by Diana Cosby
After Fulke’s treachery, he no longer held her respect.
Or her love.
Lord Grey shoved forward with predatory intent. “They will search the tunnels for me, will they not?”
“Eventually,” Linet conceded, staring straight into his suspicious gaze. Once her brother had discovered her absence along with the Scot’s, Fulke would search every nook of the castle for them, including the hidden passageways. “But not because I am in league with the Viscount of Tearlach,” she added, surprised to find it important that the Earl of Grey believed her.
“No? Then why?”
As much as she wished to explain, for her safety, she would tell him nothing more.
At her silence, a smile as cold and dangerous edged his mouth. “You have secrets, my lady, but you have chosen the wrong man to deceive in this game you play. Before our journey is over, I will know each and every one.”
Tension wove through her. “The only game played is one you conceive within your mind.”
He grunted. “Should I not find your appearance on the eve before I am to be hanged an unlikely coincidence?”
“Should you not give thanks that I risked my life to save yours?”
Eyes alive with suspicion studied her. “You risked your life, but not for my sake.”
“Perhaps,” she admitted, inwardly shaken to discover that she was no longer motivated solely by her determination to halt her brother’s plans. Despite the meager time she’d spent with this powerful Scottish lord, she was drawn by his strength, his tenacity to fight for what he believed in. She understood why men followed the earl without doubt. And more unnerving, she found herself caring that he lived.
Around the next turn, candlelight exposed a haphazard pile of rocks that formed a wall. Linet halted. A cave-in. Sweet Mary. Their most direct route to escape was ruined.
The earl turned to her with an ominous frown. “The tunnel is blocked.”
“I did not know. I swear it.”
He studied her for a long moment, glanced toward where the pathway had split several steps back. “Where does the other tunnel lead?”
“To the cliffs. But the route weaves through the castle and would take hours to travel. With but one candle to guide us, we must choose a shorter route.”
“And that would be?”
“We must pass through the stables, sneak past the guards, and enter yet another tunnel that leads to the cliffs.” She paused. “But I caution you, it is a treacherous path.”
“More treacherous than returning to the dungeon? Nay, I will take the risk.” His hand trembled as he turned, the candle held high.
She caught the sheen of sweat dripping down his face, the stiffness of his gait. She couldn’t worry about him, nor the feelings he inspired. For each of them, fate held a different path. Never could Seathan represent more than revenge against her brother.
“I will make it,” he said as if sensing her doubt.
The edge to his voice warned her not to argue. But determination wouldn’t push muscles exhausted or a mind fevered. With his hand firm around hers, she kept pace as he headed back toward the other tunnel, and prayed they’d make good their escape.
The fresh scent of hay infused the cool rush of air as Seathan inched the plank open, the faint tinge of smoke from the extinguished candle fading.
A horse whinnied, another shifted. Rain pounded on the wooden roof. He frowned at the next blast of thunder. The storm would make their travel more hazardous, but its rumbles would provide them cover.
Had his brothers found the meeting place where he and his men had been betrayed by Dauid? Were they now braving the harsh weather in search of him? Or had Alexander and Duncan yet to return from their meeting with William Wallace and Bishop Wishart?
Bedamned.
He hated the not knowing. Until he had traveled at least two days by foot, he could learn naught. Worse, once he and Linet escaped Breac Castle, Tearlach’s men would be scouring the forest for him, increasing the danger to his brothers.
Seathan searched the stalls through the slats. No one worked within. “Come.” Seathan tugged her forward. Keeping to the shadows, he crept through the well-kept stable.
“You are trembling.”
The worry in her voice had him damning his body’s weakness, and her keen eyesight. “Keep moving.” He inched forward, careful to keep out of sight of anyone within the bailey.
Lightning flashed. Thunder rolled in its wake. The rain of moments before increased to a downpour.
“Post extra men upon the wall walk,” a commanding voice ordered from nearby.
Seathan stilled. Tearlach. A damnable voice he would recognize to his grave. The woman’s hand tightened in his. “You know him?” he demanded in a rough whisper.
“Of course. He is lord of Breac Castle.”
Aye, but the nerves in her voice indicated a much closer tie. “Is he your lover?”
Delicate nostrils flared. “I despise him.”
Truth spilled through her words, but instinct assured him that she concealed more from him. Still, a part of him found comfort that she knew not Fulke’s touch.
“Keep low—and quiet.” Careful not to startle the horses, he eased forward, using the distant torchlight as a guide as they wove through the stables.
“I want every corner of Breac Castle searched again,” Fulke’s voice boomed, this time closer. “They must be here!”
Christ’s blade. Tearlach had discovered his escape. He’d wanted to have traveled several leagues before his absence was discovered.
Seathan stilled. The full impact of the viscount’s words slammed home. He turned toward the noblewoman. “They?” he asked, the softness of his burr laden with threat.
“You could not have escaped alone,” Linet whispered.
Which made sense, but far from soothed his instinct that something was seriously amiss.
“We have searched all of the buildings, my lord,” a man’s voice called out.
“I care not,” Lord Tearlach yelled. “Search them again. By God, they will be found this night!” The slap of footsteps faded as his knights scattered, rushing to do their lord’s bidding.
The splat of water sloshed in a puddle nearby.
“Someone is coming. Hurry!” Seathan dropped, then rolled into a stall.
Linet followed.
Once inside, Seathan lifted a pile of hay. “Get in.” She crawled beneath the heap and he joined her.
The bay within the stall stamped its feet and snorted.
Footsteps grew louder.
Seathan clamped his hand upon his dagger.
“Ho, Blanchard,” a deep male voice rumbled. “Not liking the storm?”
Torchlight flickered over the pile of straw above Seathan as he sheltered Linet with his body. He put a finger over her lips.
She nodded.
Through the wisps of hay, he caught sight of the knight as he rubbed the bay’s neck. After a pat on the withers, he began making his way down the line of stalls in a slow, methodical sweep.
Long moments passed, each one stealing precious darkness they needed to make their escape. More disturbing, with each passing second, heat from Linet’s body melded with his. The soft warmth, infused with her woman’s scent, was designed to seduce.
Seathan gritted his teeth in disbelief. With his body screaming from its torture, one would think he could ignore her scent, how well she fit against him, or the lingering memory of their kiss. But sheltered by the backdrop of falling rain and caught within the blanket of the hay’s warmth, he was all too aware of her presence.
A bloody curse.
Soft footsteps crunched on hay as the knight slowly made his return. He stopped one last time outside of the bay’s stall, lifted his torch in a slow sweep. As if satisfied everything was in order, he exited the stable into the downpour.
“All clear,” the knight called once outside.
From far away, Lord Tearlach ordered him to help search the dungeon again.
Seathan exhaled. They were safe—for now.
“That was too close,” Linet whispered.
Her soft breath upon his face assured him her lips were but a whisper from his own. Awareness burned through him, and he hardened. The situation would be funny if it were not so serious. Beaten and barely clinging to consciousness, his body seemed not to care.
He swallowed hard, trying to ignore that if he but leaned forward, he could again taste her, the alluring essence of woman, and for a moment forget the pain washing through him.
“We must make it into the tunnel before the guard returns,” he gritted out.
“We will.” The conviction within her words inspired his own. She pressed her hand to his chest.
He stilled, too aware of her, dangerously so. “What is it?” he asked, not needing his thoughts clouded by desire.
“Nothing.”
But he heard the tremble of her words, her desire to say more, and damn her, her concern. He wanted no woman worrying about him. Let her care for a man who wanted a woman in his life for something more than a night’s pleasure. He’d learned well of a woman’s deceptive ways, a lesson Iuliana, his former lover, had impressed upon his mind with devastating clarity.
Seathan caught the noblewoman’s hand and shoved to his feet. The stall blurred around him. He braced his feet and sucked in a deep breath.
“Lord Grey?”
“Seathan,” he hissed out.
Seathan? Linet stilled, surprised at his offer of familiarity. As if she would ever understand him.
He glanced past her. The rain was beginning to slow. “Move.” He took a step forward, then another.
“No. It is too far. We must return to the tunnel before you pass out.”
“We cannot go back. Too dangerous.”
The stubborn man. “As if your falling on your face in the middle of the stables is safe?”
Obsidian eyes bore into hers. “I am well enough to travel.”
Far from it, but she remained silent. They would need all of the Scot’s arrogance to keep him moving.
Torches illuminated the upper bailey, an open expanse where Fulke and his men trained during the day.
She pointed toward the stone tower farthest away. “The next tunnel is through a door inside the arsenal tower.” He nodded as they continued along the path.
They stole through the shadows, keeping the curtain wall to their backs, the fresh scent of spring rain filling her every breath. Both were soaked, but at least the rain would erase their tracks.
She shot a worried glance at the Scot, who was visibly struggling. Let him make it!
“Lord Tearlach,” a guard called from the wall walk above.
With a muttered curse, Lord Grey flattened himself near her against the curtain wall, his chest heaving.
Hidden within the deep shadows, Linet peered out.
In the distance, her brother came into view, then halted.
She held her breath. Had Fulke seen them?
Long seconds trod past, then he turned and headed toward a nearby guard, his stride lengthened by his too familiar fury. The heavy rain fractured his words. “…seeher, tell me!” Fulke demanded.
“Yes, my lord,” the guard replied.
Fear tore through her. Had Lord Grey heard her brother’s reference to her? Terrified, she glanced over. His eyes were shut as if he was focused on fighting back the pain. Linet glanced toward Fulke.
Her brother whirled and stalked toward the keep.
“Go,” Seathan ordered in a soft command.
She shot him a quick glance, shaken to find him watching her with unsettling interest. No time remained to wonder the reason. She nodded, thankful when moments later they entered the arsenal tower, then slipped into the tunnel and closed the door.
“We have no candle,” he stated.
“The tunnel is short and straight,” she assured him. “I know it as if the back of my hand.” At his light touch indicating she should lead, she headed into the blackened passage.
Shrouded in darkness and embraced by his male scent, she found the setting strangely intimate, despite the danger. Unsettled by her thoughts, by his muscled body straining at her side, she focused on her goal.
Silence punctuated the darkness as they traveled. In the distance, Seathan caught the growing sound of rain.
“We are almost there,” she said.
He heard her worry, doubts that he could reach the safety of the forest, concerns that tormented him as well. But he’d be damned if he’d give up.
Clenching his teeth, he lengthened his stride.
Through the opening ahead, hints of purple touched the sky. “Sunrise,” he hissed as if it were a curse.
She looked at him, her eyes laden with worry as well as hope. “They will not expect us to depart the castle through this tunnel.”
True, but it did not remove the danger of their being seen. At the tunnel’s rim, in the pale light, Seathan surveyed the steep slope broken by boulders and shrubs. He released her.
She glanced at her freed hand, then toward him. “You trust me now?”
“Nay, we are out of Breac Castle.” He ignored her flash of irritation and started down the steep slope. Loose rock had him catching a nearby bush; his body screamed as he jerked to a stop. He held tight.
Behind him, Linet made her way down with caution.
Each step led them closer to safety, but with the purple hues growing lighter in the sky, before long the sun would break the horizon. Even with the shield of rain, if a guard looked down, they would be seen.
He gritted his teeth, swore, but step by step, descended the damnable rocks. At the bottom, sweat covered his body, and his mind swirled with dizziness. Dragging in a deep breath, he steadied himself.
A gentle hand caught his arm. “Seathan?”
He ignored her and glanced up. Dawn sifted across the sky, its exposing light spilling upon the forest around them. “Move.” He stumbled forward.
She caught him, fighting to steady him. “Lean against me.”
He hesitated.
“Your pride will not save your life!”
Damning his weakness, Seathan leaned against Linet as they continued. His life and possibly his brothers’ lay in the hands of this slip of a woman. A woman who held secrets. A woman who called Tearlach her lord.
A woman he could never trust.
Chapter 3
With care, Linet walked across the leaf-and-needle-strewn ground scattered with patches of snow. The rich fragrance of earth and spring offered a soothing mix but did little to ease her worry. Since they’d entered the forest, Lord Grey was leaning more of his weight against her, and his arm around her shoulders was losing its grip.
He started to slump forward.
“Hang on to me!”
Ire flashed on his sweat-streaked face. His grip tightened. His steps, however shaky, kept pace with hers. “I will.”
He would, but for how long? With the way he was trembling, the pallor of his face, and his sluggish movements, the only question left was when his legs would finally give out.
She scanned their surroundings void of the fall of rain. The fragile morning sunlight spilled over the treetops, dawn’s warmth meager against the cool mist clinging to the air. But with the Scot’s fevered body leaning against her, she was hardly cold.
They needed to find somewhere to rest and, if possible, build a fire to dry their clothes. Frustration brewed within her. With the woods soon to be swarming with Fulke’s men in search of them, they couldn’t take the risk.
The land angled upward.
Seathan halted, his breathing rough.
“We need to keep moving,” she said.
“I…” He closed his eyes, then slowly opened them. Piercing green eyes glazed with pain stared at her.
Beneath his intense stare, she caught her breath. Within the dungeon she’d believed
his eyes black, but she was wrong. Exposed by the sun, they reminded her of emeralds beneath a storm-filled sky.
Where had that foolish thought come from? As if it mattered. Linet tried to push him forward.
He didn’t budge.
If he stopped now, there was no way she could carry him. God forbid if he passed out. “I said keep moving!”
Teeth clenched, he started forward.
Step by laborious step, they ascended the hill, each movement taking a visible toll on the earl.
Please let him reach the top of the knoll. Linet rolled her eyes at the absurdity of her thought. Here she was silently pleading they’d make it several more paces when days of arduous travel lay ahead, their path cluttered with mountains that made this rise of land look like a poor-told jest.
A journey that in Lord Grey’s condition, he would never finish.
After the earl’s surly demeanor and distrust, ’twould serve him right if she left him slumped against a rock. And why shouldn’t she leave him behind? She owed the rebel nothing. If anything, it was he who owed her thanks for saving his life.
Not that she expected his gratitude.
Linet took in the vast roll of hills ahead of them, terrain that would erode to steep angles of rock and cliff. Could she make it to the Highlands alone? Unlikely, not on foot. Why hadn’t she thought to have arranged for horses awaiting them? Then again, the chance to slip two steeds out of Breac Castle’s gates without Fulke’s knowledge was a near impossibility.
The forest before her posed a daunting challenge, with thick stands of elm, ash, pine, and shrub, wild animals, and rivers to navigate.
Although the English had subdued the Scots and dismissed the possibility of war as but fleeting rumbles of unrest, bands of English troops as well as outraged Scots traveled these lands. To come upon either could result in disaster.
Sweat streamed down the rebel’s wan face as he labored with each step.
Guilt rolled through her. Her brother was responsible for Seathan’s suffering.
Seathan?
Look at her, one kiss and here she was thinking of him in familiar terms. What next? Would her mind turn to other, more intimate thoughts? She sobered. No, Lord Grey was the last man she would seek out for permanence, or believe capable of giving his love. Warriors like him were drawn by power, by the challenge of battle.