward the table; he stepped before her and blocked her access to the Bible. “Is the decision to offer your trust to me so difficult?” he asked, pushing her, aware that he was asking for more than the reason to continue hiding the contents of the Bible from her.

  He was asking for himself.

  “Damn you, Duncan.”

  “Say it.”

  Amber eyes narrowed. “I trust you.”

  Relief swept through him. He’d not realized how much he needed to hear the words. They were a balm to his soul, illuminating a darkness that had lingered these past three years.

  The first rays of sunlight slipped through aged slits of the tarp.

  “We need to leave,” he said.

  Her lips pressed together, but she didn’t protest. She turned away.

  After the past few hours of making love, he could not leave the situation between them strained. He stepped forward, caught her shoulder and drew Isabel against him.

  “This will all work out.” He traced a kiss along the curve of her jaw. However much he wished to linger, to make love with her one more time, they could not tarry.

  Raising his head, he drew his thumb across her lower lip, still swollen from their kisses. “Finish getting dressed. By the time you are done, I will have packed everything and we can leave.”

  The cheerful fire blazed high as he turned away, the warmth far from touching the coldness of his soul. The arrival of the morning had severed the fantasy of his earlier thoughts. Regardless of whether they reached Griffin’s home safely, the likelihood of them being separated once there was all too real.

  Should he tell her he loved her? Was he wrong to wait until they reached Rothfield Castle? What would his admission bring except raise the cost of an already convoluted situation? Bedamned.

  He’d lost her once, allowed his thoughts to become tainted and had been a fool to have given up on her when she’d needed him most. As a result, she had lived too many days under the thumb of his ruthless enemy. Part of him marveled at her strength in surviving, while another part couldn’t help but feel niggles of resentment at how she had not trusted him enough, trusted his strength enough to protect them both.

  Nay. He’d not blame her alone. They’d both made mistakes in the past.

  But here, now, he silently vowed, whatever it took he would keep her.

  Until he’d seen her again, he’d not allowed himself to remember all that was special and precious about her. Now, watching her graceful movements as she dressed, the pressure inside his chest was an actual physical reminder that she was forever in his heart.

  “I am ready,” Isabel said.

  As he. He turned to retrieve the Bible. “I—”

  A loud crash thundered against the door.

  Isabel screamed.

  Frasyer! Duncan drew his sword and caught her wrist, pulling her around to his back. “Stay behind me!”

  Chapter 19

  Adrenaline pumped through Duncan’s veins as the hut’s door shuddered against the next hard impact.

  Another solid ram.

  Wood splintered. Wind-whipped snow spurted through the cracks.

  Isabel’s face grew ashen.

  Weapon in hand, Duncan stepped before her. “Whatever happens,” he ordered, “stay behind me.”

  At the next slam against wood, the door burst open. It crashed against the interior wall. Swords drawn, knights stormed the crofter’s hut.

  Behind them, framed within the muted dawn, stood Frasyer.

  Gray eyes narrowed on Isabel with malignant satisfaction, his normally neatly bound brown hair tugged loose by the wind and littered with shards of ice.

  Isabel gasped.

  “You thought to escape me,” the earl seethed. His gaze skewered Duncan. “And you. You dare enter my castle and abduct my mistress?”

  Eyes blazing, Duncan grunted with disgust. “Is that what you call freeing a woman imprisoned?”

  Frasyer stiffened. “Bitter words from a man whose betrothed abandons him on the eve he is to wed.”

  “A decision forced upon her,” Duncan returned.

  Understanding flickered in Frayser’s eyes. “She told you of our bargain.”

  Duncan ignored Isabel’s sharp intake of breath. “Bargain? As if killing me was not your intention from the first. Now, you believe you hold just reason.”

  “Reason enough to suit my needs,” Frasyer replied.

  Rage slammed atop Duncan’s mounting worry for Isabel and settled on the man who’d stolen everything he’d once loved and threatened to do so again. “I should have guessed that your twisted ways were behind Isabel’s leaving me.”

  Frasyer lifted his sword in warning—and promise. “The reason matters not. I will enjoy watching your blood spill upon my blade.”

  “No!” Isabel shouted.

  Frasyer shifted his attention to her. Gray eyes narrowed and curdled with violence. “You will regret your betrayal.”

  “Isabel will travel to Lord Monceaux’s,” Duncan stated. He had to ensure Griffin’s intervention, but neither Isabel, nor the Bible could stay within Frasyer’s hands. “His decision, not yours, will guide her fate.”

  “With the Bible I presume?” Frasyer drawled.

  Isabel lifted her chin. “My father is innocent of your claims.”

  “Lord Caelin is a fool,” Frasyer stated. “As are you. You knew the consequence of breaking your vow of silence, but ignored it.”

  Duncan gripped his sword tighter. “Consequence? Nay, a threat, an abuse of power you enjoy serving on those unable to defend themselves.” He covertly scoured the hard faces of the four knights surrounding them. He was easily outnumbered. “She does not love you, nor you her. Let her go.”

  The thud of footsteps sounded within the small hut as yet more knights packed inside between Duncan and the doorway. A sword’s wrath!

  “Her feelings toward me matter not. You want her.” A brutal smile slinked across Frasyer’s mouth. “That is enough. Or was.”

  Duncan stilled. Frasyer couldn’t know of Isabel’s blood tie to Wallace. If so, he would have exploited it from the first.

  With predatory ease, Frasyer stepped before his knights. “Are you not curious of what changed my mind?” He glanced at the Bible on the table, then toward Duncan. “Or…do you already know what secret lies hidden within?”

  “What secret?” Isabel asked, a tremor in her voice, clearly picking up the unspoken verbal joust between the men.

  Duncan fought to shield his reaction to Frasyer’s taunt, but something in his expression must have given him away; evil satisfaction curled on Frasyer’s mouth.

  “I see you know as well,” Frasyer drawled, his sword clenched ready in his hand at odds with his casual tone. “You can imagine my surprise at learning such a truth.”

  “What truth?” Isabel touched Duncan’s sleeve. “What is he talking about?”

  Frasyer gave a cold laugh. “Why, Isabel, this is truly a pity.” Sarcasm dripped from his every word. “It would seem that no one has informed you of your true birthright.”

  At the confusion on her face, a muscle worked in Duncan’s jaw. He fought the urge to lunge forward and finish Frasyer now, consequences be damned.

  “If you know,” he challenged Frasyer, “why have you not handed the Bible to King Edward to earn his praise that you constantly seek?”

  Anger flushed Frasyer’s face. “It would seem that I, too, was ignorant of such news of importance. Until,” Frasyer said with a smug look toward Isabel, “recent events brought the Bible’s existence into my hands. Unfortunately, once I’d discovered the truth, you had already abducted her from my dungeon.”<
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  Fear paled Isabel’s face as she inched forward to stand at Duncan’s side. “What you are both talking about?”

  “My dear, Isabel,” Frasyer drawled, “why of course the fact that your father is William Wallace.”

  Her eyes widened in shock. Shaking, her hand inched toward the pendant of Wallace’s colors hidden at her throat. As if realizing her error, she dropped her hand and shook her head.

  “A lie,” she accused, “one you have crafted for your own nefarious means.”

  Frasyer shot Duncan a hard look. “Tell her.”

  “What?” Duncan replied. “That you would craft any story, regardless of its truth, if you believed it would serve you credit in King Edward’s eyes?”

  Frasyer glanced toward the Bible. “Ask her the same question once she sees the proof.”

  Duncan damned this moment. There was only one way Frasyer could have known; he indeed had discovered the hidden documents.

  Potent silence stumbled through the room. A caustic energy that pulsed through Duncan as he watched Isabel try and decide if Frasyer’s claim was true.

  As understanding flickered in her amber eyes, he saw her questions but more, the terrified understanding that it was the truth.

  Bedamned, he’d not meant her to learn who her father was this way! Now, ’twas too late. The deed was done. Somehow, he must get her safely to Griffin.

  “Enough!” Frasyer ordered. “Now that I have Isabel as well as proof of her heritage, I will deliver both to King Edward.”

  Duncan braced his legs apart and raised his sword. “She will be delivered to Lord Monceaux.”

  With supreme confidence of a victory, Frasyer ignored Duncan and extended his hand. “Isabel, hand me the Bible.”

  The weight of the Bible trembled in Isabel’s hand. Why hadn’t Duncan denied the earl’s claim? Her heart pounded. Was William Wallace indeed her father?

  If it was true, it explained so much—the reason why Wallace had visited her over the years, and why he had given her the pendant bearing his arms during her youth. Also, her father’s…no, not her father, Lord Caelin’s guarded actions toward her. But not why either man had allowed her to go to Frasyer as his mistress.