His Woman (Zebra Historical Romance)

by Diana J. Cosby

  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. Be damned, 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 harboured a far darker secret.

  "How long has Frasyer been gone?"

  "Two days." She frantically searched his face. "But I need to know 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 outmanoeuvre 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 favour 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 coul
d he after she'd broken their vows to wed and, from all outward appearances, wilfully 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 chiselled 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."

  "We need to keep looking."

  Duncan stared at her in disbelief. At her silence, his face darkened with temper.

  "I am trying to help."

  "Are you?" he demanded. "After three years as his mistress, you expect me to believe that you do not even know where Frasyer keeps his jewels?"

  "There were many things I was not privileged to know."

  Duncan shot a cold look at the bed. "For the length of time you have lived here, one would think you would know where Frasyer would keep his every article of clothing, along with those things he coveted. Or perhaps, like me, he has learned you are unworthy of trust." He turned toward her, his gaze assessing. "If so, he is wiser than I believed."

  Her cheeks burned at the insult, but she let it go. "I will not speak of my private arrangements with Frasyer to you."

  "I assure you, they are not details I wish to know."

  Isabel's body trembled as she knelt before one of the three remaining chests they had yet to search. "We will not find the Bible by arguing." Her ignorance of Frasyer's private living quarters already hinted that all was not as it seemed. The longer they remained here, the more Duncan's suspicions of why she'd become Frasyer's mistress would grow.

  "Aye, on that point I will agree." He turned to the next chest, then stopped. Duncan braced himself against the wall, and she noticed the sheen of sweat coating his face.

  Isabel stepped toward him, but his glare made her stop. She glanced to his left arm; he was favouring it. "How badly are you wounded?"

  "Continue searching."

  "Please, let me—"

  He brushed her aside. "Search, so we can leave this wretched place—and I of you."

  Worry tightened in her stomach. By the paleness of his face and how his body was shaking, the wound was serious, but Duncan was stubborn and wouldn't allow her to see the extent of his injury. Not without an argument. She hurried to the next chest. Please, God, let the Bible be inside so they could le
ave. Once away from here, she could tend to him.

  She returned to the chest. Inside lay several bolts of silk, dark reds the color of blood. Frantic, she dug deeper.

  No!

  She shoved aside layers of the slippery material. The Bible had to be here somewhere. What if Frasyer had taken it with him?

  Or what if he had hidden it within a secret chamber? Or had burned it for pure spite?

  "It is not in this room," Duncan concluded as he sat back with a frustrated sigh, cradling his arm.

  "It is!" Her nails scraped bare wood as she shoved aside the remaining bolt of silk.

  Duncan leaned over and caught her arm. "Leave it."

  "Do you not understand? With the guards scouring the keep for me, Frasyer having returned, and your wound, we need to leave." She jerked free of his hold and started unfurling another bolt of silk. "Let me search through these bolts one last time, then we will go." Her voice rose. "Perhaps in my haste, I have overlooked it."

  "Isabel—"

  A thud, then the murmur of voices in the adjoining room had them both turning toward the door.

  "Frasyer!" she gasped.

  A sword's wrath! Duncan pushed to his feet and for a second, the room wavered before him. With their bloody luck this night, besides the earl, he wouldn't be surprised to find an entire contingent of knights outside the door. "We must leave."

  Fear widened her eyes. She shook her head. "The only way out is how we came in. We must hide."

  He cursed low and fierce.

  Angry footsteps echoed in the exterior chamber. "Isabel, and whoever helped her, could not have escaped," Frasyer's voice snarled.

  Duncan smothered Isabel's gasp with his palm, the action making him dizzy with pain.

  "I want the guards to search the entire castle again!"

  "Aye, my lord." The clack of boots hurried out. A door opened, then thudded shut.

  "Lad," Frasyer said, "have a bath drawn in my chamber."

  "Yes, my lord." Quiet steps sounded. The door scraped open and then closed.

  "The fools," Frasyer cursed, his voice growing louder.

  Isabel pushed Duncan's hand away and stepped back. "He is coming in here!"

  "I can hear that for myself." Duncan scoured the chamber for any sign of another exit. "Are you sure there is no other way out?"