His Woman (Zebra Historical Romance)

by Diana J. Cosby

  He released her, a part of him satisfied, another ashamed of the lengths he'd used to force her to admit such. But a man had his pride.

  "Get dressed."

  She began to, with her fingers fumbling as she sought to fix her underclothes he had mussed.

  Watching, struggling to harness his own body's desires, he found himself needing to know. "And if it was Seathan who had come to you that night in the Tower room, would you have invited him into your bed?"

  She started to turn her head away, but he stood and caught her chin.

  Her lower lip trembled. "No."

  "Then why claim such?"

  "Damn you, Duncan." She fisted her hands; they fell open, limp at her side. "I want you safe."

  "You lie to protect me?"

  Anger flared in her eyes. "Yes. To save your thick skulled life, I will do whatever I must."

  "And what else have you lied about?" The yell of a guard outside the entry caught his attention.

  Isabel shot a terrified glance toward the door. "We must leave!"

  "Aye." Duncan dragged her gown up, then tugged the cape around her body. He blew out the candle, throwing them into total blackness.

  Hurried steps echoed from outside. Fading voices.

  "What do you think is happening?" Isabel whispered.

  "I am unsure, but let us pray they have not found the horses."

  Silence. She trembled. "Wait, the Bible!"

  "I have it. Come." Their soft steps echoed in the darkness. He inched the door open. The passage within the dungeon lay empty. "It is clear. Hurry."

  They bolted down the moist, dank corridor. Halfway to their destination, a shout from outside a nearby opening caught their attention.

  She turned toward him, fear framing her face. "Frasyer has returned."

  "Go!" He hauled her with him. After they'd entered the secret tunnel, Duncan tugged the door shut. Darkness encased them.

  "Did you bring the candle?" she asked.

  "Aye, but I need to light it. Wait here." Before she could speak, he returned to the dungeon. He held the candle to the torch. The flame caught, sputtered to life.

  Voices drifted from above. He recognized the anger of Frasyer's voice. At the weight of the Bible in his arms, a satisfied smile curved his mouth. Once Frasyer found the Bible missing, the earl would be furious. Duncan's smile fell as he remembered Isabel's wishes when it came to the earl. Even after they'd proven Lord Caelin's innocence and he was freed, Isabel had said she would return to Frasyer.

  No, he vowed, not without an explanation! After that kiss, she owed him more than lies.

  Duncan hurried toward the secret door, the Bible wedged beneath his arm, his hand cupped to protect the flame.

  Shielded inside the hidden entrance, he tugged the door shut. Golden light spilled into the darkness, framing Isabel's eyes wide with worry.

  Worry for him? Was that truly why she wanted him to leave without her?

  He started up the steps. "Follow me." Tension filled the silence as they began their climb, broken only by the pad of their footsteps.

  "What could have brought Frasyer's return?" Isabel asked.

  "There could be many reasons."

  "What will we do if they have found our horses?"

  The odds of their making it safely to the horses, much less to Lord Monceaux's were overwhelming. But Duncan refused to give up hope.

  "I do not know," he replied in all honesty.

  The steps above them levelled out. He caught sight of the near hidden door. "We are back at the bedchamber," he whispered. Duncan placed his ear against the door.

  Silence.

  Inching open the door, he scanned the chamber. As always, his gut clenched as he viewed Frasyer's bed. "It is empty." He stepped into the massive chamber, Isabel on his heels as they made their way around the massive bed toward the other secret exit.

  Footsteps echoed from outside. A door slammed.

  Isabel started. "He is coming!"

  "Hurry." Duncan pulled the door open, followed her inside and secured the door.

  A split second later, a door banged shut. "Be damned!" Frasyer's voice boomed from within his chamber. "Incompetence at every turn!"

  "I am sorry, my lord," a shaky voice replied. "The guards from the campsite are sure the tracks they found nearby were those of a lad."

  At Isabel's gasp, Duncan put his hand over her mouth and shook his head.

  She nodded.

  "Or a lone woman," Frasyer snapped.

  "My lord, as I said before, we cannot be sure who left the tracks. With the heavy snow quickly covering the trail, they were unable to follow them and discover who stole the mount."

  "Beneath the noses of four knights!"

  "The knights have been punished, my lord."

  "Not enough. Six more lashes for each man. I will not tolerate incompetence." A long pause. "From anyone!"

  "Yes, my lord."

  "Be gone!"

  Hurried footsteps sounded from inside. A outer door thudded shut.

  At Isabel's pallor, Duncan drew her to him. "Be patient," he whispered. "We will make it out safely."

  A solid knock sounded in the distance.

  "Enter," Frasyer ordered.

  The slight scrape of a door closing, footsteps. "My lord. A runner has returned with news that Lord Caelin has been delivered to Lord Monceaux."

  Isabel stiffened in his arms.

  "And his reply?" Frasyer asked from the other chamber.

  "None, my lord. Lord Monceaux was away. The runner was assured that a missive will be sent to you posthaste upon his return."

  "As soon as word arrives from Lord Monceaux, deliver it to me immediately."

  "Yes, my lord."

  "You are dismissed."

  "With Lord Monceaux's absence," Duncan whispered once the outer door echoed shut, "we have been offered a few days before Lord Caelin's fate is determined."

  "No. When my father was taken, Frasyer stated that my father would be hung in a fortnight," she whispered, her voice laced with anxiety. "The only way the command will not be followed is if when the day arrives for the sentence to be carried out, Lord Monceaux has still not returned to his home."

  Duncan opened his mouth to tell her the truth about Lord Monceaux—Griffin—but closed it again.

  Though serving as a trusted adviser to King Edward in dealing with the Scots, Lord Monceaux, or Griffin, the name used by their family, was a spy for Scotland. A fact known only by a trusted few.

  Duncan, along with his brothers and Griffin, had met secretly with Wallace two days past. In addition to plotting their next strategy against the English troops, they'd discussed Lord Caelin's charge. Though Griffin had vowed to do whatever he could to ensure Lord Caelin lived, Duncan suspected Griffin's absence from Rothfield Castle was a planned move. Regardless of Isabel's belief, his absence would indeed buy them much needed time.

  As much as Duncan wished to ease Isabel's worries, with her continued vow to return to Frasyer, he couldn't take the risk. Besides, she would find out soon enough that her father remained alive and well.

  At Frasyer's steps within the bedchamber beyond, Duncan held up the candle. "Let us go."

  In silence, they worked their way down the curved stone steps, the stale air tainted with a relentless chill. Guided with candlelight, their progress remained slow.

  A long while later, Isabel turned to him. Illuminated by the flicker of the flames, her face softened with relief. "Look up ahead."

  He rounded the corner to stand at her side. In the distance, framed within the hewn entry, a wash of golden afternoon light pierced the blackness before fading into the gloom.

  They'd made it.

  Duncan extinguished the candle and started forward, Isabel's steps echoing in his wake. Near the entry, the snort of the horses had him halting.

  "Stay here." With careful steps, he edged forward. Shielding his eyes from the glare of the afternoon sun, he slowly swept the entire area.

 
; "Who is out there?" Isabel whispered.

  "No one, but that does not mean Frasyer's knights have not discovered our mounts." He handed her the candle and then waved her toward a darkened corner. "I am going to check for tracks or any other sign that we are not alone. Until I return, hide in the shadows. If you hear me shout, run. Hide. When possible, travel to Lochshire Castle."

  Her lower lip trembled. "Duncan, I—"

  "Nay worry for me." He handed her the Bible. "In case I do not return."

  Isabel caught his hand. "You will come back."

  Expectant silence hummed between them. As much as he wished to assure her he would be fine, until they reached Griffin, neither of them was safe.

  As if understanding, she swallowed hard. "God's speed."

  No time remained to linger, but God help him, if when he walked outside he found his fate death, first he would taste her this one last time.

  With care, Duncan drew her to him, slow, to watch, to anticipate how her mouth would feel against his, the way her taste would overtake him in a blissful invasion. At her sigh, he covered her mouth with his, slow, savouring the way she melted against him, the tremors of her body as he deepened the kiss. He wanted more.

  He wanted everything.

  A fact that fate had woven into a tangled mess.

  With regret, Duncan broke the kiss, taking in the way her lips were swollen, how desire entwined with fear in her eyes. He set her away. "Go."

  For a moment she held, opened her mouth as if to say something more.

  "What?"

  She shook her head. "Naught." Isabel slipped into the darkness.

  Duncan turned toward the entrance and inched forward, listening for the crunch of snow beneath boots, the snap of a twig, anything to alert him that Frasyer's men laid in wait. With many of the trees stripped of their leaves, the fir trees they'd hidden their horses among provided only a degree of shelter. Hours had passed.

  The wind could easily have shifted snow to fill telling tracks of any riders.

  At the entrance, he pressed against the cold stone and kept to the shadows. He scoured the nearest bushes first, a wooden tangle against the sprawl of white. Confident they held no threat, he swept the snow-glazed field.

  And stilled.

  In the distance, tracks disturbed the drifts where Frasyer's knights had ridden. He visibly retraced the tracks, then scanned near the escape tunnel. Nothing indicated a closer search. Duncan owed their blunder to their overconfidence that Isabel wouldn't dare return to Moncreiffe Castle.

  Relieved, he stepped into the tunnel and waved her forward. "Come."

  Isabel appeared in the light, strain haunting her face, but the eternal hope she carried strong in her every step. Her strength drew him, battled his misgivings, resurrected the doubts of her involvement with Frasyer. But time, not more questions were needed at the moment.

  Once they reached the horses, he helped her mount. He secured the Bible to the back of his saddle, then swung up on his own steed.

  "We will ride within the edge of trees until a safe distance away," Duncan said. "If we cut across the field, we risk not only being seen if someone is positioned nearby to keep watch, but leaving a trail."

  Isabel shielded her brow, her gaze following the broken trail left by Frasyer's men. "How long ago do you think they passed?"

  cape she wore, pushed away "We will travel faster with two me. For warmth's sake, we can.

  She nodded.

  He took in her layered garb, the thoughts of her nakedness beneath, horses, but if you become cold, tell ride together."

  "I have endured colder weather than we now face." She shot him a surprisingly teasing look. "Including when I traveled to your brother's castle on your behalf."

  He smiled, then sobered. "We face two days of hard travel. When we stop, it will be to rest our horses, break our fast, then we push on. The only things to greet us are the cold and the many miles ahead. And your withholding that you are freezing will not speed our travel. If you succumb to the cold, we will be forced to make camp, possibly ride to the nearest home to ensure you do not freeze. Your vow, Isabel, if you grow chilled, you'll tell me."

  "As clear as their tracks are, a short while at best. With the wind causing drifts, we cannot be sure how often his men are making rounds."

  He didn't realize the significance of his words—the suggestion that he trusted her promise—until her eyes widened, then seemed to blur, as if she were fighting back emotion.

  "Aye," she replied. "I swear it."

  Nodding, not trusting the moment, Duncan spurred his mount onward toward the forest.

  Keeping within the tree line for cover slowed their travel, but he refused to invite further danger.

  Isabel guided her mount around a broken stump embraced by the sheet of snow. "Will we reach Rothfield Castle before dark on the morrow?"

  "If we do not run into any of Frasyer's men, and if the weather holds."

  The hours passed with infinite slowness. The snow padded their horses' hooves, the leafless trees offering vague cover. Whenever possible, Duncan kept them behind banks of fir trees and mounds of rocks. Soon, they would have to risk exposing themselves and cross the field.

  As darkness smothered the day, angry clouds rolled in and the temperature began to drop. The wind, blowing steady throughout the afternoon, increased with a vicious bite.

  Turning his head against the hard flakes of blowing snow, Duncan took in Isabel. She'd tugged her woollen cape tighter and leaned slightly forward against the wind. Tendrils of ice clung to the tips of her exposed hair.

  He surveyed the darkening sky. "A storm is moving in." As if to support his claim, a light snow began to fall. Worry crowded her brow. In that he didn't blame her. As much as he wanted to travel straight through, between the storm, terrain, and their exhaustion, they may be forced to seek shelter.

  An ignorant lad, he'd foolishly set out during a heavy snow. The large, blinding flakes combined with the spread of white coating the land, soon made recognition of any familiar landmarks impossible. Nay, he refused to risk becoming caught in a whiteout condition again.

  As they crested the next knoll, Duncan drew up his steed. He scanned the breaks in the aged oaks, their empty limbs like scrawny fingers arching toward the sky.

  Isabel halted at his side. "Do you see something?"

  "No. Which worries me as much as it does not. As furious as Frasyer was back in his chamber, one would think he would add more men in the search for you. Or increase their rounds."

  "Where do you think they are?"

  "A question I have pondered these last few hours. Perhaps he has set up an ambush. If so, I would think it would be nearer to Lord Monceaux's Castle, more so if Frasyer discovers the Bible gone."

  "But the runner from delivering my father to Lord Monceaux had only arrived while we listened." The breath from her words swirled between them in a white mist in the air.

  "True, which makes the absence of his men more confusing. Regardless of his reasons or plans, we will not know if his knights are hidden and keeping watch until we leave the cover of the forest."

  "When will we cross?"

  "After nightfall. If indeed anyone is keeping watch, with the incoming storm, the clouds will obscure the moonlight. The field narrows up ahead, we will go there."

  "Would not Frasyer keep this area under guard for exactly those reasons?"

  "Normally I would agree, but in this search, few decisions Frasyer has made make sense. If we see any sign of his men, we will backtrack." He pointed toward a stand of fir trees. "Secure your horse behind the fir. We will break our fast and rest until it is dark. Then we will push hard through the night. The newly falling snow will cover our tracks."

  "By morning, there will be no sign of our crossing."

  He nodded. And prayed that Frasyer hadn't yet discovered the Bible's absence. When he did, there would be no stopping his fury.

  Anger that he wondered if even Griffin's protection of Lord Caeli
n could stop.

  Chapter 15

  Weary from the hours of travel, Duncan tugged his cape tighter and scanned the vague outline of trees before them.

  The screech of an owl tore through the inky forest, the sound lost quickly by the reckless whip of wind. Shards of moonlight slipped through the clouds, casting the forest in ominous shadows.

  Shifting in his saddle, he ignored the tug of pain from his healing wound. Though Isabel worried, he'd endured worse in many a battle. He guided his mount through the next drift, then wove between a thick stand of firs where spiraling wind had scraped free hints of barren ground.

  "Duncan?"

  At the worry in Isabel's voice, he pulled his steed to a halt and waited until she drew alongside. In the slivers of moonlight, he caught how her body trembled and that she'd shoved her gloved hands deep within her cape.

  "You are cold." It wasn't a question.

  She shook her head. "It is my ho-horse. He is favouring his left rear le-leg."

  Blast. With the forest crawling with Frasyer's men and their travel slowed by the treacherous weather and the night, they needed no further delays. And though she'd deny it, her voice betrayed the fact she was cold.

  Duncan dismounted, drew off his gloves and tucked them beneath his arm. With his back to the wind, he gingerly ran his hands along her mount's hindquarter, then toward the hoof. As his palm feathered over the lower leg, the steed jerked.

  "Steady, lad." Careful not to startle the horse, he soothed him with words as he ran his fingers over the lower tendon. Horseflesh trembled against his touch. Heat radiated from the muscle beneath.

  He gently placed the hoof upon the ground. "He has sprained his leg. Most likely when he slipped on the rocks as we came down that last steep incline. We will have to ride together." Which would have been his decision regardless, considering the shivers icing her voice. Not that she needed to know.

  "Wh-What will we do with th-the horse?"

  Aware of her pride, he kept the worry from his voice. "Bring him with us. We cannot risk him being found. Even with the heavy snow, we have traveled a good distance." He surveyed the surrounding trees, the rise of the next knoll looming before them.