His Woman (Zebra Historical Romance)

by Diana J. Cosby

  But here, now, he silently vowed, whatever it took he would keep her.

  Until he'd seen her again, he'd not allowed himself to remember all that was special and precious about her. Now, watching her graceful movements as she dressed, the pressure inside his chest was an actual physical reminder that she was forever in his heart.

  "I am ready," Isabel said.

  As he. He turned to retrieve the Bible. "I—"

  A loud crash thundered against the door.

  Isabel screamed.

  Frasyer! Duncan drew his sword and caught her wrist, pulling her around to his back. "Stay behind me!"

  Chapter 19

  Adrenaline pumped through Duncan's veins as the hut's door shuddered against the next hard impact.

  Another solid ram.

  Wood splintered. Wind-whipped snow spurted through the cracks.

  Isabel's face grew ashen.

  Weapon in hand, Duncan stepped before her. "Whatever happens," he ordered, "stay behind me."

  At the next slam against wood, the door burst open. It crashed against the interior wall. Swords drawn, knights stormed the crofter's hut.

  Behind them, framed within the muted dawn, stood Frasyer.

  Gray eyes narrowed on Isabel with malignant satisfaction, his normally neatly bound brown hair tugged loose by the wind and littered with shards of ice.

  Isabel gasped.

  "You thought to escape me," the earl seethed. His gaze skewered Duncan. "And you. You dare enter my castle and abduct my mistress?"

  Eyes blazing, Duncan grunted with disgust. "Is that what you call freeing a woman imprisoned?"

  Frasyer stiffened. "Bitter words from a man whose betrothed abandons him on the eve he is to wed."

  "A decision forced upon her," Duncan returned.

  Understanding flickered in Frayser's eyes. "She told you of our bargain."

  Duncan ignored Isabel's sharp intake of breath. "Bargain? As if killing me was not your intention from the first. Now, you believe you hold just reason."

  "Reason enough to suit my needs," Frasyer replied.

  Rage slammed atop Duncan's mounting worry for Isabel and settled on the man who'd stolen everything he'd once loved and threatened to do so again. "I should have guessed that your twisted ways were behind Isabel's leaving me."

  Frasyer lifted his sword in warning—and promise. "The reason matters not. I will enjoy watching your blood spill upon my blade."

  "No!" Isabel shouted.

  Frasyer shifted his attention to her. Gray eyes narrowed and curdled with violence. "You will regret your betrayal."

  "Isabel will travel to Lord Monceaux's," Duncan stated. He had to ensure Griffin's intervention, but neither Isabel, nor the Bible could stay within Frasyer's hands. "His decision, not yours, will guide her fate."

  "With the Bible I presume?" Frasyer drawled.

  Isabel lifted her chin. "My father is innocent of your claims."

  "Lord Caelin is a fool," Frasyer stated. "As are you. You knew the consequence of breaking your vow of silence, but ignored it."

  Duncan gripped his sword tighter. "Consequence? Nay, a threat, an abuse of power you enjoy serving on those unable to defend themselves." He covertly scoured the hard faces of the four knights surrounding them. He was easily outnumbered. "She does not love you, nor you her. Let her go."

  The thud of footsteps sounded within the small hut as yet more knights packed inside between Duncan and the doorway. A sword's wrath!

  "Her feelings toward me matter not. You want her." A brutal smile slinked across Frasyer's mouth. "That is enough. Or was."

  Duncan stilled. Frasyer couldn't know of Isabel's blood tie to Wallace. If so, he would have exploited it from the first.

  With predatory ease, Frasyer stepped before his knights. "Are you not curious of what changed my mind?" He glanced at the Bible on the table, then toward Duncan. "Or.. .do you already know what secret lies hidden within?"

  "What secret?" Isabel asked, a tremor in her voice, clearly picking up the unspoken verbal joust between the men.

  Duncan fought to shield his reaction to Frasyer's taunt, but something in his expression must have given him away; evil satisfaction curled on Frasyer's mouth.

  "I see you know as well," Frasyer drawled, his sword clenched ready in his hand at odds with his casual tone. "You can imagine my surprise at learning such a truth."

  "What truth?" Isabel touched Duncan's sleeve. "What is he talking about?"

  Frasyer gave a cold laugh. "Why, Isabel, this is truly a pity." Sarcasm dripped from his every word. "It would seem that no one has informed you of your true birthright."

  At the confusion on her face, a muscle worked in Duncan's jaw. He fought the urge to lunge forward and finish Frasyer now, consequences be damned.

  "If you know," he challenged Frasyer, "why have you not handed the Bible to King Edward to earn his praise that you constantly seek?"

  Anger flushed Frasyer's face. "It would seem that I, too, was ignorant of such news of importance. Until," Frasyer said with a smug look toward Isabel, "recent events brought the Bible's existence into my hands. Unfortunately, once I'd discovered the truth, you had already abducted her from my dungeon."

  Fear paled Isabel's face as she inched forward to stand at Duncan's side. "What you are both talking about?"

  "My dear, Isabel," Frasyer drawled, "why of course the fact that your father is William Wallace."

  Her eyes widened in shock. Shaking, her hand inched toward the pendant of Wallace's colors hidden at her throat. As if realizing her error, she dropped her hand and shook her head.

  "A lie," she accused, "one you have crafted for your own nefarious means."

  Frasyer shot Duncan a hard look. "Tell her.

  "What?" Duncan replied. "That you would craft any story, regardless of its truth, if you believed it would serve you credit in King Edward's eyes?"

  Frasyer glanced toward the Bible. "Ask her the same question once she sees the proof."

  Duncan damned this moment. There was only one way Frasyer could have known; he indeed had discovered the hidden documents.

  Potent silence stumbled through the room. A caustic energy that pulsed through Duncan as he watched Isabel try and decide if Frasyer's claim was true.

  As understanding flickered in her amber eyes, he saw her questions but more, the terrified understanding that it was the truth.

  Be damned, he'd not meant her to learn who her father was this way! Now, 'twas too late. The deed was done. Somehow, he must get her safely to Griffin.

  "Enough!" Frasyer ordered. "Now that I have Isabel as well as proof of her heritage, I will deliver both to King Edward."

  Duncan braced his legs apart and raised his sword. "She will be delivered to Lord Monceaux."

  With supreme confidence of a victory, Frasyer ignored Duncan and extended his hand. "Isabel, hand me the Bible."

  The weight of the Bible trembled in Isabel's hand. Why hadn't Duncan denied the earl's claim? Her heart pounded. Was William Wallace indeed her father?

  If it was true, it explained so much—the reason why Wallace had visited her over the years, and why he had given her the pendant bearing his arms during her youth. Also, her father's...no, not her father, Lord Caelin's guarded actions toward her. But not why either man had allowed her to go to Frasyer as his mistress.

  That fact made little sense.

  Hysteria welled up in her throat. God in heaven. If William Wallace was her father, she could never allow such proof to fall into Frasyer's hands. Frasyer would indeed use it for his own selfish gain and harm a nation, not to mendon the men she loved.

  "Isabel," Frasyer commanded, "hand over the Bible. Now!"

  She shook her head. "No."

  "You have made your decision, Isabel. Now," he seethed, "you will watch as your lover dies."

  "No!" she gasped.

  Frasyer raised a dismissive brow, then backed behind the wall of his men. "Kill him."

  Guards rushed them.
r />   Isabel screamed.

  Seasoned by numerous battles, Duncan fended off the first aggressor's blow with ease, then rounded to catch the second man's blade.

  Isabel jumped clear of danger as honed steel screamed with each meeting of their swords, engulfing the hut with a cacophony of angry scrapes.

  To give him more power in his swing, the leather-faced man to his left had widened his arc.

  "Duncan!" Isabel yelled.

  At her warning, he ducked and spun, slicing through the knight's shoulder. The man screamed and caught his arm where blood spurted from a bone-exposing wound.

  "Behind me, Isabel," Duncan yelled, thankful when she shot behind him.

  The knight to his left attacked.

  Duncan met his parry. Their blades locked, their arms trembling from the demand for strength. Duncan broke the hold, but with each attack, he was forced toward the corner of the room.

  Isabel shifted away from him toward the right.

  "What are you doing?" Duncan yelled, "I told you to stay behind me!"

  The knight on Duncan's right caught her action. The guard rushed toward her as she crouched near the fire.

  "Behind you!" Duncan yelled.

  She turned, a wooden bowl filled with hot coals fisted in her hand. Isabel threw the glowing embers into the guard's face.

  The knight screamed as he stumbled back. The stench of burning flesh permeated the air as the warrior dropped to his knees and curled into a writhing ball.

  Exploiting his aggressor's distraction, Duncan drove his blade in the knight's side, then jerked it out. Blood coated Duncan's blade, and the warrior fell, an anguished gurgle on his lips.

  "Get behind me!" Duncan ordered Isabel as he regained his defensive position against the next opponent.

  Footsteps padded on the dirt as she complied.

  The warrior charged as Frasyer's orders boomed to his other knights.

  Muscles burned as Duncan fended off his next attacker, his prior injuries and making love draining him of much needed energy.

  "Fire!" Isabel yelled.

  He spared a glance toward where she pointed.

  Flames raced up the side of the wood. The embers she'd thrown moments before had ignited the bedding. Smoke curled and danced in a vicious stream, quickly engulfing the entire wall of the hut.

  Another knight charged.

  Duncan angled his sword to shield the blow, but a clever manoeuvre by the knight caught Duncan's left shoulder. Pain seared his arm. He gritted his teeth and grunted as he thrust his blade forward.

  The seasoned fighter evaded his every lethal swing.

  A sword's wrath!

  Smoke billowed within the room as the stench of sweat, wood, and fear built with each second. To his right, Isabel coughed.

  "We must escape!" she rasped.

  "We will. Hold on, Isabel!" He shot a glance toward Frasyer between slashes, noting the earl inching toward the exit as visibility dimmed. Then four more knights entered.

  "Seize Isabel before the damn hut burns down," Frasyer boomed.

  The men took in the growing blaze and for a moment hesitated, then charged.

  The clash of steel and grunts of men saturated the hovel.

  Duncan manoeuvred his blade, fury backing his each thrust, every damaging blow, but by sheer number, the guards managed to separate him and Isabel.

  A scream tore from her, a combination of fear and rage, as she kicked at the guards as they ripped her from Duncan's protective circle. Amber eyes blazed as she jammed her elbow into the closest man's neck.

  She gasped for breath as another man caught her.

  Duncan severed half the man's arm who was holding her, again buying her freedom. Sweat poured down his face as he dragged in a deep breath, the air blistering his lungs with heat.

  A blur shot to his left.

  "Duncan!" Isabel called as two more knights caught her and started hauling her toward the door.

  "Isabel!" Pain sliced into Duncan's leg. He glanced down. A gash slid along his right thigh, a thin line of red curdled to the surface. He ignored it as he battled his way toward where Isabel was being dragged across the room.

  Framed within the doorway, Duncan caught Frasyer watching the event with morbid glee. The bastard wanted to watch him die.

  Wood groaned. The building shuddered.

  "Out!" Frasyer ordered, backing outside. "Everyone out. The roof is caving in!"

  Guards rushed for the exit.

  "Duncan!" Isabel's scream pierced the roar of the flames as guards bolted from the hut.

  Abandoned, Duncan scanned his surroundings. Flames engulfed the dried reeds and grass. Caught within the rising smoke, embers broke off and streamed into several visible breaks in the roof to spiral up into the sky. Another shudder rippled through the hut. As if in slow motion, he watched the center beam tremble, then begin to fall.

  He started to bolt. Before he could step forward, the beam, smothered with blazing thatch, dropped to create a fiery wall, closing off his only route of escape.

  Frasyer's laughter echoed through the pungent cloud, fragments of his face cradled in the flames as he stood safe outside.

  "Come," Frasyer shouted to his men. "Let him burn in Hades as he deserves."

  "Duncan!" The pounding of hoof beats smothered Isabel's scream. The rumble of men and horses slowly faded.

  He was alone.

  Left for dead.

  Intense heat poured over him.

  His blood pounded wild. He had to somehow escape and save Isabel.

  Dropping to the earthen floor, he sucked in air charred by smoke, scraping his throat raw with his every breath.

  He searched the flaming debris for a break in the wall, a path he could use to crawl to the door.

  Cinders from the beams supporting the roof swirled to the floor, others clung to the walls like demons to ignite a second later.

  Another beam directly above him shuddered. The entire hut was going to collapse!

  Duncan rolled over and pressed his body against the length of the unlit wall as its charred support began to crumble.

  Wood groaned, sagged, then crashed downward.

  He closed his eyes and braced himself for the fiery impact.

  Heat blasted him as if billowed by a smithy. A thud. The grating of wood. The crackle and pop of burning wood roared in his ears.

  Heart pounding, Duncan opened his eyes. Instead of the oak beam falling to the floor, the end nearest him had wedged halfway down the wall, which now bowed out. Soon, the entire hut would collapse.

  Another pop. Sparks rained down.

  He shielded his face with his garb as he turned away, beating out the embers settling on his clothes in an incessant mist. Each spark burned a hole in his garment, little pinpricks of heat searing his skin.

  Yet another shudder rippled through the fire-immersed building. The last of the thatched room stumbled downward, floating batches of flaming straw in the air like the wings of a mythical beast. If possible, the intensity of the heat increased.

  Desperate, Duncan jammed his sword into the wedge between the wood of the walls.

  Nothing gave.

  Heat, raw and blistering, scraped his face. The stench of smouldering hair screamed up his nostrils. He clawed a handful of dirt and scrubbed it on his head and prayed it would be enough.

  The horrors of the painful death he faced tore through him, threatening his calm, shattering his thoughts as he fought to think of a way to escape.

  An unexpected rush of cool air caught his attention. Duncan glanced over. On the opposite side of the building, with the shifting of the beam above, the corner of the hut had fractured. Now, a slit cut up the wall big enough to climb through.

  Duncan scraped the earthen floor to smother flames before him as he inched forward. Smoke thickened, clogging his throat until he was forced to wrap a cloth over his mouth before he continued. Coughing, he pushed forward.

  It was simple.

  If he quit, he died.
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  He reached the corner. Exhausted, charred patches marring his garb and scarring his exposed skin, Duncan shoved himself up. His hands screamed as he caught the smoking edge.

  The building started to tremble.

  He glanced back. The wall to the entry door buckled, then started falling toward him.

  Duncan dove toward the opening.

  Chapter 20

  A wave of heat exploded over his face as Duncan's back slammed against the snow. Heart pounding, he rolled away from the fire-engulfed hut. Wind-tossed cinders stabbed his exposed skin. He scooped snow into his hands, rubbing it onto his face, hands, and clothes, extinguishing the pinpricks of heat.

  For a long moment he lay there, his body shaking, his breaths coming fast. On unsteady legs, he pushed to his feet and stared at the scarred remains of the crofter's hut.

  Blazing wood slammed to the earth. The beam propped against the interior wall sagged beneath the onslaught, then speared through the side wall to pile atop the already roaring stack.

  He sucked in a cold breath. Another moment and he would have been burned alive.

  Panic welled in his throat as he looked toward where Frasyer and his men had rode off. Isabel! He refused to believe Frasyer

  would harm her. If the earl had meant to kill her, he would have left her behind with Duncan to die.

  Instead, he'd ridden off preening of yet another personal victory. Yet Frasyer had erred in the most basic of ways. He'd not ensured his foe was dead.

  A mistake, one that would cost the bastard his life.

  Hours later, wind rich with the scent of pine churned around Duncan with a lazy spiral. Golden rays reflected off crystallized snow in subtle warning of the approaching night.

  Exhausted, determined, Duncan blew out a deep breath and forged ahead. Purpose kept him going, dulling the sound of the nicks from his clash with Frasyer's men and the burns to his face and the back of his hands.

  He'd trailed Frasyer throughout the day, but on foot, he was quickly falling behind. He scoured the hoof-hewn, windswept path ahead. If he didn't catch up with Frasyer soon, with the drifts slowly filling in the tracks, he would lose the trail.

  Duncan quickened his pace, ignoring the protests of his body.

  A hawk soared overhead, its screech echoing in the wind. He took in the predator, a powerful mixture of strength and grace.