He stilled. A hidden compartment? Was the proof they sought inside? Relief swamped Duncan. Thank God.
Upon closer inspection, he found the hidden indent within the fabric that allowed him entrance to the secret compartment. He reached inside. His fingers grazed several pages of parchment.
His heart pounded as he withdrew the aged documents. He unfolded the fragile sheets, noted the dates starting the various entries, recognizing Lord Caelin's writing. He frowned. A diary?
With a sinking feeling in his gut, he began to read the penned notes. Upon the first entry, he stilled. Stopped. Reread it.
Sweat beaded on his brow as he glanced over to where Isabel slept in peace, ignorant to the magnitude of the documents he held.
'Twas no wonder Lord Caelin desired to have the Bible delivered into safe hands.
The reason had nothing to do with Lord Caelin's needing proof of his innocence. It had everything to do with Isabel.
Hands shaking, Duncan continued to read each dated entry, the decisions made, the risks taken by Lord Caelin throughout the time he'd raised Isabel humbling Duncan more.
He finished the last sheet, closed his eyes and hung his head. Oh, God, Lord Caelin wasn't Isabel's father.
No, that honour belonged to Sir William Wallace.
Chapter 18
Stunned, Duncan stared at the worn pieces of parchment, then turned toward the woman who lay in the bed.
A bed they'd shared.
Was Isabel truly William Wallace's daughter?
He again scanned the pages documenting in detail how Wallace, desperate to protect his only child from threats, had been forced to give up Isabel while he fought for Scotland's freedom.
But how could a father give up his daughter?
With each line Duncan read, he felt the enormity of Wallace's sacrifice in leaving his infant daughter with Lord Caelin, how he'd asked his friend to play the role of Isabel's father until their country's safety was secured. Each day apart from Isabel had torn a piece away from Wallace's soul, proven by his secret visits to Lord Caelin, when in fact he'd come to see his daughter.
Duncan shook his head, awed by the sacrifices of both men.
He stared at Isabel, her hair the color of aged whisky fanning over the bed, how her chest rose and fell peacefully with each breath, her face soft with the innocence of those who slept. Did she truly not know?
Duncan flipped madly, scouring pages that detailed Wallace and Lord Caelin's protective scheme. Nay, it would appear that she did not, as the men had skilfully shielded the knowledge from her throughout her life.
The name scrawled atop the next document had Duncan catching his breath.
Frasyer's name. What was this?
The parchment made a crinkling sound as he pulled it closer. His mind reeled at Lord Caelin's next admittance.
Sir William Wallace and Lord Caelin had set up Lord Frasyer.
Since King Edward had stepped up his search to find and kill Wallace, fearful a tie between Isabel and Wallace would be discovered, Lord Caelin and Wallace had agreed on a plan. Lord Caelin had pretended to be drunk and, on a bet, had purposely lost an enormous amount of money on that fateful night three years past to Frasyer.
Aware of Frasyer's hatred of Duncan, of the earl's impotence due to a battle wound, Lord Caelin had deliberately offered Isabel as Frasyer's mistress instead of payment, in keeping with the well- planned tactics.
Confident, cocky, and believing he'd won a great victory by claiming Duncan's betrothed as his whore, Frasyer had greedily accepted. Now, even if King Edward learned that Wallace had a daughter, they'd hidden Isabel in the one place English troops would never search.
By pretending to sacrifice Isabel, her father and Lord Caelin had actually saved her from greater danger. The lengths both men had gone to in keeping Isabel safe, their bravery, left Duncan humbled.
Aware of Isabel's love for Duncan, ink written by a trembling hand as Lord Caelin had penned the entry revealed his agony in the decision to trick Isabel into moving in with Frasyer. With deep regret, he had used her big heart to sway her decision to become Frasyer's mistress. In addition, though he wanted to lessen Duncan's heartache, Lord Caelin had worried Duncan would confront Frasyer if he learned the truth, a risk he, nor Wallace, could take.
Emotion tightened Duncan's throat as he carefully folded the pages of parchment. His fingers trembled as he slid them inside the secret compartment and secured it. He closed his eyes, the magnitude of the knowledge held within the Bible storming him.
Lord Caelin had suffered along with his daughter. No, not his real daughter. Isabel was of William Wallace's blood.
If anyone would have told Duncan prior, he would have dismissed the telling as a poor joke made. He stroked his thumb along the worn leather. Truth of the fact lay hidden within, knowledge that must never fall into the wrong hands.
He released a harsh breath. If King Edward ever learned of Isabel's connection to Wallace, he would use her to lure Wallace to his death. Without a strong warrior to lead the rebel forces, Scotland's fragile hold on freedom would lay in jeopardy.
What would Isabel think once she knew? Should he tell her? He studied her as she lay peacefully within the straw bed. Wisps of whisky-colored hair curled around her cheek, her mouth caught in an innocent pout as she slept. She looked as if she was a wayward faerie who'd found peace.
No, until the ledger was in safe hands, he must shield her from the truth. If by chance they were caught, and if she knew of her birthright, Frasyer might torture information from her that could seal Wallace's fate, as well as her own.
What should he do with the Bible? Lord Caelin had asked that the Bible be delivered to Lord Monceaux. His reasoning now made even more sense. With Lord Caelin's close bond with Wallace, Lord Caelin must be aware that Lord Monceaux is a spy for Scotland—only known as Wulfe.
The pieces fell into place in Duncan's mind. With Lord Caelin's capture, unable to protect the Bible's secret, he had let Isabel believe his innocence was hidden within.
A lie.
A lie to protect Isabel.
A lie that would inspire her to recover the Bible from Frasyer's hands and deliver the secret of her parentage to safety.
A wry smile played on Duncan's lips before falling away. If indeed Lord Caelin knew of Lord Monceaux's secret life, Duncan also found it intriguing that the English lord's sister, Nichola, had married Duncan's brother Alexander. An unexpected mix to be sure.
With Lord Monceaux's sister having married Duncan's brother, Duncan had come to know the English lord well. Though King Edward's adviser for the Scots, Griffin upheld what he believed right, the reason he'd become a spy for Scotland.
Aye, he would honour Lord Caelin's request that the Bible be delivered to Lord Monceaux. He'd trust Griffin with his life.
Duncan turned toward Isabel, aching at what she had endured, some of it unknowingly at the hands of two well-meaning fathers.
The soft glow of flames caressed the gentle curve of her face, illuminating her soft lips parted in sleep.
God, how he loved her.
An innocent in so many ways still. He wanted to teach her the pleasures of the flesh. He wanted to love her, body and soul until they lay in each other's arms exhausted. No, more than that.
He wanted her in his life.
Forever.
Except William Wallace being her father changed everything. Assuming the mess with Frasyer ever was resolved, how could he, a mere knight, marry a woman who was the daughter of Scotland's true leader?
His fragile hope of creating a life with her shattered.
Last night's anger at finding her a virgin paled in comparison to the challenges they now faced. The gentle buffeting of wind against the crofter's hut, a soft, lonely sound, matched the emotions churning in his soul.
"Duncan?"
Isabel's sleepy voice had him glancing up. She'd propped herself up on the bed, her eyes groggy. As she slowly awakened, her gaze trailed over his naked
body boldly and dark with need.
Desire built inside him, a fact as natural as his each breath. With her it would always be so. "Aye?"
"What is wrong?"
If she only knew. He slid the Bible into the sack. "I cannot sleep."
She frowned, her glance briefly flicking toward the sack before turning to him. "Your wound is aching?"
"Nay." Aching didn't begin to describe the intensity of what he was feeling. "Restless is all."
A tense silence fell between them.
He sighed. Was it only hours ago that they'd made love for the first time? With his mind raging in turmoil, their joining seemed ages ago.
"Will you be coming back to bed?"
The desire in her voice slashed another chink in his willpower. In but hours they would leave the crofter's hut for Rothfield Castle. Later, when he departed Griffin's home, due to Isabel's heritage, the real chance existed that they may never be this private, this open, with each other again.
Her, the secret daughter of Scotland's most powerful rebel and, as yet, trapped as his enemy's mistress.
Him, a knight with no claim save his reputation and a fool's dreams.
Aware her true father was William Wallace, and knowing the unpredictable risk that Frasyer posed, if he had any doubts about her never returning to the earl before, they ended now. Regardless of what it took, she would never go back to that bastard.
The snap of the fire crackled softly in the silence, a subtle reminder that they were alone. Whatever happened once they left, they had the rest of this night. Precious hours until they would have to face the world again.
And return to their lives.
Overwhelmed by emotion, he took her hand and pressed his brow against their entwined fingers, needing to find the right words to explain his feelings for her.
"Last night," Duncan started, then looked down.
As he struggled to find words, taking in the paleness of Duncan's face, Isabel panicked. Did he feel guilty about taking her virginity?
"I am so sorry," she whispered, "I never wanted to lie to you."
He lifted his head, his green eyes ensnaring hers. "Do not be sorry. We are both but pawns to a greater purpose."
Softness eased the worry across his brow, his gaze so intense, a look so tender, she wanted to lean against him and have him hold her forever.
They had until dawn. For the rest of her life, she must make that enough.
Isabel drew Duncan's hand to her breast, and his fingers trembled across her tender flesh. "Make love with me." At her request, angst flashed on his face, a desperation she'd never witnessed before. A chill shot through her. "What is wrong?"
"It is that I need you so much more than I had ever believed possible."
The sincerity of his words should have offered her relief, more so in light of his anger but hours ago, except she sensed something awry. What had changed between then and now? Or were her nerves spinning troubles that weren't there? They had these few precious hours until they would leave. She refused to lose them to her doubts.
On a half groan, he drew her to him, his kiss tasting of need, but tainted with a new sense of urgency. Isabel ignored her worry and gave herself completely, savouring his every touch upon her skin. She loved him, needed him, wanted this intimacy. In but hours they would arrive at Lord Monceaux's and deliver the Bible. Then her father would be freed.
After, sadly, she must return to Frasyer.
So she lost herself to sensation as Duncan made love to her, the gentle skim of his fingers upon her curves, how he used his tongue to tease, then satisfy. Beneath his skilled hands, she found her
release, but as if a man driven, with slow, mind-splintering strokes, he guided her up again until the well of feelings burst, again taking her under. Only when the flames within the hearth had burned low did Duncan join her to find his own release.
After, he rolled to his side and drew her into his arms. The steady beat of his heart echoed in her mind, his even breathing comforting her further. She could lay here forever. Happier than she could have ever imagined, with her body sated and a lethargic wash thrumming through her, she gave way to the lure of sleep.
A gust of wind slammed against the crofter's hut; Isabel started. She blinked the wisps of sleep from her eyes and turned to Duncan, but where he'd lain by her side it was empty.
And cold.
She sat up. He sat before the fire. The troubled look on his face, the way he clutched the Bible in his hands stilled the teasing words on her tongue.
"Duncan?"
He turned toward her. The strained expression on his face eased. "You are awake then."
She swallowed hard, not missing the tension within his voice. "The wind woke me."
"It is picking up again."
Again? Hadn't he gone back to sleep as she had? "Why do you have the Bible?"
His mouth tightened. He shrugged. "No reason." He stowed the bound volume within the leather sack as if unimportant, but she caught the whitening of his knuckles as he tightened his hold.
Trepidation built in her throat. "You have found something within the Bible." It wasn't a question.
Silence.
"Duncan?"
He shoved to his feet, his expression stoic. "The sun has begun to rise. We need to depart for Rothfield Castle."
She sat up. "Not without your telling me what you found."
"There is naught to be afraid of."
"I do not believe you." She looked at the Bible shielded within the sack, her heart pounding. "Tell me."
His jaw tightened in a stubborn set. "There is no time for discussion. Once we have arrived at Rothfield Castle will be soon enough."
"Soon enough? Duncan, the Bible is mine." She held out her hand. "Give it to me."
He shook his head. "I cannot."
Anger shot through her. Isabel shoved to the edge of the bed. The slide of cool air against her bare skin had her grabbing her gown and donning it. Whatever he refused to tell her indeed had to do with the Bible. A strangled thought flickered in her mind. Her heart slammed against her chest. It couldn't be.
She stilled and prayed she was wrong. "Duncan, tell me there is proof of my father's innocence."
"Isabel—"
"Do not keep secrets between us!"
His face darkened and his mouth tightened into an ominous frown. "Secrets?" he demanded. "You have not trusted me since a week before our betrothal and have lied to me ever since. Yet you dare issue me such a dictate?"
He had a point. Yet she shook her head. "Your anger is justified, but that does not change what news of importance you are keeping from me."
"It does not." He stared at her a long moment. "You said that you loved me. Now I am asking for your trust."
She frowned. "You always had that."
"Nay, if you had trusted me, when you learned of your father's predicament, you would have turned to me for help."
"I told you my reasons."
"Aye, that you dismissed me as having any ability to have helped you or your father."
Heat stroked her cheeks, but she angled her chin. "Since my decision three years passed, you are still a knight. As much as I wish otherwise, nothing has changed."
At Isabel's words, Duncan stiffened. But he couldn't deny them in one regard. Frasyer was still an earl, while knighthood belonged to him.
"You are wrong," he said at last. "Much has changed. We made love."
"Last night has nothing to do with this."
He rose. "Does it not? We have given ourselves to each other in the most intimate of ways, as a woman gives to a man whom they trust. Will you trust me?"
"Let me see the Bible."
He shook his head. "Once we have arrived at Rothfield Castle." Or so he hoped he could. He prayed Griffin was in residence and her father, no, not her father, Lord Caelin, was safe.
Isabel stared at him, her mouth slightly parted, her hands fisted at her sides.
She started toward the table; he stepped be
fore her and blocked her access to the Bible. "Is the decision to offer your trust to me so difficult?" he asked, pushing her, aware that he was asking for more than the reason to continue hiding the contents of the Bible from her.
He was asking for himself.
"Damn you, Duncan."
"Say it."
Amber eyes narrowed. "I trust you."
Relief swept through him. He'd not realized how much he needed to hear the words. They were a balm to his soul, illuminating a darkness that had lingered these past three years.
The first rays of sunlight slipped through aged slits of the tarp.
"We need to leave," he said.
Her lips pressed together, but she didn't protest. She turned away.
After the past few hours of making love, he could not leave the situation between them strained. He stepped forward, caught her shoulder and drew Isabel against him.
"This will all work out." He traced a kiss along the curve of her jaw. However much he wished to linger, to make love with her one more time, they could not tarry.
Raising his head, he drew his thumb across her lower lip, still swollen from their kisses. "Finish getting dressed. By the time you are done, I will have packed everything and we can leave."
The cheerful fire blazed high as he turned away, the warmth far from touching the coldness of his soul. The arrival of the morning had severed the fantasy of his earlier thoughts. Regardless of whether they reached Griffin's home safely, the likelihood of them being separated once there was all too real.
Should he tell her he loved her? Was he wrong to wait until they reached Rothfield Castle? What would his admission bring except raise the cost of an already convoluted situation? Be damned.
He'd lost her once, allowed his thoughts to become tainted and had been a fool to have given up on her when she'd needed him most. As a result, she had lived too many days under the thumb of his ruthless enemy. Part of him marvelled at her strength in surviving, while another part couldn't help but feel niggles of resentment at how she had not trusted him enough, trusted his strength enough to protect them both.
Nay. He'd not blame her alone. They'd both made mistakes in the past.
His Woman (Zebra Historical Romance) Page 22
