The Chase (15 page)

“Betray who? That arrogant old bastard Angus? Who sat up in the castle while ye an'
Allistair an' I lived here in this tiny cottage like peasants?” she asked bitterly. “We
should have been in the castle! We should have”

Seonaid didn't know who was more stunned when Aeldra suddenly slapped Giorsal.

Aeldra didn't say a word. She got slowly to her feet, turned her back on the woman who had
raised her, and walked out of the cottage, neither slowing her step when she reached
Seonaid nor even glancing her way.

Seonaid started to follow her, then paused and glanced back to ask, “How long ha'e ye
hated us?”

Giorsal's mouth twisted bitterly. “Yer whole life.”

Seonaid merely nodded and walked wearily out of the cottage. She looked around for Aeldra,
but the girl must have broken into a run the moment she was out the door. Her cousin was
nowhere in sight. Neither was Little George, she noted. Blake was still there, however.
Seonaid debated her chances of avoiding him, but it seemed unlikely. He had that stubborn
set to his shoulders she was starting to recognize.

That thought gave her something of a start. It was surprising that she was beginning to
recognize anything about him.

“Your cousin is dead?” Blake asked the question in quiet sympathetic tones as soon as she
paused before him.

Seonaid nodded. It was all she had intended to do, but suddenly she found herself blurting
out what she had learned; Allistair's perfidy, Giorsal's hatred, and their plans for her
and her family and even for

himself. She finished with, “Aeldra is sore upset.”

“Aye.” Blake nodded, then added softly, “As are you.”

Much to her horror, Seonaid felt tears rush to her eyes at those words and the sympathy he
offered. She struggled to force them back, but they would not go.

“Oh, damn,” she gasped, and tried to turn away from him, but he caught her arms and held
her in place.

“There is no shame in grieving the deaths of those you love,” Blake said quietly and tried
to pull her against his chest, but Seonaid resisted.

“He would have killed me father an' brother, an' you too even,” she cried, and the words
revealed her confusion. Part of her grieved Allistair's death; the other part was grateful
he had died without succeeding at his plan. Was even grateful he was dead so she needn't
hate him, a man who had been like a brother to her for years.

“I suppose you are sorry he did not succeed at killing me at least, though I doubt you
would have seen your father and brother dead to escape me.”

Seonaid's resistance had been weakening and she had slowly been allowing him to urge her
against his chest, but now she pulled back with a shocked gasp. “I would ne'er”

She paused as she spotted the faint twinkle in his eyes. He had been teasing.

“Would you never, Seonaid Dunbar?” he asked, and there was curiosity on his face. “You
would not wish me dead?”

Seonaid shook her head and knew it was true. She did not wish this man dead. She didn't
wish him ill at all. She wasn't even sure she wished not to marry him. Seonaid had been
fleeing him for many reasons, fear, pride, anger... but mostly out of pride. Pride could
be a terrible trial, and she had more than her fair share of it. Being betrothed to the
son of a man her father hated had been hard enough to bear, but his tarrying in collecting
her had been a shame she'd had to carry as well. The years in between had been confusing
ones.

Life didn't appear to be getting any less confusing either, she realized as she became
aware that his face was lowering toward hers.

“Seonaid.” He whispered her name and she felt his breath on her lips. Her eyes closed,
reopened, then almost crossed in an effort to focus on his mouth.

“Aye?”

“I am going to kiss you,” he announced.

“Oh,” she breathed, and was immediately cast into deeper confusion. He was going to kiss
her. She should fight, she supposed, but Seonaid didn't have the energy to do so. She
didn't even know if she had the will. She had felt so weary and lost on leaving Giorsal's
cottage, and now those sensations were easing somewhat and she felt sure they would ease
even more were he to kiss her. Maybe she could even forget for a little bit. She
desperately wanted to forget. Seonaid did not suffer loss well, and Allistair's loss was
twofold because of the hurtful actions that had apparently led up to it.

Her thoughts were brought to an end as his mouth covered hers. It was incredibly soft. He
looked a terribly hard maneven his lips could form a straight line that appeared
ungivingbut it felt soft, and he tasted as sweet as plum wine as his lips moved over her
own. Seonaid's hopes that he could distract her from her thoughts were realized
immediately. All she was aware of was the pressure of his mouth on hers, and the way his
hands now moved up and down her arms, then slid around her back. His tongue slid between
her lips and Seonaid released a small moan of pleasure as he invaded her, filling her
mouth with the taste of him. All her senses seemed overwhelmed by him; his scentone she
had grown used to while riding with himfilled her nose, his taste was on her tongue, and
she felt him everywhere their bodies met.

For the first time in her life, Seonaid felt completely and utterly female and didn't
mind. She had always thought of women as soft and weak, but in Blake's arms, while she
felt feminine, she also felt excited and powerful. She could have stayed happily locked in
his embrace forever, and couldn't restrain a moan of disappointment when he broke the kiss
and eased away to peer down at her.

“I am sorry about your cousin, but Allistair's death is not your fault.”

Seonaid stared at him blankly, her mind slow to adjust. Allistair. Dead. His plans to kill
her father and brother, marry her, and become laird. His betrayal. His death. Her fault?
Had she felt guilty? Aye, she had. She hadn't had a clue that Allistair's feelings for her
had gone beyond cousinly love. Certainly he had teased her and complimented her at times,
and Seonaid had sensed that there was something. But...

But she was lying to herself, she realized. Aye, she'd known. She'd known his feelings for
her had been stronger than they should be as cousin, but his attention had flattered her,
and eased some of the pain Blake's neglect had caused. She had known and now admitted that
she had even gently encouraged it. Seonaid had basked in his attention, using it as a balm
to soothe her hurt pride. She'd told herself that Blake might not think enough to even
bother to claim her, but Allistair thought she was brave and smart and beautiful. She
hadn't felt the same in return, but she had encouraged him and unknowingly encouraged his
traitorous intentions, aiding him in his downfall, and very nearly abetting the death of
her own father and brother. And she was ashamed of herself, and mad as hell. But she
wasn't just mad at herself. Blake deserved some of the blame. Had he come to claim her
when she was sixteen as most men would have...

“Seonaid?” Blake was watching her face closely and concern now filled his features. “What
are you thinking?”

Pressing her mouth closed to keep from speaking all the thoughts whirling in her mind,
Seonaid shook her head and pulled away. He tried to catch her back, but she was in no mood
to deal with him now. She was terrified she would start to yell at him for what she saw as
his part in this ordeal. And she would cut out her own tongue and swallow it before she
would allow this man to know how much his failing to collect her had hurt.

Evading his hands, Seonaid slid past him and broke into a run for the keep. She gave the
effort all she had, stretching her muscles and pumping her hands to use up some of her
anger. It worked somewhat, although it wasn't a great distance from the cottage to the
keep, so perhaps her exhaustion as she mounted the stairs had something to do with the
collection of emotions she had suffered in such a short time: shock, fear, grief, anger,
and betrayal, even passion. After the strenuous ups and downs of the last few days it was
all too much. Seonaid felt about a hundred years old as she dragged herself up the stairs
and entered the keep, far too tired to deal with Lord Rolfe, whose voice was sounding
extremely agitated as it reached her ears.

“What do you mean, the laird is unavailable? Is he all right?”

Seonaid let the door close behind her and eyed the bishop and Lord Rolfe. The prelate
simply looked weary, but Rolfe looked frustrated as he questioned young Willie. It made
Seonaid suspect that the lad wasn't being forthcoming with his answers. But then, she
supposed he wouldn't be. Lord Rolfe was English. Scottish children were taught from birth
to hate the English.

“I asked you a question, lad, and would appreciate an answer.”

Seonaid sighed wearily and started across the hall. “Father was wounded in the siege. He's
restin'; let him rest.”

“Wounded?” Rolfe turned to her with a combination of relief and alarm. Relief at finally
getting his questions answered, she supposed. Alarm at the news he was hearing. “Is he all
right?”

“Aye. He took an arrow in the shoulder. Iliana tended it. He's recoverin'.” “Oh.” He
relaxed somewhat. “Well, what about Duncan, then?” Seonaid arched an eyebrow in Willie's
direction. “He's restin' too,” the lad said. “With Lady Iliana.”

“Resting with... oh.” Rolfe scowled, but Seonaid smiled. She was glad her brother and his
wife were all right. It also sounded as if they were getting along well, which made her
happy. She liked Iliana.

“Well, perhaps we could speak to Lady Wildwood then, Iliana's mother.” “She's restin',”
Willie repeated. The bishop seemed to lose some of his sleepy air at this news. “She was
not injured too, was she?”

“Nay. She's restin' with the laird,” the boy explained with a grin that made Seonaid's
eyes widen. Her father and Lady Wildwood? Resting? Together? The very idea stunned her.
What had been going on while she was gone? If she was surprised, Lord Rolfe was positively
horrified.

“What?” he exclaimed. “Well, tell them we must speak with them at once. We”

“Let them rest,” Seonaid chided, continuing across the hall toward the stairs. “It's been
a tryin' time for all. Surely ye could use some rest too after our journey?”

“Lady Seonaid is right,” Bishop Wykeham murmured. “It's been a long journey. Surely the
morrow is soon enough to find out what went on here and who attacked the castle.”

Seonaid stopped walking, her eyes fixing on Willie. It would seem the men hadn't got much
information out of the lad if they didn't even know who had attacked. Either they'd asked
the wrong questions or the

boy was being difficult on principle alone. She suspected it was the latter but couldn't
find it in her to be angry with him. They were English, after all.

“Greenweld sent a message claimin' I'd been kidnaped by the Colquhouns,” Seonaid
explained. “Duncan took most of the men and rode out to fetch me back. The moment he was
gone, Greenweld attacked the keep and laid siege. Father was hit by an arrow and unable to
lead those left behind. Iliana took his place and managed to hold the castle until Duncan
returned.'' Seonaid glanced at Willie. ”Is that no right?"

“Aye.” He nodded and grinned.

“What happened to Greenweld?” Lord Rolfe asked.

“Dead,” the boy said succinctly and with obvious pleasure.

“His men?” the bishop asked.

“Some fled, some are dead, and some are in the dungeons.”

“Well.” Lord Rolfe and the bishop exchanged glances and seemed to be at a loss as to what
to say or do.

“Sleep, gentlemen,” Seonaid said and started toward the stairs again. She had heard
enough. Greenweld was dead, Allistair was dead, her father wounded, and Dunbar battered
but not beaten. Anything else she could learn on the morrow. Despite her rest during the
ride, she was so weary she could barely lift her feet to take the stairs. “Find one o' the
women to show them where to sleep,” she added to Willie as she slowly trudged up the
stairs, leaving it to the boy to handle. For all she cared at that moment, they could
sleep on the rushes on the great hall floor.

Seonaid paused at the top of the stairs and stared around with surprise. Duncan had
started the changes abovestairs before she'd left. He'd decided to add rooms when his
father had pointed out that the family was growing and that should Iliana's mother visit,
she would be expected to have one of the three rooms abovestairs. He had then added that
neither he nor Seonaid were giving up theirs, so Duncan had best be prepared to give up
the one he shared with his young bride. The idea of sleeping in the great hall with his
sweet young wife had been more than Duncan could stand. He had been in a panic to build
extra rooms abovestairs. It appeared the deed was done. Certainly the upstairs sported
twice the rooms it used to.

Seonaid hesitated, then moved to the door to her own room, or at least the room she used
to sleep in, and presumedly still did. However, when she opened the door, she found it
already occupied. Seonaid came to a halt in the entrance. It took her a second to
recognize Helen sound asleep on her bed. Unwilling to disturb her and then have to answer
questions, Seonaid backed out of the room.

“ 'Tis sorry I am, me lady. But I thought it best to put the sister in yer room,” the
maid, Janna, explained as she rushed up. “The new rooms are no yet all properly furnished.”

Seonaid waved the explanation and apology away. “ 'Tis fine. I'll take one o' the other
rooms. Lord Rolfe and Sherwell can either share a room or fight over who sleeps below. I
am too tired to be polite and would not disturb Heler, Sister Helen,” she corrected
herself quickly. “Mayhap ye can go below to sort out the men and where they're to sleep.”

“Aye, m'lady.”

Seonaid watched her hurry off to the stairs, which was the only reason she saw Blake
appear as he took the last few steps to the landing. When he spotted her and started
forward, Seonaid turned away and hurried to the door of the first of the new rooms.

“Seonaid!” Blake called, his voice grim.

Not in the mood to talk, Seonaid managed to slip inside and shut the door before he
reached her. She had slammed the bar into place across it just before his fist landed on
the other side.

“Seonaid!”

“Go away!” she yelled through the door, then turned to survey the room she'd chosen. A
grimace immediately made its way across her face. It had a bed, but that was all. There
was no other furniture in the room. Neither were there tapestries on the wall yet, nor
even linens on the bare straw mattress of the bed. Seonaid shrugged. She'd slept in worse
conditions. At least she had a bed.

“Seonaid, open the door!” Blake pounded on the wooden surface, but she ignored him.
Removing her plaid, she wrapped it around herself like a blanket as she crossed the room,
then collapsed on the bed to seek the oblivion of sleep.

Blake glared at the door with frustration and pounded on it again. “Seonaid! Come out
here!”

“Here! What's all this racket? How's a body supposed to rest and regain his health with
the likes o' you making all this noise?”

Blake turned slowly to find his intended father-in-law standing in the open doorway of the
room across the hall from the one he had just pounded on. But it was the sight of his fine
new braies on the man that made him scowl. The doublet was missing, but the bandage around
the Scot's upper chest reminded Blake that the man had been shot in the shoulder by an
arrow... and no doubt while wearing the gold doublet too. The blasted thing was probably
ruined.

“Aye. What's all the racket?” Duncan asked, drawing Blake's attention to the next door
down, which had opened to reveal the younger male Dunbar in a similar state of undress,
though he wore only a linen wrapped around his waist. A damp linen. The man had obviously
just come from his bath.

“My apologies, gentlemen,” Blake said dryly. “I was merely trying to have a word with
Seonaid.”

“Well, have it another time. 'Tis obvious she's no interested in talkin' to ye.” Angus's
gaze slid past him to the door, then back, and a grudging smile curved his lips. “Managed
to get her out o' the abbey, I see. That's a surprise. She must favor ye more than I
thought, else she woudna have come out.”

Blake snorted. “She came out because the abbess had unbarred the door to let us in. She
thought it was safer to leave. We just got lucky enough to catch her. Then catch her
again, and again.”

Duncan gave a bark of laughter and moved away from his door to draw nearer, dragging the
linen behind him as he came. “She's makin' ye run after her, is she?”

“Aye. The only reason we managed to get here now is because the Camerons attacked, else
she would have made another run for it,” Blake admitted grimly.

“The Camerons?” Angus's eyebrows flew up, and his gaze shot to Duncan before he glanced
back and asked, “Well, what did ye do to make them angry at ye, lad?”

“Me?” Blake said with surprise. “They were not after me. Seonaid, Aeldra, and Sister Helen
were bathing when the men attacked them. Seonaid said they were enemies to the Dunbars and
it was best to get back here before they went for help and came back with a larger party.”

Father and son exchanged another glance.

“Why would she lie about that?” Duncan asked his father, but the older man merely shook
his head in open bewilderment.

“Do you mean to say the Camerons are not enemies to the Dunbars?” Blake asked, his eyes
narrowing. “Nay. We've no fight with the Camerons,” Duncan told him. “But she said you
did.” “She lied,” Angus said easily, not at all upset that she had.

“But she made us ride day and night to reach here for fear they would attack again.”

“She made ye hurry backhere? ” Duncan asked with surprise.

“Hmmm.” Angus pursed his lips and scratched the gray stubble on his cheek thoughtfully.
“Thatdoes seem odd.” Then he asked, “Did you say Sister Helen? Ye brought a nun back with
ye from St. Simmian's?”

Blake nodded. “Aye. Seonaid had promised to escort the sister to England to visit her
family.”

“She did, did she?” Angus was looking even more thoughtful at this news.

“Aye,” Blake murmured, then glanced past Duncan to a dark-haired beauty standing in the
doorway. Blake had never met Iliana of Wildwood before, but if this was she, Duncan was a
lucky beggar.

“Husband? Is anything wrong?” the woman called softly.

Duncan whirled toward her voice and shook his head as he moved back to her. “Nay.
Everything is fine. 'Tis just that fool countryman o' yers causing a racket as he tries to
woo Seonaid. He...” The rest of what he was saying to his wife was lost to Blake as the
man urged her backward into their room, followed her, and closed the door without a
by-your-leave to his father or Blake.

Angus was grinning with amusement when Blake turned back to him. No doubt his son's
description of him as “that fool countryman of yours” had amused the man.

“Back to why Seonaid would lie about the Camerons...” he said grimly, but the older man
cut him off.

“We'll sort that out when she emerges,” he said, waving the matter away as
inconsequential; then he tipped his head and asked, “Would ye care for a bit of advice on
wooin' me daughter?”

Blake stiffened at the very suggestion. He had never in his life needed advice on wooing.
He'd been a born wooer, wooing the local girls before he'd left the cradle. “Nay. I do not
need advice on wooing Seonaid,” he said stiffly. “Especially from you.”

“As ye like,” the old man said with a shrug. “But mayhap I should point out that I am
wooin' Lady Wildwood... and verra well,” he added with a grin. “While you appear to be
makin' a mess o' it with me daughter.” He allowed Blake to gnaw on that for a moment, then
added, “Seonaid isna one of those weak-kneed, simpering idiots yer used to at court.
Pretty words and fancy dress'll no impress her. It will take a strong man to move my girl.”

Before Blake could respond, a rustling sound reached them from inside the Dunbar's room.
Angus glanced over his shoulder, then turned back, suddenly all business. “Well, if that's
all, I'm back to me bed. Took a terrible wound durin' the siege, ye ken.” He raised a hand
to cover the bandage on his shoulder and managed a sorrowful look as he backed into the
room. “Need me rest. So keep the racket down.” He growled the last in warning tones just
before slamming the door closed.

Blake scowled at the door the Dunbar laird had just slammed, then at the door Seonaid had
disappeared through, debating whether to pound and shout for her some more. He had just
decided not to waste his breath or energy when the maid he had passed earlier appeared at
the stairs at the end of the hall with Lord Rolfe and the bishop behind her.

“Ah, Blake.” Rolfe nodded as they approached. “It would appear that there are only two
rooms left. You and I can share one if you wish, and the bishop can have the other, or”

“I shall sleep in the great hall,” Blake announced, moving past the trio toward the
stairs. That way he could keep an eye out in case Seonaid got it into her head to run
again.

Seonaid didn't sleep long. The women had slept on the last part of the ride to Dunbar so
that they would be wellrested when they arrived and could slip off again while the men
recovered from the journey. She had only fallen asleep at all out of emotional exhaustion.

Rolling off the bed, she quickly rearranged her plaid, then moved to the window to peer
down at the bailey and ponder what she should do. Her plan to escape once they arrived
home no longer seemed viable. Helen was sleeping and Seonaid had no idea where Aeldra was.

Not that she really felt like running anymore anyway. It seemed to her that if she hadn't
run in the first place, none of what had followed would have occurred here at Dunbar.
Allistair never would have been tempted to treason because she would have been married to
Blake when he arrived and wallowing in marital misery. Greenweld would have had no
co-conspirator within Dunbar. Duncan and the men couldn't have been lured away by claims
that she'd been kidnaped by the Colquhouns. The attack on the castle wouldn't have taken
place, her father wouldn't have taken an arrow to the shoulder, the stables and several
cottages wouldn't have been burned to the ground, Allistair would still be alive, and
Duncan would never have been forced to kill him.