by Diana Cosby
Fists beat him.
A boot slammed into his ribs with a crack.
Pain exploding inside, he started to collapse. On a curse, he jammed his hands into the muck and fought to remain conscious.
“Get back!” the guards ordered, shoving between Colyne and the attackers, slowly forcing the crowd back.
His blood pounding, Colyne regained his focus. A fresh gash lay across his chest, his ribs ached, and blood from several cuts seeped into a puddle of water below him, framed in the muck.
He clenched his jaw against the pain and struggled to his feet. With the crowd around him fading in and out, he forced his legs to move.
As he trudged forward, he scanned the tower windows. He willed Marie to be there.
To see him.
To remember.
The windows remained empty. A painful ache built in his chest, as he fought the grief consuming him. He’d never see her again, ever. When her memory returned, ’twould be too late. Numb, he stumbled forward.
As if in answer to his wish, a woman’s figure appeared in one of the central tower windows. Honey-colored hair fluttered in the light breeze.
Marie! Hope exploded inside.
The woman moved from view.
His heart slammed against his chest. Had she nae seen him?
“On with ye.” The guard shoved.
Muck spattered his face as Colyne slammed to his knees. He wiped away the grime and refused to give up hope. By God, she’d seen him!
On a shaky breath, he locked his elbows and looked up. Instead of Marie’s window, the executioner’s platform blocked his view.
Dread crawled through him as he scanned the scarred steps, the planks worn down by his predecessors, the hewn wood tainted by their blood.
At the cheers of the crowd, he looked over.
A hooded man, his arms thick as oxen, stood on the center of the platform. As their eyes met, his fingers on the axe tightened.
Colyne sucked in a raw breath, fought the churn of panic. A guard caught his arm, hauled him up. “Move.”
His boot clunked on the bottom step with morbid finality. He swallowed hard as he forced his foot up the next rung and faced the truth.
He’d been wrong.
The woman in the window had been another lass.
Any hope of telling Marie that he loved her vanished.
Panic wrenching through her, Marie elbowed her way through the crowd. “Colyne!”
The rumble of excited voices smothered her shout.
Mon Dieu! Water and mud streaked the hem of her gown and slapped against her legs as she pushed another person aside. As she rounded the well, through the sea of people, she caught a glimpse of the man she loved. “Colyne!”
He collapsed atop the platform steps.
Non!
The crowd cheered.
Fury swept her. He would not die!
“Marie!”
At her father’s shout, she turned.
With his long robes surrounding him, he stood on the distant steps of the castle, her betrothed at his side. His face red, her father motioned her toward him.
Panicking, she turned toward the platform.
Colyne swayed as a guard hauled him to his feet.
She fisted her hands. Why hadn’t her father halted the execution? As the crowd jeered, dread filled her and she understood. With the size of the gathering, the guard had been unable to deliver her message. “Father, halt the execution!”
Her father frowned and then motioned his guards toward her.
Tears burned her eyes. There wasn’t time to make her way to him and explain. She shoved her way forward.
A woman stepped back.
Marie slid past. A gap opened ahead and she rushed through.
A man and a woman shifted in front of her, craning their necks in an effort to see the macabre spectacle unfolding on the platform.
“Move aside!” Marie shoved between them.
The man whirled, recognition flared, and his outrage transformed into rapid apologies as he backed away.
She hurried ahead.
A cheer filled the bailey.
Panic whipped through her as she glanced forward.
In the distance, Colyne stumbled toward the center of the platform.
Mon Dieu! “Stop the execution!” Shouts from the crowd drowned out her command.
The guard seized Colyne’s wrists, wrenching them behind his back.
Another man secured his hands.
Tears blurred Marie’s vision as she pushed forward.
With his wrists bound, a guard pushed his head against the block. Cold, rough wood dug into Colyne’s cheek. He leveled his gaze on his executioner. If he were to die, ’twould be looking his executioner in the eye with the courage of a Scot.
On a hard swallow, he clung to the fact that once Marie regained her memory, she would tell her father the truth. Then the bastard Renard’s attempt to dissolve Scotland’s ties with France would fail.
With a grunt, the shrouded man swung his axe.
Steel dug into the block with a deep thud a hand’s width from Colyne’s face.
A roar erupted from the crowd.
His heart pounding, he thanked God for having blessed him with Marie.
Rumbles of excitement swept the throng as the headsman raised his axe.
The blade’s shadow fell over Colyne.
An expectant hush fell upon the crowd as all awaited the final swing, the slice of steel against flesh.
On a prayer, Colyne inhaled one last time.
“Non!” Marie’s scream pierced the silence.
Blood pounding hot, Colyne jerked his head free and scanned the crowd.
With a curse, the executioner lowered his blade. “Hold him down!”
“Wait!” Colyne shouted as two men caught his head, slamming him against the wood. “Did you nae recognize the king’s daughter’s call?”
The executioner grunted with disgust. “Quiet! The woman’s screams were nae for you. No one will save your worthless arse!” With a scowl, he raised his blade. “This Scottish rebel who would dare threaten our king,” he bellowed, “will now feel the bite of justice!” With a grunt, he began his downward swing.
“Halt, in the name of King Philip!” Marie commanded.
Jarred by the woman’s furious demand, the executioner lost the smooth rhythm of his swing. The axe sank a finger’s width away from Colyne’s neck.
Surprised murmurs rippled through the crowd as Marie, dressed in a gown of white and splattered by mud, broke free of the angry throng before the platform.
Relief swept him, along with a burst of love. “Marie!”
“Colyne!” Tears rolled down her face as she struggled up a step and then began to weave.
Bedamned! Colyne lunged against the guard’s hold to reach her.
Strong hands held tight. “Be still!”
Colyne twisted against the hold, cursed as another man helped to restrain him.
Gasping for breath, Marie clasped the rail and pulled herself up step by step.
“Marie, stop!” Her father’s indignant roar echoed through the bailey.
Horses whinnied.
People scattered as King Philip rode toward the platform.
Her betrothed cantered in his wake, his face red with fury, his cape waving with uneven slaps.
Gasping for breath, Marie reached the top, her eyes dark with terror. She glared at the guards holding Colyne. “Release him!”
Mouths opening in shock, the men scrambled back.
“Look at you!” she gasped as she crouched beside him as he shoved to his knees.
Joy, relief, and love stormed him. “Marie, I—”
“Look at the cuts, the bruises,” she sobbed as she tore the bonds from his wrists.
Trembling, Colyne wrapped her in his arms. “ ’Tis fine, you are here now.”
“Non! Look at what you have been forced to endure, because,” she said on a sob, “I temporarily lost my memory. Forgi
ve me.”
“Marie,” he rasped, her scent filling his every breath, her bravery his soul. “’Tis nae your fault.” Oh, God, there was so much he needed to tell her, so much they needed to discuss.
“Marie!”
At King Philip’s furious call, she pulled back, concern darkening her eyes. “We shall explain together.”
Colyne had seen that stubborn expression before. ’Twas the same throughout their journey when she’d made a decision and would nae back down.
Few women would have dared to escape after being abducted, or journeyed across Scotland to preserve a country nae her own. He swallowed hard. How could he ever have contemplated living his life without her? Or have hesitated in giving her his love?
She caught his arm, her fingers digging into his muscles. Together they stood and faced her father.
King Philip dismounted. His face red, he strode toward them, the duke in his wake.
A thousand eyes focused on them, the expectancy thick enough to carve with a sword.
As he reached the top of the platform, the king’s gaze was riveted to Marie’s hand clasped on Colyne. Outrage mottled his face.
Gaston’s eyes narrowed as he took in Marie’s protective stance.
Colyne braced himself. Though he’d journeyed to France in service to his king, he’d nae only compromised King Philip’s bastard daughter but another man’s betrothed. “Sire.” He struggled to bow at King Philip’s approach, almost losing his balance. He straightened and then nodded at the duke. “Your Grace.”
“Silence,” King Philip commanded. Concern and love waged their own war in his expression as he scowled at his daughter. “Marie, I demand an explanation.”
Pride shone in her eyes. “Colyne MacKerran, Earl of Strathcliff, has been wrongly accused,” she said, her voice strong. “He did not abduct me, but risked his life to return me to France.”
Stunned murmurs rippled through the crowd.
Her father’s skeptical gaze shifted to Colyne.
Hope ignited that with Marie at his side, the king would listen. “The Duke of Renard was behind her abduction,” Colyne rasped, his voice unsteady. “I carried a writ explaining the English noble’s ploy.”
“I have seen no writ,” King Philip stated.
“After an accident,” Colyne continued, “the writ became soaked and the ink smeared. The arresting guards believed I lied because the document was unreadable and tossed the missive from Robert Bruce, Earl of Carrick, Guardian of the Realm of Scotland into the flames.”
Shrewd eyes turned to his daughter. “Explain how you came to meet and trust this Scot.”
“I escaped the Duke of Renard’s knights,” Marie replied, pride in her voice. “En route to a port in Scotland, I found Lord Strathcliff wounded and tended him.”
“She saved my life,” Colyne said, his words somber. “Once I had healed, I escorted her to France.”
Tears in her eyes, Marie nodded. “If not for the earl, I would never have safely returned. I owe him my life.”
The king studied her for a long moment and then whispered to Marie’s betrothed.
Irritation flashed on the duke’s face.
King Philip strode to Colyne. “I owe you my deepest appreciation for saving Marie’s life.” He held out his hand. “And an apology.”
Emotion filling him, Colyne clasped the king’s hand. “Had I stood in your stead, Sire, I would have had doubts as well.” With the threat of his imminent death over, Colyne wondered what her father’s reaction would be when, later this day, he offered compensation to end Marie’s betrothal and then sought her hand?
King Philip raised his hand before his subjects.
The crowd grew silent.
“’Tis come to my attention that the Earl of Strathcliff has been wrongly accused,” the king announced. “The Scot did not abduct Lady Marie but saved her life.” He nodded toward Colyne with gratitude. “For his bravery, he will be honored.”
Surprise, then nods of understanding, rippled through the crowd.
King Philip faced Colyne. “After you have rested and have been cared for by my physician, we will discuss Renard’s treachery in detail.” He gestured to a nearby guard. “Ensure that the earl is placed in one of our finest chambers and brought food and a hot bath. Notify my physician to tend to him immediately.”
“Oui, Your Majesty.” The guard bowed and hurried away.
“I add my humble gratitude as well for saving Marie’s life,” her betrothed offered.
Colyne nodded, but he didna miss the frigidness of the duke’s tone, nor did he doubt that the man’s fury, if pressed, could turn lethal.
Chapter 20
Marie nodded to the physician as he left Colyne’s chamber and then walked to the guard outside his door. “We are not to be disturbed.”
He gave a curt bow. “Oui, my lady.”
Still overwhelmed with the relief of Colyne’s life having been spared, she stepped inside and closed the door.
Near a small table, the man who had rewritten her purpose in life stood with his back to her, pulling on a clean tunic.
Heat pooled inside her as she watched the ripple of muscles, the graceful power that was an integral part of him, a strength he wielded with fierce precision as quick as tenderness.
He shifted, and ugly bruises of yellow and black came into view, a potent reminder of how close he’d come to death. Of how even after all the challenges they’d faced, a future between them had not been ensured.
Coldness swept her as she remembered her betrothed’s request for a private audience with her once they’d left the bailey.
Her father’s concern that she needed to rest had delayed the inevitable confrontation. If Gaston learned of this visit with Colyne, given his upset at the favor she had shown Colyne, he would be furious. With an unsteady breath, she stepped deeper into the room.
At the soft scrape of her slipper, Colyne turned. Surprise crossed his handsome face, then desire. “Marie?”
Tears filled her eyes as she stepped into his warm embrace, the need to be with him as elemental as breathing.
“Oh, God.” He wrapped his arms around her and brushed his mouth on hers, soft, slow, as if savoring her taste, as he shook with desperation.
She melted into his demands, giving everything and needing more. Mayhap she could hope for a miracle, that her father would release her from her betrothal. Most of all, she wished Colyne would want her forever.
His eyes dark with passion, he broke the kiss and stared at her, as if absorbing her every nuance. “I—I never thought I would see you again,” he rasped, the toll of the past days shadowing his face. “There is so much I want to tell you.” He swallowed hard. “I did nae think . . .”
“You are safe.” Marie brushed her finger across a purple bruise on his jaw, and her guilt grew. “Look at your face, your body. I am so sorry. I—”
He caught her fingers and pressed them to his lips. “It does nae matter.”
Shaken, Marie withdrew her hand. “It does. How could I ever forget you, even for a moment?”
“You were ill.”
Mayhap, but to her it excused nothing. “Once my memory returned, I sent a guard to inform my father to halt the execution. Unsure if word would reach him in time,” she said, needing to share her greatest fear, “I had to try to reach you.”
“And you did.”
He stared at her, his expression so intense she found herself believing he could forgive her when she struggled to forgive herself. How could he when she’d deceived him throughout most of their journey, and had made love with him without disclosing she was promised to another?
“Marie.”
At the somberness of his tone, her breath caught. She was wrong, he’d forgiven her of nothing. He was going to tell her that once he’d spoken with her father, he was sailing back to Scotland. “What?” She held her breath.
“I love you.”
At the same moment he spoke, torn by grief at his leaving, she b
lurted out, “I know you must return to Scotland. And I understand your not forgiving me, but . . .” His declaration echoed in her mind and she paused, stared at him in disbelief. “Y—you love me?”
Tenderness creased his face as his eyes darkened with need. “Aye, very much.” Then his mouth captured hers in a long, hot kiss. As he drew back, he watched her, his eyes solemn.
Joy burst through her; she wanted him, needed him forever. “I love you so much. I was afraid that—”
“I need to explain. I knew I cared for you, deeply. As you lay ill and in a delirium at the inn, the thought of never seeing you again or making love with you ’twas unthinkable.” Colyne brushed a kiss tenderly across her mouth. “The guards arrived and arrested me before you became lucid enough for me to tell you. Know this,” he rasped. “I canna imagine my life without you, of nae sharing the smallest joy with you, or a day passing without seeing your smile.” He swallowed hard. “As they led me to the executioner, my greatest fear was that I would never again see you, that you would never know how I feel.”
At his heartfelt admission, tears blurred her eyes. When he started to speak, she shook her head. “I want to explain why I kept so much from you.”
“Marie, I understand—”
“Please listen.”
He nodded.
She released a long, unsteady breath. “Over the years I have learned that men wanted not me but a tie to my father. Throughout our journey, I hesitated to expose my true feelings because I was afraid to be hurt. After we made love I wanted to tell you, but you did not know who I was. Then I realized the gravity of my selfish actions. I was afraid for your life if my father or my betrothed learned of our intimacy.” Her lower lip quivered. “I will never regret our intimacy. But with you unaware of the possible repercussions, I was wrong to continue to allow your ignorance. For that I am sorry. At least neither my father nor my betrothed are aware of my indiscretions.”
“They know,” Colyne said quietly.
Guilt swept her, and she despised her actions even more. “Mon Dieu, how can you ever forgive me?”
“How can I nae? I love you,” he whispered. “Neither am I without guilt. We had nae said our vows before God within the sanctity of the church, yet I came to your bed.”
