His Woman (4 page)

“Not until the morrow. They are too busy searching for you to be concerned with the fate of a foolish lad.” He rose, hastened to the door and listened.

Muted footsteps and slamming doors echoed outside as the guards searched each chamber on their level. A man called. Another replied from farther away. After a long while, sounds of the search faded to muffled calls as the guards ceased their search in the upper levels of the keep.

Duncan sighed, relieved. “With the size of Frasyer’s castle, the guards will re-search the lower floors and will not return to the upper level for a while.”

“Mayhap, but rest assured, his men will continue in their quest until they find me.”

Aware of how Frasyer guarded his own, Duncan realized she was right. “We can still leave now.”

Her expression left no room for doubt. “I am not going. Not without my mother’s Bible.”

“Very well,” he replied, having correctly anticipated her response. “Then I will ensure the guards do not return before we have had a chance to finish our search.”

“How?”

“I will create a diversion. While they are distracted, it will give us time to find the Bible and escape.”

“No,” Isabel said. “With the guards swarming the keep, it is too dangerous. I know the layout, I could do—”

“Nothing.”

She shot him a lethal glare. “My life is at stake as well. If you think I will remain here while you are out risking your life, you know little of me.”

He strode forward until a hand’s width separated them. Duncan caught her chin with his fingers and lifted it until their eyes met, damning the jolt of awareness.

“Did I ever know you?” The words stormed out before he could halt them.

Her eyes softened. Her lips parted. “Duncan—”

He released her and stepped back, angry over his lapse of control. “Wait here. On this point I will not yield.”

Isabel studied him, her stubborn look one he’d witnessed many times over. She didn’t like obeying his order, wanted to argue, but from the resignation pooling in her eyes, he surmised she was thinking of her father.

“What will you do?” she finally asked.

“I will think of something.” He relished the thought of causing the bastard Frasyer another troublesome blow. “Upon my return, we will retrieve your family heirloom.”

At his reference to the Bible, her gaze slid to the floor.

Her evasive manner stopped him cold. A ludicrous thought popped into his mind. “You do know where the Bible is?”

“Isabel, tell me you know where the Bible is!”

At Duncan’s whispered demand, Isabel met his incredulous gaze, wishing she could offer him a different truth. She shook her head. “No.”

Green eyes hardened to black. “You led me to believe you knew where it was.”

She refused to feel guilty. She had given him many opportunities to leave. “I thought I could convince you to go without me.”

“Even if I had left, with the guards scouring every nook of the castle to find you, are you daft enough to believe you would have time for more than a token search?”

“I still need to try.”

The shouts of guards echoed from below.

“Do you have any idea where Frasyer has hidden it?” he demanded.

Isabel nodded, but the location was the last place she’d ever wish Duncan to see.

“Where?”

Isabel braced herself. “In Frasyer’s private chambers.”

Red stroked the hard angles of his cheeks. His eyes narrowed to slits.

Coldness swept through her. He would rid himself of her now. How could he not? A fact she should be thankful for, but a part of her still ached at his leaving.

“When I return, be ready to depart.” He strode toward the door.

Return? No, he was supposed to be leaving! “Duncan?”

At the entry, he turned. “What?”

The hard expression on his face dared her to challenge his decision to remain. The stubborn, honorable fool. ’Twould seem he’d risk his life for her and her father due to his deathbed promise to Symon. Something she couldn’t allow.

“Be careful,” Isabel said, keeping her voice soft so as not to betray her intent.

A muscle worked in his jaw. “Careful? Nay, lass, I will take the risk. The last time I was careful, it was with you.” He jerked open the door. “And you left me for Frasyer’s bed.” The seasoned wood settled behind him with a soft clunk.

She sagged back. His anger toward her would serve him well. More so when he returned to find her gone. Then he would quit Moncreiffe Castle.

Without her.

Breath heaving in his chest, Duncan glanced at the unconscious men with disgust. Only after he’d thrown the torch atop the pile of straw filling the wagon and the flames had begun to build had their outlines come into view. By then it was too late. The men had noticed him.

And charged.

Thankfully, both were poorly trained. Still, one of their blades had sliced his left arm. Keeping pressure on the wound to stop the bleeding, he sprinted across the bailey.

“The smithy’s hut is catching fire!” a guard shouted from the wall walk. Several other guards located farther away echoed the alert.

Duncan bolted into the shadow cast by the keep as men raced past him toward the fire. Dragging in gulps of air, he braced himself against the cold stone wall.

He swiped the sweat from his brow. He was a knight. Not an inexperienced lad. He knew better than to let his guard down, but moments ago, caught up in thoughts of Isabel, he’d missed seeing the men standing near the smithy’s hut.

At the clatter of steps, he flattened himself against the cold stone.

Torchlight outlined several guards as they rushed from the keep.

That a way, lad, keep thinking about the lass and you will have your bloody arse in the dungeon.

“Form a line,” a man yelled from across the bailey. “Pass the buckets!”

Water sloshed from wooden buckets as they were quickly passed from man to man to be emptied onto the flames, then rushed back to the well.

The door beside Duncan creaked open wider. Two more guards ran past. After a quick glance around to ensure no one saw him, Duncan slipped inside the keep.

Servants hurried about, some grabbing empty cauldrons, others blankets to soak and beat at the flames.

“Put your backs into it and put out the fire!” a commanding voice roared from the bailey.

At the curt order, Duncan froze. He turned and looked out the stone exit. Outlined in the roar of flames stood Frasyer’s familiar outline.

Bedamned! Isabel had said Frasyer was away. From the fear in her eyes, he’d believed her. Part of him marveled at how he seemed ready to accept her word at face value; the other part cursed his lingering naïveté, which had put him in this situation of wanting to help a woman who didn’t deserve it.

A man ran past him and slammed the door to the keep, cutting off Frasyer’s next words.

Holding his left arm tight against his chest, with the whir of activity, Duncan passed through the great hall unnoticed. When he reached the turret, he ran up.

As he passed the second-floor exit, his legs grew heavy. It took his entire concentration to push forward. When he reached the third floor, his vision began to blur.

Bracing himself against the wall, he lifted his cloak. Blood stained a wide swath of his undershirt and was seeping onto his robe. Grimacing, he tore a strip of cloth from the hem of his undershirt, then wrapped his arm tight to stop the flow of blood.

By the time he reached the chapel door, his legs trembled as if weighted by stones. He shoved the door open and entered. Embraced by the scent of frankincense and myrrh, he glanced around.

Candles flickered on a nearby wall, filling the chamber with a golden glow. The crucifix behind the altar lay haloed within the calm, its simple beauty lending to the surreal air.

But the room stood empty.

Where was she? He glanced toward the robes. “Isabel?” The garments hanging along the wall remained still.

“Isabel?”

Silence.

Another wave of dizziness swamped him. He gritted his teeth. Slowly, his mind cleared, and Isabel’s words of caution echoed in his mind. Blast it. She’d told him to be careful, because she’d already decided to search for the Bible without him.

How could he have again given her his trust? He glared down the corridor toward the opposite end of the hallway to where the stairs spiraled up one more level. A forth floor, a novelty that only a man of great wealth could afford. And Frasyer’s father’s pride and joy.

Like father, like son.

His anger built. As Frasyer’s mistress, Isabel had known the likelihood of the Bible being hidden on the elusive upper floor, but having planned on sneaking away, she’d kept him ignorant of where Frasyer’s chamber lay.

Duncan started toward the steps. At the top, the corridor unfolded before him. Unlike the barren hallway below lit with several torches shoved within dreary wall sconces, a finely woven burgundy rug graced the entire length. Torches burned outside of each entry like polished sentinels, rigid within their ornate sconces.

Portraits of the current Earl of Frasyer preceded that of the majestic parade of his ancestors hanging prominently along the walls in gilded frames, each of their faces captured in an unyielding stance. The array of finely crafted swords hanging on each side of the portraits embellished the obvious.

Luxury. Wealth. Power.

A slight scrape of the door to his immediate left was Duncan’s only warning someone was coming. He scanned the corridor. Bedamned, nowhere to hide!

He flattened himself against the wall, his dagger drawn.

A door creaked open.

Duncan lunged and slammed the person against the door, his dagger against the neck.

“Duncan, no!” Isabel gasped.

He blew out a deep breath and secured his weapon, all too aware of the soft press of her body wedged against his. “I told you to stay in the chamber below.”

“I—”

“Never intended to remain and wait for me.”

The flush on her cheeks betrayed her guilt. She glanced toward the window where outside, yellow flames from below in the bailey fragmented the night. Her mouth turned down.

“You risked going outside to start a fire?” Isabel asked. “I cannot believe that you—”

“Lass,” he interrupted, irritated by the awe in her voice. He was far from a hero. More of a fool. “We face a greater risk than my going outside. Frasyer is here.”

Her face paled. “He cannot be. It should have taken him several days to ride to Lord Monceaux’s with my father and deliver the charges.”

The sincerity of her reaction was believable, but he’d learned his lesson. “Then why has he returned early? Or have you been lying to me about his leaving all along.”

“I would never betray you like this.”

His arm throbbed. Her image wavered before him. He steadied himself. “And what do you call breaking your vow to wed me for Frasyer’s bed?”

For a long moment she stared at him, her face filled with sadness, then crumbling to regret. “The only decision I had.”

“Decision?” Her explanation was naught but twisted words. He shook his head to silence whatever she was about to say. “There is little time for your prattle.” With his arm hurting like the devil, he urged her forward. “Go.”

The muted yells of men below supported his claim. Once safely away, then he would have his answers.

Isabel tried to pull free.

“What?” he demanded.

She shook her head. “I…It is nothing.”

“For this once, spare me your lies.”

Eyes filled with anguish met his. “Only one reason would cause Frasyer to return early. My father is injured. Or”—she swallowed hard, her voice thinning, her entire body beginning to shake—“he is dead.”

“Isabel.”

She ignored him. “Mayhap en route, Frasyer arranged for my father to have an accident? Nay, Frasyer wouldn’t kill him,” she rambled. “He would never risk losing his control over me.”

After her incarceration, the contempt in her voice didn’t surprise Duncan, but her comment resurrected suspicions that she harbored a far darker secret.

“How long has Frasyer been gone?”

“Two days.” She frantically searched his face. “But I need to know if my father is alive.”

“Lord Caelin is not dim-witted,” Duncan said. “With his poor health, he would not be foolish enough to challenge Frasyer or his guards.” Unless he’d imbibed in one too many drinks, which wasn’t likely under the earl’s guard. “I believe he still lives.”

Isabel seemed to find strength in his words. “Do you truly think so?”

“Aye.” Duncan scanned the corridor, which was staggered by several doors. “Which room is Frasyer’s?”

She didn’t seem convinced. “Duncan—”

“Which one?” he pressed.

A loud cheer roared from the bailey.

“It sounds as if they have extinguished the fire. Hurry.” Another wave of weakness struck him. He pushed forward. He refused to pass out until after they’d escaped.

Isabel shot him a nervous glance. “We may need to search more than Frasyer’s private chamber.”

“I thought you said that is where he would keep the Bible?”

“It could be.”

“But you are not sure?” Duncan muttered, not liking where this conversation was heading or the anxious looks she kept sending him. “We will search every bloody room if need be.”

Isabel opened her mouth to speak.

“If you know what is good for you, do not even ask me to leave.”

Her eyes narrowed, but she remained silent.

Against the throbbing in his arm, he forced himself to walk by her side, her tantalizing scent doing nothing to improve his foul mood. Neither could he ignore the natural grace with which she walked, or how the fabric clung to her, revealing the soft swells of her breasts.

“And if the Bible is not in any of his rooms,” he pressed, “where do you suggest we search next?”

“I am unsure.” Isabel didn’t look toward Duncan. He was furious, how could he not be, but he didn’t understand how his mere presence was tearing her apart. All he could see was her betrayal.

God, she hated living this lie, how even now, with her father’s life at risk, she couldn’t tell Duncan the true reason she’d walked away from their betrothal. Or of Frayser’s threat to Duncan’s life if she revealed the truth.

She didn’t doubt Duncan’s abilities with a sword. Given a fair fight, he’d outmaneuver Frasyer as he had over and again throughout their youth. But she knew Frasyer. He wouldn’t fight fair.

Over the years, she’d prayed to find a way to set things right, then she could tell Duncan everything. After three years, no answer had come.

Only the passage of time.

And regret.

Until this moment, it had not mattered that she’d never visited Frasyer’s private room, that he’d not wanted her except as a reminder of what he’d taken from Duncan. She’d expected to conduct the search in private, her unfamiliarity of his personal living space going unnoticed. How could she fool Duncan? At least before he had arrived, she’d narrowed Frasyer’s personal chamber down to one door.

“The one at the end.”

“Of course,” he muttered under his breath. “We would not want his chamber to be close.”

In silence, she walked beside him and noticed he seemed to favor his left arm. “What is wrong with your arm?”