His Woman (10 page)

“Do either of you think I could forget that she betrayed me?” Duncan demanded. Neither could he deny that the familiar spark, the warmth that’d always existed between them, thrived. An awareness that until he’d held her in the dungeon, he’d deluded himself into believing had faded. Now, despite her treachery, he wanted her. If he allowed Isabel back into his life, she could hurt him once again.

Except this time, he doubted he could recover.

“Though you would deny it,” Alexander said, cutting into his musings, “you still carry feelings for the lass, want them or not. Your actions say what you will not.”

“To Hades with you!” Duncan’s legs began to tremble beneath the effort of standing. “I owe you no explanation other than the one that I have given.”

“Enough,” Seathan stated. “Arguing will change nothing.”

Redness slashed across Alexander’s cheeks, then his face softened with regret. “My words are driven from worry. Damn you, Duncan, you almost died.”

The concern in his brother’s voice tempered Duncan’s anger. Tiredness washed over him, and he rubbed the back of his neck. “I know.” Still, he couldn’t help but wonder what was going through Isabel’s mind. Though she’d not spoken of her relationship with Frasyer, one would think with her imprisonment in Frasyer’s dungeon, her father threatened with his life, and her brother killed, a woman would leave her lover. Except with Isabel, life had taught him not to expect the obvious.

“Rest, brother,” Alexander said, “before you collapse and reopen Isabel’s careful binding.”

As Duncan slid back in bed, Seathan walked over to the table and poured himself a glass of wine. “Has the lass given you a reason why Frasyer imprisoned her?”

Duncan stiffened at his own idiocy. So caught up in emotions for Isabel, he’d neglected what he should have explained from the first. “Frasyer did so because she refused to tell him where Wallace is hidden.”

“She knows?” Seathan and Alexander asked in stunned unison.

The shock on his brothers’ faces matched Duncan’s when he’d learned the fact. “Aye. Symon must have told her. It is the why of it I am unsure of.” He shrugged. “With her living with Frasyer, one would believe the last thing her brother would discuss with her was Wallace, especially his location.”

Seathan slammed the goblet upon the table. Red wine slopped over in angry puddles. “Or any rebel activity.”

“What other rebel information has she been privileged to?” Alexander demanded.

“And why did she not mention this to us when we questioned her before? By God’s steed, I will find out!” Seathan strode to the door. “I assure you, when I speak with her this time, she will leave nothing out.”

“Stop!” Duncan jumped up again to intercede, but his legs gave way and he collapsed to the floor. Biting back the pain, he accepted his brother’s help. With his hands braced on the bed as he sat up, he met Seathan’s gaze. “I will talk to her in the morning.”

“No,” Seathan replied. “The luxury of time or tenderness is long past. With her ties to Frasyer, he may already be aware of other information dangerous to our rebel cause. Whatever she knows, we must learn posthaste and pass on to Wallace.”

Alexander stepped forward. “I will go with you.”

“Then we will all speak with her,” Duncan said, aware the trio would be intimidating to Isabel, but also because he wanted to be there. “I want answers as well, but if Frasyer knows of Wallace’s position, why has he not attacked the rebel base before now?”

“Now you protect her?” Seathan challenged.

“No. I but offer thoughts to consider.” Duncan paused. “Tending to me, she has slept little since her arrival. Do you think in her exhausted state we will learn more than if she is allowed a bit of rest?”

“Exhaustion will make the finding out easier,” Alexander snapped.

“She saved my life, I cannot forget that,” Duncan replied. “Besides, do you think a few more hours truly matter?”

Tension built in the air between them. Seathan hesitated a moment longer, then stated, “At first light, but no longer.”

On a slow exhale, Alexander relaxed. “As much as I want answers, on this I will respect your decision, but only because the lass reached us in time to save Duncan.”

Thankful, Duncan nodded, aware this was far from a reprieve, neither should it be. Isabel’s poor decisions in not confiding to him had created this muddle. She would bear the resultant burden. Still, that didn’t mean he would allow his brothers to browbeat her unchecked.

If for no other reason than the vow he’d made to Symon, he would see to her safety.

“Rest now,” Seathan said. “You woke but a short while ago and are still fevered.”

“And your moving about has reopened the wound,” Alexander chided.

Duncan looked down. A line of blood stained the wrap. He would be more careful, but he had a greater concern that had haunted him since he had released Isabel from her cell in Moncreiffe Castle.

“Do you think Isabel is a spy?” Duncan asked. “That Frasyer’s tossing her into the dungeon was a trap?” Before either brother could reply, he continued. “I want to believe it is my mind concocting such doubts, that she would not betray us. As I explained, since I approached her in Frasyer’s dungeon, she has acted and spoken as if her worry for me is sincere. But with her past actions, I am unsure.”

“Something is amiss no doubt,” Seathan agreed. “Exactly what, is the question.”

Alexander nodded. “My thought as well.”

A light knock sounded on the door.

Seathan stepped to the side. “Enter.”

The door opened and a very pregnant woman, her ivory face embraced by a cascade of auburn tresses, walked into the chamber. Eyes serious, she nodded toward Seathan, then turned to Alexander in silent question.

Alexander’s face softened as his gaze fell upon his wife, Nichola, the love in his eyes making the empty void within Duncan’s heart deepen. The depths of his feelings were those he’d once felt for Isabel. Feelings he’d cast aside when she’d abandoned him for Frasyer.

Surprise cascaded across Nichola’s face as her gaze rested on Duncan. She shoved her hands on her hips. “You are sitting up when you should be asleep.”

“From the look of you,” Duncan said with tenderness, always amused by her English accent, “it is you who should be off your feet.”

A warm glow shone on her face as she laid a hand atop her stomach, round with her and Alexander’s first child. “I will be soon enough. First I wanted to help Isabel get settled in the chamber above. She was so tired, she was asleep before I left.” Nichola frowned. “I told Seathan after she’d stayed within your chamber for two days that he should order her rest in another room. Since your arrival, she has refused to leave your side.”

From the tiredness he’d noticed on Isabel’s face, it was as Duncan had suspected. “My thanks for taking care of her.” Then Duncan realized what Nichola had said. His gut churned. “What did you mean you helped Isabel settle in the chamber above? There is naught above us but—”

“The tower room,” Nichola finished.

Silence floundered in the room. The brothers eyed each other.

Nichola scanned their faces, her own growing wary. “What is wrong?”

“Naught,” Seathan replied.

Stunned, Duncan glared at his brother. After Isabel had broken their wedding vows, her staying in their grandmother’s room seemed sacrilegious—at odds with his grandmother who had offered him naught but warmth, love, and a generous heart.

Since her death, neither he nor his brothers had changed or removed anything from her room—including the bowl of halved gems. Within the bowl, their grandmother had kept the other half of the gems she’d had made into pendants for himself and each of his brothers upon their being knighted.

Two halved gems still remained, the other half of Duncan’s sapphire, and that of Seathan’s moss agate.

And what of their grandmother’s spirit? The residents within Lochshire Castle knew of her presence within the tower room, a chamber Duncan and his brothers also believed held magic.

In his mind, too many reasons existed as to why Isabel should never have been allowed entry there. The fact that only one other person had stayed within the room since his grandmother’s death scraped at his mind. Imprisoned, he corrected. After Alexander had abducted Nichola, an English maiden, for ransom, he’d locked her in the tower room. Through a twist of fate, Alexander’s captive had become his wife.

Not that Duncan was foolish enough to believe Isabel staying in the room meant anything, Duncan silently scoffed. But a man who believed in magic and was of a suspicious nature, he wasn’t taking a risk.

Duncan turned to Seathan. “She will not remain there.”

Lines of worry deepened on Nichola’s face. “Alexander, what is wrong with Isabel staying within the tower chamber? With her having saved Duncan’s life, I thought you would wish to offer her the luxurious comfort found within?”

Her husband took her hand and gave a gentle squeeze. “Naught you should worry about. We will talk later.”

Duncan ignored the pair, his hard gaze on his eldest brother. “She will be moved to a lower chamber.”

“Nay,” Seathan said. “As you so vehemently pointed out moments ago, she is tired. And I agree, Isabel saved your life. Nichola’s actions in placing her there were innocent. Or, perhaps Nichola was guided by a higher power?” Though Seathan’s voice remained solemn, for a second, humor twinkled on his face. As quickly, it fled. “Regardless, she will remain there.”

Put in his place as easy as that. Duncan quashed further argument. True, Isabel had saved his life, but had she left the castle when he’d first released her from her cell, they would have escaped untouched. And she would most likely be reunited with her father by now. Still, they needed the Bible to prove Lord Caelin’s innocence.

“Before I would be forgetting.” Seathan withdrew Duncan’s amulet from a pocket and handed it to him.

“My thanks.” Duncan slipped it around his neck, the gem cool against his skin.

“You were right,” Seathan said. “Had you not given the amulet to Isabel, I would have turned her out and you would have died. Go to bed, Duncan. It is rest you are needing, not further debate. I will return later.” He nodded toward Nichola. “My thanks for seeing to Isabel’s needs.”

“You are welcome,” she replied, looking a bit unsure.

Without another word, Seathan turned and left.

Alexander walked over and took his wife’s hand. “Get off your feet, Duncan. If you remain awake and walking about, you will only prove the extent of your foolishness.”

A muscle worked in Duncan’s jaw.

“Your face is flushed and tiredness weighs heavy on your face,” Nichola said before Duncan could speak. “Please, listen to your brothers and rest.”

With one last warning look, Alexander guided his wife from the room.

The door closed and left Duncan in the flame-lit silence. Yellow fingers of light flickered over the door like amber claws. His legs trembled from his effort as he stretched out on the feather-stuffed mattress. He mulled over Seathan’s words, more so at the oddness of Isabel’s actions since he’d helped her escape.

He had no illusions about his doubts on a personal level. After she’d broken his heart, he could never fully trust her with his feelings again. In that, he’d not allow her another chance. Though three years had passed, the familiar ache of the hurt still cut too deep.

And what of Frasyer? Whatever lay between her and the earl was a mystery in itself. The more he learned, the less her relationship with the earl made sense. Not that she’d attempted to clear up that matter. If she tried, did he want to hear about her past with a man he despised?

Duncan’s thoughts turned to another lingering worry. The tower chamber. His reaction to Isabel sleeping in their grandmother’s room was about trust and loyalty to his grandmother’s memory, naught more. As for the magic within the room, he doubted her stay would have any effect on him.

Faeries stared down at her.

Isabel squinted in an effort to focus from her sleep-clogged haze. Then slowly, she opened her eyes. Moonlight spilled through a single, arched window in an iridescent swath, embracing everything within the chamber. Including the faeries.

A dreamy smile touched her mouth. No, not real faeries, but beautiful, hand-painted images captured in various aspects of flight adorned the ceiling. Her favorite was a raven-haired faerie in a moss green gown, her silver-tipped wings caught in mid-flutter, hiding behind a lush, purple-tipped thistle.

Laughter trickled around her. She blinked at an odd feeling of disconcertment. Or maybe it was real, and the faeries were laughing at her, amused by her confusion?

Awake now, she scanned the chamber, a room she vaguely remembered being led to by Alexander’s wife, Nichola. Exhausted at the time, she’d noticed neither the luxuriousness, nor had she asked where she was being taken. Once she’d lain upon the featherbed, sleep had claimed her.

Exactly where was she? In the many times she’d visited Lochshire Castle as a youth, she’d never entered this chamber. It was utterly feminine, not the decor she would picture as Seathan’s choice. Was it his mother’s room?

Intrigued, Isabel sat up, slipped her legs over the bed and stood.

An elegant, hand-stitched coverlet, the color of moon-kissed daisies, lay rumpled on the bed where she’d slept. Nearby, sat a small table, adorned with myriad personal items: intricately carved jewelry, a bone comb, and an ivory-framed mirror. A tapestry hung on the far wall, images of faeries woven amid the leaves. The fey depicted an exact match to those adorning the ceiling.

A fire burned low in the hearth, assuring her that she’d slept for many hours, a beam of moonlight streaming into the chamber confirmed the fact. When she’d laid down, the first rays of the morning sun had guided her to the bed.

The scent of wood and silvery wisps of light lingered as Isabel strolled to the window. And frowned.

She was on the third floor. There was only one chamber she knew of built on this level—Duncan’s grandmother’s.

A smile touched her lips as she remembered the amazing woman. Duncan, as had his brothers, loved their grandmother, a trim, elderly woman with a quick smile and a warm laugh. And she’d always smelled of a hint of lavender.

A woman the brothers had adored.

Isabel’s smile faltered. So why was she here? After she had broken her betrothal to Duncan three years ago, the brothers would never have wanted her to step foot within this room, much less sleep here.

Except Nichola had brought her here, which explained everything.

Raised in England and ignorant of Isabel’s history with Duncan, Nichola didn’t understand how wrong it was for Isabel to be in this chamber. Isabel pressed her hand on the cold sill. When Duncan and his brothers found out, they would be furious.

However much she wished she could stay, savor the memories of a time when she had loved Duncan and he had loved her in return, she must leave.

After the grief she had served Duncan, she agreed, she didn’t deserve to remain.

Yet, however odd, a sense of acceptance enveloped her. Though it was wrong for her to be within the chamber of a woman so loved by her grandsons, she felt welcome. It made no sense.

A twinkle of light on the opposite side of the bed caught her attention. In another bowl on a stand farther away, lay two halved, shimmering stones. Intrigued, she walked over and picked up one of the halved rocks. Cradled within the gold-encrusted outer layer, captured by the moonlight, lay what appeared to be spirals of moss.

How unusual. Isabel returned the stone and picked up the other gemstone. Encased by a white exterior flecked with speckles of brown lay a sapphire, the dark blue of a midnight sky. A mirrored twin of the halved sapphire Duncan wore around his neck, the one she had carried to prove to his brothers that she hadn’t been lying about Duncan’s dire condition.

This had to be its mate. A unique gift their grandmother had bestowed to each of her grandsons upon their being knighted. Why then were there only two gems within the bowl and not three, one for each brother? Or rather, four, she mused, as she remembered their adopted brother, Patrik.

Sadness touched her. Patrik had died a year before. In a scuffle with an Englishman over his sister if gossip proved to be correct. With the source, she couldn’t be sure if that was the truth, neither did she know who the woman in question was. Regardless, she found it baffling why an Englishman’s sister would be in the heart of Scotland alone.

She curled her fist over the roughened gem. An ache built in her chest as she remembered her own family. Her brother. How she wished he were here to comfort her, to offer guidance.

As if a prayer answered, calm swept over her, a deep sense of peace she’d not experienced since when Duncan had first embraced her in their adolescence.

Her pulse raced as if she could feel that very moment, how he’d held her so tight, the heartfelt words he’d whispered in her ear.

Daonnan agus am feast.
Always and forever.

How she’d wanted the same. And still did.

The sapphire warmed in her palm.

Surprised, Isabel opened her hand. A soft, blue glow pulsed within the center of the gem. ’Twas a trick of the moonlight. She was tired and allowing her emotions to conjure what could never be.

Except she stood within the shadows.

Shaken, Isabel placed the sapphire beside the other gem. It continued to pulse a soft, blue light. She stepped back and the sapphire’s glow grew brighter, as if beckoning her touch. As she continued to stare at the sapphire, moonlight swirled around the room as if it breathed its own life, wisps of silvery light flitting across the ceiling where the faeries lay.

Madness had surely overtaken her.

Isabel backed to the door, turned, jerked it open, and ran straight into a solid wall of honed muscle. With her heart in her throat, she opened her mouth to scream.

“Whoa, lass,” Duncan said as he caught Isabel’s shoulders, noting the pallor of her face and her trembling body. “What is wrong?”

“Naught,” Isabel replied, her voice breathless as she glanced behind her, wary. “You but scared me.”

True, but he saw more than fear in her eyes.

Concern narrowed her brow. “What are you doing out of bed?”

A question he’d asked himself several times over. “I came to check on you.”

Hurt streaked her face, but understanding as well. “Once you learned of the chamber Nichola had taken me to, you came to demand I leave.”

“In part,” he agreed.

“And?”

He placed his left arm against his side where it had begun to throb. “To thank you for saving my life.”

“A life you should not have risked by staying within Moncreiffe Castle after I told you to go.”

“A fact that is in the past,” he replied, annoyed that even now, with them both having made it safely to his brother’s home, she would fight him still.

He scanned the familiar room. Everything remained in place. Untouched. “Why were you leaving in such a hurry in the middle of the night when you should be asleep?”

“I awoke and did not know where I was. Then I realized—”

A telling blush crept up her cheeks, assuring him he was right. “You are in my grandmother’s tower chamber.” He couldn’t help the coolness in his voice. How was he supposed to feel knowing that Isabel had slept in a room he and his brothers considered sacred?

She nodded. “I was so tired earlier, I did not realize it until I woke.”

That he could believe. “Nichola does not know of our past. She
assumed
you were a welcome guest.”

“Please, do not be upset with her.”

“My anger does not flow to those undeserving, something that you should understand.” She stiffened, but he didn’t apologize.

Silence filtered between them, a quiet hum edged with awareness.

Though he’d not intended to, his gaze traveled the length of her body, taking in the soft swells that invited him to touch, the curves that bid him to linger. Beneath his heated gaze, her nipples tightened against the softness of her gown, offering their own invitation.

“Nichola is English,” Isabel finally said, her voice cautious with a throaty edge.

“She is.” Duncan damned the rasp to his voice, betraying that he wanted her.

“With Alexander a rebel…I never would have believed he would court an Englishwoman, much less marry her.”

“If asked before he met her, Alexander would agree.”

Isabel arched a brow in silent question.

“He abducted her a year ago to raise coin for the rebels.”

“But he married her,” Isabel stated, clearly confused. “That makes little sense.”

“Aye, it does not. Then, neither does life.”

“No,” she whispered, “it truly does not.” The crackle of flames echoed into the somber silence. A frown creased her brow. “A year ago? Is that not when Patrik died?” Apprehension sheathed her face. “Oh, God.” She swallowed hard. “Please, tell me the incidents are not related.”

Even after the months past, the reminder of his adopted brother’s death weighed heavy on Duncan. “Aye. When Alexander returned from England with Nichola as his captive instead of her brother, Alexander was half in love with the lass.” He grimaced, remembering his brother’s personal struggle with the fact. “Not that he wanted to be. It seemed fate would dictate otherwise.”

“How does Patrik’s death relate with Nichola being Alexander’s captive?”

“You remember how my father adopted Patrik when he was a lad?” Duncan asked.

Isabel nodded.

“The reason is known only to a few, but Patrik came to live with us after the English butchered his family before his eyes. He escaped, but with the horrific memories of that day. Ever since, Patrik’s thirst for English blood had been unquenchable. When he realized Alexander was falling in love with Nichola, he crafted lies to Alexander about her being an English spy. When those untruths failed to dissuade Alexander’s growing feelings, Patrik tried to kill her.”

Isabel covered her mouth in horror. “God in heaven!”

Duncan nodded, the turmoil and the sadness of losing a brother he loved still tearing at his heart. “Alexander and Patrik fought. The knife Patrik held during the struggle slipped from his hands and wedged between two rocks. In the end, Patrik rolled onto his own blade.”

“How tragic,” she whispered.

“Aye, his death haunts us still.” Duncan rubbed his brow, tired, saddened by the regretful memories, of his heartbreak at watching the guard leave with Patrik’s body. It was the last time he’d seen him. When they’d arrived home hours later, the guard had already buried Patrik’s body, so they’d gathered for a private ceremony.

“But from the tragedy, happiness arose as well. After the fight, Nichola’s brother, Lord Monceaux, whom Alexander was sent to abduct, showed up in search of his sister. When he saw Alexander with her, believing Nichola was in danger, her brother attacked Alexander in an attempt to save her life.”

“An Englishman dared venture this far into Scotland alone?”

Duncan hesitated. Though Isabel may be privy to rebel secrets from Symon, she was still Frasyer’s mistress. He would not divulge that Nichola’s brother, Griffin, the Baron of Monceaux, who was King Edward’s Scottish adviser, was also a spy for Scotland known by most by the code name Wulfe.

“He and his sister are close.”

“And the ransom?”

“Was paid.” Duncan didn’t add the details of the payment, specifics he would have informed her of before her betrayal. “Afterward, and with her brother’s blessing, Nichola married Alexander.”

“It is hard to believe the English noble would allow such a union, more so with his strong ties to King Edward.”

“It is.”

“I heard something about an Englishman being here during Patrik’s death,” she said, “but no more.”

Duncan nodded. An easy silence fell between them, a closeness that he’d missed. But to remain alone with her, to invite Isabel back into his life, was a mistake.

He stared at her, wishing this moment could be as simple as standing beside the woman he’d grown up with, the woman he’d once loved, a woman who’d also embodied his every dream.

She moved against him, and the moment shifted. Desire flooded him hot and hard. Her scent wrapped around him making his body ache with it’s demand. He could all but taste her on his lips, knew the satiny way her skin would feel against his hands.

Bedamned. He stiffened and shifted away.

At his action, worry marred her face. “I have kept you up when you should be asleep.”

“No, I…” He could hardly tell her the truth. That his body seemed to have a will of its own when in her presence.

“You are too weak to be up and about. You will reopen your wound.”

“It is healing.”

“And hurting you now by the way you are favoring it.”

He remained silent, refusing to confirm her words. Too aware of her, Duncan glanced around his beloved grandmother’s chamber, expecting to feel anger at Isabel’s breach within the room. Instead, a sense of how appropriate it was for her to be here washed over him.