An Oath Sworn

by Diana Cosby

  She floundered for a second. “I missed you.”

  Laughter simmered in his eyes. “Is that what you would be calling launching yourself in my arms and sweeping my breath away?”

  He was enjoying himself, she mused, feeling even more foolish. As her pulse slowed, she studied him. An earl. How had she missed his aristocratic mien when his every act, the very chivalry of his decisions, stated the obvious?

  But she knew. Since her youth she’d seen too many within the gentry who used their powerful positions for their own benefit. And with each selfish act she’d witnessed, her views on nobility had grown jaded.

  Marie tried to pull free, but he held her snug in his arms.

  “I have missed you as well,” Colyne said, his mouth covering her own with ferocious heat.

  Lost in the tumble of sensations, she wasn’t sure at what moment he carried her to the bed. He quickly relieved her of her gown and himself of his mail and the remainder of his garb. With his mouth skimming over her flesh, nothing else mattered.

  “I want you,” he murmured as he caressed her breasts as his tongue teased hers, driving her blissfully insane.

  She tried to maintain her grasp on sanity, but as he continued to kiss her, touch her, he shattered her hold on that as well.

  Until it was only him.

  Only her.

  As if the dangers beyond their chamber didn’t exist.

  Her cries entwined with his husky murmurs. She arched as he sank deep within her over and again. And with his every stroke, she ascended higher. Until her world exploded with a rain of purple mist and swirls of lavender.

  Then she was floating, drifting back to find herself in Colyne’s arms, his mouth claiming her every cry, his body’s trembling matching her own.

  The rightness of the moment made her yearn for all she could never have. Shifting in his arms, she settled against his chest. How did one’s heart ache and swell in the same instant? But hers did, painfully so. She truly loved Colyne, and the acknowledgment made the pain of leaving him all the more unbearable. “Colyne?”

  At Alesia’s sated whisper, a breath of male satisfaction slid through him. “Aye?”

  “Why were you so late in returning?”

  He lay his head against the curve of her neck and allowed himself this moment of peace. But as he listened to her slowing heartbeat, he couldna dispel the disquiet Robert’s ignorance of her or her party’s journey to Beauly Priory had caused. “I took another route back.”

  She caressed his cheek. “Why?”

  “I was recognized by the men searching for me.”

  “What?” She tried to sit up, but he drew her back for a soothing kiss.

  “Nay worry,” he said against her mouth. “I know the streets and hid in an alley until they’d passed.”

  Worry flickered in her eyes. “I was hoping you were wrong when you suspected the men following you had made it to Glasgow.”

  He nodded. “As much as I wish we could make love again, we need to travel to safer quarters this night.”

  “Is that why you dragged me to bed upon your return?” she teased.

  “Dragged you, did I?” He nuzzled lower and kissed his way to her breast. “As I remember, ’twas you who launched herself into my arms.” And kissed him with such intensity, logic had hazed his mind.

  Now, with his body sated, his doubts concerning her reason for being in the Highlands resurfaced. A sword’s wrath! He hated this not knowing. When he’d first arrived, he should have asked her about Robert’s ignorance of any French missionaries visiting Scotland. His questions would be answered and his doubts gone.

  Or would they?

  She had withheld the fact of her betrothal. Even if she confessed her true reason for traveling to England, could he trust that she was telling him everything?

  Torn, he drew her to his side. He wished these secrets between them didna exist, but until he’d delivered the writ and could tell her the reason for his own mission, wasna he just as guilty of withholding information?

  At his silence, Alesia lifted her head, and the desire in her eyes flickered out.

  A sword’s wrath! He should never have allowed them to make love again until he learned the truth.

  “What is wrong?” she asked.

  Though encased in control, he heard the fragility of a woman who’d suffered too many of life’s blows, a woman who could erect emotional barriers with lethal effectiveness and shut out everyone.

  Including him.

  Colyne despised tainting their last moments of intimacy, but for his own peace of mind, he needed an explanation. “While I spoke to my friend of our need for safe lodging and passage to France, he informed me that he had heard naught about French missionaries in Scotland.”

  “A friend?” she whispered, her voice growing cold.

  Nay, she wasna going to avoid his question this time. “Why did you come here?”

  She tried to roll away, but he stopped her.

  Her gaze grew guarded. “You believe I lied to you?”

  “Did you?”

  “Why ask me when it is obvious you believe I have?”

  Damn her evasion. “Trust me with the truth.”

  “Trust.” Though she breathed the word, he heard the catch in her voice, proof she struggled against whatever boundaries prevented her from telling him. “Oui, I trust you. More than is wise.”

  “Are you a missionary?”

  Honey lashes lowered. “I have told you all I can.”

  “Have you?” The regret in her eyes left his heart aching, but the surge of guilt haunting her face spurred his anger. Colyne caught her wrists when she would have moved away. “Why—”

  “They are nearby,” a man’s deep voice called from outside.

  Renard’s men! Colyne motioned for her to be silent.

  Eyes wide with fear, she nodded.

  With honed stealth, he slipped from the bed, crept to the window, and peered out.

  “What do you see?” Alesia whispered.

  He turned, finding irony in the fact that he would still want her in light of the imminent danger. “Our pursuers are outside.”

  She grabbed her garments. “We must slip away before they search the inn.”

  “Aye,” he replied as he dragged on his garb and then hurried to don his mail.

  Marie tugged on her chemise, the muted voices of the men outside the window leaving her shaken. But that was far from her only concern. How had Colyne’s friend known that no French missionaries had traveled to Scotland? Who exactly was this man?

  With them having to flee the inn, she’d evaded answering, but Colyne wouldn’t rest until he had received a satisfactory reply. Somehow she must avoid the issue until they parted. His ignorance of her royal tie was the only way to keep him safe.

  He peered out the window and then turned. “Are you ready?”

  “Oui.” She donned her cape. Her heart squeezed as she took in the chamber one last time. At least they’d had a few hours of intimacy. Once he’d sailed to France and delivered the writ, he would never find her.

  After securing his sword, Colyne pulled on his cloak. Tenderness touched his face. “All will be resolved.”

  It wouldn’t. It never could.

  In silence, he cracked open the door, peeked out. “Nay one is outside at the moment. We can leave.” Taking her hand, he led her from the inn.

  As they traveled, she took in the growing night. A murky haze shielding the moon, casting the city in a bloody hue. Dread curled tight within her. Was it a premonition? Did it forebode Colyne’s death?

  Or hers?

  He slowed as they reached the end of the alley, scoured the busy corner. In the shrouded light, the hard angles of his face were carved into a frown. “Are you well?”

  An ache began to pound in the back of her head. “I am fine. We need to hurry.” Enough danger lay around them without her hindering their pace.

  “We are almost there and then you can rest.”

  The
concern in his voice touched her. Though angry with her, even though she’d hurt him, he still found compassion. And, regrettably, she would cause him further upset.

  He moved ahead of her with catlike grace, his steps sure, his body tensed, prepared to react.

  The warrior.

  “What is wrong?” he whispered, studying her with unnerving intensity.

  “Naught.” But there was. Colyne had never told her who he’d met with earlier. His friend was clearly a knowledgeable man who apparently knew the comings or goings of missionaries and could destroy her story.

  “We canna linger.” He started forward.

  She followed, her mind spinning through the possibilities. Was Colyne so determined to find out her secrets that he might inadvertently ruin any chance she had of returning to France?

  Panicking, she slowed. She couldn’t risk facing whoever they were going to meet. Marie glanced around at streets that offered anything but safety. Neither could she risk leaving Colyne’s protection.

  Mon Dieu, what was she going to do?

  Chapter 13

  Marie kept pace with Colyne as he wove through the darkened streets. At the next corner he drew to a halt, peered down the alley. After a moment, he faced her, his brows drawn in a worried frown. He waved her to follow and started forward.

  A feeble light spilled ahead of them, weaving into the dismal shadows that engulfed the streets. Each darkened passageway held the promise of danger.

  Or possible death.

  A shiver rippled through her. She couldn’t allow anyone to recognize her; neither could she risk slipping away from Colyne and traveling through this dangerous part of the city alone. Until she met whoever he led her to, neither would she know whether her identity had been compromised. Fighting for calm, Marie glanced at Colyne. He reminded her of her father, of his love for an unpopular cause, and then of his proving how an unthinkable goal could be achieved. In his offering support to the Scots, her father dared to confront King Edward, aware his actions could incite war. Like Colyne, he valued freedom.

  Surely her father would find favor in this courageous Scot. She exhaled a rough sigh. Unless he learned she had given Colyne her innocence.

  And what of her betrothed? She’d convinced herself that Gaston de Croix wouldn’t care if she came to him unchaste. But what if she’d erred? What if, furious at her unfaithfulness, her betrothed insisted in her incarceration in a nunnery for the rest of her life? Or would he demand Colyne’s death? Icy fear cut through her. No, whatever restitution necessary would be hers alone to bear.

  Colyne pulled her deeper into the shadows, and then halted. He gently squeezed her hand. “My regrets for the numerous alleys we have traveled, but I believe this is the safest route.” With a gentle caress, he brushed his mouth against hers, then broke the kiss. “You are trembling.”

  “I am tired.” Not a lie, but far from the truth.

  With a sigh, he brushed back a lock of her hair and tucked it behind her ear. “We must continue.”

  He led her through the alley, but the aged walls blurred through her tears. Worse, because she’d withheld her identity, Colyne hadn’t a clue as to the perilous boundaries he had crossed.

  As they stole past a corner illuminated by an oil lamp, Colyne caught a glimpse of Alesia’s face. Her pallor worried him. If the bishop’s report hadna indicated the strong presence of the English duke’s knights within Glasgow, he would have accepted Robert’s offer to use his coach.

  But he’d nae risk a connection between him and the bishop. Such a link would end his ability to transmit vital communications for the rebel cause. That didna ease his guilt at how his ties kept him from giving Alesia respite from her exhaustion.

  The echo of bells tolled nearby.

  “Where are we going?” she asked.

  “Look ahead.”

  In the decaying light, an enormous structure rose from the earth. With hard angles of stone that arched to frame windows of elaborate design, the architecture appeared as if crafted for royalty.

  “Glasgow Cathedral,” she breathed. “That is our destination?”

  “Aye.” The relief in her expression eased his misgivings of her having lied about being a missionary. A muscle worked in his jaw as Colyne scanned the streets. He hated his doubts. Why couldna he erase his suspicions?

  Confident nay one was watching them, he guided her toward the rear of the church. Clusters of vines thick with leaves shielded them as they hurried down a path of stone steps embraced by moss that curved to a thick oak door.

  He rapped twice on the solid wood. Paused. Then knocked again three times in rapid succession.

  Soundlessly, the door swung open. Robert’s shadowed form filled the somber light. He gestured them inside. “Hurry.”

  After Alesia entered, Colyne followed and secured the door. The coolness of the earth below was a sharp contrast to the warmth outside. Robert gave her hooded form a cursory glance before meeting Colyne’s gaze. “You were gone overly long. I grew worried.”

  Colyne shoved back his hood. “It was necessary to evade the knights searching for us.”

  The bishop gave an understanding nod. “I suspected as much. Though I doubt anyone will visit the cathedral’s cellars at this late hour, we must nae tarry. Follow me.” He lifted a taper, turned, and started down a narrow hall.

  The scent of age, oak, and myrrh surrounded them as they moved deeper inside. Wine casks stacked on either side boasted of the cathedral’s wealth. Ahead, the hallway curved and then opened to a set of sturdy steps that led to the chamber Colyne had visited hours before.

  Instead of starting up, the bishop moved behind the stairs to a hidden door. He motioned them inside.

  Colyne noted Alesia’s surprise as she entered the concealed chamber. Several candles on a small table illuminated the room, its musty scent confirmation of its infrequent use. The dirt floor lay bare, the walls were unadorned, and a large cloth covered an indiscernible heap in the corner. The room also contained a bed and food stores.

  He remembered the first time Robert had brought him here. Carried him, he corrected. He’d had the misfortune of running across drunken English troops. Under their interpretation of King Edward’s orders to quell any Scot they met into submission, he’d almost died. Safe from prying eyes, he’d recuperated in this room.

  Alesia pushed back her hood as she turned to Colyne, her gaze apprehensive.

  He took her hand. “My Lord Bishop, may I present to you Lady Alesia, the noblewoman I spoke of earlier.”

  Robert gave her a courtly bow. “My lady.”

  “Lady Alesia, may I introduce you to My Lord Robert Wishart, Bishop of Glasgow.” Because Alesia was a missionary, Colyne had expected recognition once he’d revealed Robert’s name, but nae fear. Why would she be afraid? It made nay sense. On a religious journey, wouldna she find relief in the sanctity of the church? Or at least comfort in landing beneath the bishop’s protection?

  “My Lord Bishop, ’tis an honor,” she replied.

  Her mien again struck Colyne as regal, her voice tailored in cool discretion, as if she was used to meeting dignitaries. Which, as a prominent noble’s daughter, she would be. So why did he sense something far more important was being played out before him?

  The bishop’s brows furrowed deeply as he studied her. “Have we met before?”

  Alesia paled. “Non.”

  Colyne believed her, more because his friend would never forget a woman presented to him within the ranks of nobility, especially one as beautiful as Alesia. So why would the bishop’s presence unnerve her?

  “I need to speak with you in private. I have important news that canna wait,” Robert said, cutting through Colyne’s musings.

  “I will be there in a moment,” he replied, frustrated. Instead of finding answers about her, he encountered more questions.

  The bishop swept a discerning glance toward Alesia and then left. Her breath unsteady, she stared at the door as it settled in his wake, her fin
gers clenched tight.

  Confused, Colyne watched her. Did she fear that Robert had recognized her? Demand the truth! Jaw tight, he glanced toward the door. A sword’s wrath, Robert was waiting for him. He leveled his gaze on her.

  Her eyes flared and then grew cold.

  She’d gained a brief reprieve. From her unease, they both knew it. On a silent curse, he strode to the entry, jerked the door open, and looked back. “I shall return soon.”

  With a frustrated sigh, he secured the aged panel. As he started up the stairs, he found Robert waiting for him at the top. Colyne paused. “Do you know her?”

  The bishop studied Colyne with solemn regard. “I have never met Lady Alesia before. Has she told you her full name?”

  The breath he’d held rushed out between clenched teeth. “When I asked, she refused.” Nor had she told him after she’d given herself to him in the most intimate of ways.

  “Has she spoken of from which region of France she hails?” At Colyne’s hesitation, Robert’s brows lifted. “You do nae even know that?”

  “We have traveled hard,” he replied, embarrassed he could have made love to her and nae known the location of her home, much less her full name.

  “You carry the writ,” Robert said with a frown. “ ’Tis nae like you to jeopardize a document of import by entertaining the presence of a stranger, much less risk offering one escort through the Highlands.”

  Colyne nodded, heat slashing his cheeks at the more than deserving chastisement. With Alesia, he’d acted like a green lad tasting his first kiss. “As I escaped Renard’s men, I was hit in the shoulder with an arrow. Alesia found me unconscious and saved my life. I couldna leave her. Nae to mention that after the attack on her party, she needed comfort and understanding, nae for me to pry.”

  “Given the situation, I can understand your helping her and respecting her privacy. But after the days you have traveled together, especially considering the importance of your reaching King Philip, I would have expected you to take every precaution in learning as much about her as possible. Dangers often come from the seemingly innocent.”

  He tensed. “You believe Alesia is a threat?”