Highland Protector (8 page)

There was a wild spirit within her that was pressing her to try and seduce the man, but Ilsabeth fought to ignore it. What did she know of seduction? Ilsabeth believed that seduction was wrong, too, unless it was a game played out between two lovers. Seduction was one person using guile to make another do something she did not truly wish to do, no matter what her body begged for. She could never do that to Simon.

For all Simon’s refusal to openly declare her innocent until he had more proof than her word, she still wanted Simon in ways she had never wanted Walter. Walter had never made her heart pound so hard she could hear the echo of its beats in her ears. Nor had he ever made her want to tear off his clothes so that she could admire his body, touch his skin, taste it. Sir Simon Innes was the man meant to be hers, the man every part of her cried out for, but she would win him honestly or not at all. Seduction only served to stir a man’s desire and, from what she knew of men, that was no great feat. She wanted to stir Simon’s heart.

Ilsabeth inwardly grimaced. That could prove a task far beyond her ability. She had not reached the age of one and twenty unwed because she was too particular in her taste. There had been few men interested in her as a woman, a wife, and the possible mother of their children. The only man who had really courted her and asked her to marry him was Walter and he had done so just to use her to hide his crimes and destroy her whole family. She now understood that what she had seen as an honorable resistance to despoiling his bride before they were wed was actually Walter’s utter distaste for her. Perhaps she should not be so confident of the reasons she thought Simon had run away from the kiss they had shared.

“Sir, there is a rogue at the door to the kitchens,” announced MacBean.

Startled by the man’s silent entry, but very glad to have her increasingly morbid thoughts disrupted, Ilsabeth smiled at MacBean. As always he looked as if he had just swallowed something bitter. “A rogue?” She glanced at Simon. “Ye ken many rogues, sir?”

“Aside from ones who neglect to knock at a door before they enter a room?” drawled Simon, scowling at MacBean, who ignored him. “Nay. Who is this rogue, MacBean?”

“I am nay a rogue,” came a voice from just outside the door to the hall. “I am a married man.”

Simon sighed. “Let him in, MacBean.”

“Tormand!” cried Ilsabeth when the man slipped around MacBean and grinned at them. She tossed aside her sewing and ran over to hug her cousin.

“Ye are looking verra weel, lass,” said Tormand after kissing her on the cheek.

“Thank ye. So are ye. Any new news of my family?”

“Some, and I will tell ye as soon as I have some wine.”

A muttering MacBean soon served them all some wine and then left. Ilsabeth sipped hers as Simon and Tormand drank their wine, idly exchanging pleasantries she had no real interest in. Her concern for her family made her impatient, however. She did not press them but she did begin to tap her foot, unable to quell that outside sign of her growing impatience.

“Easy, lass,” Tormand said, and grinned at her again from where he sat beside her on the settee. “Matters have changed little. Your family still evades capture. ‘Tis said that the king’s soldiers have already ceased to avidly hunt them, waiting for some traitor to tell them where to look. I am here for two reasons. I was asked to see for myself that ye are weel, Two, and to pass on some information from Humfrey. Both requests arrived after I saw Simon yestereve.”

“Two?” Simon frowned. “Why did ye just call her Two? Are ye a twin, Ilsabeth?”

“Nay.” She glared at Tormand, who just laughed, as unaffected by her anger as her brothers always were.

“She used to be named Clara,” Tormand explained. “Cormac’s firstborn was called Ilsabeth but she had the calling and became Sister Beatrice. Elspeth loved the name Ilsabeth so much, however, that she asked the lass here if she would mind taking it on. Afraid we all began to call her Two after that.”

Ilsabeth sighed. “E’en Two is better than Clara.” She could see that Simon was fighting a grin and she glared at him. When that expression of her displeasure had as little effect upon him as it hadupon Tormand, she looked back at her cousin. “What did Humfrey have to say?”

“Aside from complaining that Hepbourn left as soon as he realized ye hadnae been caught and that the mon’s mother is a verra harsh taskmaster, he told me that David is on his way to join up with Hepbourn,” replied Tormand.

“Good,” said Simon. “The mon is most kind to save us all the trouble of hunting him down.”

“We must be sure to thank him for that kindness when we get our hands on him.”

“Ye think David could be useful?” asked Ilsabeth, frowning at the thought of the pale, chinless David being good for much of anything aside from stroking Walter’s vanity. “He isnae a plotter. He but follows Walter about like a faithful wee pup.”

“Exactly,” said Simon, satisfaction heavy in his tone. “He is a follower. Followers can be a weakness one can use against the leader.”

“I am nay sure Walter cares enough for David, or anyone, to risk himself to save the mon.”

“So I think and soon David will be made to see that, too.”

Ilsabeth rubbed her forehead as the pinch of a headache lodged itself there. “I fear I cannae make sense of that. How does that help us?”

Simon suddenly felt like laughing he was so pleased by her utter confusion. Ilsabeth was no plotter. He had begun to see that more clearly with every passing hour in her presence, but the way she acted now only confirmed his opinion. She had a keen wit but not a devious one. He had suspected it when he realized she had barely escaped the trap set for her and might not have done so if her father had not planned for the need of one. Ilsabeth was a complete stranger to deception.

“He
follows,
Two.” He grinned when she glared at him for the use of that name. “Followers are near always weaker than their leader. They often, quite foolishly, believe their leader will help them, keep them safe, and all of that. When they discover their leader is more than ready to cast them to the wolves, their loyalty shatters.”

Shaking free of her bemusement over how handsome Simon looked when he smiled, Ilsabeth said, “Oh. And then they spill out all of their secrets, suddenly verra willing to take their leader down with them.”

“Aye. Or so we hope. At times a follower is so afraid of his leader that, despite the leader showing him that that man cares nothing for his men, nothing will bring the follower to tell me what he knows. This will all depend upon how committed David is to the cause of bringing down the king. I but wonder who they think to replace the king with.”

“I wouldnae be surprised if Walter thought he should be set upon the throne e’en if he isnae the one planning all of this. He ne’er fails to let people ken that he has the blood of the Bruce in his veins.”

“So claims half of Scotland,” muttered Tormand as he poured himself another drink of wine.

Ilsabeth laughed. “True, but I think Walter may actually have a rightful claim although ‘tis but a few wee drops, weel watered down and weak. However, as I told ye, Walter spoke as if another mon was to take the throne.”

“He may just nay wish the burden of it, only the benefits of helping another mon take it. And, since it isnae Walter, then it is someone Walter believes will lift him higher in importance and power, enriching him,” said Simon. “Curse it, I need names. Names will give me the power to proclaim your innocence and get the soldiers away from ye and your family. If we can get our hands on David I just might get some.”

“How do ye plan to get him? It willnae be easy to catch someone at court and spirit him away. If it was, I think ye would already have Walter in your hands, wouldnae ye?”

“Hepbourn is making himself far too noticeable. I dinnae think David will.”

“Ah, nay, he willnae. Nor would Walter allow it.”

Ilsabeth listened as the men talked over ideas for getting their hands on David. She did not wish to know how they would get the information they hoped to get from the man. All she wanted to accomplish was to lift the cloud of suspicion off her and her family. David was part of the plot that had sent her and her family into hiding, and he was one of the ones plotting against the king, so he deserved whatever he had to suffer.

“Weel, I think that gives us enough ideas to mull over,” said Tormand as he stood up. “I must needs get back to my wife. She doesnae like me coming so close to the court although she kens it is necessary.” He kissed Ilsabeth on the forehead. “Dinnae worry so hard, lass. Your father will keep your family safe and Simon will keep ye safe. We will soon drag the real traitors before the king. Next time I come, I will try to be in time to meet these children ye have taken in.”

The moment Tormand was gone Ilsabeth picked up her sewing and stared at it blindly. She wanted to believe Tormand’s assurances, but her fear for her family would not allow her to do so. There was so much that could still go wrong. She should not even be here, but with her family. She ached to be with them as they fought this battle.

A battle they faced because she had been blind to the man she had chosen to be her husband. Ilsabeth took a deep breath as she fought the strong urge to cry. She suffered no pain at the loss of her betrothed but she did hurt over the loss of her dream of a home of her own and children. She also grieved over what that dream was now costing her loved ones.

“Ilsabeth?”

She could not look at Simon, knowing that her eyes would show her sorrow. “Nay, I shall be fine.”

There was no mistaking that waver in her soft, husky voice and Simon would swear that he could feel her sorrow. He moved to sit beside her and put his arm around her. It was a dangerous thing to do but he could not smother his need to offer her comfort. When she leaned into him, her soft body pressing against him, everything inside him tightened with need. The clothing they wore was suddenly a painful, unwanted barrier between them. Even the scent of her had him aching to taste her skin. Sympathy, he sternly told himself. Only sympathy. A particularly insistent part of his body paid no attention.

“ ‘Tis all my fault,” she murmured, resting her cheek against his chest.

“Nay, the fault lies with Hepbourn,” said Simon. “He is the one who plots against the king, used ye, and now uses and defames your family to protect himself.”

“Ah, so now ye believe me?”

He sighed and gave in to the temptation to rest his cheek against her soft hair. “Aye. I still need proof, however, and that shall nay be easy to get. Traitors ken what fate awaits them and ‘tis nay a simple hanging.”

“I dinnae think a hanging is so verra simple but I ken what ye mean. Compared to the horrific punishments dealt out to traitors, a hanging would seem preferable. That makes them verra cautious.

“I should be with my family,” she abruptly said in a quiet voice. “I should be standing with them at such a time.”

“Nay. They sent ye here. This is where they wish ye to be. Dinnae forget what Tormand said. The soldiers arenae even hunting them much any longer. They willnae, either, unless the king sends someone to push them to it. That gives us time.”

Ilsabeth wondered if he was aware that he was rubbing his cheek against her hair and caressing her arm with his hand. She was no longer on the verge of tears but decided to stay right where she was. Being held close to Simon not only made her blood run hot, it made her feel safe. She could sense the strength in him and it was as if it shielded her.

A quick glance down was enough to tell her that he also desired her. It was heady knowledge but she was not sure how to act upon it. In the short time she had known him, she had learned that Simon was an intensely honorable man. Whatever else might hold him back from satisfying the desire he felt for her, the fact that she had been put under his protection would be a strong part of that. Ilsabeth did not know whether she could or even should try to surmount that particular wall.

But how she wanted to, she thought, and sighed. The idea of giving her chastity over to a man she was not married to did not bother her. She was a Murray woman, after all, and when a Murray woman found the man she wanted, she gave him everything. What troubled her was how badly it would hurt her if all he felt for her was desire. If, when this all ended and she was free, he sent her home with no word of love or promise of a future, Ilsabeth feared she would know a pain that time would never heal. It would be a big risk to give him everything she had to give with nothing but the hope that he would return her feelings and Ilsabeth was not sure she was brave enough to do that.

“Hey, lass, have ye gone to sleep?”

The hint of amusement in his voice caused her to lift her head and smile at him. Ilsabeth saw the way his eyes abruptly darkened. Her body responded to that look with a heat that nearly made her gasp. Suddenly she understood why some of her married kinswomen would blush when their men looked at them. They were seeing that look in their men’s eyes.

Simon softly cursed even as he pulled her face closer to his, unable to resist the urge to kiss her, to taste that lush mouth that tempted him every time he looked at it. When Ilsabeth smiled at him, her eyes all soft and warm, his will crumbled. All he could think of was how much he wanted her to keep looking at him like that. It was madness.

She was his weakness, he thought with a touch of alarm. He had spent years hardening himself in heart, body, and mind, yet this small woman with big blue eyes easily cut through his armor with a smile. Simon knew he ought to run far and fast but then his lips touched hers, and all his fears were burned away by the heat that flooded his body.

Ilsabeth wrapped her arms around his neck and held on tight. She parted her lips with no urging from him, eager to taste him. When she tentatively parried the strokes of his tongue with her own, he groaned and the sound made the fire inside her burn even hotter. She could stir his passion and, at the moment, that was enough.

He pushed her down onto the settee and Ilsabeth welcomed the weight of his body as he covered her. She was surrounded by the heat and scent of him and it made her desire rise so quickly and fiercely that she had no thought but of him, of his taste, of his touch. She wanted his clothes gone; hers as well. She needed to feel his skin beneath her hands. When he began to kiss his way down her throat she realized he had tugged her gown down to free her breasts. Ilsabeth knew she was blushing but she did not stop him. Her breasts ached for his touch.