She nodded.
"This night we will stay at a crofter's hut to warm ourselves and to rest our mounts. We should arrive at Lord Monceaux's before night falls tomorrow."
Her fingers tightened on her reins. "What of Frasyer's men?"
"Few know of the hut's existence. Between the night and the snow, unless someone stumbles upon us, we should remain unseen. The steady wind will erase our tracks."
She shook her head. "No. We ne-need to keep traveling through the ni-night. My father—"
"Will be fine." And prayed he spoke the truth. He walked toward her side. In the first light of dawn, clad with fragments of blowing snow, Duncan saw her tense. He reached up and placed his hands around Isabel's waist, then helped her to the ground. Wrapped within the night she stood before him, their faces inches apart, her breath warm upon his face. As always with her, regardless that they stood in the forest with the air bitter cold, his blood heated, needing her, wanting her.
After Duncan secured her mount's reins to his saddle, he lifted her onto his horse, then swung up behind her. Cold stung her face as he urged his steed forward.
His gloved hand curled around her stomach, drawing her against the hard, muscled length of him. "Relax against me."
A wry smile touched her lips. As if relaxing in his presence was possible. Duncan embodied everything she wanted in a husband. Honour, integrity, a man who gave all for those he loved, and, if necessary, as proved with his vow to Symon, even if it meant risking his life.
The cold had turned her body numb. Concern for her father spurned her on. She'd believed her condition had gone unnoticed. Yet, Duncan had sensed her weakening. She closed her eyes at the evidence of how well he knew her. Of how hard it was to hide from him, except in one regard.
Grief welled up in her gut. As if she had a choice.
Exhaustion weighed heavy on her soul. She was so tired of lies. Of living in a veiled prison unable to help those she loved. She hated feeling torn, aware that the truth would shatter what little feelings Duncan held toward her.
How else could he react when he learned she'd turned away from him in the face of a personal tragedy. A man as proud as Duncan would not see her actions as saving his life, but an issue of trust.
A fragile trust she'd chosen to break.
Wind ripped through the treetops, shaking branches with an angry howl. Snow lashed around them, hard flakes stinging her skin, driving into the smallest opening to stab her flesh. But the elements compared not to her inner ache as Duncan's arm tightened around her.
How had she ever believed she could walk away from him when she wanted him with her every breath?
Secluded within Frasyer's castle over the past three years, she'd savoured numerous fantasies of being with Duncan. None compared to this seemingly simple moment.
The rhythmic plod of the horses' hooves offered a soothing cadence. Duncan's arms held her tight, warming her, inciting her need to touch his body, feel the tautness of his flesh beneath her fingers, to know the splendour of their joining at least once in her life. It would be beautiful. How could it be anything but?
Sunlight filtered through the blackened sky, outlining the fading cloud cover they desperately needed to help shield them from view. With each passing hour, they would become more exposed, and with a lame horse slowing them, more vulnerable.
On the morrow, they would arrive at Rothfield Castle and hand Lord Monceaux the Bible. Her father would be freed, and she despised the very thought that she would return to a cold, harsh, and empty life beneath Frasyer's hand.
But tonight.. .Tonight would be the last night she would spend with Duncan. Alone.
Without bonds of propriety or piying eyes.
Regardless of her deepest wishes, once they'd delivered the Bible, her life would not change. With her father's gambling debt to Frasyer unpaid, the threat of her father losing their ancestral home and hauled to debtor's prison remained.
Lost in her tangled thoughts, the steady rocking of his mount, the comfort of Duncan's body and exhaustion dragged her into brief, troubled snatches of sleep. In between, she worried for Duncan's welfare. She'd witnessed him favouring his injured side on occasion when he believed she wouldn't notice.
Twice during the day, caught within the swirl of the wind, they'd heard the distant shouts of men. As the sun moved through the sky, the wind continued to blow, cutting through clothes to skin with a brutal bite.
Heavy snow fell as Duncan guided his horse across an ice- covered stream. Stones frozen in the streambed below merged with other patches dark with the hints of turbulent waters running below.
She took in the roll of white hills, the barren forest dotted with brave firs. "How much farther until we arrive?"
He drew her back in a comforting hug. "Soon."
As they crested the next knoll, Duncan drew to a halt, scanned their surroundings with infinite care as he'd done the entire day.
Fatigued, she found little beauty in the orange-red rays of the sunset that glistened off the firs laden with snow. Or the hare, its coat white of the winter, darting past.
He pointed toward the next rise. "See that thick stand of fir on the top of the knoll? The abandoned crofter's hut is hidden within the trees. We will stay there."
She squinted but could not discern any sign of the building. "I see nothing."
"As the hut is designed."
He didn't say more, she didn't ask. A strong rebel activist, he would know the layout of this land to the smallest detail, information he would use to attack English troops and after, to escape.
As had Symon.
With her mind steeped in emotions, she remained silent. Though an arduous day of travel, now that they had arrived, the exhaustion weighing heavy upon her cleared beneath her fear of the questions she must face.
Duncan kicked his mount forward. As they reached the top of the knoll, he navigated his mount through the thick firs, the breath
of the snow-heavy trees easily blanketing their horses from view to any outsiders. As they rode between the next set of firs, the abandoned crofter's hut came into view.
Weathered timber vied with aged thatching woven on the roof, now coated by a deep layer of snow, but both stood solid against nature's force. More comforting, unbroken drifts of white swirled around the hut, evidence no one else had ridden through here as of late.
At the entrance to the hovel, Duncan drew his horse to a halt and swung to the ground. He put his hands around her waist.
She leaned into his hold, too tired to fight the dangerous mix of seduction and comfort his closeness brought as he lifted her down.
Duncan handed her the reins. "Wait here. Though no signs of anyone else having visited recently exist, I need to be sure." After a quick inspection of the hut, he returned. "Go inside. Wait there while I bed the horses. I have lit a taper so you can see."
She scanned the wall of trees.
As if sensing her unease, he shook his head. "We will be safe."
"How long will we stay here?"
"Until first light. We should reach Lord Monceaux's before the sun sets on the morrow."
With a nod, she left him and stepped inside the hut. Erratic flickers from the near-gutted taper illuminated the tiny home. The musty scent owed to the building's infrequent use, further supported by the sparse interior.
To her right lay a decaying fireplace that, with luck, would hold a fire and not set the entire hovel ablaze. In the far corner sat a roughly hewn, straw-stuffed bed, covered with old blankets. A sturdy table stood against the opposite wall, on top, several bowls laid haphazard.
The shambles around her would have sent many a lady running in fear.
And yet, a hominess existed within this crude interior, a sincere warmth that drew her. Isabel touched the laced bed covering, evidence of a woman's hand.
Weariness settled over her. It had been an incredibly trying day. A day of exhaustion and fear and she was barely clinging to sanity. But standing here, surrounded by r
emnants of a past life, contentment settled in her chest.
A woman had lived here.
A woman with a man to call her own. Given the secluded location and arduous life she must have endured, she'd still taken the effort to leave her mark in this otherwise barren room.
She touched the embroidery she'd made for Symon in her pocket. Though the lace cover was but a simple thing, she had not even that chance to show Duncan she loved him.
In but hours they would reach Rothfield Castle. Then she and Duncan would go their separate ways.
This time forever.
But daylight was a long way off. The choices over the next few hours would be hers. Isabel hugged herself. Did she dare give him the ultimate gift, that of her innocence?
She wanted Duncan with her every breath, had for many years. But if she gave herself to him this night, he would learn she was a virgin, the very fact that had kept her from making love with him in the tower chamber days before.
But now, with the uncertainty of the morrow looming before them and given the depth of her love for Duncan, the magnitude of losing him again overwhelmed her.
Like the rose unfurling to catch the golden glow of the sun's rays, she knew her decision. Peace infused her, a warmth so sweet it assured her that she had made the right decision. She wanted Duncan. However selfish, however wrong, for this one night, if he accepted her into his bed, she would give herself to him.
If making love with him made her damned, then so be it. For he already held her heart, she would gladly give him her soul.
The soft creak of the door announced his return. Steadying herself, she turned in time to watch him enter and close the door in his wake.
Their gazes met.
Tension snapped between them, edged with awareness and heat. Her body trembled, her reaction far from incited by cold.
"The horses are taken care of," he said, his voice a dark calm, that of a man who was weighing the situation with a seasoned hand.
She nodded. A shiver swept through her body. The room seemed to crowd in on her, steal the air from her next breath. "You are tired. We are both—"
"I will begin a fire." He strode to the hearth and knelt. The shuffle of twigs, clunk of larger wood atop the small pile echoed in the silence as her mind spun.
He scraped his knife against a piece of flint. Sparks showered the dry moss. He blew on the glowing embers until a flame punctured the blackness. As he continued to coax the fire, it grew, spreading beneath the carefully built pile. Within moments, flames licked higher, greedily consuming the dry wood.
Satisfied, Duncan stood and turned. Unaware of her thoughts, he braced his feet shoulder width apart, hands on his hips. A warrior's stance.
At the intensity of his gaze, nerves trickled down her spine. She inhaled deeply, then slowly released, her heart pounding.
"I need to know what is on your mind." For a moment she doubted he would answer.
Duncan tilted his head and appraised her with eyes that held a combination of ice and heat. "I was thinking you are the most beautiful lass I have ever seen." As she caught her breath, he added, harsher, "and the most deceitful." He stepped toward her. "I have waited for the truth, Isabel, a truth I will have this night."
She held his gaze. "Any lie I have made had a purpose."
"Purpose?" His face darkened with anger, his body cast in the outlines of flames at his back adding to the ominous image. He strode to her and caught her face between his hands. "Hear me, Isabel," he said between gritted teeth. "You will tell me everything."
"It is not so simple," she whispered. Frasyer's threats to kill Duncan if she broke her vow of silence of their arrangement clattered in her mind, more so of the twisted ways he would seek vengeance.
"Nothing of importance is."
She could not allow harm to come to Duncan, but neither could she lie to him further. Already, too many mistruths had passed her
lips, but she'd given them to save Duncan. Except he would not see it as that.
And he would hate her.
When she loved him with her every breath.
Wanted him as no other man.
"Isabel!"
His harsh voice unnerved her further, but she held her ground. "I will tell you what you want to know, but first"—her voice trembled, but she reached her hand over to cover his—"can we not share this one night?"
Chapter 16
Awareness heated in Duncan's gaze and he stilled. His mouth tightened. At the flash of denial in his eyes, her heart slammed against her chest.
"What difference will a few hours make?" Isabel asked.
He watched her for a long moment. "And after, you will tell me everything."
"Yes." Isabel exhaled slowly. "I promise."
At her vow, Duncan arched a brow, his disbelief easy to read. As nerves threatened to overwhelm her, she damned them and held her ground.
"I want you, Duncan," she breathed, allowing her dreams, her desire for him to seep into every corner of her words. "I want you as I have no other man."
Fire crackled in the thick silence. Tension thrummed in the endless void. Oh, God, what was he thinking? What was he feeling?
It took all of her courage to hold his gaze, but she refused to look away. She wanted him more than any man, more than life itself.
As he continued to watch her, his eyes hot, hard to read, panic overwhelmed her. He was going to deny her. She knew it with every beat of her heart, with every breath she took.
Then he stepped away, putting more space between them.
"Duncan." Panic had her stepping forward. "Make love to me this night. I see the questions in your eyes. I feel them in your gaze. I swear to you that afterward, I will tell you what you want to know."
With her heartfelt plea wrapping around his thoughts, threatening to overcome his good sense, Duncan took in the desperation lining her face, the pale outline of her skin in stark contrast to the worry troubling her eyes. He should leave her untouched, walk away. God knew if he had but an ounce of common sense he would. Had the past not taught him the depths of Isabel's treachery?
His body burned with need, his blood pounding hard with the thought of finally, finally taking her.
Making her his.
Promises or no promises.
He caught the haunted look in her amber gaze. Secrets. Aye, she had them. And even knowing that, it took sheer will not to succumb to a long-denied passion, where logic and hurt and betrayal came second to seduction.
Her throat worked as she struggled to speak. "Duncan?"
She looked to where her fingers lay atop his, then dropped her hand, where it formed a trembling fist.
Something in Duncan snapped.
On a hiss, he lifted her chin with his hand. His first mistake. He wanted answers, but touching her, the silk of her skin soft against his fingers, he realized he wanted her more.
He claimed her mouth, hard, hot, demanding. At her taste, an inferno surged through him with mind-numbing need. Heat arched, sizzled between them. His body trembled with the need to touch her, to expose her every inch, to bury himself deep inside her.
The press of her lips against his drove him wild, so he angled his head and took the kiss deeper. A disbelieving part of him expected her refusal, for her to push him away as before, her words no more than another ploy.
Instead of trying to break free at his hungry demands, Isabel leaned her body full against his, curled her hands around his neck and dragged him closer.
With his blood pounding hot, her every moan, her every sigh ignited a new wave of need.
Desire, fuelled by a lifetime of wanting, destroyed his logic. So he took, demanded, masterfully teased with tongue and teeth until her eyes grew blind with desire. It wasn't enough, he wanted more, he wanted her complete surrender, to take her up until she screamed his name in release.
The coolness of the past few hours fled as she moved her body against his.
With his mouth firmly possessing hers, he walked her back
ward until he trapped her against the wall near the fireplace. The growing warmth within the small space was but a trice of the heat pouring through his veins.
Duncan wedged his body firm against hers, leaving her no doubt about his intent, of what they would share this night. He set a hand on each side of her head, effectively trapping her, then he broke the kiss.
The pure need swirling in her eyes matched that storming his body. "You will not leave me. Tonight, or ever."
The words spilled out before he could stop them.
She gasped.
He blinked, and even before he registered the shock in her features, he realized he meant them.
Gazing into the soft curves of her face, the soul-searching amber eyes, the soft, full curve of her mouth was like creating a new man in him. Someone with hopes and wishes that lived on despite what life had thrown at him.
A shaky breath spilled from her parted lips. "Duncan—"
"Ever!" He claimed her mouth to seal his words. Merciless to her struggles, he seduced her, using every sensual tactic to drive her wild, until her body relaxed against his and she was once again kissing him back.
Inside him, fear that she would refuse him ebbed.
Whispering her name, while her unsteady breaths trembled from her lips, Duncan slowly skimmed his mouth along the soft curve of her jaw, loving her taste of woman and silk, how she arched with genuine pleasure at his every touch.
"Watch me," he whispered, wanting her like this, wild with need, her mind blazed with passion. And more.
Savouring this moment, their very first time together, he held her gaze as he slowly untied her garb. He inched the loosened garb from her shoulders, relieved her of the layers, each one landing with a soft, satisfying plop on the dirt floor, until his fingertips grazed bare flesh.
She shivered, but with the way her eyes watched his, desire, not the cold embracing the falling night, ignited the response.
His gentle shove had the final, flimsy chemise joining the heap on the floor. The pendant around her neck, a lion in silver complemented by a background of deep red, hung between her breasts. Wallace's arms.
His Woman (Zebra Historical Romance) Page 19
