His Woman (15 page)

The chamber stood empty.

She scanned the room. Only the painted faeries above watched her. A shimmer to her right caught her attention. Within the bowl, the halved sapphire seemed to twinkle.

Isabel frowned, remembering how the gem had appeared to glow when she’d first seen it.

Drawn by a force she could not explain, she padded across the chamber. As she drew closer to the bowl, impossibly, the light from within the sapphire strengthened.

A shiver skittered across her skin. She was imagining such. ’Twas moonlight reflecting off the gem. Yet, outside the window, night clung to the sky thick with clouds. Neither did the flames within the hearth reach this corner of the room.

Her fingers trembled as she picked up the gem and held it within her palm. Warmth, then a soothing balm infused her, a gentleness she could not explain. Tears burned her eyes. She cradled the halved sapphire. If she could not have Duncan, with this gem, she would at least have a part of him.

Wiping her eyes dry, she packed her belongings in a small sack, then carefully stowed the sapphire inside.

A soft knock sounded on the door.

Stuffing the few articles of clothing she had beneath the bed, she straightened the bed coverings, walked to the door and opened it.

An older woman holding a tray of food bowed before her. “As you missed the evening meal, Sir Duncan asked me to bring you food.”

“Please, set it on the table.”

The woman frowned at her with motherly concern. “You are not feeling well?”

“No.” ’Twas not a lie. Her sadness was not tied to her health, but the empty prospects of her life ahead, and her fear of failing to save her father’s life.

“No doubt after your trauma this day.” The woman tsked. “The merchant should be hung. After spending time in the dungeon, he will be regretting his attempt to abduct you.”

Numb, Isabel nodded, not wanting to think of today’s near capture. “If you please, do not wake me to break my fast. I have decided to sleep in.”

The servant nodded. “The extra rest is needed with all the time you spent awake tending to Duncan.” The woman patted Isabel’s arm. “Nay trouble yourself further. You will be safe here.”

Isabel remained silent. The option for safety on any level was long lost.

Warm gray eyes sparkled as the servant patted Isabel on the arm. “Once you have eaten, you will sleep like a babe. And I will ensure you are not bothered in the morning.”

“My thanks.”

With a nod, the woman turned and left.

Isabel waited several moments until she was sure the servant had left, then she hurried over and withdrew her sack stuffed with her garb from beneath the bed. She wrapped the food upon the tray and placed it inside as well. After adding another layer of clothing to help fortify her from the cold, she gathered her cloak. Thankful that with the hood pulled over her head it would shield her as would with the shadows, she left her chamber.

With the castle bedded down for the night, Isabel slipped through the great hall with ease. Outside, she was thankful the blanket of clouds remained, casting the bailey of Lochshire Castle in myriad shadows.

Still, she waited along the side of the steps to ensure no one had seen her leave. A gust of wind sent snow spiraling before her, slipping flakes beneath her cape and chilling her exposed skin. She tugged her wrap tighter.

Able to again see, Isabel kept close to the bailey wall, her steps on the newly fallen snow cautious. At least the gusty wind would erase her tracks.

The shuffle of horses and smothered voices raised in terse tones echoed from the stable. The door to the keep opened and Duncan, Seathan, and Alexander strode from the entry and headed to where the runner waited.

She flattened herself against the curtain wall.
Please don’t see me
.

Caught up in meeting with the messenger and in deep discussion, the brothers strode past her.

Isabel sagged against the cold stone. Thank God.

At the entrance to the stable, Duncan paused and glanced toward the tower where he believed her asleep.

Her heart squeezed. What were his thoughts? Of anger and frustration, or did he regret their intimacy?

With his frown captured in the flicker of torchlight, Duncan turned and joined his brothers already speaking in harsh tones with the runner.

Steadying herself, Isabel focused on her escape. Satisfied that everyone was occupied with the runner’s arrival, she hurried toward the gatehouse. With one last look around the bailey, she stole into the darkened tunnel.

At the drawbridge, she squinted against the darkness and the blowing snow. Across the ice bordering either side of the road, she barely made out the snow-covered field that disappeared into the bordering forest. She saw no sign of either Seathan’s or Frasyer’s men.

As if, between the night and the blowing snow covering the moon, she could discern any threat. If her absence had been discovered, with visibility poor, odds were anyone searching for her this late would miss her as well.

After a quick prayer, Isabel scurried down the side of the bank, keeping to the shadows along the side of the road.

Wind tugged at her clothes, bit at her exposed skin as she trekked along the narrow path. On shore, after one look around, she sprinted across the meadow. At the edge of the tall pines, she looked one last time at Lochshire Castle. Sadness embraced her. With a hard swallow, Isabel turned and disappeared into the forest.

The howl of wind roared above the treetops as Duncan guided his mount down a steep embankment. Though shielded from the bitter wind and the lash of snow, once he broke free of the forest, the hard flakes would assault him.

He tucked his gloved hands holding the reins deeper into the folds of his cloak. Thankfully, after he crossed the stretch of field and the road straddling a portion of the loch ahead, his journey would be over.

As he rode beneath a leafless oak, sunlight splintered through the branches, tossed about with an unforgiving force. At least daylight was with him. After sunset, any semblance of warmth would be smothered by the night. He shivered as he navigated around a large fir, careful to keep his mount near the bare ground carved by wind swirling around the base of the trees.

Already his body ached from riding hard this day. Against his brothers’ cautions, he’d ridden with them at the break of dawn to meet with Wallace. Afterward, he had left while Seathan and Alexander remained to work out details of an upcoming rebel siege.

The hard ride had taken its toll on him and irritated his freshly healed injuries. Not that he would admit it. However, neither the arduous travel, nor the dangers of having slipped passed Frasyer’s men upon his return had kept thoughts of Isabel from his mind.

An image of her standing naked before him in the tower chamber, regret darkening her amber eyes while her body was still taut from his touch, haunted him.

Even now, with almost a day past since they’d almost made love, her intent to return to Frasyer left him baffled. Isabel’s uninhibited response to his touch and the intensity of how she’d returned his kisses assured him that she desired him. Yet, she was determined to return to a man who had cast her into his dungeon. A sword’s wrath. What other atrocities had she suffered beneath the bastard’s hands that she so obviously lived in fear of Frasyer’s displeasure?

His each breath spiraled before him, then vanished within the bluster of wind. Had another man told Duncan such a story of a lass’s decision to return to such a cruel lover, he would have dismissed it as a tale long told. But it was true, and the idea of her returning to Frasyer tore him apart.

One would think when it came to Isabel, he would have learned that power and wealth drew her, power that Frasyer held, not the meager earnings of a knight. Yet, after their heated kiss, he couldn’t stop the resounding belief that something was deeply amiss.

And why had Symon shared rebel movements with Frasyer’s lover? Aye, she was Symon’s sister, but he’d witnessed his friend’s shame when Isabel’s name was mentioned after she’d become Frasyer’s mistress. Neither could he forget Lord Caelin’s subsequent withdrawal from the community upon his daughter’s disgraceful choice.

Though her family obviously disagreed with her actions, not only had they met with her in secret, but they had also revealed rebel secrets that none close to an enemy’s camp should ever have knowledge of.

Yet she had, in chilling detail.

Regardless of how Duncan tried to find logic in the facts, his musings crafted a tangled puzzle. If only he could speak with Symon, ask him what the devil was going on. He curled the reins within his hand and glared at the snow-covered road stretching out before him. Until they freed Lord Caelin, he would have no answers, especially because Isabel, for whatever her reason, refused to speak on the subject.

He rode in the break between the thick firs, and a field blanketed by snow opened up before him. Framed within the frozen grasp of the lake, Lochshire Castle, Duncan’s home since his youth, rose up before him, a majestic stronghold that none had ever breeched. But stone and mortar held little defense against the thoughts in his mind.

Or his heart.

Bedamned! Duncan nudged his mount into a canter, embracing winter’s raw scent, the harsh bite of cold as he rode against the wind. His mulling was a waste of time. Her actions and words assured him she would not change her mind when it came to remaining with him.

Upon his arrival, he would check on Isabel, then be done with her. He could not go on this way with her, trapped within a state of perpetual confusion as to his own wants and wishes.

At first light on the morrow, he and another knight were riding for Moncreiffe Castle to retrieve the Bible. He now knew the layout of Frasyer’s home, and where the Bible wasn’t, which was to their advantage. Isabel would be furious when they returned with the Bible without her knowledge of his going, but at this point, he cared not of her outrage. His goal now was to save her father’s life. Once Lord Caelin was safe, maybe then she would realize that life wasn’t meant to be squandered on the unworthy, and that her path was of her own choosing.

A path he found himself wishing led to him.

With a heavy heart, Duncan cantered beneath the gatehouse, then drew up before the stable.

A lad ran up and took the reins.

“My thanks,” Duncan said as he dismounted, favoring his left side where it was still tender to move his arm.

“Sir Duncan,” an older woman greeted as he entered the keep.

He nodded, recognizing the servant he’d asked to bring up a meal to Isabel last night. The worry on her brow had him halting. “What is wrong?”

“It is Lady Isabel.”

Well aware of Isabel’s stubbornness, Duncan glanced up the steps. “I will tend to her.”

“That is not the problem.” The woman’s hesitation before she continued sent a chill of foreboding down Duncan’s spine. “I cannot find her.”

“What?”

“Last night,” the woman rushed on, “when I brought Lady Isabel a tray of food as you requested, she stated she felt unwell and would sleep in. She asked not to be awoken in the morn. Thinking she needed rest, I agreed.” She worried her fingers in her gown. “But when the bells of Terse rang and she had not come down, I went to check on her.” She shook her head. “She is gone.”

A swirl of emotions balled in his gut. He wasn’t sure how to feel, upset, worried, or furious. “You have searched the entire keep?”

“Aye, including the stables and everywhere else I could think of. Frantic I have been. Thank the heavens you returned when you did.”

He nodded. “I will look for her.”

“I am sorry, Sir Duncan.”

“Nay, it is not your fault.” He knew exactly where that blame lay—with his own assumption that Isabel would cause no more trouble. He was over-reacting. She wouldn’t leave without a single word. After their confrontation last night, most likely, she’d found someplace quiet within Lochshire Castle to be alone.

Several hours later, streaks of orange raced across the sky tangled with hues of blue and purple as Duncan hurried toward the keep, giving in to his one last hope. The search for Isabel had turned up naught. Even with several of his guards and servants joining in, no one had found or seen her this day. He would check the tower chamber one last time.

And pray she had returned.

The slap of his boots upon stone echoed around him as he ran up the spiral steps, his tension building with each level. At the top, the door stood open. Waiting. Inviting. Beckoning him to enter.

Please be there.

Duncan ran inside.

Empty.

Silence hummed around him, potent with erotic memories of Isabel in his arms, of her standing naked before him, of her shudders of desire against his every touch.

He shook away the visions, furious they would come, that her taste haunted his senses. The faeries above him seemed to glow. He scowled at them, and the sapphire amulet at his neck began to warm.

Heart pounding, he stilled, remembering when Nichola had taken Alexander’s halved gem from the bowl before she’d run away. Then later, of how he and Seathan had teased Alexander that her taking it was a token that sealed their destiny.

But now, with the faeries above him seeming as if alive, and the room vibrating with life, he found himself believing such a spell could exist.

No, he was being foolish.
Look at the bowl, lad, and you’ll see ’twas a jest that he and Seathan had made up to set Alexander on edge. It held no merit.
Duncan drew in a slow breath, released it. And turned.

The half of Seathan’s moss agate lay in the bowl. Alone.

Panic weighed on him, as fast as his denial. It meant nothing except that Isabel must have taken the other half of his sapphire.

And proof that she’d left.

He focused on that, the notion of it being a token sealing their destiny was too ridiculous to entertain.

When had she gone? Last night? This morning? No horse was missing, which meant she was foolish enough, or desperate enough, to leave on foot. With the snow to wade through, she wouldn’t make it far.

Through the window, he surveyed the blast of white broken by forest. What did she hope to prove?

He stormed down the turret steps and strode outside. The bitter wind battered his face, stole through slim openings in his garb to slice into his body, shooting his anger up another notch. And she was out in this? Why was it, when he was ready to wash his hands of her, did Isabel do something beyond foolhardy and rouse his protective instincts to the forefront?

Ready to throttle the stubborn chit, Duncan raced toward the stable.

Crouched within the thick shrubs, Isabel observed Frasyer’s knights, whom she’d stumbled across. Her legs ached from hours of travel, her each breath chilling her throat, and her limbs trembled from fatigue.

With the sun whispering myriad gold and purple streamers across the sky, common sense urged her to carefully back away and make a wide circle around where the knights had camped for the night. Except the sight of their horses tied a good distance away and shielded within a bank of fir trees, lured her to remain.

With a mount, she could travel through the night. And by daybreak, she would arrive at the secret passage she and Duncan had used to escape Moncreiffe Castle. On foot, it would take at least another two days of pushing herself, unless she was caught.

A horse whinnied.

A knight glanced toward the mount, murmured something to the other men, then rejoined them in their discussion.

Relief filtered through her. Since they were on Frasyer’s land, their arrogant belief that they were alone would aid her in her plan. After the sun had set, when darkness embraced them and the men slept, she would untie one of the horses and ride away.

Hours later, shivering almost uncontrollably, Isabel crept toward the horses using the path of trodden snow to shield her presence. A full moon hung in the star-filled sky threatening to betray her presence. After checking once again to ensure the guards hadn’t noticed her, she hurried the last few paces and hid between the horses.

A larger gelding shifted, another snorted and stamped his front hoof.

She froze, awaiting the sound of running men.

The rustle of wind-blown branches clattered above her. A distant owl hooted into the pristine night. As before, with only a cursory check by a man closest to the horses, Frasyer’s knights remained circled around their fire.

She released a slow breath. With care she untied the steed farthest away from the men. Keeping her hand over his muzzle, Isabel led him away. The crunch of snow beneath their every step echoed as if a battering ram. The silence of the night built around her with damning weight.

Not until she’d reached the opposite side of the knoll, did she guide the horse to a nearby fallen tree and mount. The moonlight, which she’d earlier cursed, now illuminated the forest around her with a silvery light.

With a silent prayer that fate’s hand would guide her in finding the Bible and reaching her father in time, she kicked the steed toward Moncreiffe Castle.

At a large outcrop of rocks, Duncan halted his mount, his entire body aching from riding hard all night. Through the thick white flakes, he scanned the snow-covered field he and Isabel had crossed after they’d left Frasyer’s secret tunnel.

A lone set of hoof prints leaving the forest caught his attention. The tracks faded as they entered the field beneath the new fallen snow, but he knew where they led. In the distance, almost hidden within a thicket of trees near the tunnel’s entrance, he caught the flash of a bay.

A guard’s horse? Nay, that he refused to believe. Last eve, when he’d picked up Isabel’s tracks in the snow, he’d followed them, surprised to discover they led to where Frasyer’s men had made camp for the night.

At first, terrified she’d been captured, he’d started around the perimeter in search of where they’d held her. Halfway around, he’d picked up her footprints accompanied by those of a steed moving away from camp.

She’d stolen one of the guard’s horses? With them seated casually at the fire, ’twould seem straight from beneath their unknowing noses.

He shook his head in disbelief. The knights would rue their overconfidence when Frasyer learned of their neglect. Aye, Frasyer would be furious, more so as the cause was one slip of a woman.

Duncan grimaced as he stared at the partially hidden bay, unsure if he should laud her move as brave or foolhardy. A fat flake of snow landed on his cheek, quickly followed by another. To linger would invite trouble, the last thing he, or Isabel, would be needing.