His Woman (Zebra Historical Romance)

by Diana J. Cosby

  "No!"

  With her body still throbbing from their joining, she wanted to weep. She had envisioned the beauty of making love with Duncan,

  of the memories she would take with her and cherish. Now, because of her deceit, the consummation of their love, a sacred moment to revere, was destroyed.

  She drew a steadying breath and sat beside him, not touching him, the smoothness of his gleaming skin marred by the cruel scar of his recent injury, another to add to those faded from previous battles.

  "I have never loved Frasyer or was lured by his wealth," she quietly said.

  He glared at her in clear disbelief. "Prove it," he said flatly. "I offer you one final chance to be honest. To tell me why you have lied to me in a way that has never left my mind. By God, Isabel, had you tried to hurt me, you could not have chosen a straighter mark than through your betrayal!"

  His gaze strafed her still naked body. "Now I understand the innocence I sensed. How is it that he has never savoured what I have tasted, never touched you with a lover's hand? Isabel"—his voice seemed to catch—"if you ever loved me—nay, if there was anything true about our prior relationship, you will be, for once, completely honest about what has transpired between you and Frasyer!"

  Looking at him, hearing the torment in his voice, the sadness in his eyes tore her apart. Oh, God, how could she have done this to Duncan, to the man she loved with every inch of her life? She

  folded her hands before her. Of course, she'd had no choice, but her soul wept for her role in all that they had lost.

  But what if she told him the truth? What would happen then? Duncan, too, was not a man to give up what was his lightly. And she now saw that, however much he fought it, he knew they still belonged to each other. Would he confront Frasyer and force him into a fight if he learned of the tragic events?

  For so long she had tried to protect Duncan. Look at what her efforts had brought. More confusion. More pain. Her mouth dry, she ran her tongue across her lips. Maybe it was time to put more faith in Duncan as a man.

  She drew in a nervous breath and exhaled. "Three years past, I was so excited as it neared our time to wed. I loved you so much and looked forward to our life together. But as you know, since my mother's death, my father has struggled to go on with his life. Raising two children on his own compounded his strife."

  "He loved you both," Duncan agreed.

  "Aye, but we were a reminder of the woman he loved. I have my mother's smile, and Symon has—had our mother's eyes." She closed her eyes as the memories of Symon's protectiveness swarmed her, his outrage when she'd left to become Frasyer's mistress.

  She reached up and worried the pendant around her neck bearing Wallace's arms as she continued. "As the years passed, my father's broken heart never healed."

  "And he turned to drink," Duncan said, his expression softening a fraction.

  She nodded. "He tried to be a good father." Her heart ached as the memories of the past tumbled through her, her father's struggles, his tears when he believed no one was around. "But hazed by drink, often his choices were poor."

  Isabel caught Duncan's gaze, needing him to understand how much she regretted hurting him. "Then I met you. You will never know how much during those troubled years your friendship meant to me. When we fell in love, indeed, it was a miracle. I believed.. .1 foolishly believed with you I would find happily ever after."

  She dropped her hands to her sides, then looked at the fire where yellow-orange flames flickered upward. "Late one evening, a week before you and I were to wed, my father came home drunk." She shook her head. "Distraught, his eyes empty, his body slumped in defeat. I had never seen him so broken, except when my mother died."

  She paused to steady herself. "Before he spoke a word, I knew something horrible had happened. Sobbing, he begged me for forgiveness, even before he began to explain. When I eventually pulled the reason for his distress from him, I wished to God I had not." Even now the memories of that night tore her apart. The

  anger had come as the life she'd planned shattered around her like a cold rain.

  Tears filled her eyes and her body began to tremble.

  "Isabel."

  The gentleness of Duncan's voice had the tears flowing faster. She shook her head.

  "Look at me, please."

  On a shaky breath she turned toward him, the softening of his gaze tearing her apart.

  "Tell me."

  She wet her lips. "Th-that night my father had gambled with several men, one of them being Frasyer—a man who detests you."

  He nodded, slowly, thoughtfully. The beginnings of awareness flickered in his eyes. "A hatred he has made clear since I beat him after a practice spar in our youth."

  "That night my father lost heavily to Frasyer, gold my father did not have. He begged the earl not to take his home, promising to do anything in payment." Her voice wavered, but afraid she'd fall apart, Isabel didn't stop. "Frasyer's request was so unthinkable that at first my father refused. But Frasyer gave my father until morning to agree to his offer, or he would be arrested and cast into debtor's prison for life. A proud man, I believe my father would have ended his life before he allowed himself to be locked away."

  "What was Frasyer's request to Lord Caelin?" His voice had become a rough whisper, as if Duncan suspected the truth, but couldn't bring himself to voice it.

  Tears burned in her eyes as if time had spun back to that terrible night. "There was something Frasyer wanted more than money. That only I could save our home and my father from spending the rest of his life imprisoned."

  Her words echoed into the sombre silence, fractured by the crackle of the fire burning cheerfully within the hearth.

  Duncan's face paled. "Frasyer asked that you become his mistress?"

  "Yes, except he made me swear to secrecy the reason why. He wanted you to believe I'd left you for coin, for a man of more wealth. He swore that if I ever revealed the truth to you, you would be killed. Besides my father, Symon was the only other person who knew the truth."

  The transformation on Duncan's face was chilling to watch. Heedless of his nakedness, he launched to his feet. "The bastard. I will kill him!"

  Fear piled atop the emotions swirling within her. "Do not say that. I have been trying to protect you."

  He rounded on her. "I do not need your protection now any more than I did then. I needed your love." His eyes blazed hot, agitated, as if he itched to strike something. "You should have trusted me with the truth."

  "And what would you have done? A knight against a powerful lord. A man whose passions guided him, a man who acted before he mulled things through." Duncan started to speak, but she continued, needing him to understand, regardless of his fury. "I wanted to tell you, desperately. But I knew if I did, you would confront Frasyer."

  "And die?"

  His sarcasm fed her anger. "Do you not think I believed you could best him in a fair light? Aye, of that I had no doubt. But in this Frasyer had proven that he would not fight fair. Though he swore if I told you, he would kill you, I also believed his methods would not be those of an honourable man. Do you not understand, I loved you too much to endanger your life? I loved my family too much to allow them to lose their home and leave them in disgrace."

  Duncan struggled to accept everything. "So you became Frasyer's mistress," Duncan stated, her story severing the tangle of emotions in his mind. "How could your father ask that of you?"

  "He did not," she corrected. "I made the decision on my own, knowing it was the only choice we had."

  Everything made sense now, her shocking decision to become Frasyer's mistress, her father's desperate grief when he'd explained Isabel's whereabouts to an enraged Duncan.

  And Symon. Oh, God. Over the past three years he'd witnessed Symon's silent struggles since Isabel had become Frasyer's mistress, had tried to convince him to open up to him, but Symon never would. Each day Isabel spent in Frasyer's control would have destroyed her brother more.

  Duncan began to
pace, hurting, aching, but mostly furious at himself for not suspecting there was a deeper motivation than money behind Isabel's actions.

  He stopped. Turned to face her. "You are a virgin. Or were. I —" He blew out a rough breath. "We all believed you were Frasyer's mistress."

  Heat slid up her cheeks, but she didn't turn away and his love for her grew. "Initially, I as well. But he never touched me in that way or any other. At first I was convinced that all he wanted was to have me so you could not. Over the past year, I overheard a couple of the knights talking when they thought they were alone. It would seem that in a battle years before, Frasyer was injured. They expected him to die. Somehow he lived, but the wound left him scarred and unable to father a child. I owed his embarrassment to his paternal inability as to the reason he has left me untouched."

  The news should have relieved him. Instead, guilt weighed on his mind. "I have blamed you wrongly."

  "No more than I have blamed myself." She slid her hands up and down her arms. "Perhaps one day we can move past this."

  A muscle worked in Duncan's jaw. "You are too forgiving. These past three years I have satisfied myself with believing the worst about you."

  She shook her head. "I let you. No, I wanted you to. Duncan"— she said his name softly—"you have no idea how many times I wished, I prayed, things could have been different between us."

  "They will," he vowed, emotion vibrating through him.

  "No, however much I desire it, nothing has changed. After this is over, I must return to Frasyer."

  "No! You are mine." The thought of losing her again turned his thoughts dark, vicious. "I am my own man. I have my own resources. I would rather fight Frasyer to my death than have you go back to him, thinking to protect me."

  She rose, a naked nymph that sent a surge of desire racing through him. "But I must also protect my father, and he depends on me to deliver the Bible and save him from certain death. He will depend on me again to keep him from going to debtor's prison. And Bible or no, if I refuse to return to Frasyer as his mistress, my father will hang."

  He shook his had. "There must be another way. There are people we can petition—"

  "I would give anything if there were, but my father assured me that he'd pleaded with everyone he knew when he fell into debt." She held out her hands in a gesture of frustration, dropped them to her sides. "There is no one. All the men I love have been torn from me."

  The sadness in her voice battered his heart. Muscles bunched beneath his skin. He clenched his fists, wanting to scream his frustration, his mind sorting through options. His brothers would help, as would Griffin. With Griffin's political link to King Edward, anything was possible.

  Could he impose on his brother-in-law's position with the English king to intercede?

  The rebels needed the information Griffin covertly fed them under the cloak of his secret identity, Wulfe. How could he put his own needs and wants against those of a whole kingdom?

  He could not.

  Agonized, he pulled free and strode to stand before the hearth where flames greedily consumed the dry tinder. The odour of wood filled the space, a warm welcome to an empty heart.

  What did he do now—give up, walk away from Isabel after realizing he still loved her?

  He hadn't even told her how he felt. What good would revealing that he loved her do? It would change nothing if and

  when they parted, making both of their pain worse for the brevity of its acknowledged existence.

  However much he was disappointed that she had not turned to him, he found himself almost humiliated by the truth they faced.

  Even now, three years after Frasyer had bartered for Isabel, with his sole intent for gaining her to hurt Duncan, he could do nothing. Be damned, she was naught but an innocent pawn in a brutal game. Anger mounted atop his frustration until it was if he'd burst.

  A sigh sounded behind him.

  He did not turn.

  Long moments passed.

  The shuffle of sheets announced that Isabel had withdrawn to the bed. A bed where he'd lain with her. A bed where they'd made love. A bed where he'd taken her innocence. Duncan leaned his forearm against the stone hearth and bowed his head.

  A virgin.

  A ludicrous notion claimed his mind. What if she now carried his child? An ache built in his chest. He envisioned Isabel round with his child. A girl—one with her mother's smile, a father's pride.

  A child Frasyer would claim as his.

  He curled his fist against the stone. Nay, if indeed Isabel was pregnant, Frasyer would not claim his child. Whatever it took, Duncan would have Isabel back.

  But how?

  He stared at the yellow flames reaching toward the darkness of the cold night. For the first time in his life, Duncan was unsure of what next to do.

  The howl of the wind woke him. Duncan surveyed the blackened space with a warrior's eye. Shadows fell with meagre relief, broken by the low, blue flames of the burning coals. Otherwise, he saw nothing to alert him of imminent danger.

  The soft warmth of skin pressed against him. Isabel. Long after she'd fallen asleep, without any answers as to how he could free her from Frasyer, he'd climbed into bed beside her. While she'd slept, he'd held her close and wished for a miracle.

  A hopeless wish if ever there was one.

  What had started as a simple rescue mission had tumbled into a fine quagmire—one without answers. With the amount she'd stated that Lord Caelin had lost in his gaming to Frasyer, it was even beyond his brother Seathan's reach. Then there was the added expense of recovering Lord Caelin's home.

  Duncan drew Isabel against him, the steady beat of her heart beckoning him to make love with her and never let her go. The desperation of losing her had him kissing the silky skin of her jaw and slowly working his way up to tease her lips.

  Soft sighs tumbled to moans of need as she slowly awakened. "Duncan?"

  Her soft, sleep-roughened voice thrummed through him. He covered her mouth and kissed her with infinite slowness. With each caress he showed her what he could never tell her. With their bodies entwined, they each found their release.

  Isabel snuggled up against him, his heart still racing from their joining. "I love you, Duncan."

  Deeply moved, wanting to reply the same, instead he drew her closer. Moments passed. A sleepy smile grazed her lips, then she closed her eyes. Her soft even breaths assured him that she'd fallen back asleep.

  Restless, he slipped from the bed. Coals glowed dimly in the fireplace so he applied himself to the simple task of building the fire, blowing on the coals until they ignited the dry timber. Flames built, snapping cheerily. He sat and watched as the fire continued to grow and warm the room, but inside coldness clung to his soul.

  He rubbed his temple where a pounding was gaining ground. From the corner of his eye, he caught sight of the tip of the Bible peeking from the leather sack.

  If only it held the answers he needed. He sighed. The Bible held the information to save Lord Caelin. That would have to be enough for now.

  Another blast of wind buffeted the side of the crofter's hut, promising their travel this day would be arduous at best. He walked to the slit used as a window, lifted the heavy tarp and looked out. Darkness clung to the sky, casting the surrounding trees and landscape into vague outlines that muted into sheer blackness. Hours remained until the first rays of sun would sever the night.

  He looked toward Isabel. She slept soundly, what he needed to do as well, but with his mind spinning, he doubted if he'd find any more sleep this night.

  The tip of the Bible again caught his attention. What exactly was the proof Lord Caelin spoke of? A chilling idea crept through his mind. What if whatever the drink-addled Lord Caelin claimed as proof of his innocence was naught more than a worthless writ? Or in his skewed mind, had he recalled evidence that didn't exist?

  He glanced at Isabel, thankful to find her lost in sleep. Please, God, let proof of Lord Caelin's innocence exist. With his hands trembl
ing in fear, Duncan withdrew the Bible.

  On a prayer, he opened the aged leather, worn smooth by overuse. A hint of frankincense greeting him. Hundreds of pages of yellowed parchment, filled with handwritten inscriptions lay before him. Notations penned on some pages caught Duncan's eye as did

  the folded edges on others. With each marked page he reviewed, he found naught but words of a believer, a man struggling to understand why God had taken a loving wife from him.

  His fingers flew through the rest of the pages, but found not a torn scrap or any other document that represented anything bearing proof of Lord Caelin's innocence. Duncan flipped through the last few pages of parchment, each one driving his sense of doom deeper. As he turned over the last page, his worst fear was recognized.

  Nothing.

  No proof existed.

  He closed his eyes. Their entire journey, the dangers he and Isabel had faced, was all for naught. A lump built in his throat as he turned toward Isabel. He rubbed the thick leather of the back cover. How was he going to tell her? The news would break her heart. Be damned, why had her father told her such a lie?

  Was Lord Caelin drunk at the time of the telling? A hysterical laugh festered Duncan's throat. He'd never thought to ask. No, if her father had been inebriated when cornered by Frasyer and hauled away, she would have told him.

  So why did Lord Caelin want her to fetch the Bible? After Frasyer had taken it, one would think he would have scoured it to ensure it held nothing of worth.

  It didn't make sense.

  Nerves had him tracing his thumb across the hand-sewn stitching securing the leather to the hard cover of the back. Frustrated, he followed the intricate stitching.

  Odd. Instead of a steady seam sewn around the back cover to bind it, the threads made an odd, intricate pattern. No, the strange sewing was only along the inner side near the bindings. Unless a person was looking for it, they would miss the finely sewn detail.