His Conquest

by Diana Cosby

  “For you.”

  “And you felt naught?” she challenged, daring him to deny the pleasure he’d found.

  He glanced at the rising sun, strain harsh on his face. “My feelings for you have no bearing on the battles ahead of me.”

  “I do not understand.”

  “Because you are not a warrior,” he said quietly, “with a warrior’s worries for those he leaves behind.”

  Tears glittered in her eyes at what he didn’t say, wouldn’t say, and she loved him all the more. “You are trying to spare me hurt?”

  He stared at her long and hard. “With all that stands between you and me, nothing more can exist between us. I will not lie to you, nor pretend otherwise.”

  She ignored his dismissal. “When we made love, you felt it as well, the magic in our joining?”

  He tensed at her words, but didn’t deny them. “The magic we gave to each other. Physically. Nothing more.”

  She remembered the gemstone hanging beneath his tunic, and how earlier, the matching half she carried had warmed. “But you felt it,” she insisted.

  “Linet.”

  She stepped to a hand’s breath before him, determined to prove what he refused to admit, that more existed between them than a heated romp. She loved him. Whatever happened, she would love him until the end. She may have been innocent, but she recognized love. If he was fool enough to insist that what they shared was merely physical, by God, she’d show him otherwise.

  After last night, aware of what he enjoyed, she knelt before him.

  He scowled at her. “What are you doing?”

  “Finding my pleasure.” Before he could stop her, she took him in her hands, claimed him with her mouth.

  “A sword’s wrath.”

  She thrilled that she excited him, that within her mouth, he hardened to slick steel. She closed her eyes, savored the salty male taste of him.

  A low rumble sounded in his throat; his body shook.

  Without warning, he caught her, hauled her to him, his face raw with passion. He backed her against the ledge, and with the moss-slicked rock cool against her, poised himself at her slick entry, then drove deep. She gasped as he impaled her over and again, his every thrust taking her higher. As she touched the stars, Seathan spilled his seed into her fertile warmth.

  Seathan laid his head against her neck, his breathing hard. “Scotland is torn by war. I can offer you no promises.”

  Linet’s hand caressed his cheek as hope bloomed. It wasn’t a declaration of love, but it was enough. “I ask for none.”

  As if a silent bond had been forged, he carried her back to their pallet. His gaze intense, he slowly made love to her until they were both exhausted. Then, while he held her against him, she fell into a sated sleep.

  Seathan guided his steed up the next brae, Linet cradled in the saddle before him. Two days had passed since their discussion had turned erotic and set the tone for further intimacy. Though he’d admitted nothing more to her, when they’d made love, intense emotion beyond what he’d ever experienced had poured through him.

  Warmth tingled against his chest.

  He grimaced, ignored the pendant pulsing against his skin as he’d done for the past two days, and searched the horizon.

  Magic didn’t inspire his emotions. What he felt was the passion of a man who’d joined with a virgin, a woman who dared give fully of herself when making love. Linet’s enthusiasm to explore, taste, touch him during lovemaking was any man’s dream. How many times had he wished for the confines of his chamber, to remove the risk of being interrupted? He longed for days with her in his bed, to show her how much more there was when it came to making love.

  It would be all too easy to acknowledge her words of love as truth. Yet he didn’t dare. Accepting them would require evaluating his own feelings toward her, emotions that already ran too deep.

  He glanced at the sun high in the sky. Hours of travel remained before they halted, hours before he could find privacy and plunder her silken depths. And he would sate himself with her, until the time came to part.

  A reality approaching too fast.

  Fortunately they’d avoided her brother and his men, but after dealing with Dauid, he and Tearlach would meet. Except now he would leave Linet safely hidden. If Tearlach survived their confrontation, never would he find her. ’Twas ironic. Before, he had savored the upcoming clash of blades, anticipated driving his sword deep into the bastard’s heart. Now, caring for Linet had complicated everything.

  However much Linet claimed that she despised her brother, blood ties ran deep. How would she feel after the viscount fell beneath his blade? What if she never forgave him?

  “Once I am through with Dauid,” Seathan said, his words revealing none of the turmoil churning inside, “I will escort you to your mother’s clan in the Highlands.”

  The echo of hooves broke the silence between them, an empty, lonely sound.

  For a long moment she remained silent. “I am no longer your prisoner?”

  “No.”

  “My thanks.”

  Though she worked to keep her reply free of emotion, he heard the hurt.

  “I am sure your mother’s clan will accept you,” he offered, remembering her earlier fears.

  “It is not your worry, is it?”

  Irritation flared. “Aye, it is. You are within my protection.”

  “A temporary condition,” she returned, her words cool. “I belong to no one. When shall we arrive at our destination?”

  Irritation sliced through him at her cool response, but perhaps it was better not to talk of their future, or lack of it.

  “We shall make camp shortly,” he replied.

  The wind, rich with the scent of rain, kicked up. The field of brown grass, dotted with winter-dried heather, waved beneath the gust.

  Seathan glanced skyward, took in the cloud-filled sky churning in angry gray swirls. In the distance, he caught the lash of rain falling to the ground. He’d wanted to travel farther this day, to reach Dauid’s home. However, it would serve little purpose to push on this late in the day. Tomorrow, and facing Dauid, would come soon enough.

  After several quick orders, his men made camp within a thick copse of trees, the sturdy branches providing solid cover.

  Hours later, with the patter of droplets tapping upon the evergreen branches overhead, the air rich and clean with the scent of rain, Seathan laid out his bedroll. He turned, and Linet stood nearby, watching him. Soon they would part. It would be simpler if he kept his distance, severed ties already too deep. And if he did, he’d be more of a bastard than he was now.

  He reached out; she took his hand. With his mind steeped in emotions he’d rather not feel, he drew Linet to the ground and made love to her.

  Chapter 18

  Seathan peered through the rain-drenched shrubs and gave a reassuring squeeze to Linet’s shoulder as she sat by his side. He scoured the darkened sky, the thick gray banks of clouds so low it was as if he could touch them.

  A storm was coming.

  Across the open field stood a battered hut, smoke swirling from the chimney. A home where he’d spent many a night visiting Dauid and his wife. A home where he’d always felt welcome. A home that now housed a traitor.

  Anger urged him to storm the hut, yet prudence stayed his hand until the men he’d sent to ensure Tearlach’s knights weren’t hidden nearby returned.

  Was Dauid living within his home as if nothing were amiss? Did he believe Seathan dead and feel safe? Had Dauid sworn an oath of fealty to Tearlach in return for protection? Nothing else made sense.

  Seathan again scanned the surrounding forest. Winter-browned leaves fluttered past. A raven flew overhead. In the distance, a roebuck grazed. The animal raised his head, his tail twitched, and he bounded off.

  Faint footsteps hurrying through the brush sounded.

  One of the knights crouched atop a nearby knoll turned. “My lord, Sir Richard returns.”

  A moment later, his knight
slipped into view. He halted before Seathan. “My lord, I circled Sir Dauid’s home. I saw naught but aged tracks.”

  Seathan nodded, faced the battered hut. And prayed his former friend was fool enough to reside within. He nodded to Linet. “You will remain here under guard.”

  “God’s speed.”

  Her face reflected the sobriety of the situation, a gentleness, an understanding that had him wishing for another night to find solace in her arms, to forget the battle, to feel the emotions she inspired. Those were but fanciful musings, thoughts for a man free to dream of a future devoid of strife.

  A muscle worked in his jaw as he turned to the hut. Whatever treachery Dauid was about, Seathan would learn. Then, the man he had once called his friend would die.

  After selecting several knights to remain and protect her, Seathan waved his men forward.

  With slow precision he crept across the field, his knights spread out around him. The scent of wet earth filled his nostrils. The cold, sodden ground absorbed any sound, and the winter-ravaged grass was high enough to shield their bent forms.

  A thump of wood sounded.

  Seathan waved his men down. He peered through the brown blades, the mist of his breath vanishing before him in a trice.

  As if beckoned, Dauid stepped from his home. Grief savaged his former friend’s face, the sadness upon it as if drawn by years.

  ‘Twould seem his betrayal haunted him. Seathan clenched the hilt of his sword. As if he gave a damn for Dauid’s remorse. Never could those slaughtered be resurrected. Their bodies were naught but soulless flesh and bone rotting deep within the earth.

  As if sensing their presence, Dauid halted. He looked around, frowned. Fading bruises marred his face. A deep gash lay above his left eye, the skin surrounding the cut a cesspit of yellows and grays.

  Satisfaction stung Seathan. Whatever the reason for the beating, it far from served the bastard his penance owed.

  Dauid shaded his eyes from the sun, scanned the field one last time. Dropping his hand, he limped with a pained expression toward the woodpile.

  After the traitor began stacking wood into his arms, Seathan waved his men forward. Grass and dirt softened by rain absorbed their steps. Gusts of wind smothered any other sound.

  Several paces away, Seathan stood, motioned for his men to wait. He walked forward, halted several paces away.

  With the last piece of firewood filling his arms, Dauid wiped his brow with his shoulder, turned toward his home.

  And froze.

  Recognition flooded Dauid’s eyes a second before fear. Knuckles white upon the wood, he shook his head. “Ho-How?”

  “How?” Seathan stalked to within a pace of him. “How did I live? How did I survive Tearlach’s butchery?”

  Dauid started to speak, then closed his mouth. His throat muscles worked as he swallowed hard.

  “Think you your silence will sway me on the matter of your betrayal?” Seathan demanded. “Damn you, tell me!”

  Shame clouded Dauid’s eyes. He glanced at the knights a short distance away, and then lifted his misery-laden gaze to Seathan. Finally, he shook his head. “I am sorry.”

  “You are sorry?” Fury congealed so deep in Seathan’s mind, it bordered on darkness. Steel scraped leather as he unsheathed his sword. “Aye, you will be.”

  Dauid stumbled back, the wood scattering upon the ground. He reached for his own weapon. “Seathan, wait!”

  Seathan charged, swung.

  Steel scraped as their blades met. Dauid’s sword tumbled from his hand. “Christ!” he gasped, and rolled.

  Seathan’s blade sank into the ground a finger’s width away. On a curse, he freed his sword. Memories of his men’s suffering as they lay dying on the battlefield that night burned in his mind. Nay, Dauid did not deserve a death served by steel.

  Too quick.

  Too impersonal.

  Seathan sheathed his blade, shoved his fist into his friend’s face. Grim satisfaction infused him as blood spurted from Dauid’s mouth. His mind a furious haze, he swung again, each blow, each crunch of bone, meager payment for the lives lost.

  Chest heaving, he raised his hand to again slam his fist into Dauid’s face, then paused. Dauid lay there watching him as blood slid down his jaw, not turning away, not once raising a hand to deflect the next blow.

  Furious, Seathan caught his shoulders, jerked him to his feet. “Fight me, or by God I will beat you to death as your traitorous heart deserves!”

  “Kill me then,” Dauid rasped.

  “And end your pain? Give you a quick death when the men you betrayed suffered?” Seathan shoved him hard.

  Dauid stumbled, straightened, favoring his left arm.

  Seathan raised his fist. Blank eyes stared at him, the emptiness within as if Seathan stared into the face of someone already dead. “Why will you not defend yourself!”

  Dauid’s lower lip trembled. “I sw-swear to you, I wanted to betray no one.”

  Seathan removed his dagger and shoved the blade against Dauid’s throat. A line of red drizzled down his neck. “My knights died, were butchered because of you.”

  Tears filmed his eyes. “Think you I do not know that? Think you that I did not grieve with each life lost? They were men I’d fought beside, my friends as well.”

  Seathan pressed the razor-sharp steel harder against Dauid’s throat. “Grieving? Is that what you call standing beside Tearlach as you watched the slaugher of Scots whom you had sworn to protect?”

  “You—” Dauid struggled to breathe. “You do not understand.”

  “Nay, that is where you are wrong. I understand completely. You forget, that night I saw you standing beside Tearlach as they dragged me away.” He angled the blade over the hearty pulse at Dauid’s neck for the lethal slash. “You betrayed your people, were responsible for their senseless slaughter. If there is any confusion, it is yours. You should have ensured I was dead.”

  “Wait!” Dauid gurgled out.

  “For more pathetic excuses?”

  “For Brighde!”

  Confused, Seathan hesitated.

  “Kill me,” Dauid forced out, “I deserve to die. But pl-please save her.”

  “What does your wife have to do with your treasonous acts?”

  “Tearlach abducted her,” he whispered.

  He grunted. “Why should I believe you?”

  Dauid stared at him, his bruised and swollen eyes silently pleading. “Af-After what I have done, you should not. Yet you must.”

  This was not making an ounce of sense. Storm clouds brewed overhead, his men waited nearby for his next order, yet he hesitated, found himself wanting to believe Dauid, a man who’d been his friend all his life.

  “Tell me,” Seathan demanded.

  “Tearlach…” Dauid closed his eyes, blinked them open with effort. “He tortured me, used his dagger in cr-creative ways. When I refused to tell him where you hid, he broke my left arm. Still, I said nothing.” He swallowed hard. “Furious, he took Brighde to use as his whore. If I did not tell him where you hid, he swore once he was done with her, he would give her to his men for their use, to torture her for th-their pleasure. And…And when she was naught but a pile of tears and worn goods, he would kill her.”

  Seathan eyed him with skepticism.

  Tears flowed down his former friend’s face, mingled with the trail of blood. “I swear to you, I knew not that you would st-still be near my home, that so many of your knights would be in accompaniment, and that”—his throat worked, then he swallowed hard—“that so many men I loved, men who were brothers to me, would die. I believed if you were nearby, you would be alerted to Tearlach’s presence and escape. I swear to you, had I known of the consequences, I would have allowed my wife as well as myself to die.”

  “You stood alongside Tearlach.”

  “Drugged,” he whispered. “After I fought him before, he ensured I would stand at his side without a fight. Numb with pain, my mind hazed by herbs and unable to move, I watched
in horror as his men attacked yours.”

  Reeling from the confession, Seathan relaxed his grip on his blade. “Why did you not come to Lochshire Castle, explain, ask for my help?”

  Dauid closed his eyes, then forced them open, the grief within immense. “I thought you dead. How could I think your brothers would believe such a tale, a claim that sounded as if cr-crafted by a bard, much less offer help?” He paused. “A claim I hardly expect you to believe now.”

  Did he believe him? Logic bade he dismiss Dauid’s claim as a lie, but truth rang within his words, a tale too extreme to be anything but real. Still, Seathan hesitated.

  “Kill me,” Dauid whispered. “It is a fate too easy when I have brought death to many a fine man.”

  The dagger trembled in Seathan’s hand. “On that we agree.”

  “You hate me, how can you not? But please, when you are through with me, find a way to save Brighde’s life.”

  A part of Seathan ached to believe Dauid told the truth. The other urged him to kill the traitor, leave his body for the wolves.

  “Where is your wife?”

  “Within Tearlach’s home, Breac Castle.”

  Seathan’s breath came out in a hiss. The entire time he was beaten, tortured night after merciless night, Brighde had been locked in a chamber above, raped, for that bastard’s pleasure?

  His entire body trembled with fury as Seathan sheathed his dagger and stood. He stared at Dauid, who remained still, as if not daring to move, not begging for his own life, but for that of his wife.

  If Linet faced a similar fate, how would he feel?

  For the men murdered, Seathan wanted to hate Dauid, to kill him. But Dauid had made the decision of a man fighting to save the woman he loved, a warrior who’d revealed a rebel hideout, believing no harm would come. If he’d stood in Dauid’s position and had believed his men would have escaped harm, would he not have done the same, then warned the rebels once free?

  “We will find Brighde,” Seathan promised, “over the dead body of every bloody Englishman if need be.”