His Conquest (12 page)

Sadness swept through Seathan for a brother lost. Why had he not sensed Patrik’s hatred toward Nichola before it was too late? Though none had accused him, as lord of Lochshire Castle, he’d let his family down.

Oddly, after Patrik’s death, the half stone gifted to him by Seathan’s grandmother had disappeared. Alexander and Duncan believed their grandmother had reclaimed it. Whatever had happened to the malachite, Seathan was sure magic was not involved.

The echo of his boots slapped upon stone, a somber cadence to his unsettling thoughts. Gritting his teeth, he forced himself up the turret, his body reminding him that it needed more time to heal. Seathan pushed on. God’s teeth, he would have his answers.

As he climbed the next step, the door to his grandmother’s chamber came into view. He halted.

It seemed to glow.

’Twas but the early hour along with his weariness spinning tales in his mind. He rubbed his eyes, looked up.

Shards of sunlight streamed through the darkness to illuminate the entry, but the mythical aura of moments before had vanished. He frowned. The door had not changed. He’d seen an image conjured by exhaustion.

The faint calls of his guards making their rounds and the stirrings of the castle’s residents as they began their daily chores echoed within the silence of the turret. The distant clatter of pots and sounds of cleaning from the keep below added to the normality of the new day.

He climbed the last few steps, ready to be done with this deed, then focus on Dauid. Aye, another day, two at most, then he would ride. He would find his people’s betrayer, a man whom he’d grown up with, a man whom he’d believed he could trust, and a man who’d betrayed those he’d once vowed to protect.

Anger trembled through Seathan’s body. He seized the emotion; ’twould serve to banish any foolish thoughts of Linet.

He knocked.

Silence.

With a grimace, he tugged the door open, stepped inside, and stopped. Linet lay tangled within the sheets, her long amber-gold hair strewn in a haphazard array to cradle her face in a rumpled sweep. A pale, slender leg peeked from the fine linen. And her breaths tumbled in soft cadence from full, soft lips. His chest squeezed tight. She looked like a fairy who’d drunk a charmed sleeping potion.

He turned toward the bowl.

A shimmer of light flickered from within.

Nay, it was naught but the reflections of the sun’s rays. Disgusted with himself for allowing myths to influence him, he strode toward the small table.

Several paces away, stunned, he froze.

Christ’s blade, ’twas indeed Patrik’s malachite!

Pulse racing, he walked forward, lifted the gemstone, fighting a storm of emotions. How had it returned? He refused to believe his brothers’ explanation of magic, focusing on the guard who’d disappeared. If the knight had taken it, why would he bring it back now?

A wisp of cold air swirled around him.

Pinpricks rippled over his skin.

Opening his eyes, he scoured his grandmother’s quarters in a slow, methodical sweep. The door stood open as he’d left it. Through the window, sunlight now raced across the sky in a rich blend of hues ranging from purple to gold. But except for him and Linet, the chamber stood empty.

Seathan glanced toward the bed.

Eyes closed, she remained on her side, her even breathing indicating deep sleep.

He studied Patrik’s halved gemstone within his palm. It lay cool against his skin, emitting not a sparkle, or a flicker of light. Magic was no more possible than the resurrection of a brother dead. The breeze he’d felt was created by the wind cascading through the castle turret, nothing more.

He returned the stone to the bowl next to the other half of his moss agate. Unsettled, he crossed to the window, where golden rays of sunlight now touched the loch, erasing the fog that had settled upon the surface from the chill of night.

On an exhale, Seathan studied the small plot of land inside the northern walls of Lochshire Castle where Patrik’s grave lay.

The sorrow of his burial echoed through Seathan’s mind. He, along with Alexander, Duncan, Nichola, and his men had stood before Patrik’s grave. With the priest’s somber words, Seathan had tossed a handful of dirt upon the fresh mound and shed tears for the senseless loss of a tormented, misguided man whom he’d loved as if they were bound by blood.

However much they wanted to believe Patrik was alive, he and his brothers must accept the truth.

Patrik was dead.

Linet’s soft groan, thick with sleep, had him turning toward her.

The coverlet had slid down, exposing the full swells of her breasts. Riveted on her silken skin, on the hint of the darkened tips exposed with each breath, Seathan’s body tightened with need.

She wrinkled her nose, sighed, then rolled onto her stomach, cutting off the seductive view. Still, the sunlight outlined her slender body with lust-stirring clarity.

He couldn’t look away.

The soft fullness of her mouth slipped open. He imagined covering her lips, sliding down her lush body to savor the taste of her skin, the essence of her womanhood. Desire gathered inside him, fragmenting his hard-won control.

Her brow scrunched. Heavy lids slowly opened, then widened. She tugged the coverlet to her chin as she sat up. “What are you doing here?”

Her sleep-roughened words drove another shot of lust through him like a well-aimed sword. “What do you think?” he demanded, frustrated at Linet for her part in his confusion. Never before had his control wavered.

She wet her lips; he focused on the slick moisture. “You should not be here.”

He chose a scowl to shield the feelings she inspired. “You will be moved this day.”

Surprise, then panic, flared on her face. “To where?”

“To another chamber.” Relief flickered in her gaze, shoving his annoyance up another notch. “You thought I would move you to my private chamber?”

“With you, I am never sure.”

“A fact to heed.”

She held his gaze. “You do not intimidate me.”

“Intimidate you?” A wry smile settled on his mouth. What he wanted to inspire in her was hardly intimidation.

Linet angled her jaw. “It is not funny.”

“Nay, far from it.” What she made him feel, want, was not at all a laughing matter.

Heart pounding, Linet focused on Seathan standing but an arm’s length away, hands on his hips, his feet spread in a warrior’s stance, and his eyes burning hot. She clenched the embroidered bed covering, the delicately sewn coverlet a pathetic shield against this powerful Scot’s roving gaze.

Heat swept through her at the memories of his touch, his destroying kiss, and his muscle-carved body pressed against her. God help her if he touched her now.

She angled her chin and focused on the one man she could never have. “’Tis unseemly for you to be within my chamber without a chaperone.”

Dry amusement edged through the hunger on his face. “Odd you choose now to worry about impropriety. In the dungeon but days past, you cared not.”

“Your arrogance amazes me. Or have you forgotten that had I not freed you from Breac Castle, you would be dead?”

His jaw tightened. “I forget nothing, including the fact that you have avoided explaining why you would risk your life to save mine. Never have we met, neither are we related, and you are English.”

“And half Scottish.”

“Yes,” he drawled, “let us not forget your watered-down heritage as well as your unexplained reason for fleeing Breac Castle.”

The arrogant braggart! Eyes narrowed, she tugged the coverlet around her and scrambled to her feet. “You despise the English,” she said, her words curt. “For that I blame you not, but to dismiss my Scottish heritage is not only slander against me, but against my Scottish mother as well. Say to me what you will, but the latter I will not tolerate.”

His eyes bored through her, eyes that saw too much. They trailed over her, igniting fires of need wherever he looked, evoking memories of her dreams, in which he stood naked before her, then laid her upon his bed and slid into her with exquisite heat.

“I regret you believe that I would slight your mother, Scottish or no,” Seathan said at last, his deep burr echoing through the chamber. “That was not my intent. I apologize.”

His apology surprised her. Too aware of him, Linet stepped back. “I accept. You may go.”

His eyes again narrowed. “You dismiss me from a chamber within my home?”

“Dismiss you?” The arrogant toad! “You crept inside my room while I slept! Or do you intrude upon all of the single women’s chambers within your castle?”

Green eyes turned as black as the devil’s own. “Collect whatever is yours.”

“You will have to wait.”

“I—”

She angled her chin. “In case you have overlooked the fact, I am in an indecent state of dress.” As soon as she uttered the words, she wished them back. Seathan’s hard glare of moments before darkened, a potent reminder he was not only a warrior but a man.

A very virile man.

A man assured of his abilities.

A man confident he would always leave a woman satisfied.

Sweet Mary! “I meant…you will depart so I may dress.”

He stepped toward her as if a predator stalking its prey. “I will depart?” His gaze moved over her with excruciating, seductive slowness before pausing on her face. “You are quick to command those around you, my lady.”

Shivers of awareness slid through her. “Nay twist my words. Any other man would not have dared intrude upon a woman alone in her chamber, much less barge in and issue orders.”

“On that you are correct. Any other man in my position would have secured you within the dungeon until he had gained the truth from you as to why you set him free.”

“Is it a crime to wish to travel to the Highlands?”

“If indeed that is your destination?”

“Why would I lie?”

“You tell me.”

She adjusted the coverlet and held out her wrists. “Fine, then, if you think me so villainous, take me away, secure me until you discover the treachery you believe I conceal.”

Seathan closed the distance between them, awareness swirling within the chamber as if a living, breathing thing. “Do not push me.”

“Have you not pushed me from the first? Or is it,” Linet said, anger rolling over her caution of moments before, “that only you, the exalted Earl of Grey, has the right to order anyone he chooses about, fairness be damned?”

Seathan caught her shoulders. “Fairness?” His voice lowered to a dangerous calm. “An odd word spoken in a realm where King Edward makes the rules, slaughters those who disagree. Had I been as
fair
as your English king, I would have escaped from the cell, locked it, and abandoned you within.”

“You needed me to help carry you out.”

“Nay, that I allowed you to believe.”

She scoffed. “You would never have made it alone. Your injuries were too severe.”

“Had the need arisen, I would have crawled to freedom.”

“Or died trying.”

“Aye.”

And he would have. She swallowed hard. “I so tire of men of your ilk, men of arrogance with their thoughts centered on war.” She paused. “Perhaps the mistake was mine. Perhaps I never should have set you free.”

His hold on her tightened.

“So now will you punish me? Is that how you quell those who dare challenge you? If so, you are no better than the English king. Release me.”

“You are afraid.” It wasn’t a question.

“I fear no man.”

“Aye, you do. Your quickened pulse does not lie as charmingly as your lips.” He lifted her chin. “You want me. Yet you fear a man who makes you feel, a man who makes you yearn for him in the middle of the night.”

Seathan damned himself. Why was he cornering her? This close, with her full lips tempting his and her eyes dark with desire, he couldn’t seem to step away.

“You make me feel nothing.”

“Another lie. This,” he whispered, “is truth.” He covered her mouth, hot, hard, demanding a response, tasting the essence of this woman whom he wanted beyond all reason.

Instead of kissing him back, Linet closed her mouth against him.

He almost laughed. After their passionate interlude in the cave, he knew the heat within, the passion she withheld to prove her point. So he skillfully teased her mouth, nibbled along her earlobe, while he lazily seduced her with his fingers, skimming along the silky column of her throat until her body quivered against his.

At her gasp, he deepened the kiss in a hot assault, using tongue and teeth in his sensual war. He waited for her rebellion, for her to struggle to break free. Instead, she surrendered, totally, completely, the intensity of her response almost driving him to his knees. Neither the kiss within the cave, nor that upon his steed, held a candle to this heat—a blaze that could devastate a man in a trice.

Behind her, the bed came into view, inviting him to lay her upon it, to strip her naked and make love until day changed to night. Then, through the sultry hours beyond, to satisfy her in every way, only to begin again.

Never had a woman evoked such strong desire within him, not even Iuliana, the woman who’d shattered his heart.

Linet’s kiss was lush, untutored, and longing. She was an innocent, not his to take. And she never would be. He must keep his focus on Scotland’s freedom, on finding Dauid.

Thoughts of the traitor cooled his desire.

Seathan released her. The flush of her face and the stark desire in her eyes urged him to reclaim her mouth. But if he touched her now, with his emotions raw, he’d make the gravest of errors—he’d make love with her. And with her looking at him as if a smitten enchanted fairy, she would allow it.

Enchanted fairy?

The errant thought severed the last of his lust-filled musings. He broke away and glared around the room.

Dust stirred the air in a furious sweep flecked with glitters of light. The fairies woven within the tapestry hanging upon the wall seemed to smile at him.

Christ’s blade! His mind was growing addled. His grandmother had had the second sight, and he’d respected her ability to foresee the future, but it ended there. Magic was but a bard’s tale. Naught but his own decisions guided his life.

“What is wrong?” Linet asked, eyes wide, her voice rough with desire.

“Naught.” Everything. He could almost feel his body being pushed toward the lass as if unseen hands urged him on while erotic visions of her naked and losing herself in their passion claimed his thoughts. He rubbed the low pounding beneath his brow, irritated with himself for allowing his mind to conjure such nonsense.

Linet glanced toward the sturdy table. Gasped. “The halved gemstone is glowing again.”

Again?
God’s teeth! “’Tis naught but a trick of the light,” he growled, ignoring the fact that the handcrafted bowl lay within the shadows.

“But—”

“I will be back within an hour,” he interrupted, determined to rectify this entire damnable situation. “Be ready.”

Understanding creased her face. “I know why you want me to leave this chamber.” She studied the room in awe. “It is truly luxurious. Peaceful. And belongs to someone you love.” With her hand holding the coverlet tight against her body, she began gathering her things, but he didn’t miss her trembling. “I will be ready to move upon your return.”

“This was my grandmother’s chamber.”

She turned. “A fact explained by Nichola earlier.”

Seathan turned on his heel and strode toward the exit. At the doorway he paused. “On the morrow I depart. I will be gone but a few days. Upon my return, I will take you to the Highlands.”

“You are leaving so soon?”

He ignored the shock in her voice and opened the door.

“Wait,” she called.

He turned. “A maid will escort you to your new chamber within the hour.”

“A maid? You said you would return yourself.”

“Be ready,” he said, ignoring her question. Seathan strode from the chamber.

The overbearing oaf! Linet ran toward the door, halted. What would she do if she caught him? It was not as if he would listen to her. And if he did, what would she tell him? Regret stole through her. What could she tell him?

The answer was simple—nothing.

Frustrated, she returned to the bed. On shaky knees, Linet sagged upon the delicate coverlet. The memory of his mouth, the touch of his hands upon her, lingered, but she couldn’t think about him or what he made her feel.

Seathan was leaving her here alone. Nay, not alone. Nichola was in the castle.

On edge, she stood, rubbed her hands upon the goose bumps prickling her skin. The Englishwoman had not yet recalled where they’d met or her name. Given Nichola’s sharp mind, in time, she would. And loyal to Seathan, once she remembered their meeting, Nichola would alert him.

Linet released a shaky breath. For her own safety, before then, she must leave.

She glanced outside the window at the sun-streaked sky. If she hurried, she might slip away before anyone noticed she had left.

Linet dismissed any concern over the maid Seathan was sending. If the woman found the chamber empty, the servant would assume she had descended to break her fast. Hours would pass before anyone discovered her absence. Focused on his plans to depart on the morrow, Seathan would not even know she’d gone.

Her decision made, she hurried to dress. With dawn filling the chamber, she turned one last time to take in the room. She’d spent one night here, merely hours, but for the first time in years, she’d felt welcome, truly rested and safe.

The sparkle of light from the corner caught her attention. The gemstones. The halved moss agate continued to glow. Compelled, she walked over, ran her fingers over the smooth stone. Seathan’s stone. An ache built in her throat.

In their short time together, he’d touched her life, had made such a deep impression she doubted she would ever cleanse his presence from her soul.

Against logic, against her every instinct, she cared for him. How could she not? Seathan was a man of compassion, a man of determination, and a man who protected what was his. The people within his castle respected him, his family loved him. Nobles were plentiful throughout the land, but few were men of substance, few were leaders. Lord Grey held the secret many powerful nobles strove for but never found—he was a man who loved deeply.

What would it be like if he loved her? She trembled, shaken by the thought, more so by the emptiness inside her, the desperation to know.

Throughout the time she’d known him, she’d tried to dismiss her feelings for him, assured herself his manner was too hard, too unyielding, and focused on war.

And had failed.

A tear slid down her cheek as the reason burst into her mind. God help her, she had fallen in love with Seathan.

Despite her determination not to, despite his boorish behavior in her bedchamber and her intent not to care, he’d stole past her defenses, entrenched himself where logic had no foothold.

Her heart pounded.

“I am a fool,” she whispered into the thick silence. “I thought myself strong, needing no one, and here I love a man who is at odds with all I am trying to achieve.”

She rubbed her face, stared out the window to where shards of morning sun swept over the land in a golden caress. An ache tightened in her throat. As if it was any day. A day for hopes. A day in which dreams lived.

Linet withdrew her hand and turned away. No, dreams didn’t exist this day, only danger.

With her heart aching, she looked at the bowl one last time. The moss agate still glowed as if beckoning her. Though she might never have Seathan, would it be so wrong to keep a small part of what belonged to him?

Before she convinced herself otherwise, Linet clasped the halved gem. Warmth swirled in her palm and a sense of comfort infused her. With the moss agate stowed in her pocket, she took her cape and slipped from the chamber.

Flames rose in the hearth, the warmth filling the room as Seathan nodded to his brothers. “I have sent runners to several Scottish castles explaining Bishop Wishart’s strategy for reclaiming Scotland. With the English king focused on the war against France, working to build an alliance with the Flemish, and ignorant of Bishop Wishart’s guidance as well as that of the other Guardians of Scotland, we have the tactical advantage to regain Scotland’s freedom.”

“Aye,” Alexander agreed. “And the heart.”