He scanned the pristine woodland ahead. He needed reinforcements. As if that was an option. On foot, it would take days to reach anyone who could aid him. Not that he hadn't considered the overwhelming odds he faced should he catch Frasyer.
Muted voices in the distance had him looking northwest. Along the hillside, shadows of movement flickered through the thick wash of fir.
With stealth honed from years of war, Duncan crossed a nearby fallen log and hid behind several boulders covered with snow. As he'd followed the trail broken by Frasyer and his knights, he doubted the men would notice his tracks.
How many were in company? He hadn't counted earlier when Frasyer had stormed the crofter's hut. Likely, the earl had more reinforcements outside.
The soft thud of hooves on snow increased. A slap of leather melded with a jangle of spurs.
Frasyer's men were coming this way.
Hand wrapped around the hilt of his sword, Duncan flattened himself against the cold stone.
The scent of sweat and leather tainted the air.
He held his breath. Waited for them to pass. At least the men were traveling north, opposite the direction he needed to take.
Tense seconds slid by.
"Are you sure you saw a movement over here," a deep voice asked. "I see no sign of anyone."
"They could still be around, well hidden," another man replied, his voice unmistakably English. "They may have pulled back when they caught sight of us."
"Aye," a third man agreed. "If the English bastards are out there, we will find them."
Relief swept Duncan as he stood. A pace away, knights upon their steeds were slowly passing. "Seathan!"
Surprise creased his oldest brother's face as he turned in his saddle. He halted his mount. "Duncan! Christ's blood." Seathan's obsidian gaze scoured him from head to toe. "You are wounded."
Duncan stepped onto the trail. "A wee scratch or two."
"Wee scratch," his other brother Alexander challenged as he halted his mount beside Seathan. "You have burns on your clothes, face, and the back of your hands."
Duncan shrugged. "Which will heal."
"You are alive, thank God for that." Lord Monceaux's brow scrunched into a frown as he scanned the nearby trees.
"It is not myself that I am worried about," Duncan said. "Frasyer has Isabel."
Sombre faces stared at him at the news.
Hardness encased Seathan's face. "We will find her. Here." He handed Duncan his water pouch. "Take a drink. After, tell us everything."
Water cooled his throat in a long slide. Duncan secured the leather pouch and handed it to his oldest brother. Then he explained his finding Isabel at Frasyer's, their journeying to Griffin's to deliver the Bible, omitting the fact that he and Isabel had made love.
"He has both Isabel and the Bible?" Seathan asked, dread coating his words.
"Aye, he has the Bible," Duncan replied, "but it holds naught proof of Lord Caelin's innocence."
At his words, Griffin stiffened within his saddle.
Duncan held the baron's gaze. "You know." It wasn't a question.
Griffin nodded. "Yes.
"Know?" Alexander demanded.
Seathan shot a questioning look from Griffin to Duncan. "By God, we will both be knowing the rest."
With the sun setting and refusing to waste time, in brief, Duncan explained.
"By God's steed," Seathan said as he shook his head in disbelief.
"Aye," Alexander agreed.
"You can understand why the truth of Isabel's birthright was kept secret," Griffin said.
"I can, but it does not make the learning of the fact easier to hear," Seathan said, shoodng Duncan an understanding look.
With his emotions in turmoil, Duncan withheld his comments on the topic. "We will discuss Isabel and her heritage later. First, we must catch them."
Seathan blew out a harsh breath. "And will." He shouted an order to his men.
Duncan accepted a spare mount brought to him by one of Seathan's knights and swung up into the saddle.
Seathan kicked his steed forward in Frasyer's wake. Duncan, as the others, followed suit.
"If Frasyer knows about the documents within the Bible that hold proof of her blood de to Wallace," Griffin asked as he cantered next to Duncan, "why did he not deliver them to King Edward?"
"Seems he wanted to deliver both proof of her heritage and Isabel to the king at the same time," Duncan replied.
"The bugger would," Alexander spat, the josde of leather and hooves upon the snow a steady backdrop. "He cares naught but for himself."
"Do you think he has reached King Edward by now?" Seathan asked.
Duncan scanned the horizon, his breaths misting before him. "Nay. With the heavy snow, even on horseback, it will take him another day, mayhap two. He rides with a sizable contingent of knights. Though we have but fifteen men, we hold the element of surprise."
Alexander shot him a grim smile. "Aye, and Frasyer believes you are dead."
"There is that," Duncan agreed. "He will not be expecting me.
"Or the rest of us," Seathan said. "You made a good distance from the hut considering your injuries."
Duncan shrugged. "I have suffered worse."
Alexander grunted in acknowledgment.
Duncan looked at Griffin. "How fares Lord Caelin?"
"He is well," the baron replied, "but I regret to say he is still within my dungeon."
"Circumstance forced you to place him there," Duncan said, aware that as King Edward's Scottish adviser, Griffin could do naught that would raise suspicion.
"I have spoken with King Edward in regards to Frasyer's claims that Lord Caelin is supporting the rebels," Griffin said.
"And?" Duncan asked.
"I advised him that after speaking with my sources, I found no evidence to prove Frasyer's charge against Lord Caelin to any degree regarding the rebels."
"But King Edward is far from convinced?" Duncan asked.
Griffin nodded. "Frasyer sent a missive to the king stating that he had evidence, concrete proof of Lord Caelin being a traitor."
"He was talking about the documents within the Bible," Duncan said.
"Aye," Seathan agreed.
Alexander nodded. "We cannot allow Frasyer to reach King Edward."
"Or for the English king to gain Isabel," Duncan added.
"If we do not stop Frasyer," Griffin explained, "once King Edward learns the truth, nothing I can say will save Lord Caelin's life."
Or Griffin's, Duncan silently added. Griffin had risked his reputation to try and save Lord Caelin. If the truth were exposed, with King Edward's hatred toward Wallace and those who sheltered him, he would order Griffin's death as well. God help them then.
"If we are to catch Frasyer," Duncan said, "we need to ride faster. Nightfall will soon be upon us."
"A point well made," Seathan agreed.
Duncan kicked his mount into a gallop, as did his brothers. "Aye, we will find the bastard and save Isabel," he called. "When we do, Frasyer is mine."
Heartbroken, a tremor whipped through Isabel's body, then another as emodon again threatened to overwhelm her. After all the tears she'd shed, one would think none would be left.
Yet, images of Duncan trapped in the flames, cinders like a horrific shower falling around him, besieged her mind.
She wrapped her arms around her body, the emptiness inside her tearing through her soul. Oh, God, if only she and Duncan had left the eve before, then he would be alive. Instead, they'd made love.
Now, he was gone.
The only man she would ever truly love.
Frasyer moved nearby, and she stiffened.
Bile rose in Isabel's throat as she stole a glance toward Frasyer, who after several hours of travel, had installed them in a crofter's hut. Terrified of his rank, the poor people living within had hurriedly followed the earl's orders to abandon their home to him. She prayed they had relatives close by.
As much as she'd longed
to secretly tell the husband and wife of her plight and ask them to find help, she'd remained silent as the farmers and their children had scurried out. Frasyer had warned her if she tried to gain their help, he'd kill the entire family.
With her heart still raw from Duncan's death but hours ago, she refused to jeopardize innocent people's lives. In the fight for Scotland's freedom, many more lives would be lost, but if she could help spare even one, she would.
Exhaustion weighed heavy on her after this nightmare of a day. Duncan was dead, Lord Caelin was imprisoned and scheduled to be hung, and she'd learned William Wallace was her father. Now, Frasyer planned to hand her over to King Edward, who would use her as bait to draw Wallace in. Then the English king would kill him.
Isabel fisted her hand. She may have lost everyone who mattered to her, but her country would not lose their rebel leader— Scotland's only hope to lead them to freedom.
Repulsed, Isabel watched as Frasyer preened within the fire- stoked chamber as if he was already before King Edward receiving yet another dde. All Frasyer could see was his wealth, of what more he could gain, not the bloodshed caused by his greed or the people he destroyed.
Frasyer shot her a cold look as he shoved another chunk of seared venison into his mouth. "Do not think to escape me."
"As if guarded by your knights I could."
He slowly chewed, swallowed.
Disgusted, she turned away.
"Face me when I speak to you."
Isabel kept her back toward him.
The clank of a blade sinking into wood made her jump. Heavy steps pounded on the wooden floor. Cruel fingers bit into her shoulder and jerked her around. Gray eyes bore into her with malicious intent.
"Defy me again and I will have you whipped."
Ice chilled her veins. Before she would have held doubts, but since he'd watched Duncan trapped within the flames, something had broken inside him. Now, he would enjoy watching her suffer.
"Or," he said, "use you for the position you were bartered for."
His mistress. She stiffened. "You cannot. An injury has prevented your ability."
Nostrils flared. Hideous glee framed the anger in his eyes. "But not the abilities of my men."
She refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing the fear his taunt inspired. "I despise you."
Frasyer's laughter, deep and cruel, rumbled within his chest. "Imagine, William Wallace bound and forced to watch while his daughter is raped."
Sickened, she wanted to turn away, the pidful amount she'd eaten threatening to purge. "My father will not cede to your demands, regardless of your twisted efforts. He will rip out your heart with his bare hands."
"In that we both agree," he replied with confidence. "Wallace's outrage will override his common sense and he will gallantly storm to your rescue."
"I was referring to Lord Caelin. Wallace will not come after me," she lied.
The earl glanced to where the Bible sat, a satisfied smile curdling along his lips. "Deny what you will. I hold proof." He caught a tendril of whisky hair between his fingers, slid it across his lips before she could jerk away. "But we both know, he will come for you, Isabel. When he does, Wallace will die."
With his brothers, Griffin, and their men nearby, Duncan scanned the brae before him. Careless tracks smeared the pristine, snow-covered hillside.
"Frasyer is sloppy in his arrogance," Duncan said, adding with disgust, "and slow."
"Aye," Seathan agreed.
"To Frasyer," Griffin said, "his glory lies before him like gold- drenched silk."
Alexander grunted. "One I would like to be cramming down his bloody throat."
"As I." Duncan pointed toward the crest of the brae where the swirl of smoke lazing from a distance crofter's hut caught his eye. "Look over there."
"The MacNaris'," Seathan said.
Duncan stilled. "The tracks lead straight toward their home."
Sombre silence settled over the men.
"Do you think Frasyer ordered them slaughtered?" Griffin asked.
Seathan clenched his teeth. "Aye, along with their twin boys, Adam and Douglas."
"Mayhap he has spared them," Duncan said, not believing it for a moment. To Frasyer, eleven-year-olds were Scots, boys who would grow to men, men who would wield their blades against England's might. If he had chosen to kill their parents, neither would the lads be spared. Muscles bunched with tension as he made to stand. "We will find out."
Seathan's hand settled on his shoulder. "It is foolhardy to storm in," he said as if reading Duncan's mind. "Whatever the fate of the MacNarisses is long past. If we expose ourselves due to carelessness, our edge of surprise and any chance of freeing them and Isabel is lost."
Duncan exhaled a frustrated breath and glanced up at the fading sun. "Aye. It is time to move into place."
Seathan glanced skyward and nodded. "So it is."
Anticipation slid through Duncan as his oldest brother waved to several of his men he'd selected to go with him after planning their approach to Frasyer's encampment.
Five knights, led by Alexander, slipped off to the west.
Griffin, followed by four other men, worked their way east.
"Duncan, wait until we are in place," Seathan said. "Once I give the signal, then go in and bring out Isabel."
"I will." Duncan watched as Seathan and the two remaining knights made their way down the knoll to circle around. Countless moments passed as he waited, the pounding of his heart echoing the passage of time. Finally, from the brae directly across from him, he saw Seathan waving.
With his every sense on alert, Duncan stole forward. He used the cloak of trees, large drifts of snow, or anything else that nature provided to shield his presence from Frasyer's men.
By the time he reached within a stone's throw of the MacNaris' home, long shadows echoing the arrival of night greeted him. In place, he, as everyone in their band, would wait for Seathan's signal, then they would make their move.
A profile of Frasyer's knight outside the doorway had Duncan pressing behind a large oak. Catching his breath, he searched the surrounding forest to where his brothers, Griffin, and their troops hid in wait.
Smoke continued to swirl from the chimney and wavering light seeped from slits in the heavily covered windows.
No signs of a struggle or the telltale sign of bodies being hauled from within existed. With Frasyer's mood high from this day's victory, he prayed the earl had spared the family's life.
Breaks in the fresh snow leading to the nearby shelter caught Duncan's attention. The trail headed east. Had the MacNarisses left? Or had they departed to go hunting with his sons and knew not of Frasyer's arrival?
Hoping they'd left, Duncan turned his focus back to his brothers and their planned attack. He scanned the nearby woods, then glanced toward the hut. Three knights stood posted outside. One near the front entry, the other two scattered deeper into the woods to watch for any intruders. Groups of men were camped farther away.
The odds were definitely in Frasyer's favor, but he and his brothers held the element of surprise. One they'd use to give them an edge.
For Isabel's life and Scotland's freedom, he prayed it would be enough.
The crackle of burning wood echoed in the sombre silence as Isabel rubbed the bruises on her arm, her body still aching— painful reminders of Frasyer's warning if she again tried to escape.
Earlier, she'd made it to the door before his men had caught her. Furious she'd dare defy him after everything, for the first time ever, Frasyer had beaten her for her attempt to flee and bruises riddled her body. After, he'd assured her this was but a warning of things to come should she again try to escape.
His abuse confirmed her earlier suspicions that he'd lost his mental balance. That he'd turned to physical brutality didn't worry her as much as his insanity. His self-serving decisions of the past would compare naught to those made with a twisted mind.
Isabel drew her blanket closer and, numbly, peered at the fire
blazing in the hearth. The scent of herbed stew filling the hut made her nauseous. With her thoughts scarred from this day's horrors, she couldn't eat. And with horrific visions haunting her of Duncan trapped in the flames and left to die, she doubted she'd find sleep this night.
Somehow, she must stop Frasyer from delivering her to King Edward. If only she could get word to Duncan's brother Seathan, or any of the rebels.
The brush of a limb against the side of the hut startled her. She ignored the sound. 'Twas nothing. What did it matter anyway? Duncan was dead.
Grief swamped her, but with sheer determination, she batted it back. If she succumbed to it now, she would never have the strength to look for help let alone an opportunity to escape.
The limb again scraped against the hut.
She frowned. The wind was blowing, but not enough to bend the limb to where it would brush against the home. On edge, she glanced at the home's exit, then the two guards who talked in quite tones nearby as they ate.
Nothing was out of the ordinary, unless one considered her fate. If only she had herbs to drug the guards and Frasyer, then she could slip out while they slept.
Another swish of the tree limb against the side of the hut had her looking toward the far wall.
The sound wasn't coming from the wall, but near the far window.
Heart pounding, she stared at the crafted panes. Had someone witnessed Frasyer's abduction of her and was trying to covertly alert her to their presence? Or had the people who lived here informed the rebels of Frasyer's actions?
Her shoulders drooped. Neither explanation made sense. Besides, the earl's cruelty was known far and wide, as was the fact she was his mistress. Only Duncan knew the truth and of the earl's destination. Now, he was dead. Emotion built in her throat.
She started to turn away.
A shadow at the window caught her attention.
The outline of a man came into view.
In the cover of night, she couldn't make out his face, but she embraced the fact that someone knew of her plight.
She looked at Frasyer.
Unaware of the stranger outside, the earl sat before the roaring fire, his thumb absently rubbing the worn leather of the Bible.
Again she glanced toward the window.
His Woman (Zebra Historical Romance) Page 24
