"None that I am aware of."
Why had he even bothered to ask? She hadn't known if there was a secret passage or where Frasyer kept his jewels. Exactly what did she do here?
No, with the statuesque bed overpowering the room, her duties were all too obvious.
They must hide. Drops of sweat streaked along his cheek as Duncan bent over and lifted the blanket draping over the bed.
"Huny," he whispered.
Amber eyes pleaded with him as she knelt beside him. "I am sorry. I never meant for you to become involved."
"Move!"
With one last apologetic look, she scrambled beneath the luxurious bed.
Duncan glanced toward the outer door. She was sorry? That wasn't the half of it. Resigned to his fate, he protected his injured arm as he followed her under.
Chapter 5
With his breathing laboured, Duncan peered through the narrowed view beneath the bed covering as Frasyer entered.
The earl threw his gloves in a carved, oak chair. "That bitch. She will regret crossing me. When I am through with Isabel, she will be begging to return to the dungeon." His booted feet pounded out his anger as he stormed to the bed. The mattress sagged from his weight.
Duncan glanced toward Isabel, her face illuminated by the dimmed light. Fear glazed her eyes, and her entire body was trembling. He pressed his finger to his lips. If she made any sound, she would give them away.
The clack of hurried steps echoed from the entry. A thin, nervous lad hurried inside. "If you will allow me to help you, my lord."
Duncan sighed his relief. Frasyer's squire.
Inches away from Duncan's face, one of the earl's well polished leather boots landed with a clunk, quickly followed by the other. The shuffle of fabric. Then a pile of what appeared to be Frasyer's traveling garb began heaping on the floor as well.
Dizziness had Duncan closing his eyes. Blast, his arm burned as if on fire.
"Your robe, my lord." The shuffle of cloth. "I will check on the status of your bath."
Duncan opened his eyes as the squire hurried out.
The mattress shifted above them, then Frasyer's feet appeared. Garbed in a thick blue robe, he walked over to a small, rounded table. The slosh of liquid echoed through the chamber as he poured himself a goblet.
What Duncan wouldn't give for a drink. With his arm aching like a wounded boar, several.
As the earl settled into the chair, Duncan surveyed their surroundings, aware he and Isabel would be here for a while. Cobwebs cluttered the underside of the bed, and dust motes dotted the floor as if mounds of hay. He glanced toward the head of the bed.
And froze.
A big black spider, cradled within its web, hung a whisper above his face.
Duncan started to roll away, then held his position. The slightest sound would alert Frasyer of their presence. Sweat beaded his brow. Blast, he hated spiders. They reminded him of how, at the age of twelve summers, his brothers, Seathan, Alexander, and Patrik had hidden one within his boot as a prank.
Even after all these years, he could still remember the feel of it struggling against his skin after he'd shoved his foot inside the sewn leather. When he'd tore the boot free, he'd spied the largest, ugliest black spider he'd ever seen.
Aye, his brothers had laughed as he'd wrenched off his boot, but he'd obtained his revenge. The buckthorn he'd slipped into his brothers' broth had kept them within a sprint's length of the latrine for the next two days.
A cup clattered onto the table. The spider skittered toward the wall.
Duncan breathed a sigh of relief.
"What is wrong?" Isabel mouthed, the worry on her face framed in the meagre spill of candlelight. "Your arm?"
He shook his head.
She frowned but didn't press him.
Bare feet came into view as Frasyer returned to his bed. This time, he lay down. The bed sagged with his full weight, leaving a hand's breadth between Duncan and the mattress.
Isabel looked away.
He wasn't liking this any more than she was, but Duncan couldn't help but wonder if what really bothered Isabel was that she was lying beside him, instead of in her chosen place alongside the earl. After Frasyer had thrown her into his dungeon, Duncan wanted to believe she'd wish otherwise.
With a grimace, he slowly stretched his aching arm. He couldn't believe there wasn't a secret passage. But without knowing where it was located, they didn't have the luxury of time to search.
Once the earl had bathed, he would return to his bed to sleep. Then he and Isabel would be stuck here for the night.
The idea of spending the upcoming hours on the floor beneath the earl's bed in accompaniment with a spider wasn't a thought that filled his heart with joy. Especially stuck next to Frasyer's mistress.
Lying in the silence, Duncan tried to ignore the persistent throb of his arm and the way the room was beginning to blur. He forced his eyes to focus, willed himself to remain conscious.
The exterior door scraped open and Frasyer's squire entered.
"Be quick about it," a stern voice ordered. "And if I see you spill a drop of hot water on the floor, you will be spending the night in the stable."
Steps clattered on timber. A curse sounded. Several men carried a tub into the outer chamber. Time seemed interminable as steaming buckets were carried in and emptied. Finally, when the last lad carrying water had departed, the squire entered the bedchamber and bowed.
"Your bath, my lord."
Frasyer's bare feet appeared again as he stood and followed his squire into the adjoining room.
Duncan tried to envision himself anywhere else, riding through the fields on his steed, taking a long plunge into the icy waters of the loch, or battling an angry opponent on the field. The latter holding great appeal with his contender amazingly similar in appearance to the earl.
The slosh of water announcing Frasyer had entered the tub sliced through Duncan's thoughts like a ragged blade.
Isabel shifted at his side.
Duncan waved his hand for her to stay still, his effort shooting a blast of pain throughout his arm. He smothered a groan.
She edged near him. "What is it?"
"Quiet!" he whispered. He gritted his teeth, as she leaned closer. With her entire length pressed against him, he could feel her every curve. He tried to ignore the softness of her breasts and smother his inconvenient thoughts in his wound's mind-numbing pain.
Instead, his body hardened.
A cursed nightmare. As if at any moment he'd open his eyes and find himself in his bed at his brother Seathan's home, Lochshire Castle. Then he'd laugh at himself and forget the entire chaotic event.
"Duncan?" she whispered.
Enough! He turned to tell her to remain silent once and for all. And found her lips inches from his own.
"He cannot hear us in the other room," Isabel whispered, "He is taking his bath."
Duncan stared at her mouth, wanting to lean forward and claim its softness.
Isabel touched his brow.
"What are you doing?" He didn't need her touching him. He was a man. Not a saint.
"You have a fever."
He closed his eyes against her tempting mouth, convinced his last wisp of sanity had fled. It must be the pain in his arm making him giddy. His mind was befuddled as if caught in a dense fog. How could he want a woman who had betrayed him? A woman he now hid with beneath her lover's bed?
A drip of sweat rolled down his cheek and plopped on the floor. Another wove along his neck to pool on his chest.
Isabel frowned. "You are trembling. We have to get you out of here."
"How?" he hissed. "Walk past Frasyer and nod a good day? I am sure he will thank me for escorting you from his dungeon."
Her mouth tightened. "I did not ask you to stay."
"No, that was my own foolish decision."
Isabel remained silent.
Frustrated, he turned his head sideways to scan the room through the gap in the bedcover. At
the movement, more pain lanced up his left arm.
Duncan leaned his head on the floor, closed his eyes and waited until the dizziness passed.
"What is wrong?"
"Nothing." Everything. "I was looking for another way out."
"Oh."
"As I trained with Frasyer often during my youth," he said slowly, fighting to keep his breathing steady, "if nothing else, I learned that although the previous earl loved his wealth, he enjoyed the complex. I would be surprised if he did not have a secret passage leading from his chamber. Mayhap two."
"He could have them, but like I said—"
"There were many things you were not privileged to know." To find balance in her relationship with Frasyer, Duncan could understand Isabel conceding on some issues, but by all appearances, their relationship had little to do with fairness. Or respect. Both foundations of the woman he'd once known.
Or had he known her at all?
"Duncan—"
"Nay, lass." Why did he mull over an event long past? He rolled away from her and onto his injured arm. Stars exploded in his head. He groaned and sagged back.
"Your arm?"
"Is fine." Throbbed as if skewered by a hot iron. Heat poured over him as if standing next to a smithy's fire. His hand shook as
he mopped the sweat from his brow. He opened his eyes and forced himself to focus. They had to escape while he was still strong enough to protect her.
Shifting onto his good shoulder, he scanned the walls. In Seathan's castie, a secret passage lay hidden in each of the family chambers.
"Bring me a cup of wine," Frasyer ordered.
The earl's squire hurried to do his lord's bidding.
Once the lad left his view, Duncan continued scanning the wall for any hint of an opening, a fine line separating the rocks, or through uneven stone.
He followed the lower edge of the tapestry and started to move on, but an uneven shadow had him glancing back. There. Almost flush with the bottom of the woven cloth appeared to be the out line of a door. If he hadn't looked for it, he would have missed the discreet indent altogether. Exactly as the lord of the castle would have wished.
"Look at the tapestry by the far wall," Duncan whispered to Isabel. "It is hiding a door."
She inched up on her forearms, and her breasts pressed against his shoulder; he all but groaned. "I do not see anything."
"Along the lower edge." It again struck Duncan as odd that Frasyer's mistress didn't know the whereabouts of his secret passage. What did they do, tear at each other's clothes as soon as they entered his room? One would have believed they would have at least talked after they'd made love.
A bizarre kind of love if you asked him. What kind of lover threw his mistress into the dungeon? And how did her father, Lord Caelin, fit into all of this?
"I see it now," she whispered with excitement. The warmth of her breath skimmed over his neck. "Perhaps it is where he keeps his jewels. If so, the Bible may be in there as well."
"With the opening against the interior wall, more than likely, it is a secret passageway."
She leaned back. "Oh."
Though he didn't want to return to Moncreiffe Castle, with his body growing fevered, he couldn't risk remaining and, if challenged, being unable to protect her.
"Isabel?" he whispered.
"Aye?"
Duncan took a slow breath, hating his admission. "If the door proves to be an exit, we must leave, Bible or no. I must have my arm tended."
Concern darkened her eyes. She glanced at his wounded arm and resignation settled on her face. "Then we had best pray the passageway leads out."
Her calm acceptance surprised him. In the dungeon, she'd adamantly refused to leave Moncreiffe Castle without her mother's Bible. What guided her decision to go without an argument now?
Isabel's agreeing wasn't out of concern for him. Her broken betrothal to him three years ago to become Frasyer's mistress attested to that. Nay, something was amiss. Aye, she was afraid for her father's life, but Duncan sensed her fears went deeper than that.
When he'd given his word to help Isabel find her mother's Bible, he'd done so not only due to his vow to Symon, but for Lord Caelin's sake. Now, he added another reason for staying—to learn the truth of Isabel's relationship with Frasyer.
"Can you walk?" she asked.
"I have a wound on my arm, not my leg. Of course I can walk."
A disgruntled frown dragged across her brow. "Or crawl if you had to. You are barely holding your own. Not that you would be admitting it," Isabel charged. "You have not changed, Duncan MacGruder. You are still a stubborn, mule-headed fool."
"Do not start flattering me now, lass," he hissed through the pain. "Why, I will think you still favor me."
Her expression faltered. "Duncan, this is serious."
He grunted and then started to shift to a more comfortable position. A shadow on the far wall caught his attention. "Look, behind that tapestry on our left. There is another door."
Isabel leaned forward. "That might be where he keeps his valuables hidden."
"Mayhap. When we return, we will search there."
She turned toward him, uncertainty haunting her face. "I am sorry. I never meant to involve you in any of this."
A solid knock echoed on the outer door.
"Enter," Frasyer said.
The master-at-arms strode in. "My lord, Lady Isabel is not within the keep."
"Continue looking," Frasyer ordered. "She has to be here somewhere. When she's found, secure her in the dungeon, then inform me."
"Aye, my lord." The master-at-arms bowed, then left.
Water sloshed as Frasyer stood. "Incompetent fools. Once I have Isabel back, I will show them how to break a woman's will.
His squire rushed to dry him off. After Frasyer had donned his robe, he stormed into his bedchamber and slammed the door.
Isabel jumped, and Duncan squeezed her hand in reassurance. If the bastard hadn't subdued Isabel's spirit after three years, how did he believe he could do so now?
The earl poured himself a drink.
Duncan willed Frasyer to keep drinking. If the earl passed out, that would solve their immediate problem of his noticing when they made their escape.
After downing the single goblet, the second since his arrival, Frasyer walked toward them. The bed shifted above them as he settled in for the night.
Duncan gritted his teeth in frustration. Frasyer had not consumed enough to inebriate a toad. Unless he was exhausted from this day's travel, then all chances of escaping were for naught.
Duncan pantomimed Frasyer sleeping to Isabel. Then he mouthed, "Is he a heavy sleeper?"
In the meagre light cast by the taper, she shrugged.
Unbelievable! How did one not know how soundly their lover slept? Duncan closed his eyes and waited.
At this moment, their only option.
Time dragged on. The throbbing of his body a potent reminder of his weakening condition. After what seemed an eternity, Frasyer's breaths became regular. Another long pull of time passed before, finally, he began to snore, a fact Duncan owed to the earl's hard travel this day.
The bells of Matins tolled.
Duncan glanced toward the open window. They'd lain here for two hours.
He shifted, muffling a groan as he tried to relieve the cramping of his joints. He and Isabel couldn't wait until daybreak. Delaying would serve to weaken him further. However slow they traveled, the cover of nightfall would shield their movements as they crossed the open field to reach the woods.
"Let us go," Duncan whispered.
"Can you make it?" she asked in his ear, her soft breath feathering across his skin. The bed creaked above them, and her eyes widened with fear.
He held up his hand for her to remain silent, then he reached for his dagger. If Frasyer discovered them, Duncan might not last long, but he'd give the bastard a solid fight.
With another shifting of the bed, the earl's feet came into view. He lumbered across
the chamber. Frasyer was leaving! Then he paused at the table and extinguished the tapers.
Blackness smothered the room.
Steps closed, then the bed sagged.
With a silent curse Duncan closed his eyes and fought to suppress the shudders that continued to rack his frame. So much for making it through one of the hidden doors. It would seem they were doomed to remain here this night. He could only pray that if they weren't discovered before morning, when it came time to leave, he could physically make it.
The scent of freshly extinguished candles singed the air as Duncan continued to tremble beside her. Isabel reached over and touched his brow. Heat greeted her touch. Panic welled inside her. He was consumed with fever. If she'd tried, she couldn't have dreamt of such a disaster.
Why hadn't he told her about his injury and its severity when he'd returned to the chapel? However much she needed to find the Bible, she wouldn't have remained at the risk of his life.
His admission they needed to leave convinced her that his condition was grave.
But with Frasyer asleep above them and his squire standing guard in the antechamber, how could they escape? Even if they
managed to slip past the earl, how far could Duncan travel in his injured state?
Tears burned her eyes as she struggled to overcome the sense of impending doom. Nay, she'd lost Symon, but to her last breath, she refused to lose Duncan as well.
Mayhap she should surrender to Frasyer. Then Duncan would be safe. That wasn't an option. In his deteriorating condition, Duncan couldn't escape by himself.
Neither could she allow Frasyer to find Duncan within his bedchamber. The earl wouldn't hesitate to end Duncan's life.
And her father. If she were caught, proof of his innocence would never be found and delivered to Lord Monceaux.
"Isa..."
"Duncan?"
His teeth had begun to chatter.
Guilt clung to her. As much he needed to rest, before he began to ramble and expose them, she had to get him out.
"Shhhh," she whispered into Duncan's ear. Isabel glanced toward where moonlight illuminated the tapestry upon the wall. Before she'd hoped one of the doors held her mother's Bible. Now, she prayed one of them held a route from which they could escape.
His Woman (Zebra Historical Romance) Page 6
