His Woman (Zebra Historical Romance)

by Diana J. Cosby

  As she completed the last few steps, the great room opened before her. Meat-seasoned smoke spewed from the fires reaching up to disappear within a mammoth chimney. Women worked over large pots of porridge along with spits heavy with venison to be served later in the day, and lads hurried over with armloads of wood to restock the fire. Benches sat alongside huge trencher tables filled with knights breaking their fast.

  The scene was so potent a reminder of her visits here as a child, Isabel's heart ached. She longed for those days of innocence, of the times before her father's gambling had stolen the life she'd known.

  Nichola turned down a secluded hallway. "This way."

  Isabel followed, her worry increasing with every step. Whatever had happened, please let her father be safe.

  Halfway down the stone-laid corridor, a knight guarded an entry. At their approach, he nodded, then opened the door.

  With more confidence than she felt, Isabel stepped inside the chamber. Rugs embroidered with subtle colors lay scattered upon the floor, a fire blazed in the hearth taking off the chill, and a large oak table stood centered in the room near the back. She shivered despite the heat as she gazed around. Minimal adornment in a chamber intended for planning, for interviews designed to intimidate, both with the focus on war.

  At her entrance, the three brothers, standing beside the hearth, turned to face her. Their expressions ranged from outright anger to honed interest.

  An inquisition.

  Steadying herself, she lifted her chin and met Duncan's unwavering gaze with her own. His complexion was healthier than last eve when she'd awoken to find him in her room. Thank God he was healing.

  Refusing to show fear, Isabel took another step forward and halted. She nodded toward Seathan at the opposite side of the chamber. "My lord."

  "Sit," the earl ordered.

  No informalities. She'd expected none. A simple carved chair stood empty to her left. Already outnumbered, if she sat, she would give them the edge of height as well.

  She cleared her throat. "I would rather stand."

  Seathan nodded. "Frasyer's men have been spotted in the distance."

  Heart pounding, Isabel turned to face Alexander. "Frasyer knows I am here?"

  "I am unsure," Duncan's middle brother replied. "Unless a guard recognized Duncan while you both were in Moncreiffe Castle, he would have no way of knowing."

  "My guess," Seathan supplied, "is Frasyer is taking no chances and scouring all lands within a day's ride."

  "No," Isabel agreed, her voice a whisper, aware of Frasyer's obsession when it came to her. "He will not stop searching for me untilhe has me back."

  As if sensing her distress, Duncan's expression grew defensive. "You shall be safe here."

  The brothers nodded in unison, but a shiver of fear worked its way though Isabel. Though Seathan's fortress was bound on three sides by water, the defenses strengthened by that of a single road gaining access to Lochshire Castle, they didn't understand the lengths Frasyer would go to keep her. Or rather, to ensure Duncan never had her.

  She would dearly pay if she was ever again in his grasp. And once she had cleared her father, Frasyer would know where she was. No doubt existed that he had guards watching Lord Monceaux's castle for her arrival. Another hurdle she would face once she arrived there.

  "Last eve," Seathan said, breaking into her thoughts, "after you departed Duncan's chamber, Alexander and I learned that you are aware of rebel activity."

  "To a degree," she replied.

  Seathan's jaw tightened. "Why did you withhold such an important fact from us?"

  "My concern was for Duncan and his health."

  Alexander folded his arms across his massive chest. "Do you know where Wallace hides?"

  Isabel nodded. "In the bogs west of Selkirk Forest, but he and his men recentiy moved out."

  "Be damned," Alexander muttered. "It is treachery!"

  Seathan raised his hand, his obsidian gaze hard. "Why were you privileged to such critical information?"

  "Symon is my brother," she said stiffly. "We are family. What information he passed on to me, he chose to do so because he knew I would never betray him and the rebel cause. Never did I query him for what was not mine to know."

  Duncan's expression remained solemn as he watched, but he remained silent. He believed her, didn't he?

  "Do you not find it odd that Frasyer's mistress holds information that could cost Wallace his life?" Seathan asked with deadly calm that underscored the graveness of this moment.

  "You expect us to believe that you do not share such knowledge with Fraser?" Alexander demanded.

  "I would never tell Frasyer of Wallace's hideout or any other rebel news." She tamped down her anger. "The belief of my doing so is absurd. Had I told him, with King Edward's obsession to capture Wallace, would Frasyer not have acted to seize him long past?"

  Alexander shook his head with disgust. "None of this makes sense. Your claim is as befuddled as lye mixed with clotted cream. Except now, Frasyer knows that you have information about the rebels."

  "Yes." She met Duncan's gaze, refusing to back down. "As I explained to Duncan, my refusing to reveal Wallace's position is the reason I was sentenced to his dungeon."

  "That satisfies my question of why he imprisoned you," Seathan stated, "but not why you also neglected to mention your mother's Bible."

  Duncan's eyes narrowed as she hesitated. "Out with it, lass."

  She tilted her chin up a degree more. "I saw no reason to share the fact. The Bible is mine to find, the proof mine to deliver."

  "And if you returned and found the Bible," Seathan asked, "how would you have brought it to Lord Monceaux?"

  "I would find a way," she replied.

  "In the dead of winter with a snowstorm upon us and Frasyer's men possibly having arrived at Lord Monceaux's castle by now?" Alexander asked with disbelief. "Even if you left this day, do you truly believe you stand a chance to reach Rothfield Castle in time to halt your father's fate?"

  Frustration balled in her throat. Damn them. "He is my father. Frasyer gave me a fortnight to tell him of Wallace's position. My father will not be hung before then."

  "And you believed him?" Duncan asked quietly.

  Until this moment, she'd not considered that Frasyer would have lied. A saint's curse! She fought to staunch the rising fear. "He promised." She wanted to believe he would keep his word, but even as she made the claim, Isabel realized that Frasyer's word, especially to her, was moot.

  Coldness crept through her, an icy path that drained any warmth from her body. "You are right. When it comes to finding Wallace and delivering him to King Edward, Frasyer would do whatever it takes to achieve his goal." With her escape, had she sentenced her father to death? She clutched on to the hope that, caught up in searching for her, Frasyer had not changed his mind. "Regardless of the possibilities, I must believe my father is alive. I will do what I must to reach him in time."

  "Including returning to Moncreiffe Castle to find the Bible," Seathan said quietly.

  She glared at Duncan in accusation. Why had he said anything? She met Seathan's gaze head-on. "Yes."

  Seathan nodded to his brothers. "Leave us. I wish to speak with Isabel alone."

  Duncan stiffened, his surprise assuring Isabel he hadn't expected Seathan's request.

  At his younger brother's hesitation, Seathan motioned toward the door. "Go."

  With one last look at Isabel, Duncan strode through the exit, followed by Alexander.

  The door thudded closed with an ominous echo inside the large chamber.

  Alone, with Seathan staring at her, Isabel held her breath and prepared herself for the worst.

  Isabel exited the keep needing a moment alone in the courtyard, all too aware of the covert glances of those within the great hall, the whispers of curiosity churning in her wake. A cold wind, littered with snow, swirled around her as she walked upon the stone steps. Emotionally exhausted from Seathan's inquisition, she tugged her c
ape closer, ignoring the brittle wind.

  Thank God Seathan had asked Duncan to leave. She should have guessed that after watching her tend Duncan, Seathan would have gleaned that she still loved Duncan. Hadn't Nichola witnessed the same? But now she had another problem.

  Angry at her refusal to tell him why she had broken her betrothal to Duncan, Seathan had ordered that she remain at Lochshire Castle until he learned the truth.

  She rubbed her brow. Seathan claimed he was protecting her, that using Duncan's directions through the escape tunnel and the details provided, he would send men into Frasyer's chamber and let them search for the Bible. After the days past, even if Frasyer had hidden it behind a secret door, he might have moved it by now.

  It eased her fear little that Seathan had sent a runner to Lord Monceaux's, asking King Edward's Scottish adviser to stay his hand in deciding her father's fate. Though Earl of Gray, as a Scot and a known rebel at that, did Seathan think that Lord Monceaux would consider his request, even if linked through his brother's marriage? Did he not understand Frasyer was a powerful English earl, a lord who held King Edward's favour? Even if Lord Monceaux considered Seathan's request, didn't he realize that Frasyer wouldn't give up until he'd captured Wallace?

  As dire the situation, Frasyer's slight hesitation when he'd cornered her and her family within the hut assured her that he wasn't convinced she knew where Wallace was.

  A temporary grace. For once he had her in his grasp, he would use whatever brutal means necessary to learn the truth.

  With a weary sigh, Isabel looked around, surprised to find she'd walked across the bailey and was nearing the stable. To her left, a merchant stood at the tail of his flatbed wagon stuffed with goods.

  Exposed pots and pans hanging from the side clanked as the wind nudged the aged wood.

  The merchant glanced over, gave her a smile that did nothing for his crooked teeth and layers of weathered skin wrinkled on his face. "I have some fine cloth with me, my lady."

  She shook her head. "My thanks, but I am not interested."

  Another man walked around the front of the wagon, several large bolts of cloth balanced on his shoulder, their combined presence all but shielding her from anyone within the courtyard. Wanting to be alone, she turned to go around the man, when the merchant caught her arm.

  Isabel whirled. "Unhand—"

  Another hand clamped over her mouth, her assailant unseen.

  Eyes wide, she tried to scream.

  "In the back with her, hurry," the merchant ordered. "Hurry, pack up our belongings. Frasyer will pay us handsomely for Lady Isabel's return."

  Frasyer? They were taking her to Moncreiffe Castle! She kicked violently as she fought to break free. Her hands were jerked roughly behind her and bound. Another man caught her feet and secured them as well. In a trice, a gag was wrapped around her

  mouth, silencing her. Trussed up, two of the men caught her and set her among goods within the center of the wagon.

  She had to alert someone!

  "Do not fight us," the man holding the bolts of cloth warned as he tossed the pile around her in an effective shield. "I have no qualms about beating a woman."

  "Not that Frasyer would be caring with what he has planned for you. He has not been happy these days past," the merchant added with a mean laugh. With a leer, he tossed a last bolt on top of her, then draped a length of cloth over her face that sprawled to the bed of the wagon.

  Darkness caved in on her. Sweat beaded her brow as she worked her fingers on the hemp to loosen her bonds.

  Confident of their success, she heard the merchant and his assistant talking as they finished packing their remaining wares around her.

  She had to break free!

  "Isabel?"

  At Duncan's distant shout, relief washed over her. She tried screaming through her gag, but only a muffled sound escaped.

  "Climb aboard," the merchant ordered the other man in a hiss. The wagon rocked as the two men settled in.

  "Have you seen Isabel?" Duncan asked, this time closer.

  Isabel screamed, but again her effort was smothered by the thick cloth.

  "Nay," a man nearby replied.

  A whip snapped. The wagon jerked forward. Hooves clopped on ice and stone with a steady gait. From a small opening between the fabric, created by the sway of the wagon, Isabel caught sight of Duncan several paces away. Frantic, she twisted in an attempt to expose herself.

  The bolts of cloth kept her hidden.

  She tried to kneel, but succeeded in shifting the bolt of cloth above her only a hand's width.

  The bolt of cloth! With all her strength, she twisted onto her back, braced her feet against the rolled cloth above her and shoved. It bounced up, rocked against a pot that clattered before the bound cloth fell on top of her.

  Refusing to give up, Isabel repositioned her feet and shoved. The bolt flew up and again a pot clattered. This time, the tinkle of glass sounded in its wake.

  "Quiet back there," the merchant warned.

  The shadow of the gatehouse slid over the wagon.

  No! Isabel kicked the bolt with all her might. The bolt flipped up, this time angling against the bed of the wagon and not falling upon her. The pan clattered again, then fell silent.

  The darkness of the gatehouse consumed the wagon.

  She'd failed.

  "Halt the wagon!" Duncan yelled.

  The boom of Duncan's order swept through her like a rainbow filled with hope.

  The whip snapped. The team shot forward; Isabel slammed against the bolts of cloth. As the wagon bumped across the icy terrain, Isabel shifted into a sitting position. She saw Duncan, his eyes wide with shock as he caught sight of her.

  "Guards, seize that wagon!" Duncan ordered.

  Yells of knights echoed within the stone-built tunnel. Horses screamed. The wagon slammed to a halt.

  Isabel ploughed against a bolt of cloth, her breaths coming fast. Angry voices surrounded her, grunts and curses of a struggle, then the bolt of cloth above her was ripped away.

  The wagon creaked as Duncan, his face masked by pain, climbed onto the back and shoved the cloth half shielding her aside.

  "Duncan!" Her bonds smothered her words, but she didn't care. He was here, had saved her from Frasyer's wrath.

  "Steady now." Relief spilled over his face as he knelt beside her and pulled her into his arms.

  She leaned against his chest, his strength, his murmured words soothing her fears. His heartbeat pounded strong in her ears as if a silent promise that he would never leave her. It was foolish to allow such thoughts into her mind, but 'twould seem when it came to Duncan, however wrong, she could think of no other.

  "Thank God you are safe," he whispered into her hair. With a trembling sigh, Duncan began to undo the bonds.

  The worry in his expression broke her fragile control. Whether Duncan wanted to or not, he cared for her.

  Tears slid down her cheeks and she couldn't stop her body from shaking. "I thought..."

  "You are safe now." He tugged the last knot free, caught her shoulders, drew her back, and made a slow visual sweep of her. His fingers brushed away the tears slipping down her cheeks. "Are you hurt?"

  She rubbed her wrists, the skin red where the bonds had lain. "A touch sore is all. But you..." She glanced at the binding; fresh blood stained the cloth. "You have opened your wound."

  "A wee bit. Nothing to concern yourself about."

  The hard slash of footsteps closed. "Take the men to the dungeon," Seathan's stern voice echoed.

  "Aye, my lord," a guard replied.

  Seathan walked into view, an ominous frown wedged upon his brow. "How fare thee?"

  "I am fine," she replied.

  "Far from it," Duncan said.

  "Hand her down to me," Seathan said.

  "I can make it on my own."

  Ignoring her comment, Duncan drew her forward. Seathan caught her by the waist and, with ease, lifted her to the ground. "Careful now."

&
nbsp; Duncan jumped down, shaken at how close the merchant had come to abducting Isabel. Thank God he had followed her outside to speak with her. He took Isabel's hand. "You will return to your chamber and rest."

  "The men," she said, her face pale, her words carved by fear. "They were taking me to Frasyer. I overheard that he is offering a reward for my capture."

  Duncan shot Seathan a look. "Which confirms that Frasyer does not know where she is."

  "And bodes well for your safety," Seathan added. "But we will take no further risks. From this day on, until Lord Caelin is freed, you will remain inside the keep, among people I trust. I will not allow anyone else to catch sight of you here, nor stumble upon you in the bailey."

  Her first instinct was to protest, but she remained silent. She would not be held here, except she wouldn't tell him that. "What of my mother's Bible? It must be found."

  "And will be," Duncan assured her. "Another day, two at most and I will be fit to travel, but you will remain here." Regardless of his doubts about Isabel, his questions of her loyalty to Frasyer, he wanted her safe. He nodded toward the keep. "I will escort you inside before you freeze."

  "I will take care of the men. They will regret they dared to enter my castle." Seathan stormed away.

  Alexander met his older brother as he was coming from the keep. As Seathan explained the circumstance, Alexander's eyes widened in outrage. He shot a look toward Isabel, then fell into

  step with Seathan. The brothers strode toward the dungeon tower with clear purpose.

  As much as Duncan longed to beat the would-be assailants within an inch of their lives, at the moment, Isabel's well-being came first. He drew her by his side, ignoring the throb of pain from his injury. As they walked to the keep, snowflakes drifted past, wisps of innocence at odds with the turmoil of the past few moments.

  The people within the bailey nodded as they walked by. Duncan returned their acknowledgment, his focus on Isabel and the terror she had lived through these past few moments.

  Of how he'd almost lost her.

  The irony of his thoughts plagued him. Had things truly changed between them since he'd aided her escape from Frasyer's dungeon? She'd told him little of the circumstances surrounding her imprisonment, each bit of information pulled as if it were a throbbing tooth.