by Diana Cosby
“While returning from Beauly Priory, our party was attacked and our people were slaughtered.” Marie closed her eyes against his stare, her pain real in that if she failed to reach her father and tell him who’d abducted her, more Scots would die.
Silence.
Marie lifted her lashes and found his gaze skeptical, though not totally dismissive. “During the attack, I escaped,” she continued. “I was terrified.”
He nodded. “Aye, you would be.”
“I—I went back to . . .”
At her shudder, he lifted her chin, his eyes dark with regret. “Oh, God, lass. ’Tis nae the likes of what a woman should witness.”
Caught off guard by his sympathy, for a moment she leaned closer. Shaken to be offered trust when she’d earned none, she stumbled back. “I am sorry,” she said, fiercely regretting her lie. She despised untruths, but life had shown her the lengths to which people would go, lying, cheating, and murdering to achieve their goals.
“Do nae be.”
The sincere concern on his face tempted her to admit the truth, but she remained silent. She knew nothing about this warrior, except that his actions deemed him a man of compassion. Did his conduct extend to honor as well? “I must return home to my family.” Her quiet words echoed between them, and his gaze softened.
“I understand.”
Hope ignited. “Then you will help me?”
The warmth in his expression faded to caution. “Help you?”
“Oui. As you are aware, travel for a woman alone is dangerous.” Refusal crept into his eyes, and she spoke faster. “I only need your escort to the closest port. From there I—”
“Nay.”
She touched his arm. “But you must.”
Dry amusement quirked his lips. “I must?” Blue eyes studied her with unapologetic interest. “Lass, you have a penchant for ordering people about.”
“I do not . . .” She withdrew her hand. Heat swept her cheeks. He was right. The woman he believed her to be would focus on serving those in need. She glanced toward the opening of the cave. Renard’s men, along with miles of wilderness, stood between her and a port city. “The last few days have been terrifying.”
The truth. Her abduction, imprisonment, and learning of the English duke’s plot to use her as a pawn in hopes her father would cease support to Scotland, had torn her life apart.
“I am distraught and am being impossibly rude.” She paused. “Forgive me.”
Pain flickered through the tiredness in his eyes. “That is the second time you have apologized to me, and with nay reason. I am the one who is sorry that you have been subjected to such carnage.”
“I . . . Thank you.” Moved by his genuine concern, she struggled as to what decision to make. However much she didn’t wish to involve him, fate offered no other choice. Somehow she must convince him to escort her to the coast.
His brows furrowed in pain as he started to turn.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
Honed muscles rippled as he leaned over to pick up his gambeson. “As much as I wish to rest, I canna.”
Embarrassed to find herself staring at the powerful display of strength, she turned away, but not before he caught her perusal. By the grace of Mary, she was acting as if she were a dim-witted maiden! Frustrated the man muddled her mind, Marie tugged the quilted garment from his hand and tossed it atop his mail. “You need to rest. You are pushing yourself far too fast.”
Mischief warmed his gaze, as if he were amused by her show of will. “I always take care with what I do, regardless the task.”
Awareness rippled across her skin at his claim. Of that she had no doubt. “I am going to pick some herbs that will help relieve your pain.” She walked toward the cave’s entrance.
“I have yet to thank you for caring for me.” The softness in his voice had her halting at the timeworn entry. She didn’t turn; though a stranger, something about him invited friendship, akin to trust. Neither of which she was in a position to give. “You are welcome.”
“You have nae told me your name.”
Her entire body tensed. Her name? Drawn by a force she couldn’t name, she turned and faced him. A mistake.
As their eyes met, the warrior’s gaze narrowed.
“My name is Alesia,” she blurted out. Panic swept her as she waited for the flicker of recognition.
After a long moment, he nodded.
She exhaled. Why had she worried? Few would know her second name, especially those in the Scottish Highlands, even more so a man who lived by the blade.
“Alesia. The name suits you.”
Her body shivered at how his deep burr cradled her name. As quickly, she dismissed the foolish notion. It was exhaustion, naught more. Curious, she arched a brow. “Suits me?”
He inclined his head, appreciation simmering in his gaze. “ ’Tis strong and beautiful.”
Unsure how to respond, she remained silent.
“Have you nay wish to know my name?”
The splash of humor in his eyes assured her that he was a man comfortable with teasing. “You must have sisters.”
“Sisters?”
“You seem relaxed in the presence of women.” Heat returned to her cheeks. And why wouldn’t he be? A fool could see he was a man who could easily charm a woman into his bed. Mortified, she shook her head. “I did not mean—”
“I know what you meant.” A smile tugged at his mouth, deepening his dimples. “And I do have sisters. Three of them, to be exact, and a brother. If you would want to be knowing,” he gently teased, “my name is Colyne.”
“Thank you.” Before she uttered something else humiliating, Marie hurried out, the soft rumble of his laughter trailing in her wake.
Colyne shook his head as the lass all but fled the cave. As she stepped into the sunlight, hints of gold teased by the sun shimmered through her hair like a majestic fire.
He sucked in his breath. For a moment he’d almost lost his good sense and agreed to escort the comely lass to the coast. With a curse, Colyne rubbed his throbbing temple. What was he thinking? Since Elizabet had married another and broken his heart, he’d nae been drawn to another lass. Elizabet. His chest tightened as he thought of the woman he loved, a lass he’d known since his youth, a woman who he would forever hold in his heart.
Nay, Alesia inspired naught. ’Twas the woman’s beauty that intrigued him. He must focus on reaching France and of learning what she knew of the writ, nae more.
A wave of dizziness swept over him as he knelt. Bracing a hand on his knee, he took several deep breaths until his vision cleared. Aye, his travel would be slowed by his injury, but it couldna be helped. He reached for his gambeson.
“What do you think you are doing?”
At Alesia’s reproach, Colyne’s grip eased. The thick padding plopped upon the dirt. He shot her a quelling look as she stood in the entry, herbs piled in her palm. With a muttered oath, he snatched the gambeson. “I am donning my mail.” Dizziness threatened his balance as nausea gnawed in his gut. Irritation slammed through him when his fingers quivered from the effort to hold his gear.
“You are too weak to be moving about,” she snapped, “much less entertain ideas of travel.”
“You brought me in here?” he asked.
She arched a cool brow as she walked toward him and then deposited the handful of leaves on the flat surface of a nearby rock. “Oui. I am stronger than I look.”
Mayhap, but with her slender frame and without help, the task of moving him hadna been easy. He was at least a hand’s length taller than her.
“And you removed the arrow?” Her head made a slight tilt, but he noted that with each question, her expression grew more guarded. “How long have we been here?”
“Two days.”
A sword’s wrath. Two days of much-needed travel lost.
“You had a fever,” she explained. “You will be weak and needing food and rest, not moving about.”
He ignored her rebuke and
donned the gambeson. His wounded shoulder burned from the effort. “What I will be needing or nae is my decision.”
She scoffed. “If you had half as much wit as charm, you would be—”
“Charming, am I?” Colyne challenged, pleased by her spirit.
Coolness flickered in her eyes as she stalked over and shoved the water pouch in his hand. “Drink this.”
Nay, he wasna about to be thrown off topic so easily. He waggled the leather vessel at her. “You said I was charming. I heard you.”
Her eyes narrowed. “I also think you are—”
“Hold, lass,” he interrupted, assured by the fire in her eyes that her comparison would be far from flattering. His lips twitched with amusement at her heated reply. He took a gulp. “But I will be thanking you for the water.”
Alesia snatched the leather sack from his hand and secured the top. “Save your charms for those who will be swayed by them.”
At the coolness of her tone, he chuckled, and then Colyne sobered at how easily he’d flustered her by his teasing. As a missionary, how had she handled those who vied for her attention? Given her beauty, numerous men would have tried.
She withdrew a flat round made of oats from the bag and handed him the baked good.
“My thanks.”
With a cool nod, she removed an oatcake for herself and then sat on the ground.
Out of reach, he noted. Intrigued, Colyne studied her. Even irritated, Alesia moved with a natural grace as if life had dictated such. Yet, the worsted wool of her dress indicated a simpler existence, which prior to their speaking he’d believed. Nay longer. Now he suspected the simple garb a ruse, one tied to the reason she’d found him here.
“I am surprised to find someone of your class in the Highlands,” he said, phrasing it more as an observation than a question, in hopes she’d open up to him. “Even voluntarily.”
She focused on her biscuit and then took a dainty bite. “I explained why I am here.”
“Aye, you did.” But the hesitation before her reply assured him something about her story was untrue.
Moss green eyes locked with his. “And what brings you to an end where I find you unconscious with an arrow in your shoulder?” She tore off a piece of her flat round, but he didna miss the worry hidden within her question, or the subtle cut that she knew little of him as well and had her own suspicions.
“I am nae an outlaw.”
She regarded him like a queen weighing sentence on one of her subjects. “You would not be.”
“You know little about me to draw such an opinion,” he said, curious as to how, in fact, she had come to such an accurate conclusion in such a brief time. As if she had lived a life where her judgment of those around her was a necessity.
“Your actions speak clearly of your character,” she explained, drawing him from his musings. “If you were a scoundrel, you would not have cared a wit about my misfortune.”
“You have discerned more about me than most would in our short acquaintance.”
For the first time since he’d regained consciousness, her mouth curved in a smile, one that briefly grazed her full lips. A look hinting of passion. One Colyne found himself wishing to taste.
Caught off guard by his thought, he stared at her. Except for Elizabet, never had a woman roused his interest.
Until now.
What was it about Alesia that intrigued him? He knew little about her, and he had misgivings that what she’d disclosed was the truth. A sword’s wrath. France was his sole objective. Until he delivered the document to King Philip, he could trust nay one.
Including her.
“Learning to deduce a person’s motives is a necessity with the life I have been given,” she explained.
“And exactly what has life offered you?”
Alesia stood. “You must be thirsty. I will refill the water pouch.”
The silky ease with which she guided the conversation away from herself assured Colyne she had done the same many times over. “It can wait.”
Without glancing back, she picked up the sewn leather and started toward the exit.
“Who are you?” At his quiet command she halted, neither did he miss how her body tensed. “I can believe you are a missionary, but there is something more that you are hiding.”
She faced him. Her fingers clutching the leather grew white.
“Your words. The graceful manner in which you move,” he said as he studied her, “have given you away. And your hands are soft and unblemished, those of a well-bred lady, nae of a commoner.”
Though slowly given, she nodded her assent. “I once traveled in those circles,” she replied, her words rich with distaste. “I do so no longer.”
“You are nae fond of nobility?” he asked, curious as to how she would react if she learned he was an earl. Would his status repel her? The thought disheartened him.
“Nobility?” she repeated, her words wielded with cold precision. “’Tis an insult on the word. Many who bear powerful titles are often a pathetic reflection of the noble personage they strive to personify. So caught up in their own worth, they see naught of the self-serving fools they have become.”
“Is that why you traveled to Scotland?”
With a sharp tug, she secured the sack. “Monsieur, what I chose to do or not do is my concern.”
“Indeed.” He chose his next words with care so as nae to raise her suspicions. “ ’Tis only that I find your appearance here—”
“I have explained my reason.”
At the rebuff in her voice, he refrained from further questions, but before they parted, he would have his answers. A stiff silence fell between them as he pondered a subtler approach. “I will be taking a second oatcake.”
Suspicion flashed on her face.
He offered her a roguish smile. “Because I am hungry.”
She arched a doubtful brow, but she walked over, reopened the sack, and removed another round. “You need several more days of rest before you begin moving about.” Alesia nodded toward the armor near his thigh. “Without bearing the weight of your mail,” she added with emphasis. “If you are not careful, you will reopen the wound I have bound. I need not inform you of your outcome should your injury putrefy.” She stepped closer, and then tossed the oatcake onto his lap.
Colyne caught her hand before she could move away.
Her eyes narrowed with warning.
“I want to thank you.” But a part of him had wanted to touch her. And he’d guessed right. Her skin did remind him of silk.
Ire flashed in her eyes as she tugged to free herself from his hold.
He let go, but nae without regret. “And I am nae thirsty.”
After a moment’s hesitation, Alesia sat on the other side of the blackened remnants of their small fire, her expression wary. “As you are awake and without fever, on the morrow I shall leave.”
“You will go alone?”
She angled her head in a regal tilt. “Monsieur, I will do what I must.”
Instead of admiring her sheer determination, anger ignited at her foolishness. “With the unrest between England and Scotland, travel will be dangerous.”
“I am well aware of the challenges I face.” She lifted a curious brow. “Unless you have changed your mind and have decided to escort me to the coast.”
A sword’s wrath, ’twas nae a luxury he could offer. “ ’Tis impossible.”
The fragile hope in her eyes vanished. “I see.”
Nay, she didna! He was a hunted man. For all he knew, Renard’s men scoured the woods within a league of their position. Without wanting to, he had placed her life in jeopardy.
If caught, his life was forfeit.
But if they found Alesia with him, he doubted their actions would be those of honor. Grizzly visions of the men taking liberties with her ravaged his mind, of their thirst for their own base needs.
He wanted to help her, but for her safety they needed to part. As long as she remained with him, the risk to her
life increased. “You do nae understand.”
Her face softened with concern. “Then make me.”
Tiredness washed over him. Colyne wished he could explain, but too much lay at stake to take such a risk. “Nay, ’tis better if you know naught.”
“But . . . why?”
The concern in her voice had him again damning the situation. With a curse, Colyne stood. His legs trembled, as if mocking his weakness. He couldna escort Alesia to the coast; she was a stranger, a woman whose presence here raised numerous questions. Still, how could he allow her to travel unprotected? Neither could he forget that she’d saved his life.
Bedamned this entire situation.
“Fine,” Colyne snapped. “I will take you eastward to a trusted friend. But nay farther. He will make arrangements for you to reach France.”
She paused as if mulling over his offer.
“I would nae hesitate if I were you,” he warned. “I might change my mind.”
“Then I accept your gracious offer,” she replied, her voice somber, but a wisp of laughter danced in her eyes.
A sword’s wrath, the lass toyed with him! And as much as he should be irritated, Colyne found appreciation at her daring, a tactic he’d employed himself moments before.
The hard, steady cadence of hooves echoed in the distance.
Colyne turned toward the entrance. Renard’s men!
Alesia’s face paled. “They have returned! We must keep quiet until they have passed.”
Returned? Guilt collided with suspicion. Why hadna she told him the men had searched the area while he was unconscious? Whatever the reason, thank God she had kept them hidden. He unsheathed his sword, biting back the pain in his wounded shoulder. “Move behind me.”
Frustration flashed in her eyes. She rushed over and tried to pull the blade from his grip.
“Ale—”
What do you think you are doing?” she demanded.
The rumble of hooves increased.
In disbelief, Colyne stared at her hand clasped above his own. “Release my weapon!”
She gave a hard tug. “You are too weak to be wielding a sword.”
“If we are discovered, you had best pray for my strength.”
