The Crusader's Heart

by Kate Forrest

  She looked at the handsome man before her. She would not let him know of her worries.

  “I could, but I will not take a husband.” Isobel looked away from Sir Alex and out over the city before her, thinking on her freedom. She would not suffer an unhappy marriage and be used to gain favor with the king. Even after David passed, she would just be taken for her coin and lands. It was the way of things, but David had brought her up to feel she needn’t do what was expected. Perhaps that was because he always intended her for the church. In all likelihood, the coin and lands would pass to the nunnery. She would have nothing in her name if she took the cloth, and she would have nothing if she married or tried for a life on her own. An impossible choice, but she knew by the journey’s end, she would have to make a decision.

  Looking back to the crusader, she said, “I know you want more of an explanation, but all I can offer you is the promise that this journey is important. It is something I must do, and I am grateful for your guidance along the way.”

  “And protection,” he added. “ ’Tis nae safe for a lass to journey alone. In truth, I am surprised you made it thus far.”

  “I have done what I must, Sir Alex. I am stronger than I look.” She eyed the man before her, trying to contain her temper. She did not care to be looked upon as weak or in need. Sir Alex had probably never felt weak or needy a day in his life. His muscular frame exuded power and the weaponry strapped to his body looked as though it were part of him—an extension of his person. He was a formidable warrior. She knew it without having to see him in action. Though a wicked thought of him appeared in her mind—his muscular arms flexing under the weight of a battle-axe as he swung it through the air, his skin glistening with sweat from the exertion of battle. She bit her lip and whimpered before she could catch herself.

  “Lady Isobel?” Sir Alex approached her, and she hastily retreated. “Are you well?”

  “Perfectly.” She nodded to the horizon. “Should we journey on then?”

  “Aye, we should. We shall stay in Doune this night. My horse is nearby,” Sir Alex said.

  Isobel followed him to his horse. In a matter of moments, her belongings were secure, and they were seated and riding off. Isobel glanced back at the castle, trying to capture it in her memory. This could be the last time she ever saw Stirling. The last tie to what she knew, and seeing it fade into the distance was bittersweet. She looked ahead and realized the path before her was all new. She was covering ground she’d never seen before. The idea made her smile and, for the first time in five days, she did not mind the idea of the unknown.

  Chapter 3

  A bath! I will have a bath at long last! Isobel felt the hot sting of tears in her eyes. How worn she was by the travel to make a bath overwhelm her. Once the maid emptied the last bucket of hot water into the soaking tub, Isobel nearly pushed the woman out of the way so she could jump in. The maid said she’d forgotten a drying cloth and excused herself from the room to retrieve it.

  Common sense made Isobel touch the water with a toe first, to make certain it wasn’t too warm, before sinking down into the tub. She sighed with contentment as the sweet floral smells of the lavender sprigs and rose oil reached her nose. It was kind of the mistress to perfume the water. Her worries from the day vanished as she soaked in the tub. Isobel’s concerns over going into Stirling were for naught. The crusader found me, and I even got to enjoy my favorite treat and now a bath! Ha!

  They’d traveled the ten miles to the fort at Doune in near silence, which was just as well. Isobel was exhausted and hadn’t felt like conversation. She was, however, delighted they would be staying the night at the fortress. Once they arrived, Alex immediately saw to her care. She wasn’t surprised, exactly, as she knew very little of this man and his ways, but to see the caring side of a warrior felt strange. In truth, she’d known few warriors by name, let alone how they treated women, but when every inch of his body seemed built for destruction, it didn’t seem possible for him to have a caring side. Wherever it came from, Isobel was grateful for his attentiveness and for their hosts’, the Stewarts’, obliging nature.

  The Stewart mistress even took Isobel’s garments to be washed. The idea of having a fresh gown made her smile, but then she frowned at the thought of not knowing when she’d have such luxuries again. Perhaps the crusader had many associations they could appeal to on the journey to Iona.

  The wooden keep at Fort Doune was small but well maintained by the Stewarts. Their modest guest room afforded the luxury of a small fireplace. The room also had a narrow window, if it could even be called that, for the keep’s archers. From it, she could view the River Teith in the pink light of the evening sky. This time of year, darkness didn’t fall until the wee hours of the morning. It would give them more daylight to travel by, which would aid the journey west.

  As Isobel scrubbed away the dirt and grime of travel, she contemplated if she wanted the passage west to be quick. She glanced at her cloak—the one thing she’d refused to let the mistress of the keep launder. For the sake of the precious relic she carried, she should try to reach Iona as soon as possible. But the quicker she went, the less time she had to decide. Perhaps she should ask Sir Alex of the life there. He had grown up around the religious community. Surely he would have insight into it.

  Just as she finished washing her hair, a knock came at the door.

  “Come in,” she called, assuming the maid had returned with a plaid for her to dry off with. She stood up and poured a bucket of clean water over her body, washing away the perfumed water and lavender.

  Had he not spent the last few years on Crusade, Alex was certain he would have closed his eyes and shut the door immediately. But he did not do either of those things. He was transfixed and incapable of looking away. Lady Isobel was standing before him naked, water dripping down her delicate back over her perfectly shaped bottom and down her slender legs. She bent and lifted a pail of clean water. He sucked in a deep breath as she poured the water over her body.

  She hadn’t looked at him yet, and while he knew it was wrong—she was for the cloth and he’d be damned to hell for it—he had to look at her. She was perfection. Standing in the water as she was, she looked as though she’d just emerged from the sea like a selkie. Aye, a selkie that could lure a man to his death.

  “How dare you! Why are you here?” she cried, and the moment was shattered. Her eyes blazed as she watched him from over her shoulder. Alex straightened his spine and shook his head, trying to clear the lust from his mind. Why am I here?

  Belatedly, he turned his back to her and firmly closed the door so no passersby could see into the room.

  “I thought you’d finished your bath by now,” he explained.

  “And so you just barged into the room?” Her voice steamed with outrage.

  Alex winced. “I did no barging, Lady Isobel. You bid me to come in.”

  “I bid you to—” She was beyond outraged now, but Alex had knocked and she did tell him to come in. “I thought you were the maid. She was supposed to bring a plaid for me.”

  He looked around and saw a plaid folded neatly on a stool by the door. “You must have been distracted when she came; she left it here.” He pointed to it but was careful to stay facing away from her.

  He heard the water slosh over the brim of the bath as she stepped out onto the wooden floor. “Will you leave while I dress?”

  “Open the door when you have finished,” he said, doing as she asked.

  While Alex waited in the hallway, the master of the keep, Ian Stewart, walked by. “Kicked ye out of the room, aye, laddie? My wife was always doing the same when we first married. She despised me something awful.”

  “What changed?” Alex asked, curious.

  “Not a damn thing!” He chuckled and slapped Alex on the shoulder. “In time, they just put up with ye, rather than shut ye out. Plus, I got a bit more skilled with my loving.” He winked, chuckled some more, and continued down the hall.

  Old Master Stewart
was a character, but Alex could trust the man as he did his own kin. Stewart would not betray him or Lady Isobel for a boat full of riches. Alex’s father had fostered Stewart’s son many years ago and trained him to be one of the greatest warriors in Alba, but that title was short lived. Alex was but a lad when the Stewart son died at the Battle of the Standard when King David was trying to extend his kingdom southward into Yorkshire. Stewart was beside himself and fell into drunkenness until, through the MacKinnon connection to the king, he was granted the stewardship of Doune. Since then, the Stewart felt indebted to the MacKinnons, and Alex and his kin were welcome anytime at the fortress—no questions asked.

  When he’d arrived a few hours earlier, Stewart did not inquire over the lass at all. He’d asked his wife to see to her, but clearly, he assumed Alex had taken a bride. Alex didn’t deny it. In fact, he planned to travel as husband and wife for the journey. It would make them less suspicious when they were guests or when staying at inns along the road west. He’d yet to tell Lady Isobel this, and he had a feeling she wouldn’t be pleased with the idea.

  He waited a few moments longer, hoping she would come to the door on her own accord. He’d come to her room for two reasons. The first was to use the bath when she’d finished. He didn’t want to ask the maids to carry more water at this hour, and he hesitated to leave the fort to wash in the burn. He usually bathed in the lochs and rivers, especially in the summer when the water didn’t chill to the bone. But he needed to protect Lady Isobel, and he would not leave her side for long, which was the second reason he was there—to share the room for the night.

  ****

  He’s seen me naked! Isobel was furious and embarrassed with equal measure. No man had ever seen what Sir Alex had just seen. While mortifying to think about, Isobel reasoned it was an accident.

  Once she was dressed in the linen shift and robe Mistress Stewart had left her for the night, she opened the door and peered into the hallway. Alex stood with his back to the door, his arms crossed over his chest, looking down the corridor. He was on guard.

  “Sir Alex,” she spoke quietly. Most of the keep was asleep by now.

  He turned at her voice, and she bade him to come inside.

  The room, which was once large and spacious, now felt much too small to contain both her and the crusader. She looked around and waved him to the stool by the small grate in the corner of the room. She remained standing as he took a seat.

  “What is it that you wanted?”

  He nodded to the barrel-shaped tub sitting in the center of the room. “You’ve come to remove the tub?” she questioned.

  “Nae. I’ve come to take a bath.”

  “In here?” Now he was just mad. He couldn’t bathe in here—not with her in the room. “Surely there is another room—”

  “This is the only room free in the keep, Lady Isobel. I cannae leave you to go wash in the burn.”

  “Of course you can.” Why couldn’t he? The Ardoch Burn ran just on the other side of the fortress. They had ridden along it on the way to the keep.

  “I cannae leave you for long. I will not argue on this.”

  He sounded unmovable, so Isobel tried another tactic. “You smell perfectly fine to me. Surely a few more days without a wash would not hurt.”

  He laughed. “Are you so sure, Lady Isobel?” He stood and prowled toward her like a wild cat. Isobel inched her way backward, trying to create some respectable distance between them. He smelled of sweat and horses, but he also smelled of leather and gingerbread. He must have eaten one of the baked treats earlier. Isobel retreated until she collided with the bed.

  “I see your point, Sir Alex.” Frowning, Isobel looked down at her state of dress. She couldn’t very well stand in the corridor in her robe. Then she eyed the bed, a surprisingly grand piece of furniture, considering the otherwise spare surroundings. It was a four-posted bed made of iron with draperies tied to each corner, allowing the bed to be completely enclosed. It would keep in the warmth on winter evenings but also afford some privacy for them both.

  “I’ll wait on the bed with the draperies closed while you bathe,” she said evenly and went about untying the cloth panels.

  “As you wish.” Before she’d finished pulling the cloth panels together around the straw mattress, Sir Alex started to undress. Hastily, she jumped onto the bed and closed the draperies. She couldn’t help but listen as he sat down in the tub and washed himself. The water was probably cool, but it would be warmer than the burn.

  Isobel sat there fidgeting, something she prided herself on never doing, but she could not control it. There was a naked crusader in her room. Though a naked man was unremarkable in itself (she’d seen men in various states of dress at the castle, a natural consequence of living among warriors), the fact that this naked man was handsome and they were alone together was an entirely new experience. She could not fault herself for playing with the linen mattress covering (another luxury) over and over again. At least she was trying to distract herself, and she didn’t have to do it for long. The bed curtains muffled the sounds of splashing and dripping, followed by a great rush of falling water. He must have poured the second pitcher of water over himself. The maid had brought her two, but she’d only needed one for rinsing herself off.

  He paced on the floor, gathering his garments she assumed, and then all went silent. What is he doing? Perhaps he’d left, though she hadn’t heard the door open and close. Surely it would not take him this long to dress. Unable to control her curiosity, she opened the panels and stepped onto the floor. She found Sir Alex with the drying plaid wrapped loosely around his waist, his face downcast as he eyed something on his side. The rippling bands of muscle across his stomach flexed, and Isobel shuddered. He was built exactly like the rendering she’d seen of Ares, the Greek god of war. He was slightly shadowed, but she could still see how sculpted his body was—a body designed for battle, and he had the scars to prove it.

  As he continued his examination of his side, Isobel stepped closer, trying to see what he was looking at. The floorboards creaked from her movement, and his gaze snapped to hers.

  Mortified once more, Isobel spun on her heel. “Forgive me. I thought you’d dressed.”

  “Give me a moment.” The floor boards moaned as he moved around, then he bid her turn. She found him wearing a fresh linen tunic and trews. His hair glistened from the water. He tucked it behind his ears, and the long locks reached his shoulders. He looked younger than he’d appeared when she’d first met him. She wouldn’t put him but a few years past her in age now—perhaps five and twenty, but no more.

  A lock of hair fell loose from behind his ear, and as if on her body’s own accord, she crossed the short distance between them and reached up to gently tuck the hair back into place. His blue eyes penetrated hers, and heat radiated off him. The air suddenly felt heavy, and she had trouble breathing. His eyes grew dark with desire; the reaction was mirrored in her own, but whatever it was could not be. Lust had no place on their mission.

  “Isobel.” The single word floated on the air, enveloping her like a spell. His voice was deep, and the sound of her name on his tongue sent a shiver down her spine.

  This had to stop. “Did you hurt yourself?”

  His eyebrows knitted together. “What?”

  “Your side,” she said, pointing to where he’d been looking earlier. “I thought you might be injured.”

  “I broke some ribs about a month ago. They are nearly healed, but I still feel some pain. It is naught for you to concern yourself with, though.”

  “This was in battle?”

  He shook his head, studying her as though she was some sort of puzzle he needed to work out. After a few moments, she saw something flash in his eyes—disappointment? She couldn’t say for certain, but he looked dissatisfied. Perhaps she was reading into his expression too much. After all, she hardly knew him.

  “I had a disagreement with a crew member on my way back to Scotland.” He moved toward a table near the
doorway. There sat a bottle of ale and two cups. With quick efficiency, he helped himself to a drink. He raised the empty cup to her.

  “No, thank you.” Isobel preferred wine over ale; besides, she would not drink in his presence. She needed her wits about her. “What was the disagreement over?”

  He shrugged.

  “You won’t say?” Isobel asked, intrigued by his secrecy.

  Instead of responding, he drank the ale and turned to gaze at the fire. Isobel waited patiently, unsure of what to do. Sir Alex muttered something about the Stewart’s poor choice of ale, then looked to her. “Why the rush to reach Iona?”

  “What do you mean?” Isobel asked. Why is he bringing this up?