The Lady's Protector (Highland Bodyguards #1) (5 page)

A twinge of guilt pinched Ansel’s chest even as he secured a small victory.

Judging from Lady Isolda’s wide, outraged eyes and the way she clutched her hands at her sides so tightly that her knuckles were white, he’d cornered her. Aye, he’d finally get some answers. But it wasn’t his way to manipulate a woman in such a way, lady or nay.

Lady Isolda’s pale green gaze darted to the Master Mason behind him, then quickly scanned the two dozen or so workers who’d ceased their labor and were now looking on curiously. Bertram, the stubborn old soldier, gripped the sword at his hip, but there was nothing he could do for his lady now.

Suddenly he realized there was more than shock and outrage in her liquid green eyes—there was also fear. He’d exposed her, embarrassed her. She was clearly a woman with secrets.

He had his orders. But he’d proven his point. He didn’t need to string her out further.

“Come, Lady Isolda,” he said, lowering his voice. “Let us walk a pace. I think we have a few things to discuss.”

Slowly, reluctantly, she nodded. He scanned the yard, looking for some place private they could talk, away from the curious stares of the laborers, the mason, and Bertram.

Other than the tower in which she resided, the only other completely walled structures were the stables where Bertram had stowed Eachann and the gatehouse.

He motioned toward the gatehouse with a little incline of his head. She raised her chin then, and Ansel felt as though she had just communed his death sentence, not the other way around.

That chafed. Her regal bearing made him feel like some rube—or the barbarian she’d called him. He gritted his teeth against the desire to tweak her pride publicly yet again. He wasn’t here to play games with some arrogant noblewoman, though.

As she glided past him with the air of a queen, he snatched her wrist and threaded her arm through his.

“My lady,” he said tightly as he guided her toward the gatehouse. Her eyes sparked green flames at him for his boldness, but she wouldn’t do something as undignified as yank her arm out from under his—at least not in front of so many sets of eyes. It was a useful piece of information—though winks and charm worked on Mary, Lady Isolda responded better to the threat of public embarrassment.

“I have learned some most interesting details about ye, Lady Isolda,” Ansel said softly as they made their way across the still-damp grass of the yard.

He felt her arm stiffen against his. “Is that so?”

“Oh aye,” he drawled. “Bertram was…less than forthcoming, but the others provided some fascinating tidbits. I havenae had a chance to question Mary yet, but I believe she’ll prove verra insightful.”

She pressed her lips together for a moment. “What do you want to know?”

“As I’ve told ye, all I’m interested in is Lancaster’s bastard son.”

“And I told
you
,” she snapped, “I’ll not tell you where he is.”

“Then we can do this the hard way.” He kept his voice smooth, for several workers still looked on as they reached the gatehouse.

“Since ye are the keeper of the information I seek, it is ye who has become the focus of my inquiry.”

“And what have you uncovered?”

“Oh, so far more questions than answers,” he said with a nonchalant wave of his hand. He drew them to a halt just outside the gatehouse entryway. “But I am a verra persistent man. For instance, it strikes me as most odd that an English noblewoman has been placed in charge of the Earl of Lancaster’s castle. Ye said ye were the Lady of Embleton, aye?”

Cautiously, she tilted her head in confirmation.

“Ye see, what’s odd about that is that according to the laborers, Embleton is the nearest town off to the northwest. Many of them live there, in fact—but only for the last year or so. They tell me that the town didn’t even exist before construction on Dunstanburgh began less than two years ago. Apparently, Lancaster planned to build the town along with the castle. For now, it is mostly just a place for the workers to lay their heads at night.”

She stared at him defiantly, her eyes fixed on him. Yet tellingly, her slim white throat bobbed as she swallowed hard.

“Does that no’ seem strange to you, Lady Isolda?” he prodded. “Why would Lancaster place his castle under the care of a woman who is a Lady of a region no’ yet fully in existence?”

“Enough!” she snapped. “I do not see how impugning my name and title gets you any closer to finding Lancaster’s son.”

Color had risen into her cheeks, tinging her pale skin a rosy pink. He’d clearly hit a nerve. Like a hound on a scent, he longed for answers, but he’d tightened the screws on Lady Isolda enough for now. Time for a new angle.

“Verra well, my lady,” Ansel said casually, “I shall stick to the matter at hand—Lancaster’s bastard. I also learned that ye sent away the previous mason, along with all the laborers, less than a year ago. Neither Master Elias nor the workers I questioned have ever laid eyes on the man I’ve been sent here to protect, which indicates that ye sent Lancaster’s son away at that time. None here can give me even the slightest description of the man I seek, though I imagine that Bertram and Mary could help in that regard—or ye, of course.”

Lady Isolda spun on her heels and stormed through the gatehouse’s open doorway. Aye, there was the crack in her perfectly cold façade he’d been looking for.

She swept through the empty stone chamber on the ground floor and made her way toward the spiraling staircase, the blue silk of her surcoat swishing around her legs. He kept pace with her easily, though he let her lead.

She didn’t slow until she reached the very top, where the stairs ended abruptly on the unfinished roof. She approached the sharp edge, her back toward him. Her ribcage strained against her tight-fitting surcoat as her breath came short and fast. It wasn’t from her swift ascent up the spiraling stairs, though, Ansel was sure. She was like a cornered animal, her options all evaporating.

“No more games,” he said quietly, watching her carefully. “I am already close to the truth. Make this easier on yerself and simply tell me what I want to ken. Where is the man I seek? Where is Lancaster’s bastard son?”

She spun to face him so suddenly that her skirts flared out in a swirl of blue and cream silk. The morning sun illuminated her, framing her dark hair and slim figure. Her eyes burned into him, shining with a depth of emotion he’d thus far never seen her display.

“Stop calling him Lancaster’s
bastard
. His name is
John
. And he isn’t a man. He’s only a boy—a boy of just five summers.” Her voice cracked on the last few words, though her eyes still held him, nigh glowing with liquid green fire.

Realization slammed into him like a punch to the stomach. Even as the pieces clicked together in his head, his heart twisted wildly.

“Ye are Lancaster’s mistress. And the boy—John—he’s…he’s yer son.”

Distantly, she registered the shocked look that crossed Ansel’s features before they settled once more into their usual hard lines.

Panic seized her throat, nigh choking her. Yet the fire kindling in her chest demanded that she force out her voice anyway.

“I am
not
Lancaster’s mistress,” she bit out, willing herself to meet Ansel’s searching eyes. “But I…I erred almost six years ago. I placed my trust in him, fool girl that I was. And I bore his son—
my
son.”

Ansel took a slow step toward her. “So Lancaster placed ye here at Dunstanburgh—to hide ye from his enemies.”

A broken, bitter laugh rose in her throat. “Aye, to hide us—from his wife and the rest of the nobles spreading vile rumors about him. The only danger John and I faced was public scorn at first. So Lancaster sent us here.”

He took another cautious step toward her, as if approaching a wounded animal. “But construction on the castle began less than two years ago, and Embleton was naught but a handful of huts, according to the workers. Where did ye live?”

She lifted her chin. The last thing she wanted was this Highlander’s pity. “We lived in a hut on the site where Lancaster planned to build the castle. For a few blessed years it was just Bertram, Mary, John, and me. But then construction began, and all the troubles started.”

“What troubles? What caused ye to send John away?” His voice was its usual low rumble, but the sharp edge was gone from it.

Isolda swallowed hard. There was no point in lying, for Ansel would likely dig until he got the truth from her anyway.

“Accidents. Or so we hoped. One of the laborers dropped the pulley ropes while hoisting a stone for the wall. It almost landed on John, but at the last moment he scrambled out of the way. Not long after that, a drunken villager stumbled into the castle brandishing a knife. Blessedly, Bertram was there. He told me that the man appeared to be headed toward the tower where John and I slept, though. It all seemed too convenient.”

She wrapped her arms around herself, trying to ward off the memories. Both cases were easy to explain away, yet some mother’s instinct told her that they were connected.

“I sent John into hiding after the second incident. That was nigh a year ago, when I replaced the mason and the workers.”

“And do ye ken why someone would be after John?”

Isolda exhaled wearily. “The Earl of Lancaster is the second richest man in all of England, behind only King Edward himself. Isn’t it obvious? Someone likely hopes to take John for ransom and exact a steep fee for his return. Isn’t that the way of things in these times of war?”

As soon as the words were out, she regretted the harsh implication. The Scots were reviled all over England for many reasons, but the nobles hated them especially for the toll they took on their coffers. The Scottish had a habit of taking noble captives, especially here in the Borderlands, and ransoming them back for exorbitant fees.

The insult was not lost on him. His dark eyes narrowed slightly, and his lips turned down behind the thick scruff bristling his face.

“I wouldnae expect a gently bred lady such as yerself to understand warfare,” he said tightly.

The lie of her past knotted her stomach. But nay, he needn’t know that particular truth. She would guard at least a few of her secrets.

“And if ye think that the only reason someone is coming after John is for a ransom payout, ye ken even less than ye think.”

She tensed. “What do you mean? Why else would someone threaten him?”

To her surprise, the hardness once again fell away from his features. His dark brown eyes flickered with something that could almost be called…sympathy.

“Come inside,” he said softly, extending his hand toward her. “There is more ye ought to hear.”

Suspicion had her narrowing her eyes on him. “Why? Why can’t we remain out here?”

He exhaled through his teeth. “Bloody hell, woman, must ye fight me at every turn? Come into the gatehouse with me. Ye may want more privacy when ye hear what I have to say.”

Her gaze fell to the yard below them. Though work had resumed on the wall after the scene Ansel had caused earlier, several sets of eyes still tugged up to the roof of the gatehouse where they stood, including Bertram’s and Master Elias’s.

When her eyes returned to Ansel, he had his arm extended toward her. Reluctantly, she reached out and placed her hand atop his forearm, allowing him to escort her from the roof. She hadn’t noticed earlier when he’d taken her arm in his, but his skin was warm through the thin linen of his tunic. His muscles flexed and corded as her fingertips settled against them.

He guided her back to the stairs and down to one of the private chambers meant to house the Earl and his family one day. As she stepped into the chamber, she realized that this was where Ansel had slept last night. A bedroll lay slightly disheveled on the otherwise bare stone floor, his saddlebags at the foot of the blankets. An arrow slit let in the cheery morning sun, but the chamber was large enough that such a small gap in the stone left the rest of the room dim.

It felt strangely intimate to be alone with Ansel in the place where he’d slept last night. The chamber held a faint trace of his scent—a masculine combination of fresh air, wood smoke, and leather.

She pulled her spine straight and dropped her hand from his arm quickly. With a flick of her fingers, she smoothed her skirts now that they were out of the wind. Aye, she was well versed in hiding behind the role of a lady.

“What must you say that demands privacy? What other threat do you believe endangers John besides ransom?”

“Ye havenae asked me why Lancaster sent me, or how he reached me.”

She blinked, caught off guard by Ansel’s sudden change of subject.

“The letter you bear is proof enough that Lancaster wished for you to protect John. He must have sensed something was wrong when I demanded that he send a new mason and crew. I imagine you are some sort of…bodyguard for hire working to soothe English lords’ fears of ransom attacks.”

In truth, she’d been so focused on hiding the secrets of her past and John’s whereabouts that she hadn’t given Ansel Sutherland’s connection to Lancaster much thought. But at Ansel’s slow shake of the head, she felt a stone of dread sink into her stomach.

He eyed her for a long moment, then seemed to decide something. “I am part of King Robert the Bruce’s inner circle of warriors and trusted advisors.”

She inhaled sharply. She was in the presence of not just a Highlander, but a freedom fighter for the self-proclaimed King of Scotland—alone. Before she could comprehend the full implications of what he was saying, he went on. “Lancaster contacted the Bruce a fortnight ago requesting that the King send one of his best men to serve as a bodyguard.”

“Lancaster is…working with Robert the Bruce?” She felt as if all the air had been knocked from her lungs. None of this made sense. Thomas was the cousin to King Edward II. Granted, she knew little of the politics and dealings of such powerful men, but if what Ansel claimed was true, Lancaster would be committing what was in effect treason.

“Aye, he is. And he has good reason to. Ye ken he opposes Edward?”

She nodded slowly, her eyes drifting to the stone floor between them. “He has been publicly critical of the King. He and the other nobles have tried to limit his power.”

“Well, as ye can imagine, Edward has been none too pleased with Lancaster over that. Lancaster plans to make a move against Edward. And when he does, he fears that Edward will lash out at the one thread Lancaster has left dangling—John.”

It was as if a pit opened up in the floor beneath her. Isolda felt herself sinking even as the room seemed to tilt on its side. “You are saying…you are saying that Edward would
kill
John to thwart Lancaster?”

“Aye.”

A sob ripped from her throat, echoing dizzyingly off the cold stone walls. Her head spun, her vision blurring with stinging tears as the ground fell away beneath her feet.

Suddenly hard arms encased her. Ansel’s dark face swam before her, his brows pinched with worry.

“Isolda,” he said, though his low voice sounded distant.

Her hands sank into the linen of his tunic. His arms tightened even more around her, binding her to the warm wall of his chest. That clean male scent surrounded her, cutting through the tempest of confusion that threatened to unmoor her. She clung desperately to him as if he were her anchor through the storm.

Another sob rose in her throat, but she forced it down. She couldn’t fall apart. John needed her to keep her wits. She blinked back the tears filling her eyes and dragged in a deep breath.

Using every scrap of willpower, she unclenched her hands from Ansel’s tunic and straightened. His arms loosened around her slightly, but instead of releasing her completely, his hands slid to her waist to steady her as she regained her feet.

“I am sorry to be the one to bring such news, lass,” he said, his voice a husky whisper. “But John is in more danger than ye initially thought. Perhaps ye were right to send him away, but now his best chance for survival is under my protection.”

“Nay,” she mumbled, shaking her head to clear it of the intoxicating scent that seemed to curl around her. It made her feel…safe, for the first time in a long time. But that was an illusion. The only true safety to be had required that she keep John’s location a secret.

Ansel’s fingers tightened ever so slightly around her waist. “Ye still refuse to trust me. But
ye
may be in danger, too, if ye are the only one who holds the knowledge of John’s whereabouts.”

“Nay, I’m not in any danger—”

“Did the attacks stop once ye sent John away?”

“What?”

He pinned her with his dark gaze, his eyes searing her. “Once ye put John into hiding, did more unexplainable accidents befall ye?”

Ice shot through her veins even as she felt a flush rise in her cheeks at the hot brand of his hands on her waist. “A-aye. A month ago. I was in the marketplace in Embleton. A runaway cart almost struck me.”

A muscle jumped in his jaw as she spoke. “Edward’s men may be targeting ye as well, then. Either they seek information about John’s whereabouts, or they hope to dispatch ye along with John.”

Isolda’s eyes widened and her lips slid apart. She must have looked terrified, for Ansel’s eyes softened even as his brows drew together.

“I am no’ yer enemy, Lady Isolda. I can protect both ye and John, but ye must
let
me.”

So close to this strong, fierce man, she felt her resolve crumbling. Unbidden tears stung her eyes once more. How she longed to feel safe again—truly safe, not jumping at the sight of strange men or constantly looking over her shoulder.

But she had made a vow to herself to protect John with her life. If she had to carry the secret of his location to her grave, so be it. Although she longed to trust the man before her, she’d made that mistake once before. She’d trusted Lancaster, but never again would she err like that—not when her son’s life hung in the balance.

“I…I cannot tell you where he is,” she breathed, silently pleading with him to understand. She felt a hair’s breadth from falling apart again under his searching brown eyes.

Slowly, he let his hands drop from her waist. He nodded, still holding her with his gaze. “I ken that ye want to keep yer son safe. But ye must understand that I have been given a mission by my King.”

Her heart twisted in anticipation of another battle mounting between her and the unswayable Highland warrior before her. She drew in a shaky breath, trying to steel herself. But instead of hardening his features in preparation to spar with her once more, he quirked a dark eyebrow in thought.

“My mission is to protect John, and if ye are the only one who knows where he is, then it is also my mission to protect ye.”

He nodded his head and crossed his arms over his chest as if the matter were settled.

She blinked in confusion. “But I have Bertram to look after me. I will be fine.”

Now she got the full force of his scowl. “Nay, ye won’t be, lass,” he retorted. She inhaled sharply at the familiar address he’d given her—the second of this conversation.

“Forgive me,
my lady
,” he said, still frowning. “But Bertram will no’ be able to stop Edward’s men if they are determined to reach John—which they are. Hell, this whole castle is working against ye and in favor of yer attackers. Ye’ve no gates, no walls, and no guards but one old man!”

Indignation over the insult to Bertram flared. “Bertram has served me faithfully and nobly for nigh six years,” she shot back. “He is more than capable of protecting me—”

Ansel held up a hand to stop her.

“Ye havenae met many Scots, have ye, my lady?”

Her head spun once more at his abrupt change of topic. “Many Lowlanders have crossed the border to make their home here in Northumbria, and…”

At the slow shake of his head and the arrogant cock of his dark eyebrow, she trailed off.