Authors: Diana J. Cosby
His Captive (26 page)
Alexander shifted.
This time Patrik anticipated his movement and boxed him into an alcove of trees.
He shot his foot out, catching Patrik’s leg. Alexander jerked hard.
Flailing, Patrik went down hard. A thunk sounded as his head met stone. His brother lay there. Still. His face pale.
Alexander sagged, his dagger loosening in his grip. His body shook with emotion as he turned to where Nicola had pressed back against a tree. She watched him, her expression a mix of hope and fear. He started toward her.
Her hand shook as she stowed the blade. She gasped. “Behind you!”
He turned as Patrik charged. His brother’s dagger flashed.
Pain shot through Alexander as the blade sliced into his arm. With his breaths coming fast, Alexander stared in shock at the blood seeping from his wound. He lifted his gaze to Patrik; met his wild stare.
And understood.
Patrik wouldn’t stop.
In his frenzy, Patrik would kill him to reach Nichola.
His heart broke as any other option fell away, Alexander gave Patrik one last chance. “Do not do this.”
Patrik lunged.
Screaming out his grief, Alexander sank his dagger deep into Patrik’s chest.
And a part of Alexander died.
Eyes wide, Patrik stared at him. “Saint’s breath.” He slumped to the ground.
Patrik’s blood stained Alexander’s blade. Alexander dropped to his knees beside Patrik. “Damn you,” he whispered, each word tearing him apart.
A trickle of blood oozed from the corner of Patrik’s mouth. “She is English. She will never be good enough for you.”
Alexander hugged him, damning the events, not wanting to lose him. “Nichola was never a threat.”
His brother coughed, closing his eyes as his body rattled with a ferocious jerk. He blinked his eyes open, the urgency in them shaking Alexander to the core.
Patrik exhaled one last time, a soft, empty sound.
As the breeze flowed soft and warm, the birds chirped happily in the distance, the light faded from Patrik’s eyes until they grew blank.
Alexander pressed Patrik’s lids closed and bowed his head. “She is good enough,” he whispered, but Patrik would never believe that. To him she was English. The enemy.
“I am sorry.”
At Nichola’s raw whisper, Alexander looked up. Hurt, aching, and wishing Patrik’s life back. But it was gone, forever. He released Patrik.
On shaky knees, he stood. “I am sorry as well,” he replied, wondering if he would ever overcome the pain of losing his brother, or his guilt.
“It was not your fault.” Her face was stained with tears. “If I had not run—”
“Regardless of your actions, Patrik would have tried to kill you.” A fact he accepted. How would he explain Patrik’s senseless death to his brothers?
Nichola’s body trembled. He saw the fear, the questions on her face, but behind that, he saw her love. Her fragile expression had him opening his arms. She stepped into his embrace. He hugged her, needing her, loving her more. Never had he thought to find love. Yet, like a gift, he’d found Nichola.
Alexander stroked his hand down the length of her auburn hair, inhaling the goodness of her scent. “I never saw the missive you left.”
Gray eyes raised to him with hope. “You believe me?”
He stared at Patrik’s lifeless body. Tiredness and the weight of death swept through him. “He must have destroyed it.”
Sorrow clung to her eyes like broken dreams. She glanced toward the south, toward England.
Toward her home.
Alexander’s hope of her choosing to remain with him in Scotland dimmed. He caught her shoulders in a gentle hold. “Do you love me?”
She stared up at him. Doubt, uncertainty, and need waged a war within her eyes.
Fear at losing her battered his already battered nerves. “Answer me.”
“Nichola,” a deep male voice yelled, “get back!”
From the side, Alexander caught a blurred glimpse of a huge man a split second before he slammed him to the ground. His breath whooshed out.
Nichola screamed.
Chapter Twenty
Nichola stared at the large, well-muscled man attacking Alexander. Her breath caught. Her heart stuttered. Her legs threatened to give. Mary’s will!
She stumbled forward. “Griffin!”
“Stay back,” her brother commanded her as he raised his fist to strike Alexander.
“Do not hit him!” With a half laugh, half cry, she wiped the tears from her face. Griffin wasn’t dead. The news of her brother’s death had all been a lie. She stared at him, taking him in.
A leather thong secured his brown hair, enhancing the hard angles of his face. He wore a cloak she’d never seen, a rich brown color that made him blend in with the surroundings. His eyes, clear of drink, honed with fury on Alexander.
Alexander caught Griffin’s fist, using her brother’s momentum to flip him. Before she could stop him, Alexander slammed Griffin on his back.
He landed with a grunt. With a curse, he wedged his foot against Alexander’s chest, shoved him back, then sprang to his feet. Her brother unsheathed his dagger.
The scar along Alexander’s left cheek tightened. Alexander jumped up, his dagger readied.
Fear pounded in her heart. No one else would die this day! “Griffin listen!” Nichola yelled. “I love him!”
Both men ignored her.
Fear for both their lives spilled through her. Unsure how else to stop them, she ran between them.
Griffin reached out to grab her arm.
She dodged his hand.
“Saint’s wrath, Nichola, move out of the way!” he ordered, never taking his eyes off Alexander.
Alexander’s eyes narrowed on her. “Nichola, move!”
She gave a wilting glare to first one, then the other, her breath coming in unsteady rasps. “I will not.” Both of the pigheaded men were intent on saving her life.
“Do you know him?” Alexander demanded as he stared at his opponent with cold distrust.
“Yes, it is my brother.”
“Lord Monceaux is dead.”
“I will show you dead,” Griffin muttered, his body coiled, ready to attack Alexander. “Nichola, who is he?”
Alexander’s lip curled with anger. “A man who will carve your heart out, you bloody Sassenach.” He tried to skirt her and lunge forward, but she fended off the clash and ended up wedged between their well-honed bodies.
Both men’s blades shot upwards in fear of hurting her.
She didn’t know whether to laugh with joy or scream with frustration. She had to make them listen before one of them was injured or killed.
Nichola shoved her palms against their chests. The tremble of enraged muscles pressed against her hands. “Both of you stop so I can explain!”
Explain? Alexander didn’t move or relax his guard. Neither this man, nor any other, would take Nichola from him.
The thrum of hooves increased. Men’s voices grew louder.
His men. Appeased, Alexander waited. Oddly, her brother didn’t appear worried by the approaching riders.
A horse neighed. Hoofbeats increased. Seathan, Duncan, and several men rode into the clearing.
Alexander and Griffin eased away from each other, their daggers held out in readiness.
Seathan’s gaze swept past the trio and fell on Patrik. Grief ripped through his face until it drowned in devastation. “By the lance of God!” With shaky movement, he dismounted and knelt by Patrik.
His face pale, his eyes ravaged, Duncan dismounted as well and ran to Patrik.
Head bowed, Seathan drew several deep breaths and whispered a prayer. His eyes burning with loss, he looked up at Alexander. “What happened?”
Alexander swallowed hard. He flicked a wary glance toward the stranger Nichola named Griffin; he hadn’t moved.
He turned to his brothers. “Patrik had a blade to Nichola’s neck. He was going to kill her.” His chest ached. “I—I tried to stop him. He was so angry. He wouldn’t listen.” A sword’s wrath! There was no easy way to explain. To forgive himself. “When I freed Nichola, he turned on me—”
“And left you no choice but to kill him,” Seathan finished. A tremor washed through his body. He laid his hand on Patrik’s shoulder, then stood. “Since his parents’ murder, hatred guided Patrik.”
Duncan’s sad gaze raised to Alexander. “It was your only choice, Alexander.”
Alexander remained silent. However true that Patrik had given him no choice, his brother’s death would always haunt him.
“She was English,” Duncan comforted. “To Patrik it was enough.”
Seathan gave a sad nod.
Alexander was a fool to believe Nichola would ever betray him. His shame grew. To salvage his pride, he’d not told them of Patrik’s suspicions.
Seathan glanced toward the man by Nichola’s side. A frown creased his brow. “Wulfe?”
“Wulfe?” Alexander stared at the large warrior opposite him who stood readied for battle, his face notorious in its English heritage.
Seathan was wrong. This couldn’t be the English lord who aided the Scottish rebels. The same man who supplied them English troop movements—and other decisive information that could make the outcome of their uprising a success.
“Wulfe?” Nichola asked. She frowned at the striking man, who matched Alexander’s own strength. “Griffin, what is he talking about?”
Alexander’s hand fisted. Her familiarity with him helped not the man’s cause. “Who is he?”
“I told you he was my brother,” Nichola replied. “Had you both not been so incensed on maiming each other, you would have heard.”
“Your brother is Wulfe?” Seathan and Duncan demanded in unison.
“Wulfe?” Alexander added stunned. Then he stared at Nichola, unsure if the fact he’d almost abducted Wulfe was more incredible than the fact that he’d ended up abducting Wulfe’s sister.
Seathan met Griffin’s gaze. “I never knew your real name. Only your face.” He paused. “I see you have not told your sister as well?”
“No,” Lord Monceaux said. He relaxed his stance. “Until now, I saw no need.”
Seathan nodded. His gaze fell upon Patrik. On a heavy sigh, he gestured to one of his men. “Take him back to Lochshire Castle. Ensure his body is taken care of.”
“Aye, my lord.” With quiet, discreet moves, the knight lifted Patrik and laid him over his horse. The knight mounted, then rode north, disappearing through the trees.
A somber silence fell over the group.
Seathan glanced toward Lord Monceaux. “The timing is not as I would like, but Wulfe, I would introduce you to my brothers, Alexander and Duncan.”
Alexander evaluated the man who matched his skill, his pride eased in that he was a legendary man, a knight the Scots viewed as a symbol of freedom. A man who though English, disagreed with his king’s tyranny and dared to defy his liege lord for Scotland’s cause.
The Baron of Monceaux nodded to Duncan, the warmth in his eyes fading to wariness as they turned upon Alexander.
“Why are you here?” Seathan asked Lord Monceaux. “Once we had parted after reclaiming Wallace’s body, I thought you would have returned to England?”
“I had,” Griffin replied, “only to learn my sister had been abducted for ransom.”
“The decision to abduct you was mine,” Seathan said. “No one was aware that Lord Monceaux and Wulfe were one and the same.”
Lord Monceaux’s brows lifted. “But you took my sister?”
“Who was treated with great respect during her stay,” Seathan said. “When my brother, Alexander, arrived, you were absent.”
“My concerns were to raise coin for our cause. My decision to abduct her came out of duty,” Alexander stated.
Nichola turned from one man to the other. “Will someone tell me what this is all about?”
“Wulfe’s identity,” Alexander explained, the irritation simmering in her eyes all too familiar and endearing, “is only known by a few Scots.” He gestured toward Seathan. “Though my brother knows him, he never was told his real name. Only a handful of people are aware that Wulfe is Lord Monceaux.”
Her brother was Wulfe. As the men continued to speak, Nichola worked to accept the revelation. She turned toward her brother, her mind spinning with this newfound knowledge.
“What do you do?” Nichola asked.
“I aid the Scots,” Griffin replied, his eyes softening on hers.
“You are a spy?”
His expression hardened, his conviction for his actions clear. “Aye.”
“But you are King Edward’s advisor to the Scots?”
Griffin nodded.
She hesitated, then it all made sense. A new thought crossed her mind. Panic raced through her. “And what of the times you were gone? The money? Our finances. Mary’s will. We are—”
Her brother took her hand. “I need to explain,” he said quietly. “When our parents died, they were en route to try and free me.”
“I know. You had been imprisoned.”
Hurt creased his face. “Over drink, an argument broke out. I was imprisoned on the charge of attacking a noble. Thankfully, no one ever made the connection of my true reason for being there. At the time, like our father, I was already working in secret for Scotland and passing sensitive information to King Balliol.”
“Our father was a spy for Scotland as well?” she asked in shock.
Her brother shrugged. “A family tradition you might say.” He sobered and gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “I am sorry. I never meant to put your life or that of our parents at risk.”
A tear slid down her cheek, then another. A sob escaped her lips. The slight blur of Alexander moving toward her was stopped as she saw Seathan shake his head. Then it was only Griffin, his arms wrapped around her, his quiet whispers soothing her, asking for her forgiveness.
She clung to him. She’d not lost him after all. Stronger, she stepped away from her brother. Alexander laid his hand upon her shoulder, his strength and comfort filling her soul.
“Griffin, I was wrong to blame you for our parents’ death. After, I thought you hated me.”
“No. You are my sister. My blood. I love you. That will never change.”
“The last year you would not even speak to me. You let me believe—”
“The worst,” her brother finished with a grimace. “Women, gambling, and that we had naught left but a pittance.”
Her breath caught. “And Lord James?”
“He died in a duel with another man. Our argument earlier that evening was what spawned the gossip that I had killed him. I was falsely accused and was being sought, which is why I left through the secret passageway. Until I could prove my innocence, I could not allow myself to be caught.”
She was trying to absorb everything he was telling her. “I have checked the ledgers. What else have you not shared?”
“With my secret activities, I feared for your life. I thought to keep you safe. My being a drunkard and a scoundrel were a cover.” Griffin gave her a tender smile.
“We are not impoverished?” she whispered.
“No,” he said gently. “Far from it. There is a second ledger I have hidden that holds our true accounts.”
Relief swept through her. Then Nichola remembered the heirlooms she’d sold in a misguided attempt to keep coin in their coffers. Possessions passed down through their family. Tapestries that’d reminded her of their parents. But he’d never explained it, had allowed her to sell them.
No, he’d never known. If he had told her the truth, they would still hold the items that reminded her of those they’d dearly loved and honored.
“You could have told me,” she said, angry.
“The risk was too great,” Griffin replied. “Had you known, you might have done something, unknowingly to endanger your life.”
“And what if you died?”
“The seneschal knows and would have explained everything. Unfortunately,” Griffin gave Alexander a hard look before turning back to her, “he was away when the runner arrived with the ransom.”
Mary’s will. Now she had her own confession. “Unaware our coffers were full, while you were away I sold several heirlooms.”
A smile touched his mouth. “Each of which I have purchased through various channels.”
Joy rushed through her. “They are not lost?”
“No.” Then his mouth grew solemn. Griffin brushed a wisp of hair that’d slipped onto her cheek. “I regret what you have endured, more so, your abduction. And for whatever treatment you have suffered.” He slanted an ominous look toward Alexander. “By God, if you have harmed my sister in any way, you will answer to me.”
Alexander bristled.
Nichola shook her head, her heart aching. “No, he never harmed me.”
“Then why did you leave?” Alexander asked.
She searched Alexander’s face, plagued by doubts. “I thought you did not want me.”
Alexander stepped closer, blocking out all of the others. “How could I not want you? I am in love with you.”
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