His Woman (Zebra Historical Romance)

by Diana J. Cosby

  Frasyer was a man who Duncan had grown up with, a man he had once called his friend. But after the day Duncan had won a youthful joust between them, Frasyer's friendship had soured, his goal since, regardless of his title, was to win or take whatever Duncan desired.

  Including Isabel.

  He watched her now, as indecision flickered across her face and he couldn't help the twinge of regret that he no longer held the ability to surmise what she was thinking. Too much time had passed. The bond they'd once held was long lost.

  "If I do not find the Bible," she said with an ominous softness, "my father will hang."

  Stunned, Duncan straightened. "Lord Caelin is here?"

  "No."

  "Then where is he?"

  "Please." Her tone held desperation. "We do not have time for this discussion."

  "Aye, you are right there, lass. But I am not moving until I get answers. What does your mother's Bible have to do with your father's life?"

  The guards' voices grew closer.

  "I will say this once more," he warned into her panic-stricken gaze. "If I do not get the truth, I will truss you up and carry you, willing or not."

  The words burst from her in a rush. "Frasyer has charged my father with giving the rebels money and sent him to the Baron of Monceaux in England for his crime. Before I was taken away, my father told me to search in the Bible. I believe proof of his innocence lies within." Her lower lip trembled. "Unless I find the Bible, my father is as good as dead."

  Duncan scoffed. "Lord Caelin barely has enough coin to pay his servants, much less extra to give in support of Wallace."

  "We both know that is true, but with King Edward's hatred toward Wallace, he would believe Frasyer's accusation. False or not."

  Her reasoning made sense. "And go after Lord Caelin as if he were deemed a witch." The hard thud of boots below increased,

  and he flicked a glance toward the door. "Why would Frasyer accuse your father of a false charge? He is not a threat to him."

  She lowered her eyes. "Nay, my father is a threat to no one but himself."

  As her voice faltered, Duncan knew she referred to Lord Caelin's drunkenness, a shame she'd weathered since her mother's death when her father had succumbed to drowning his sorrows in drink. Aye, Isabel's pride was another strength that appealed to him, but her strength or any other attractive quality had naught to do with this moment.

  "Just go," she whispered. "Do not ask me to leave here without the Bible. I will not."

  As a man who valued family, Duncan understood, even admired her reason for staying and placing herself in danger. Though not wanting to, he couldn't help but respect her for her loyally toward her father.

  "So be it." He released her.

  Relief swept over her face. "Hurry." Her fingers trembled as she gestured to the latrine opening, obviously surmising his planned route of escape. "The guards will soon reach this level."

  He straightened, looking her square in the eyes. "I never said anything about my leaving."

  Panic widened her amber eyes. She shook her head. "I refuse to allow you—"

  Duncan caught her hand. "We both have stubborn streaks that could leave us here debating all night. Before the guards begin searching this floor, we need to hide."

  "Did you not hear what I said?"

  "After we retrieve the Bible," he continued as if she hadn't spoken, "then we will both escape. Once we are safe, you can do as you wish." He lifted the bar, opened the door, and nudged her through it.

  "What if Frasyer catches us?"

  "Then, lass," he said as he secured the door behind them, "we are headed straight to Hades."

  Before she could reply, he led her down the corridor. She halted and tugged him back. "No, this way."

  He glared at her, then followed. The brains of an ass, that's what he had for agreeing to remain. When Isabel had refused to leave, he should have departed without her.

  No hesitating.

  No noble thoughts of protecting her.

  No concerns for her life.

  After turning her back on everyone after she became Frasyer's mistress, she didn't deserve his loyalty. Not that he was giving it now. Once they found proof to save Lord Caelin, he would leave.

  "Start searching the floors above! She must be here somewhere."

  Duncan stiffened as orders echoed from below. Steps pounded from the turret.

  "They are coming." The fear in her voice underlined their precarious situation.

  "I can hear that." Duncan scanned the doors lining the hallway, each as unfamiliar as the next. Although he'd trained with Frasyer during his youth, he'd never viewed more of the keep than the lower floors. "In here, quick." He yanked open the nearest door, hauled her inside and then snapped it shut.

  The aroma of frankincense and myrrh enveloped them. An ornate rood hung centered upon the far wall behind an altar. Stained-glass windows, dulled by the night, served as if a shield from the dark. Several benches lay staggered within the room all facing the front.

  A dry smile settled upon his mouth. How fitting. Of all the rooms he might have chosen, they'd entered Frasyer's private chapel.

  "This room is too small," Isabel said. "They will find us."

  "And where do you propose we hide? It is not as if you have offered any ideas."

  "I had not expected you to stay."

  "Your expectations matter not. I am here in deference to Symon," he said, irritation hardening his words. "And now it would seem I am needed to find proof to help save your father.. .if that is even the truth."

  Isabel whirled, her face masked in outrage. "I would never lie about my father."

  "Nay," he agreed, recalling how since her mother's death, she'd struggled to hold together a family led by a man who'd fallen apart and turned to drink. "That token you reserve for me."

  He silently cursed himself for adding the last. He didn't want to reveal how much her leaving had hurt him, a pain that haunted him still.

  Like a warrior, inch by admirable inch, her expression shielded off any sign of hurt.

  How could she withdraw so completely, show indifference toward him when he battled a softening toward her with his every breath? Damn her.

  And why hadn't Symon mentioned his father's imprisonment? Was he too weak to relay the information? Or had he known?

  He glanced toward Isabel. His body hardened. Furious, he quelled his desire. This time he wasn't a green lad blinded by love. He was a man who knew her motive—greed.

  A lesson he would well remember.

  And heed.

  Footsteps paused outside the door.

  Duncan held a finger to his lips, waved Isabel forward and knelt at the altar. "Kneel beside me and follow my lead," he whispered. "If the guards come inside, keep your head bowed as if in prayer. And whatever happens, unless I tell you otherwise, do not turn around."

  Isabel hesitated.

  He saw her doubts. As if he didn't have enough of his own? "Now." He caught her and dragged her down to kneel beside him.

  Hinges creaked, announcing the guard's entrance.

  All too aware of Isabel trembling beside him, Duncan's nerves stretched to breaking.

  The jangle of mail grew silent as the knight halted a few feet away. "Father?"

  "Yes, my son," Duncan replied in a deep whisper.

  "Forgive me for interrupting your prayers, but there has been an escape from the dungeon."

  Duncan nodded his head in a show of concern. "Are we under attack from clansmen who are seeking to aid in a prisoner's escape?"

  "Nay," the guard replied.

  "Is the prisoner armed?"

  The guard cleared his throat as if embarrassed. "Father, it is a woman we are seeking."

  Isabel's tremors intensified.

  Holdfast, he silently willed her. "So why interrupt my prayer?" he asked as if truly confused. "Has she been found dying, and I am needed to administer her last rites? Or has she given herself up and wishes to confess her sins?"
<
br />   "Neither."

  Duncan gave an annoyed sigh and prayed his irritation would be enough of a distraction.

  "We think the woman is hidden somewhere within the keep.

  Shielded by his cloaked hood, Duncan gave a slow nod. "What does she look like?"

  The knight shuffled his feet as if hesitant to divulge the information. "It is Lady Isabel, Father. Lord Frasyer's mistress."

  Isabel jerked.

  The guard stepped forward, his boots scraping to a stop behind Isabel. "What is wrong with the lad?"

  Duncan laid a hand on her robed shoulder and ignored the trickle of sweat creeping down his own spine. "The lad was caught ignoring his duties to care for his knight's horse. His knight flogged him for his crime."

  Isabel trembled harder.

  Duncan gently squeezed her shoulder and willed her to calm. "Part of his penance is to pray through the night for forgiveness from his sins."

  The guard grunted with contempt. "The beating will help more than prayer."

  "It is God's way to forgive those who sin," Duncan said with censure.

  The knight remained silent, obviously having his own feelings about forgiveness in the case of a neglected steed.

  "If I see Lady Isabel," Duncan said to move the guard on his way, "I will pass word to one of the knights immediately."

  "Thank you, Father." The candles within the private chapel wavered as the guard exited the chamber, then steadied after he'd closed the door in his wake.

  Duncan exhaled.

  Isabel turned to him, her face taut with frustration. "What have you done? They will soon discover that no lad ignored his duties to care for his knight's horse or was beaten this night. Then the guards will return, but now they will be looking for us both."

  "Not until the morrow. They are too busy searching for you to be concerned with the fate of a foolish lad." He rose, hastened to the door and listened.

  Muted footsteps and slamming doors echoed outside as the guards searched each chamber on their level. A man called. Another replied from farther away. After a long while, sounds of the search faded to muffled calls as the guards ceased their search in the upper levels of the keep.

  Duncan sighed, relieved. "With the size of Frasyer's castle, the guards will re-search the lower floors and will not return to the upper level for a while."

  "Mayhap, but rest assured, his men will continue in their quest until they find me."

  Aware of how Frasyer guarded his own, Duncan realized she was right. "We can still leave now."

  Her expression left no room for doubt. "I am not going. Not without my mother's Bible."

  "Very well," he replied, having correctly anticipated her response. "Then I will ensure the guards do not return before we have had a chance to finish our search."

  "How?"

  "I will create a diversion. While they are distracted, it will give us time to find the Bible and escape."

  "No," Isabel said. "With the guards swarming the keep, it is too dangerous. I know the layout, I could do—"

  "Nothing."

  She shot him a lethal glare. "My life is at stake as well. If you think I will remain here while you are out risking your life, you know little of me."

  He strode forward until a hand's width separated them. Duncan caught her chin with his fingers and lifted it until their eyes met, damning the jolt of awareness.

  "Did I ever know you?" The words stormed out before he could halt them.

  Her eyes softened. Her lips parted. "Duncan—"

  He released her and stepped back, angry over his lapse of control. "Wait here. On this point I will not yield."

  Isabel studied him, her stubborn look one he'd witnessed many times over. She didn't like obeying his order, wanted to argue, but from the resignation pooling in her eyes, he surmised she was thinking of her father.

  "What will you do?" she finally asked.

  "I will think of something." He relished the thought of causing the bastard Frasyer another troublesome blow. "Upon my return, we will retrieve your family heirloom."

  At his reference to the Bible, her gaze slid to the floor.

  Her evasive manner stopped him cold. A ludicrous thought popped into his mind. "You do know where the Bible is?"

  Chapter 4

  "Isabel, tell me you know where the Bible is!"

  At Duncan's whispered demand, Isabel met his incredulous gaze, wishing she could offer him a different truth. She shook her head. "No."

  Green eyes hardened to black. "You led me to believe you knew where it was."

  She refused to feel guilty. She had given him many opportunities to leave. "I thought I could convince you to go without me."

  "Even if I had left, with the guards scouring every nook of the castle to find you, are you daft enough to believe you would have time for more than a token search?"

  "I still need to try."

  The shouts of guards echoed from below.

  "Do you have any idea where Frasyer has hidden it?" he demanded.

  Isabel nodded, but the location was the last place she'd ever wish Duncan to see.

  "Where?"

  Isabel braced herself. "In Frasyer's private chambers."

  Red stroked the hard angles of his cheeks. His eyes narrowed to slits.

  Coldness swept through her. He would rid himself of her now. How could he not? A fact she should be thankful for, but a part of her still ached at his leaving.

  "When I return, be ready to depart." He strode toward the door.

  Return? No, he was supposed to be leaving! "Duncan?"

  At the entry, he turned. "What?"

  The hard expression on his face dared her to challenge his decision to remain. The stubborn, honourable fool. 'Twould seem he'd risk his life for her and her father due to his deathbed promise to Symon. Something she couldn't allow.

  "Be careful," Isabel said, keeping her voice soft so as not to betray her intent.

  A muscle worked in his jaw. "Careful? Nay, lass, I will take the risk. The last time I was careful, it was with you." He jerked open the door. "And you left me for Frasyer's bed." The seasoned wood settled behind him with a soft clunk.

  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 cauldro
ns, 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.

  Be damned! Isabel had said Frasyer was away. From the fear in her eyes, he'd believed her. Part of him marvelled 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 spiralled up one more level. A forth floor, a novelty that only