His Woman (MacGruders)

by Diana Cosby

  “Nay worry for me.” He handed her the Bible. “In case I do not return.”

  Isabel caught his hand. “You will come back.”

  Expectant silence hummed between them. As much as he wished to assure her he would be fine, until they reached Griffin, neither of them was safe.

  As if understanding, she swallowed hard. “God’s speed.”

  No time remained to linger, but God help him, if when he walked outside he found his fate death, first he would taste her this one last time.

  With care, Duncan drew her to him, slow, to watch, to anticipate how her mouth would feel against his, the way her taste would overtake him in a blissful invasion. At her sigh, he covered her mouth with his, slow, savoring the way she melted against him, the tremors of her body as he deepened the kiss. He wanted more.

  He wanted everything.

  A fact that fate had woven into a tangled mess.

  With regret, Duncan broke the kiss, taking in the way her lips were swollen, how desire entwined with fear in her eyes. He set her away. “Go.”

  For a moment she held, opened her mouth as if to say something more.

  “What?”

  She shook her head. “Naught.” Isabel slipped into the darkness.

  Duncan turned toward the entrance and inched forward, listening for the crunch of snow beneath boots, the snap of a twig, anything to alert him that Frasyer’s men laid in wait. With many of the trees stripped of their leaves, the fir trees they’d hidden their horses among provided only a degree of shelter. Hours had passed. The wind could easily have shifted snow to fill telling tracks of any riders.

  At the entrance, he pressed against the cold stone and kept to the shadows. He scoured the nearest bushes first, a wooden tangle against the sprawl of white. Confident they held no threat, he swept the snow-glazed field.

  And stilled.

  In the distance, tracks disturbed the drifts where Frasyer’s knights had ridden. He visibly retraced the tracks, then scanned near the escape tunnel. Nothing indicated a closer search. Duncan owed their blunder to their overconfidence that Isabel wouldn’t dare return to Moncreiffe Castle.

  Relieved, he stepped into the tunnel and waved her forward. “Come.”

  Isabel appeared in the light, strain haunting her face, but the eternal hope she carried strong in her every step. Her strength drew him, battled his misgivings, resurrected the doubts of her involvement with Frasyer. But time, not more questions were needed at the moment.

  Once they reached the horses, he helped her mount. He secured the Bible to the back of his saddle, then swung up on his own steed.

  “We will ride within the edge of trees until a safe distance away,” Duncan said. “If we cut across the field, we risk not only being seen if someone is positioned nearby to keep watch, but leaving a trail.”

  Isabel shielded her brow, her gaze following the broken trail left by Frasyer’s men. “How long ago do you think they passed?”

  “As clear as their tracks are, a short while at best. With the wind causing drifts, we cannot be sure how often his men are making rounds.”

  She nodded.

  He took in her layered garb, the cape she wore, pushed away thoughts of her nakedness beneath. “We will travel faster with two horses, but if you become cold, tell me. For warmth’s sake, we can ride together.”

  “I have endured colder weather than we now face.” She shot him a surprisingly teasing look. “Including when I traveled to your brother’s castle on your behalf.”

  He smiled, then sobered. “We face two days of hard travel. When we stop, it will be to rest our horses, break our fast, then we push on. The only things to greet us are the cold and the many miles ahead. And your withholding that you are freezing will not speed our travel. If you succumb to the cold, we will be forced to make camp, possibly ride to the nearest home to ensure you do not freeze. Your vow, Isabel, if you grow chilled, you’ll tell me.”

  He didn’t realize the significance of his words—the suggestion that he trusted her promise—until her eyes widened, then seemed to blur, as if she were fighting back emotion.

  “Aye,” she replied. “I swear it.”

  Nodding, not trusting the moment, Duncan spurred his mount onward toward the forest.

  Keeping within the treeline for cover slowed their travel, but he refused to invite further danger.

  Isabel guided her mount around a broken stump embraced by the sheet of snow. “Will we reach Rothfield Castle before dark on the morrow?”

  “If we do not run into any of Frasyer’s men, and if the weather holds.”

  The hours passed with infinite slowness. The snow padded their horses’ hooves, the leafless trees offering vague cover. Whenever possible, Duncan kept them behind banks of fir trees and mounds of rocks. Soon, they would have to risk exposing themselves and cross the field.

  As darkness smothered the day, angry clouds rolled in and the temperature began to drop. The wind, blowing steady throughout the afternoon, increased with a vicious bite.

  Turning his head against the hard flakes of blowing snow, Duncan took in Isabel. She’d tugged her woolen cape tighter and leaned slightly forward against the wind. Tendrils of ice clung to the tips of her exposed hair.

  He surveyed the darkening sky. “A storm is moving in.” As if to support his claim, a light snow began to fall. Worry crowded her brow. In that he didn’t blame her. As much as he wanted to travel straight through, between the storm, terrain, and their exhaustion, they may be forced to seek shelter.

  An ignorant lad, he’d foolishly set out during a heavy snow. The large, blinding flakes combined with the spread of white coating the land, soon made recognition of any familiar landmarks impossible. Nay, he refused to risk becoming caught in a whiteout condition again.

  As they crested the next knoll, Duncan drew up his steed. He scanned the breaks in the aged oaks, their empty limbs like scrawny fingers arching toward the sky.

  Isabel halted at his side. “Do you see something?”

  “No. Which worries me as much as it does not. As furious as Frasyer was back in his chamber, one would think he would add more men in the search for you. Or increase their rounds.”

  “Where do you think they are?”

  “A question I have pondered these last few hours. Perhaps he has set up an ambush. If so, I would think it would be nearer to Lord Monceaux’s castle, more so if Frasyer discovers the Bible gone.”

  “But the runner from delivering my father to Lord Monceaux had only arrived while we listened.” The breath from her words swirled between them in a white mist in the air.

  “True, which makes the absence of his men more confusing. Regardless of his reasons or plans, we will not know if his knights are hidden and keeping watch until we leave the cover of the forest.”

  “When will we cross?”

  “After nightfall. If indeed anyone is keeping watch, with the incoming storm, the clouds will obscure the moonlight. The field narrows up ahead, we will go there.”

  “Would not Frasyer keep this area under guard for exactly those reasons?”

  “Normally I would agree, but in this search, few decisions Frasyer has made make sense. If we see any sign of his men, we will backtrack.” He pointed toward a stand of fir trees. “Secure your horse behind the fir. We will break our fast and rest until it is dark. Then we will push hard through the night. The newly falling snow will cover our tracks.”

  “By morning, there will be no sign of our crossing.”

  He nodded. And prayed that Frasyer hadn’t yet discovered the Bible’s absence. When he did, there would be no stopping his fury.

  Anger that he wondered if even Griffin’s protection of Lord Caelin could stop.

  Chapter 15

  Weary from the hours of travel, Duncan tugged his cape tighter and scanned the vague outline of trees before them.

  The screech of an owl tore through the inky forest, the sound lost quickly by the reckless whip of wind. Shards of moonlight slippe
d through the clouds, casting the forest in ominous shadows.

  Shifting in his saddle, he ignored the tug of pain from his healing wound. Though Isabel worried, he’d endured worse in many a battle. He guided his mount through the next drift, then wove between a thick stand of firs where spiraling wind had scraped free hints of barren ground.

  “Duncan?”

  At the worry in Isabel’s voice, he pulled his steed to a halt and waited until she drew alongside. In the slivers of moonlight, he caught how her body trembled and that she’d shoved her gloved hands deep within her cape.

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

  She shook her head. “It is my ho-horse. He is favoring his left rear le-leg.”

  Blast. With the forest crawling with Frasyer’s men and their travel slowed by the treacherous weather and the night, they needed no further delays. And though she’d deny it, her voice betrayed the fact she was cold.

  Duncan dismounted, drew off his gloves and tucked them beneath his arm. With his back to the wind, he gingerly ran his hands along her mount’s hindquarter, then toward the hoof. As his palm feathered over the lower leg, the steed jerked.

  “Steady, lad.” Careful not to startle the horse, he soothed him with words as he ran his fingers over the lower tendon. Horseflesh trembled against his touch. Heat radiated from the muscle beneath.

  He gently placed the hoof upon the ground. “He has sprained his leg. Most likely when he slipped on the rocks as we came down that last steep incline. We will have to ride together.” Which would have been his decision regardless, considering the shivers icing her voice. Not that she needed to know.

  “Wh-What will we do with th-the horse?”

  Aware of her pride, he kept the worry from his voice. “Bring him with us. We cannot risk him being found. Even with the heavy snow, we have traveled a good distance.” He surveyed the surrounding trees, the rise of the next knoll looming before them.

  She nodded.

  “This night we will stay at a crofter’s hut to warm ourselves and to rest our mounts. We should arrive at Lord Monceaux’s before night falls tomorrow.”

  Her fingers tightened on her reins. “What of Frasyer’s men?”

  “Few know of the hut’s existence. Between the night and the snow, unless someone stumbles upon us, we should remain unseen. The steady wind will erase our tracks.”

  She shook her head. “No. We ne-need to keep traveling through the ni-night. My father—”

  “Will be fine.” And prayed he spoke the truth. He walked toward her side. In the first light of dawn, clad with fragments of blowing snow, Duncan saw her tense. He reached up and placed his hands around Isabel’s waist, then helped her to the ground. Wrapped within the night she stood before him, their faces inches apart, her breath warm upon his face. As always with her, regardless that they stood in the forest with the air bitter cold, his blood heated, needing her, wanting her.

  After Duncan secured her mount’s reins to his saddle, he lifted her onto his horse, then swung up behind her. Cold stung her face as he urged his steed forward.

  His gloved hand curled around her stomach, drawing her against the hard, muscled length of him. “Relax against me.”

  A wry smile touched her lips. As if relaxing in his presence was possible. Duncan embodied everything she wanted in a husband. Honor, integrity, a man who gave all for those he loved, and, if necessary, as proved with his vow to Symon, even if it meant risking his life.

  The cold had turned her body numb. Concern for her father spurned her on. She’d believed her condition had gone unnoticed. Yet, Duncan had sensed her weakening. She closed her eyes at the evidence of how well he knew her. Of how hard it was to hide from him, except in one regard.

  Grief welled up in her gut. As if she had a choice.

  Exhaustion weighed heavy on her soul. She was so tired of lies. Of living in a veiled prison unable to help those she loved. She hated feeling torn, aware that the truth would shatter what little feelings Duncan held toward her.

  How else could he react when he learned she’d turned away from him in the face of a personal tragedy. A man as proud as Duncan would not see her actions as saving his life, but an issue of trust.

  A fragile trust she’d chosen to break.

  Wind ripped through the treetops, shaking branches with an angry howl. Snow lashed around them, hard flakes stinging her skin, driving into the smallest opening to stab her flesh. But the elements compared not to her inner ache as Duncan’s arm tightened around her.

  How had she ever believed she could walk away from him when she wanted him with her every breath?

  Secluded within Frasyer’s castle over the past three years, she’d savored numerous fantasies of being with Duncan. None compared to this seemingly simple moment.

  The rhythmic plod of the horses’ hooves offered a soothing cadence. Duncan’s arms held her tight, warming her, inciting her need to touch his body, feel the tautness of his flesh beneath her fingers, to know the splendor of their joining at least once in her life. It would be beautiful. How could it be anything but?

  Sunlight filtered through the blackened sky, outlining the fading cloud cover they desperately needed to help shield them from view. With each passing hour, they would become more exposed, and with a lame horse slowing them, more vulnerable.

  On the morrow, they would arrive at Rothfield Castle and hand Lord Monceaux the Bible. Her father would be freed, and she despised the very thought that she would return to a cold, harsh, and empty life beneath Frasyer’s hand.

  But tonight…Tonight would be the last night she would spend with Duncan. Alone.

  Without bonds of propriety or prying eyes.

  Regardless of her deepest wishes, once they’d delivered the Bible, her life would not change. With her father’s gambling debt to Frasyer unpaid, the threat of her father losing their ancestral home and hauled to debtor’s prison remained.

  Lost in her tangled thoughts, the steady rocking of his mount, the comfort of Duncan’s body and exhaustion dragged her into brief, troubled snatches of sleep. In between, she worried for Duncan’s welfare. She’d witnessed him favoring his injured side on occasion when he believed she wouldn’t notice.

  Twice during the day, caught within the swirl of the wind, they’d heard the distant shouts of men. As the sun moved through the sky, the wind continued to blow, cutting through clothes to skin with a brutal bite.

  Heavy snow fell as Duncan guided his horse across an ice-covered stream. Stones frozen in the streambed below merged with other patches dark with the hints of turbulent waters running below.

  She took in the roll of white hills, the barren forest dotted with brave firs. “How much farther until we arrive?”

  He drew her back in a comforting hug. “Soon.”

  As they crested the next knoll, Duncan drew to a halt, scanned their surroundings with infinite care as he’d done the entire day.

  Fatigued, she found little beauty in the orange-red rays of the sunset that glistened off the firs laden with snow. Or the hare, its coat white of the winter, darting past.

  He pointed toward the next rise. “See that thick stand of fir on the top of the knoll? The abandoned crofter’s hut is hidden within the trees. We will stay there.”

  She squinted but could not discern any sign of the building. “I see nothing.”

  “As the hut is designed.”

  He didn’t say more, she didn’t ask. A strong rebel activist, he would know the layout of this land to the smallest detail, information he would use to attack English troops and after, to escape.

  As had Symon.

  With her mind steeped in emotions, she remained silent. Though an arduous day of travel, now that they had arrived, the exhaustion weighing heavy upon her cleared beneath her fear of the questions she must face.

  Duncan kicked his mount forward. As they reached the top of the knoll, he navigated his mount through the thick firs, the breath of the snow-heavy trees easily blanketing the
ir horses from view to any outsiders. As they rode between the next set of firs, the abandoned crofter’s hut came into view.

  Weathered timber vied with aged thatching woven on the roof, now coated by a deep layer of snow, but both stood solid against nature’s force. More comforting, unbroken drifts of white swirled around the hut, evidence no one else had ridden through here as of late.

  At the entrance to the hovel, Duncan drew his horse to a halt and swung to the ground. He put his hands around her waist.

  She leaned into his hold, too tired to fight the dangerous mix of seduction and comfort his closeness brought as he lifted her down.

  Duncan handed her the reins. “Wait here. Though no signs of anyone else having visited recently exist, I need to be sure.” After a quick inspection of the hut, he returned. “Go inside. Wait there while I bed the horses. I have lit a taper so you can see.”

  She scanned the wall of trees.

  As if sensing her unease, he shook his head. “We will be safe.”

  “How long will we stay here?”

  “Until first light. We should reach Lord Monceaux’s before the sun sets on the morrow.”

  With a nod, she left him and stepped inside the hut. Erratic flickers from the near-gutted taper illuminated the tiny home. The musty scent owed to the building’s infrequent use, further supported by the sparse interior.

  To her right lay a decaying fireplace that, with luck, would hold a fire and not set the entire hovel ablaze. In the far corner sat a roughly hewn, straw-stuffed bed, covered with old blankets. A sturdy table stood against the opposite wall, on top, several bowls laid haphazard.

  The shambles around her would have sent many a lady running in fear.

  And yet, a hominess existed within this crude interior, a sincere warmth that drew her. Isabel touched the laced bed covering, evidence of a woman’s hand.

  Weariness settled over her. It had been an incredibly trying day. A day of exhaustion and fear and she was barely clinging to sanity. But standing here, surrounded by remnants of a past life, contentment settled in her chest.

  A woman had lived here.