by Cosby, Diana
Heart pounding, Duncan bolted for the door, then froze.
The entry to the hut stood open. Firelight outlined the outrage carved on Frasyer’s face as he held Isabel pinned against him, his other hand clutching a dagger against her neck. Fear churned in her eyes, but he saw the courage as well.
“Drop your sword or she dies,” Frasyer snarled.
Duncan glanced at the swelling upon her cheek from Frasyer’s abuse. Drop his sword? Nay, he’d slay the bastard.
As if reading Duncan’s deadly intent, Frasyer’s grip on Isabel tightened. Blood trickled down her throat. She bit her lips, yet a cry of pain escaped.
Hands trembling with fury, Duncan dropped his weapon. Snow puffed around the blood-stained blade.
“Now your dagger.”
“Your knights are surrounded,” Duncan said. “You cannot escape.”
Frasyer’s gaze swept the melee around them outside, and his jaw tightened. “Now.”
With a muttered curse, Duncan complied.
The earl nodded. “Join us,” he mocked, stepping back with serene calm, dragging Isabel with him.
Duncan glanced back. Several of the earl’s knights had fallen. Though his brothers, Griffin, and their men were gaining ground, they wouldn’t reach them in time.
To buy precious seconds, he walked with slow steps toward the hut as Frasyer backed deeper inside. Firelight, along with a wall of warmth, enveloped him. He scanned the interior. As he’d believed, no other guards remained. Except for the knife at Isabel’s neck, even odds.
“Let her go,” Duncan demanded. “She is an innocent, a pawn you are using in the jealousy you hold for me.”
A deep laugh rumbled in his enemy’s chest. “Ah, you never cease to amaze me with your bravado. I have Isabel. Admit it, the best man has won.”
To the devil with his demands.
At Duncan’s silence, the earl’s mouth thinned. “Bar the door.”
“Afraid your men won’t be able to hold off my brothers and their men?” The glimmer of worry on Frasyer’s face gave Duncan the answer he needed. “Your men are falling at a fast rate. English knights poorly trained.”
Outrage drove Frasyer’s face a deep red, then methodically, the earl neatly stowed it beneath a facade of menace. “Kneel,” Frasyer ordered.
“Even if your men win, which they will not,” Duncan pushed, “Wallace will not come.”
A muscle worked in Frasyer’s jaw. “He will, but you will never live to see his demise.”
Cries and screams from the battle outside increased.
The earl nodded. “On your knees!”
Despising his defenselessness, Duncan knelt.
The earl twisted one of Isabel’s hands behind her back; she gasped in pain.
Duncan surged to his feet. “Let her go!”
“Unless you wish your lover further harm,” Frasyer warned, “back on your knees.”
Battling the urge to lunge for his enemy’s throat, against his every instinct, Duncan complied.
After a long moment, Frasyer lowered the blade. With one hand, he reached over to where a ball of twine lay in a wicker basket. He tossed it to Duncan. “Bind your hands.”
“Do not!” Isabel yelled. Frasyer jerked her arm up; she screamed in pain.
Duncan shoved to his feet.
In the same instant, Isabel twisted and broke away from Frasyer’s hold.
Frasyer grabbed one of her arms.
“You will never have the Bible!” With her free hand, Isabel grabbed the holy book from the table. Regret tore through her face as she threw it toward the roaring fire.
The Bible slapped the earthen floor a hand’s length from the hearth as Frasyer recaptured both of Isabel’s hands.
At the panic in her eyes, violence erupted in Duncan. He stepped forward.
Frasyer pressed the blade to Isabel’s neck. “Halt!”
Duncan stopped, his entire body shaking with fury.
“Give me the Bible,” Frasyer demanded.
The Bible. Of course. “You have Isabel,” Duncan said with slow precision that belied his internal outrage. “But even if you and your men succeed this night, without proof of her heritage, you have naught but an unwanted mistress.” He didn’t guard his words. From Isabel’s attempt to destroy the Bible, she had accepted the truth of her parentage.
“Do not give it to him,” Isabel said, her voice desperate. “Throw it in the fire!”
Frasyer slammed her against his chest, his arm tight around her neck. He glared at the window. Sounds of battle grew closer. “Hand the Bible over or she dies.”
Duncan gritted his teeth. He wanted to call the earl’s bluff, but how could he risk Isabel’s life or allow proof of Isabel’s lineage to fall into the earl’s grasp? If they could hold off Frasyer awhile more and give his brothers a chance to reach them, they could save the Bible as well.
He picked up the Bible and cast it a hand’s length away from the earl.
Satisfaction curved Frasyer’s mouth.
A man’s scream tore through the night nearby. A thud of a body slammed against the aged exterior.
God in heaven, were the men his brothers’ or Frasyer’s men? What if Frasyer’s knights were winning?
As the earl loosened his grip and leaned forward to pick up the Bible, Isabel sank her teeth into his arm. On a curse, Frasyer released her.
Isabel dove for the leather-bound pages. “You will never have the Bible!”
“Damn you!” Frasyer caught her leg.
Isabel fell hard.
Frasyer shoved her aside and bolted for the Bible.
Duncan beat him there. He couldn’t risk Frasyer regaining control of the Bible. With regret, Duncan heaved the thick-bound book with proof of Isabel’s heritage into the flames.
“No!” Frasyer reached out instinctively.
With the earl distracted, Duncan drove his body into Frasyer’s. They both went down. The fury restrained within Duncan unleashed.
“This is for Isabel!” Duncan drove his fist into the earl’s jaw. Bone gave with a satisfying crack. He backed the punch with another.
A growl erupted from the earl as blood spurted from his nose. He went down hard.
Duncan landed on top of him. “And this is for all those unfortunates you have harmed!” His swing connected on the other side of the earl’s nose, which was swelling at a heart-warming pace. He caught the blur of Isabel at his side.
“He has a knife!” she yelled.
Too late, he caught the glint of Frasyer’s blade as he aimed it toward Duncan’s healing side. Duncan grabbed the earl’s wrist. His arm trembled as he held his hand back, the blade inches from his face.
Isabel caught Frasyer’s hair, jerked hard.
Frasyer’s grip loosened; Duncan jammed his knee into Frasyer’s groin.
The earl screamed and collapsed.
Fists flying, they rolled toward the fire. Sparks erupted into the swirl of smoke as Duncan’s foot knocked against an outer log.
“Duncan, you are too close to the fire,” Isabel yelled.
The earl wedged his foot against the hearth and shoved in an attempt to flip Duncan into the flames.
Using the momentum, Duncan rolled with Frasyer, shifted and pinned him against the hearth. “And this,” Duncan rasped between breaths, “is for me.” Ignoring the painful burns, he again slammed his fist into the earl’s face.
Blood spattered against already swollen flesh. Frasyer’s glare turned venomous. “You will die for this!”
Before he could wield his dagger, Duncan caught his hand, twisted.
Bone cracked. Agony sliced Frasyer’s face. The dagger slipped from his hand.
Duncan wrapped his hands around Frasyer’s neck. Tightened.
The earl’s face transformed, twisting into an expression of panic and fear.
“Duncan,” Isabel screamed, “you are killing him!”
Her voice barely registered through Duncan’s blind rage. Frasyer’s struggles were sat
isfying, feeding a primitive urge inside him to destroy the enemy, to protect his own. This man had torn thousands of lives apart, slaughtered innocent lives with careless regard. All for his own gain, the lure of wealth. Duncan tightened his grip, heedless of Frasyer’s purpling face.
How satisfying that he could end the merciless bastard’s life. Do it. He deserved it for how he’d abused Isabel, and the torment he’d served her, an inner voice goaded, stoking the furor inside him. God knew that with the malice Frasyer had delivered over the years, no one would shed a tear when he spewed his last breath.
On a curse and with his hands shaking with fury, Duncan shoved him away. “As much as it would bring me pleasure to watch you die,” he said between harsh breaths, “I will let Lord Monceaux decide your fate.” As Duncan grasped the dagger, a flash of steel to his left caught his attention.
“He has another weapon!” Isabel warned.
Before the earl could drive his blade, Duncan sank the dagger into Frasyer’s chest.
Disbelief widened Frasyer’s eyes as he stared at his lifeblood streaming over honed steel. Frasyer looked up. Pain, hard and deep, darkened his gaze. He made to speak but his words smothered within the gurgle of blood.
Emotion scarred Duncan’s throat. “You will never harm Isabel again.” He tore the dagger free. Blood smeared Frasyer’s chest, then slowly worked its way to the earthen floor. Gradually, the disbelief in the earl’s eyes dwindled to emptiness and then the light faded until he stared straight ahead, unseeing.
Duncan knelt on one knee, sucking in deep breaths, his head dizzy. Frasyer was dead. They’d won. Nay, the battle still raged outside.
Isabel.
He stood. She ran to him, and it was a fierce slice of heaven holding her in his arms. “I have made a mess of things,” he said, never wanting to let her go. He drew his fingers through her silken hair, avoiding the bruise on her cheek. “There is so much I need to tell you.” He glanced toward the door where the sounds of battle raged. “First, I must help my brothers.”
Her lower lip trembled. “Of course you must.”
“Stay here. Bar the door behind me.” Duncan gave her a hard kiss, wanting so much more. He broke away and strode to the door.
“Duncan!” Isabel called.
He turned.
She stood before him, tears in her eyes, her face cast with worry and fear, the flames in the hearth crafting a haloed backdrop. His heart shifted. She looked as if a cross between a woman and a faerie set on the earth for him alone.
“I love you. I always have.” Tears shimmered in her eyes. “I never stopped loving you.”
The ferocity of his emotions nearly drove him to his knees. Instead of answering, he crossed and swept her against him. “I love you as well, Isabel. Never forget that.” He kissed her hard and released her. He started to leave, stopped to grab a sheet to cover Frasyer’s body, then ran to the door. He looked back one last time. “Stay until I return.”
She nodded.
He lifted the wood. With his sword readied, he yanked open the door.
A large shadow bolted toward him.
Duncan shoved the door closed behind him, screamed a war cry and charged.
“Hold!” Seathan yelled, barely avoiding Duncan’s swing. “By my sword, are you trying to kill me?” The glow of the moonlight caught the bruises, cuts, and swelling on the side of his oldest brother’s battle-worn face.
“I thought…” At the fading sounds of battle, Duncan looked around. Only distant pockets of resistance remained, with Frasyer’s knights quickly falling to the rebel’s.
They’d won.
He turned to his brother, hiding his relief behind a scowl. “I almost gutted you.”
“Aye, but then, you were always slow,” Seathan teased.
Duncan gave a rough laugh. “We did it.”
“A few knights escaped, but I have sent men to trail them. They will not be getting away.” Seathan glanced toward the front door. “Isabel?”
“Is safe, but I had to kill Frasyer.”
Seathan frowned. “Just consequence for a man so evil.”
“Aye, but I would have liked to have allowed Griffin to decide the earl’s punishment. It will put a burr under Longshank’s arse when he learns of Frasyer’s death.”
“Aye,” Seathan agreed, “but it cannot be helped now.”
“You think Frasyer’s death will sway the English king’s decision in deciding Lord Caelin’s fate?”
“I do not know.”
Duncan met his older brother’s gaze. “The Bible is gone.”
Seathan tensed. “What?”
“During the fight, I threw it into the fire. Unsure who was winning the battle, I could not take the risk of it being used against Wallace.”
His mouth grim, Seathan nodded. “A decision I would have made as well.”
On an exhale, Duncan walked with his brother to the door, pounded on it. “Isabel! Open up, we have won.”
Wood clattered as she removed the bar.
The door jerked open and Isabel flew into his arms.
Duncan drew her into a hungry kiss, needing her, never wanting to let her go. But other matters must be dealt with first. With regret, he broke the kiss.
Tears misted in her amber eyes. “When you left, I was so afraid.” Her body trembled against his. “Look at your face,” she said softly. “When you first walked into the hut…Mary’s will, you have burns atop your cheek, another across your brow. And look at the back of your hands.”
“They are naught.” He drew her close, the bruise swelling on her cheek stirring his anger. But Frasyer was dead. He would never hurt her again. Duncan softly pressed his mouth over her lips, a kiss meant to sooth, to calm, and to convey how much he loved her.
The clearing of a throat behind him had Duncan setting Isabel to the floor, drawing away. “My brother is with me.”
Her cheeks warmed to a furious red as she gazed past Duncan. “I did not know you were there.”
Dry humor sparked on Seathan’s face. “Obviously. I came to ensure you were safe.”
“I am,” she replied. “My thanks.”
“Duncan told us the truth of why you broke the betrothal,” Seathan said. “Having known you since a child, I should have offered you more faith. Please accept my apology.”
“If you will accept mine. I should have trusted not only Duncan, but your family.”
Seathan nodded. “He also informed us of your heritage. Knowing you, your determined and stubborn manner, I am not surprised.” The dry teasing on his face fell away. He glanced over at Frasyer’s covered body. “I will remove him and apprise Griffin of the situation.”
She frowned. “Griffin?”
“Alexander’s brother-in-law,” Duncan replied.
By the confusion on her face, his comment far from explained why an English baron would be with Scottish rebels. An explanation he would give, but now, he needed time with her—alone.
Duncan closed the door behind Seathan as he departed with Frasyer’s covered body. He caught Isabel and drew her to him. He brushed wisps of hair away from her amber eyes. Catching her chin with his thumb, he tilted her face toward him and pressed a kiss upon her soft lips.
“I love you, Isabel. You are my heart, my every breath. I allowed jealousy to smother common sense. I was a fool to ever doubt you. A mistake I swear to you, I will never make again.”
She shook her head. “I love you as well, Duncan. Never again will I hesitate to seek your advice. You are the man I will always turn to, the man who holds my heart, and the man with whom I look forward to spending the rest of my life.”
He caught her mouth in a hungry kiss, loving her, wanting her forever.
She pulled away. “With the burns on your face, I am hurting you.”
“I barely feel them.” At her silence, he stroked her cheek. “I am sorry about the Bible.”
The anguish creasing Duncan’s face tore at Isabel’s heart. “Do not be. We are alive. That is what c
ounts. Besides, we could not risk the Bible falling into King Edward’s hands.”
A knock sounded on the door.
“It will be my brothers.” Duncan gave her one final kiss, hot and filled with promise. “We will be alone later, that I swear to you.”
His sultry words invited erotic images that churned heat through her body. She wished the time was upon them so she could touch him, make love with him again.
Duncan opened the door, and Alexander entered.
Alexander turned to Isabel. He stared at her for a long moment. “Please forgive me for doubting you. Had I known of Frasyer’s treacherous plan, I would have ridden to slay the bastard with my own hands.”
“My thanks,” she replied with appreciation. A tremulous smile touched her mouth. “But I believe you would have been too late, for Duncan would have already finished the task.”
Alexander shot his younger brother a hard look. “Aye, I believe so as well.” He paused. “The news of your heritage shocked me.”
“It surprised us all,” Isabel said.
Boots slapped against the dirt floor as a tall, well-muscled man she didn’t recognize entered. Shoulder length brown hair paid a complement to his hazel eyes. At odds with Seathan’s devil’s black hair and obsidian eyes, neither did he resemble Alexander or Duncan.
“Isabel,” Duncan said, “may I introduce to you my brother-in-law, the Baron of Monceaux, or as he is known to the rebels, Wulfe.”
The intimidating man took her hand, bowed. “It would be my pleasure if you would call me Griffin.”
Mind whirling, she stared at him in disbelief as she worked to absorb the revelation. “Wulfe? The English lord who helps the rebels? And your sister, Nichola, is married to Duncan’s brother Alexander?”
A smile twinkled in Griffin’s eyes. “Yes, my lady, one and the same.”
His comment, laced with charm, had heat stroking Isabel’s cheeks. “I am sorry. I am being rude. It is that I did not know of your rebel tie.”
“Most people do not,” Griffin said. “It is safer that way.”
That she could believe. “King Edward—”
“Does not approve of my sister’s marriage,” Griffin finished.
An understatement. God forbid if the English king should learn his Scottish adviser was supporting the rebels.
