His Woman. Diana Cosby
“We both know that is true, but with King Edward’s hatred toward Wallace, he would believe Frasyer’s accusation. False or not.”
Her reasoning made sense. “And go after Lord Caelin as if he were deemed a witch.” The hard thud of boots below increased, and he flicked a glance toward the door. “Why would Frasyer accuse your father of a false charge? He is not a threat to him.”
She lowered her eyes. “Nay, my father is a threat to no one but himself.”
As her voice faltered, Duncan knew she referred to Lord Caelin’s drunkenness, a shame she’d weathered since her mother’s death when her father had succumbed to drowning his sorrows in drink. Aye, Isabel’s pride was another strength that appealed to him, but her strength or any other attractive quality had naught to do with this moment.
“Just go,” she whispered. “Do not ask me to leave here without the Bible. I will not.”
As a man who valued family, Duncan understood, even admired her reason for staying and placing herself in danger. Though not wanting to, he couldn’t help but respect her for her loyalty toward her father.
“So be it.” He released her.
Relief swept over her face. “Hurry.” Her fingers trembled as she gestured to the latrine opening, obviously surmising his planned route of escape. “The guards will soon reach this level.”
He straightened, looking her square in the eyes. “I never said anything about my leaving.”
Panic widened her amber eyes. She shook her head. “I refuse to allow you—”
Duncan caught her hand. “We both have stubborn streaks that could leave us here debating all night. Before the guards begin searching this floor, we need to hide.”
“Did you not hear what I said?”
“After we retrieve the Bible,” he continued as if she hadn’t spoken, “then we will both escape. Once we are safe, you can do as you wish.” He lifted the bar, opened the door, and nudged her through it.
“What if Frasyer catches us?”
“Then, lass,” he said as he secured the door behind them, “we are headed straight to Hades.”
Before she could reply, he led her down the corridor. She halted and tugged him back. “No, this way.”
He glared at her, then followed. The brains of an ass, that’s what he had for agreeing to remain. When Isabel had refused to leave, he should have departed without her.
No hesitating.
No noble thoughts of protecting her.
No concerns for her life.
After turning her back on everyone after she became Frasyer’s mistress, she didn’t deserve his loyalty. Not that he was giving it now. Once they found proof to save Lord Caelin, he would leave.
“Start searching the floors above! She must be here somewhere.”
Duncan stiffened as orders echoed from below. Steps pounded from the turret.
“They are coming.” The fear in her voice underlined their precarious situation.
“I can hear that.” Duncan scanned the doors lining the hallway, each as unfamiliar as the next. Although he’d trained with Frasyer during his youth, he’d never viewed more of the keep than the lower floors. “In here, quick.” He yanked open the nearest door, hauled her inside and then snapped it shut.
The aroma of frankincense and myrrh enveloped them. An ornate rood hung centered upon the far wall behind an altar. Stained-glass windows, dulled by the night, served as if a shield from the dark. Several benches lay staggered within the room all facing the front.
A dry smile settled upon his mouth. How fitting. Of all the rooms he might have chosen, they’d entered Frasyer’s private chapel.
“This room is too small,” Isabel said. “They will find us.”
“And where do you propose we hide? It is not as if you have offered any ideas.”
“I had not expected you to stay.”
“Your expectations matter not. I am here in deference to Symon,” he said, irritation hardening his words. “And now it would seem I am needed to find proof to help save your father…if that is even the truth.”
Isabel whirled, her face masked in outrage. “I would never lie about my father.”
“Nay,” he agreed, recalling how since her mother’s death, she’d struggled to hold together a family led by a man who’d fallen apart and turned to drink. “That token you reserve for me.”
He silently cursed himself for adding the last. He didn’t want to reveal how much her leaving had hurt him, a pain that haunted him still.
Like a warrior, inch by admirable inch, her expression shielded off any sign of hurt.
How could she withdraw so completely, show indifference toward him when he battled a softening toward her with his every breath? Damn her.
And why hadn’t Symon mentioned his father’s imprisonment? Was he too weak to relay the information? Or had he known?
He glanced toward Isabel. His body hardened. Furious, he quelled his desire. This time he wasn’t a green lad blinded by love. He was a man who knew her motive—greed.
A lesson he would well remember.
And heed.
Footsteps paused outside the door.
Duncan held a finger to his lips, waved Isabel forward and knelt at the altar. “Kneel beside me and follow my lead,” he whispered. “If the guards come inside, keep your head bowed as if in prayer. And whatever happens, unless I tell you otherwise, do not turn around.”
Isabel hesitated.
He saw her doubts. As if he didn’t have enough of his own? “Now.” He caught her and dragged her down to kneel beside him.
Hinges creaked, announcing the guard’s entrance.
All too aware of Isabel trembling beside him, Duncan’s nerves stretched to breaking.
The jangle of mail grew silent as the knight halted a few feet away. “Father?”
“Yes, my son,” Duncan replied in a deep whisper.
“Forgive me for interrupting your prayers, but there has been an escape from the dungeon.”
Duncan nodded his head in a show of concern. “Are we under attack from clansmen who are seeking to aid in a prisoner’s escape?”
“Nay,” the guard replied.
“Is the prisoner armed?”
The guard cleared his throat as if embarrassed. “Father, it is a woman we are seeking.”
Isabel’s tremors intensified.
Hold fast, he silently willed her. “So why interrupt my prayer?” he asked as if truly confused. “Has she been found dying, and I am needed to administer her last rites? Or has she given herself up and wishes to confess her sins?”
“Neither.”
Duncan gave an annoyed sigh and prayed his irritation would be enough of a distraction.
“We think the woman is hidden somewhere within the keep.”
Shielded by his cloaked hood, Duncan gave a slow nod. “What does she look like?”
The knight shuffled his feet as if hesitant to divulge the information. “It is Lady Isabel, Father. Lord Frasyer’s mistress.”
Isabel jerked.
The guard stepped forward, his boots scraping to a stop behind Isabel. “What is wrong