His Woman (Zebra Historical Romance)

by Diana J. Cosby

  "With you holding key information about the rebels, infuriating Seathan would be of low concern to Frasyer."

  She turned away and crossed her arms in a protective measure over her chest. "I would take my life before I would tell Frasyer of the rebel movements."

  A belief her brother had obviously shared. Not that it made sense. As if anything did since Isabel had walked away from their betrothal.

  Needing to touch her, Duncan walked up behind Isabel and laid his hand upon her shoulder; she stiffened.

  "Each day that goes by is one that I cannot lose," she whispered. "Already, too much time has passed. For my father's sake, I pray that I am not too late."

  Her obvious worry had him wanting to reassure her that he would protect her, to reveal the steps he and his brothers were already taking to ensure Lord Caelin's safety. But could he trust her? He still didn't know.

  "Trying to return to Frasyer's home is a foolish idea," he said. "Do you not understand the folly of such an attempt? However

  much you wish to return to Moncreiffe Castle, to do so now would surely find you captured."

  She turned toward him with defiance. "I cannot stay here and do nothing."

  "No? How much good will you do your father if you are locked in Frasyer's dungeon?"

  She remained silent, but he saw the anger in her eyes, upset at the feeling of one's hands being tied, a sense he understood too well.

  "Promise me you will not try to leave until three days have passed."

  She shot him a hard look.

  At her silence, Duncan stepped toward her. "I will have your word."

  Her jaw lifted in defiance. "Or you will have me imprisoned?"

  Irritated she'd dare to push him, he caught her hand and clasped it within both of his. "I will do what I must to keep you safe. I promised your brother. It was his dying request."

  The bravado on her face crumbled. "Damn you, Duncan." She pulled free and walked over to stare through the window into the star-filled sky. Moonlight streamed around her in a silvery embrace as if she were an abandoned faerie from the Otherworld.

  As she had in Frasyer's dungeon, she looked so fragile. Isabel was hurting, alone and feeling the outsider. She'd earned that and more. The anger he'd experienced in the past, and had expected when seeing her again tonight, did not come.

  Only desire.

  Her frailty appealed to his masculinity, to the warrior wanting to protect a woman he cares for, to a man who needs to defend his mate. Instincts were deeper than the emotions wrought by betrayal and infidelity.

  He grimaced, frustrated that after she'd hurt him so deeply, he wanted her. Duncan exhaled a long sigh, walked over and stopped beside Isabel.

  "I am surprised that Seathan and Alexander did not storm this room once they learned that I had not told them everything," she said without looking his way.

  "They wanted to," Duncan admitted.

  She turned to face him, moonbeams framing her face, and to Duncan, she couldn't have looked more beautiful. "And what did they think when they learned of where I slept?"

  He shrugged. "It is not where we would have chosen."

  "I know."

  For a long moment they stood in silence, each watching the other, the whirl of emotions plaguing Duncan falling away one by one. Until it was only him, only her, alone in the chamber.

  As if a trick of the light, an aura seemed to surround her and slowly grow brighter.

  Drawn, he reached over and touched her.

  She gasped and stared down to where their flesh merged.

  Warmth tingled up his arm, beyond the sensation a mere touch induced. An energy as if alive arched between them. Stunned, he pulled away.

  Eyes widened with surprise met his. "What is it?"

  He shook his head. The illusion of an aura had faded. Naught but moonlight grazed her skin. He owed the odd sensation of tingling heat to fatigue.

  "What did you feel?"

  At the waver in her voice, he studied her face. Lines of concern tugged across her brow.

  "You sensed it as well?" she prodded.

  "What?"

  She looked around as if seeking something, then shook her head. "This chamber is..." She stepped to the side, putting much needed distance between them. Except that the lure, the pull to touch her, seemed to intensify. If he was smart, he'd let her go.

  "I should move to another chamber," Isabel said.

  But he had to know. "What did you sense? What did you feel when I touched you?" As soon as the questions left his mouth, aware of their unearthly potency, Duncan wondered if they were questions best left unasked.

  Isabel looked around the chamber as if searching for something. "The room is beautiful. I have never experienced anything quite so warm and welcoming in my life."

  "My grandmother would not allow anything else." But she was hedging answering his question.

  A blush touched her face. "I remember her. She would tell me stories of faeries. I should have guessed she would have had them painted on her ceiling and embroidered in her tapestries as well."

  "The embroidery was a gift from King Alexander III."

  Her brows raised in surprise. "She knew him?"

  The story of their meeting so long ago filled Duncan's mind with familiar fondness, and was a welcome distraction to whatever had occurred between them moments ago.

  "Treated him is more like it," he explained. "A healer, she was in the woods gathering herbs. The king was hunting with several men. His mount stumbled and the king was injured. She witnessed the endre event and offered to care for him."

  "And the king rewarded her with the tapestry?"

  "Aye."

  "Then the faeries on the ceiling were painted to match?"

  "Nay, they have always been there."

  Amazement shadowed her face. "But they match the tapestry as if copied. Do you not find that odd?"

  "Not really. This room is said to be filled with magic. I grew up with my grandmother telling us that she often spoke with the wee folk here."

  She again looked around as if seeing the chamber for the first time. "Then it was not a dream." She hugged herself, which didn't suppress the shiver that shook her.

  "What?"

  "Earlier this night, the sapphire in the bowl seemed to glow. Not the rays of moonbeams, but that of an unearthly glow, almost as if the air was alive, breathing."

  The awe in her voice stoked Duncan's irritation. He glared at the bowl as if a traitor, remembering too well Alexander's story of how Nichola had mentioned a similar reaction when she'd first entered the chamber, or rather, was imprisoned within this room a year ago. He and Seathan had had a fine time teasing Alexander that their grandmother's presence and penchant for matchmaking guided Nichola's reaction.

  Neither could he forget noticing the aura that seemed to surround Isabel but moments ago.

  Though he believed in the fey and of his grandmother's abilities, he would guide the decision of his life, not those of an old woman's fancies. That he found Isabel alluring stemmed from their years together, of the dreams they'd once shared, not from a spell cast by a woman given to magic.

  "What you witnessed was the moonlight shining upon the gem," Duncan declared, "nothing more."

  Amber eyes sparked with conviction. "I know what I saw. And when I picked the halved sapphire up, it warmed in my hand. The same heat I experienced when you touched me moments ago."

  A muscle worked in his jaw.

  "It means something, does it not?"

  "It means that you are exhausted and in need of rest." As he looked around the chamber, he almost sensed his grandmother's spirit, the magic potency of her presence.

  Determined to take Isabel from this chamber, Duncan took her hand. A mistake. Awareness speared him with a dangerous heat. His blood pounded, and his every breath filled with the scent of night and the alluring fragrance of woman.

  "What is wrong?" she asked.

  "Nothing." Everything. He wanted her. Be damned if h
e'd take her. Be damned if he'd be pushed by magic against his will.

  Though his body wanted her, his heart never would. Other than those weak moments when he'd almost died, the trust he'd held for Isabel was that of the past. A trust necessary before anything between him and Isabel could grow. A trust that he would never give her again.

  It was ridiculous to stand here with her wanting what never could be. He glared around the confines, sure faeries lurked and laughed—at him.

  "You look pale as if you have seen a ghost."

  "A faerie more like it," he muttered.

  She stepped closer, her scent of woman and desire spilling through his senses.

  He hissed out a breath.

  "Why are you shaking."

  Duncan stepped back, wanting to laugh, to yell, to curse this moment of his embracing heaven and Hades. Unlike Alexander's confusion when he'd placed Nichola in this chamber, and after watching his brother's heart guided by magic, Duncan understood the full effects it could have on a man.

  "Isabel." He caught her. A mistake. His body ached with the need to touch her, to run his fingers along her delicate curves, to savor her taste in slow, satisfying regard.

  She frowned at him, then her pupils darkened with understanding and filled with desire. "You need to lay down and rest." She didn't move, but stood there like a siren stealing his every breath. "Duncan?"

  He cursed as he hauled her to him. With her lips shadowed against his, the heat from her body enveloping him like a fist, he claimed her mouth. His first taste of Isabel was devastating, pleasing, luring him to linger, to feel more than he should, to want more than he had sworn he would ever take.

  A moan of pleasure slipped from her throat, destroying the last fragments of his will.

  Lost, Duncan angled his mouth and took the kiss deeper, drowning in her softness, the innocence of her response. He cupped her face as he stole her every moan, savoured her every shuddered breath, the softness of her silky skin.

  "Duncan," she murmured as he skimmed his mouth over her cheeks, her brow, then along the slender column of her throat, her taste pouring over him, filling him, seducing him with ruthless intent. His jaw grazed the curve of her breast.

  Stunned, Duncan drew away, his breathing hard, his body urgent in its demand. It was as if time had stood still and three years had not passed.

  Her sigh echoed his own sentiment. "It was always you," she murmured.

  Always him.

  A vision of Frasyer seared his mind, shattering the image like hand blown glass against jagged stone.

  Furious with himself, Duncan stepped away. Here, within his grandmother's chamber, he'd almost taken Isabel, stripped her naked and made love with her. Made love? As if she knew the meaning? How could he, even for a moment, have forgotten the reasons why such an act would be more than morally wrong?

  Eyes glazed, she stared at him, her face flushed with desire, expectation warm in her gaze.

  In this moment, if given one wish, he would sever all thoughts of her betrayal and claim what should have been his three years past.

  Except Isabel's virginity was long lost. Her choice to become Frasyer's mistress made for her own gain. He'd allowed his mind to fill with needs he had no right wanting.

  Frustrated, he turned to leave.

  "Duncan?"

  "Stay here," he all but snarled and strode toward the door.

  "Where are you going?"

  The waver in her voice almost had him turning back. Almost. A mistake he refused to make again. He stepped outside the chamber and shut the door.

  With his emotions on edge and his body burning its demand, if he returned to Isabel now, he'd take her.

  Chapter 10

  The earthy scent of porridge teased Isabel awake. Opening her eyes, she found a tray laden with bread and cheese along with porridge on a small table near her bed. Steam slowly curled up from the wooden bowl. She glanced toward the door. A servant must have delivered it while she slept.

  The first hints of sunrise spilled through the arched window glazed with ice, brushing upon her face in a warm caress. She took in the budding dawn, the play of prismed light as it sifted throughout the chamber, its fragile aura capturing all within its path. Like a faerie's magic. She glanced at the faeries painted upon the ceiling. Smiled.

  Memories of Duncan's visit last night spilled through her mind, his unexpected tenderness, the barely restrained control she'd felt within his hands as he'd cupped her face. And with regret, the shock of realization at what he'd allowed himself to do as he'd pulled away and left her alone.

  She hadn't expected him to touch her, much less kiss her. But he'd wanted her with the ferocity of their tarnished youth. The desire burning in his eyes had mirrored that in her heart.

  Even now, with the sun climbing its way into the snow-etched sky, her body yearned for Duncan, to cherish the feel of his mouth, the hewn strength of his body firm against hers. If only for a while.

  Thankfully, last night he'd stepped away. Only after his departure had she realized what she'd almost given him. If he'd laid her upon the bed, stripped her of her clothing and made love with her, she would have savoured each tender moment.

  And Duncan would have discovered she was a virgin.

  She pressed her hand against her brow at the sobering reminder. God forbid if he learned that truth. It would raise too many questions. Neither could she forget Frasyer's vow to kill Duncan if she ever told him the truth of their union, nor her belief that the earl would use deceit in achieving his goal.

  As much as she wanted Duncan and still loved him with all her heart, she couldn't take the risk. Though Frasyer's men scoured the lands for her and an unknown man, the knights' proximity to Seathan's castle assured her Duncan was a suspect in Frasyer's mind. However much she wished to remain here, she must leave before Frasyer found confirmation of that fact.

  Except now her need to leave was more urgent. Though she'd resolved to stay away from Duncan, as proven by his visit last

  night, when he touched her, her good intentions had fled. At least she hadn't vowed to Duncan that she would not leave Lochshire Castle.

  A soft knock sounded on the door. Unsure who would be on the other side, she turned toward the entry. "Enter."

  The door opened, Nichola stepped inside, the warmth on her face of last night replaced by guarded hesitation.

  Foreboding flooded Isabel. She shifted to the side of the bed and stood. "Is it Duncan?" Fear made her voice sharp, but she didn't care. If anything happened to him because of her, she couldn't forgive herself.

  "Duncan is fine." Nichola cleared her throat, obviously uncomfortable with whatever her task. "Seathan has requested that I escort you downstairs to his council chamber. He and his brothers await your arrival."

  Fear consumed her. "Is it my father?"

  "Not that we have heard news of."

  Isabel sagged with relief. As quick wariness stole through her. "Then what is my presence needed for?"

  Nichola's eyes shadowed with worry. "I do not know, neither do I believe it is my place to tell you such if I did. I would never betray Alexander's confidence."

  "Of course. Nor would I ask you to." But what was so important that Seathan would summon her at first light? A thousand thoughts flooded her mind, each one more ominous than the next.

  "When I first met the brothers together," Nichola said, breaking into Isabel's frantic thoughts, "I admit to being frightened. Then, of course, I was not free."

  Isabel remembered the story, grasping on to the bit of sanity. "You were Alexander's captive."

  "Yes." A blush warmed her cheeks, and she slid her hand along a chain at her neck and the tip of the halved azurite peeked from her gown. "A circumstance that changed to one where I wilfully remained."

  "Did Alexander not tell you that I have known them since we were children?" Isabel asked, touched by the Englishwoman's attempt to calm her at the prospect of facing the brothers. "I ask as I am well aware that when united, Seath
an, Alexander, and Duncan present a daunting force."

  "Alexander explained parts of their past where you were concerned, but not all." Nichola held her gaze. "He did mention that you were betrothed to Duncan. I will not ask why the marriage did not occur, but I will caution you that whatever the reason, Alexander stews about it still."

  "Why are you warning me?" Isabel asked. "We only met a few days past. I have done naught to earn such trust."

  Nichola's face instantly softened. "I watched you while you tended Duncan. I am unsure of the reasons why you did not hand fast with him, but from your tender looks, the way you cared for him these last few days, you love him still."

  Isabel gasped.

  A smile touched Nichola's mouth, then slowly faded. "Is this such a horrible thing?"

  "Please, Duncan must never know."

  "Living with secrets is an awful chore. They haunt you, sway you to decisions that you otherwise would never have made."

  Isabel touched the pendant of Wallace's emblem on a chain, hidden beneath her gown, the sincerity of Nichola's words assuring Isabel they came from her own personal trials. If only it was so easy to admit the truth.

  "Some secrets are not within our control," Isabel whispered.

  "Life rarely is." Nichola reached over and laid her hand upon Isabel's shoulder. "I know not what guides your decisions in regards to Duncan, neither do you know me but for a brief meeting of yesterday past. But if ever you need someone to talk to, I offer you my friendship."

  Humbled by Nichola's generous offer, Isabel felt more the traitor, bound by promises ill made. "My thanks."

  "I will send in a maid to help you."

  "No, I can tend to myself." And she needed time to gather her thoughts.

  Nichola nodded. "I will await you outside while you dress." She departed.

  Alone, Isabel tugged on her gown and finished her toUet. A short while later, she trailed Nichola down the curved turret steps. The rumble of dozens of knights talking as they broke their fast echoed from below. Their warmth, their easy laughter and good- natured calls far contrasted the sterile domain of Moncreiffe Castle.

  Frasyer's knights and servants lived beneath his strict rule. He despised incompetence and found joviality a sign of indolence. The residents lived with hushed whispers, lowered eyes, and a solid dose of fear.