His Woman (24 page)

“I was referring to Lord Caelin. Wallace will not come after me,” she lied.

The earl glanced to where the Bible sat, a satisfied smile curdling along his lips. “Deny what you will. I hold proof.” He caught a tendril of whisky hair between his fingers, slid it across his lips before she could jerk away. “But we both know, he will come for you, Isabel. When he does, Wallace will die.”

With his brothers, Griffin, and their men nearby, Duncan scanned the brae before him. Careless tracks smeared the pristine, snow-covered hillside.

“Frasyer is sloppy in his arrogance,” Duncan said, adding with disgust, “and slow.”

“Aye,” Seathan agreed.

“To Frasyer,” Griffin said, “his glory lies before him like gold-drenched silk.”

Alexander grunted. “One I would like to be cramming down his bloody throat.”

“As I.” Duncan pointed toward the crest of the brae where the swirl of smoke lazing from a distance crofter’s hut caught his eye. “Look over there.”

“The MacNaris’,” Seathan said.

Duncan stilled. “The tracks lead straight toward their home.”

Somber silence settled over the men.

“Do you think Frasyer ordered them slaughtered?” Griffin asked.

Seathan clenched his teeth. “Aye, along with their twin boys, Adam and Douglas.”

“Mayhap he has spared them,” Duncan said, not believing it for a moment. To Frasyer, eleven-year-olds were Scots, boys who would grow to men, men who would wield their blades against England’s might. If he had chosen to kill their parents, neither would the lads be spared. Muscles bunched with tension as he made to stand. “We will find out.”

Seathan’s hand settled on his shoulder. “It is foolhardy to storm in,” he said as if reading Duncan’s mind. “Whatever the fate of the MacNarisses is long past. If we expose ourselves due to carelessness, our edge of surprise and any chance of freeing them and Isabel is lost.”

Duncan exhaled a frustrated breath and glanced up at the fading sun. “Aye. It is time to move into place.”

Seathan glanced skyward and nodded. “So it is.”

Anticipation slid through Duncan as his oldest brother waved to several of his men he’d selected to go with him after planning their approach to Frasyer’s encampment.

Five knights, led by Alexander, slipped off to the west.

Griffin, followed by four other men, worked their way east.

“Duncan, wait until we are in place,” Seathan said. “Once I give the signal, then go in and bring out Isabel.”

“I will.” Duncan watched as Seathan and the two remaining knights made their way down the knoll to circle around. Countless moments passed as he waited, the pounding of his heart echoing the passage of time. Finally, from the brae directly across from him, he saw Seathan waving.

With his every sense on alert, Duncan stole forward. He used the cloak of trees, large drifts of snow, or anything else that nature provided to shield his presence from Frasyer’s men.

By the time he reached within a stone’s throw of the MacNaris’ home, long shadows echoing the arrival of night greeted him. In place, he, as everyone in their band, would wait for Seathan’s signal, then they would make their move.

A profile of Frasyer’s knight outside the doorway had Duncan pressing behind a large oak. Catching his breath, he searched the surrounding forest to where his brothers, Griffin, and their troops hid in wait.

Smoke continued to swirl from the chimney and wavering light seeped from slits in the heavily covered windows.

No signs of a struggle or the telltale sign of bodies being hauled from within existed. With Frasyer’s mood high from this day’s victory, he prayed the earl had spared the family’s life.

Breaks in the fresh snow leading to the nearby shelter caught Duncan’s attention. The trail headed east. Had the MacNarisses left? Or had they departed to go hunting with his sons and knew not of Frasyer’s arrival?

Hoping they’d left, Duncan turned his focus back to his brothers and their planned attack. He scanned the nearby woods, then glanced toward the hut. Three knights stood posted outside. One near the front entry, the other two scattered deeper into the woods to watch for any intruders. Groups of men were camped farther away.

The odds were definitely in Frasyer’s favor, but he and his brothers held the element of surprise. One they’d use to give them an edge.

For Isabel’s life and Scotland’s freedom, he prayed it would be enough.

The crackle of burning wood echoed in the somber silence as Isabel rubbed the bruises on her arm, her body still aching—painful reminders of Frasyer’s warning if she again tried to escape.

Earlier, she’d made it to the door before his men had caught her. Furious she’d dare defy him after everything, for the first time ever, Frasyer had beaten her for her attempt to flee and bruises riddled her body. After, he’d assured her this was but a warning of things to come should she again try to escape.

His abuse confirmed her earlier suspicions that he’d lost his mental balance. That he’d turned to physical brutality didn’t worry her as much as his insanity. His self-serving decisions of the past would compare naught to those made with a twisted mind.

Isabel drew her blanket closer and, numbly, peered at the fire blazing in the hearth. The scent of herbed stew filling the hut made her nauseous. With her thoughts scarred from this day’s horrors, she couldn’t eat. And with horrific visions haunting her of Duncan trapped in the flames and left to die, she doubted she’d find sleep this night.

Somehow, she must stop Frasyer from delivering her to King Edward. If only she could get word to Duncan’s brother Seathan, or any of the rebels.

The brush of a limb against the side of the hut startled her. She ignored the sound. ’Twas nothing. What did it matter anyway? Duncan was dead.

Grief swamped her, but with sheer determination, she battled it back. If she succumbed to it now, she would never have the strength to look for help let alone an opportunity to escape.

The limb again scraped against the hut.

She frowned. The wind was blowing, but not enough to bend the limb to where it would brush against the home. On edge, she glanced at the home’s exit, then the two guards who talked in quite tones nearby as they ate.

Nothing was out of the ordinary, unless one considered her fate. If only she had herbs to drug the guards and Frasyer, then she could slip out while they slept.

Another swish of the tree limb against the side of the hut had her looking toward the far wall.

The sound wasn’t coming from the wall, but near the far window.

Heart pounding, she stared at the crafted panes. Had someone witnessed Frasyer’s abduction of her and was trying to covertly alert her to their presence? Or had the people who lived here informed the rebels of Frasyer’s actions?

Her shoulders drooped. Neither explanation made sense. Besides, the earl’s cruelty was known far and wide, as was the fact she was his mistress. Only Duncan knew the truth and of the earl’s destination. Now, he was dead. Emotion built in her throat.

She started to turn away.

A shadow at the window caught her attention.

The outline of a man came into view.

In the cover of night, she couldn’t make out his face, but she embraced the fact that someone knew of her plight.

She looked at Frasyer.

Unaware of the stranger outside, the earl sat before the roaring fire, his thumb absently rubbing the worn leather of the Bible.

Again she glanced toward the window.

The inky outline of a face lay shadowed against the glass.

She nodded.

The shadow mimicked her action.

He’d seen her! She stole another look toward Frasyer. The earl hadn’t moved.

One of the guards stood. “I will go and relieve Robert.”

The other guard nodded. “I as well.”

No, she had to divert their attention.
Isabel stood.

“Did you need something, Lady Isabel?” the closest guard asked, his tone curious.

Frasyer turned toward her. Frowned. “She needs nothing.” His curt tone assured her neither man would be allowed to aid her regardless of her request.

“I have need to relieve myself,” she said.

“You will not be allowed outside until morning, when we depart.” Frasyer gestured to the corner. “Use the chamber pot.”

Heat stroked her face. “It would be improper with you and the men in my presence.”

Frasyer shrugged. “If you choose to suffer, so be it.” He turned away. “Sit down, Isabel.”

Frasyer’s cold voice crawled through her. Tension seeped in the room like a wash of foreboding.

She didn’t move.

“Do not make me regret allowing you to remain untied.” His warning held a lethal threat.

She swallowed hard and sat. After ensuring Frasyer and his knights were not looking at her, she peeked toward the window. The outline of the man was gone!

No, he was again moving into her view, but just the edge of his face. The shadowed outline of his hand made a sweeping motion. What was he telling her to do? She scanned the others in the room, then looked toward the stranger.

He repeated the murky gesture.

Isabel followed the direction he indicated. He was gesturing to the Bible. Why? She stilled. The only person who knew about the Bible and its significance to her plight was Duncan.

Duncan?

Hope rose swift and keen. What if by some miracle, Duncan had escaped?

“Isabel?”

At Frasyer’s harsh tone, she jumped. Composing herself, she turned toward him. Goose bumps crawled across her skin as gray eyes watched her with suspicion.

“You seem preoccupied,” he drawled.

She fought to remain calm.

“Do not do anything as foolish as to try and escape.”

“As if I could overpower you as well as five knights.”

Frasyer grunted, but he seemed far from convinced she wouldn’t try. He watched her a second longer, then turned away.

Isabel exhaled, her body a mass of nerves. Could it be Duncan? But how? She’d seen him trapped in the blaze.

Please, God, let Duncan have lived.

“Did you need us to remain here, my lord?” one of the knights asked Frasyer.

He waved them toward the door. “Relieve the men.”

No, she had to stall the guards! If indeed it was Duncan, she couldn’t allow him to be caught. “Wait!”

Frasyer’s eyes narrowed as he stood. “Silence.”

“Why? What else could you possibly do?” she taunted, needing to buy time.

The veins streaming Frasyer’s brow bulged into dark, ominous lines. “Go!” As the knights exited, Frasyer turned toward her, slow, with intent. He raised his hand. “I warned you not to cross me.”

Fury poured through Duncan’s veins as, from the window, he watched Frasyer stalking toward Isabel with malice. His muscles strained against the urge to storm the cabin and tear Frasyer apart. At the shove of the door, his gaze shifted to the two knights exiting the home, then back toward Frasyer.

The door thudded as the knights departed, barely penetrating Duncan’s focus.

Frasyer had almost reached Isabel.

Signal, he silently willed his brother, withdrawing his sword in anticipation.

Fear dredged Isabel’s brow. She shielded her face with her arms, the recent bruises from an earlier beating shoving Duncan’s anger up a notch. The devil take it. He’d not stand here to watch her be beaten! Duncan bolted from the shadows and rounded the corner.

A knight stood several paces away. “You there!” The guard strode toward him.

Duncan raised his sword, never missing his stride. By God, he’d reach Isabel.

Steel hissed as the knight withdrew his weapon. Stunned shock creased his face as he recognized Duncan, then anger. “This time you will die!”

Keeping his eyes on his foe, Duncan edged toward the door. “Nay, it will be the men who have chosen to serve an earl driven by evil.”

An owl hooted—his brother’s signal.

A war cry rose up into the night.

Caught in the sporadic torchlight, a blur of men stormed down the brae like an avalanche of fury.

The knight before him whirled toward the slope.

The advantage Duncan needed. He sprang forward and drove his sword deep into the man’s side.

A muffled cry of pain fell against his palm. The man’s struggles faded with the shudders of his body. The knight went limp.

Duncan had barely shoved the man away when another knight rushed him. He angled his sword. Honed steel screamed as it clashed against his aggressor’s sword. Gritting his teeth, he drove forward, heedless of the roar of battle around him, thrusting like a madman, with the soul purpose of reaching Isabel.

His attacker stumbled, ducked, then swung.

Duncan’s arm trembled beneath the impact of the blade. He gritted his teeth and shoved.

The warrior twisted his sword. Steel scraped, broke free. He angled his blade and charged forward.

Duncan used the man’s momentum, catching his arm and pulling him forward as he turned to his side.

The knight grunted as he landed face-first into the snow.

Before the man could move, Duncan slid his dagger into his heart.

Snow muffled the man’s scream.

Duncan withdrew his sword. As he shoved to his feet, he scanned the tangle of men engaged in battle with his brothers. Seathan had a knight backed up against the side of the stall. Alexander was cursing as he dodged his aggressor’s blade, then he lunged forward in a surprise move sealing his attacker’s fate. On the edge of the forest, Griffin was skillfully battling his opponent, forcing him back.

Seathan finished off the warrior, and Duncan caught his attention. “I am going for Isabel!”

His oldest brother nodded, then angled his blade to meet his next attacker.

Heart pounding, Duncan bolted for the door, then froze.

The entry to the hut stood open. Firelight outlined the outrage carved on Frasyer’s face as he held Isabel pinned against him, his other hand clutching a dagger against her neck. Fear churned in her eyes, but he saw the courage as well.

“Drop your sword or she dies,” Frasyer snarled.

Duncan glanced at the swelling upon her cheek from Frasyer’s abuse. Drop his sword? Nay, he’d slay the bastard.

As if reading Duncan’s deadly intent, Frasyer’s grip on Isabel tightened. Blood trickled down her throat. She bit her lips, yet a cry of pain escaped.

Hands trembling with fury, Duncan dropped his weapon. Snow puffed around the blood-stained blade.

“Now your dagger.”

“Your knights are surrounded,” Duncan said. “You cannot escape.”

Frasyer’s gaze swept the melee around them outside, and his jaw tightened. “Now.”

With a muttered curse, Duncan complied.

The earl nodded. “Join us,” he mocked, stepping back with serene calm, dragging Isabel with him.

Duncan glanced back. Several of the earl’s knights had fallen. Though his brothers, Griffin, and their men were gaining ground, they wouldn’t reach them in time.

To buy precious seconds, he walked with slow steps toward the hut as Frasyer backed deeper inside. Firelight, along with a wall of warmth, enveloped him. He scanned the interior. As he’d believed, no other guards remained. Except for the knife at Isabel’s neck, even odds.

“Let her go,” Duncan demanded. “She is an innocent, a pawn you are using in the jealousy you hold for me.”

A deep laugh rumbled in his enemy’s chest. “Ah, you never cease to amaze me with your bravado. I have Isabel. Admit it, the best man has won.”

To the devil with his demands.

At Duncan’s silence, the earl’s mouth thinned. “Bar the door.”

“Afraid your men won’t be able to hold off my brothers and their men?” The glimmer of worry on Frasyer’s face gave Duncan the answer he needed. “Your men are falling at a fast rate. English knights poorly trained.”

Outrage drove Frasyer’s face a deep red, then methodically, the earl neatly stowed it beneath a facade of menace. “Kneel,” Frasyer ordered.

“Even if your men win, which they will not,” Duncan pushed, “Wallace will not come.”

A muscle worked in Frasyer’s jaw. “He will, but you will never live to see his demise.”

Cries and screams from the battle outside increased.

The earl nodded. “On your knees!”

Despising his defenselessness, Duncan knelt.

The earl twisted one of Isabel’s hands behind her back; she gasped in pain.

Duncan surged to his feet. “Let her go!”

“Unless you wish your lover further harm,” Frasyer warned, “back on your knees.”

Battling the urge to lunge for his enemy’s throat, against his every instinct, Duncan complied.

After a long moment, Frasyer lowered the blade. With one hand, he reached over to where a ball of twine lay in a wicker basket. He tossed it to Duncan. “Bind your hands.”

“Do not!” Isabel yelled. Frasyer jerked her arm up; she screamed in pain.

Duncan shoved to his feet.

In the same instant, Isabel twisted and broke away from Frasyer’s hold.

Frasyer grabbed one of her arms.

“You will never have the Bible!” With her free hand, Isabel grabbed the holy book from the table. Regret tore through her face as she threw it toward the roaring fire.

The Bible slapped the earthen floor a hand’s length from the hearth as Frasyer recaptured both of Isabel’s hands.

At the panic in her eyes, violence erupted in Duncan. He stepped forward.

Frasyer pressed the blade to Isabel’s neck. “Halt!”

Duncan stopped, his entire body shaking with fury.

“Give me the Bible,” Frasyer demanded.

The Bible. Of course.
“You have Isabel,” Duncan said with slow precision that belied his internal outrage. “But even if you and your men succeed this night, without proof of her heritage, you have naught but an unwanted mistress.” He didn’t guard his words. From Isabel’s attempt to destroy the Bible, she had accepted the truth of her parentage.

“Do not give it to him,” Isabel said, her voice desperate. “Throw it in the fire!”

Frasyer slammed her against his chest, his arm tight around her neck. He glared at the window. Sounds of battle grew closer. “Hand the Bible over or she dies.”

Duncan gritted his teeth. He wanted to call the earl’s bluff, but how could he risk Isabel’s life or allow proof of Isabel’s lineage to fall into the earl’s grasp? If they could hold off Frasyer awhile more and give his brothers a chance to reach them, they could save the Bible as well.

He picked up the Bible and cast it a hand’s length away from the earl.

Satisfaction curved Frasyer’s mouth.

A man’s scream tore through the night nearby. A thud of a body slammed against the aged exterior.

God in heaven, were the men his brothers’ or Frasyer’s men? What if Frasyer’s knights were winning?

As the earl loosened his grip and leaned forward to pick up the Bible, Isabel sank her teeth into his arm. On a curse, Frasyer released her.

Isabel dove for the leather-bound pages. “You will never have the Bible!”

“Damn you!” Frasyer caught her leg.

Isabel fell hard.

Frasyer shoved her aside and bolted for the Bible.

Duncan beat him there. He couldn’t risk Frasyer regaining control of the Bible. With regret, Duncan heaved the thick-bound book with proof of Isabel’s heritage into the flames.

“No!” Frasyer reached out instinctively.

With the earl distracted, Duncan drove his body into Frasyer’s. They both went down. The fury restrained within Duncan unleashed.

“This is for Isabel!” Duncan drove his fist into the earl’s jaw. Bone gave with a satisfying crack. He backed the punch with another.

A growl erupted from the earl as blood spurted from his nose. He went down hard.

Duncan landed on top of him. “And this is for all those unfortunates you have harmed!” His swing connected on the other side of the earl’s nose, which was swelling at a heart-warming pace. He caught the blur of Isabel at his side.

“He has a knife!” she yelled.

Too late, he caught the glint of Frasyer’s blade as he aimed it toward Duncan’s healing side. Duncan grabbed the earl’s wrist. His arm trembled as he held his hand back, the blade inches from his face.

Isabel caught Frasyer’s hair, jerked hard.

Frasyer’s grip loosened; Duncan jammed his knee into Frasyer’s groin.

The earl screamed and collapsed.

Fists flying, they rolled toward the fire. Sparks erupted into the swirl of smoke as Duncan’s foot knocked against an outer log.

“Duncan, you are too close to the fire,” Isabel yelled.

The earl wedged his foot against the hearth and shoved in an attempt to flip Duncan into the flames.

Using the momentum, Duncan rolled with Frasyer, shifted and pinned him against the hearth. “And this,” Duncan rasped between breaths, “is for me.” Ignoring the painful burns, he again slammed his fist into the earl’s face.

Blood spattered against already swollen flesh. Frasyer’s glare turned venomous. “You will die for this!”

Before he could wield his dagger, Duncan caught his hand, twisted.

Bone cracked. Agony sliced Frasyer’s face. The dagger slipped from his hand.

Duncan wrapped his hands around Frasyer’s neck. Tightened.

The earl’s face transformed, twisting into an expression of panic and fear.

“Duncan,” Isabel screamed, “you are killing him!”

Her voice barely registered through Duncan’s blind rage. Frasyer’s struggles were satisfying, feeding a primitive urge inside him to destroy the enemy, to protect his own. This man had torn thousands of lives apart, slaughtered innocent lives with careless regard. All for his own gain, the lure of wealth. Duncan tightened his grip, heedless of Frasyer’s purpling face.

How satisfying that he could end the merciless bastard’s life. Do it. He deserved it for how he’d abused Isabel, and the torment he’d served her, an inner voice goaded, stoking the furor inside him. God knew that with the malice Frasyer had delivered over the years, no one would shed a tear when he spewed his last breath.

On a curse and with his hands shaking with fury, Duncan shoved him away. “As much as it would bring me pleasure to watch you die,” he said between harsh breaths, “I will let Lord Monceaux decide your fate.” As Duncan grasped the dagger, a flash of steel to his left caught his attention.

“He has another weapon!” Isabel warned.

Before the earl could drive his blade, Duncan sank the dagger into Frasyer’s chest.

Disbelief widened Frasyer’s eyes as he stared at his lifeblood streaming over honed steel. Frasyer looked up. Pain, hard and deep, darkened his gaze. He made to speak but his words smothered within the gurgle of blood.

Emotion scarred Duncan’s throat. “You will never harm Isabel again.” He tore the dagger free. Blood smeared Frasyer’s chest, then slowly worked its way to the earthen floor. Gradually, the disbelief in the earl’s eyes dwindled to emptiness and then the light faded until he stared straight ahead, unseeing.

Duncan knelt on one knee, sucking in deep breaths, his head dizzy. Frasyer was dead. They’d won. Nay, the battle still raged outside.

Isabel.

He stood. She ran to him, and it was a fierce slice of heaven holding her in his arms. “I have made a mess of things,” he said, never wanting to let her go. He drew his fingers through her silken hair, avoiding the bruise on her cheek. “There is so much I need to tell you.” He glanced toward the door where the sounds of battle raged. “First, I must help my brothers.”