by Diana Cosby
“Alesia—”
Colyne’s use of her second name was a blunt reminder of his ignorance of her royal tie.
And the danger.
“I am sorry, but your nobility changes naught.” He stared at her, his confusion tearing her apart. By the grace of Mary, she’d made what should have been a beautiful bonding a disaster. She needed to put distance between them; it would be wise. Sensible. And she would, with the oncoming dawn, but hours remained until then, precious time she would savor. “Make love to me again, Colyne. Give me this one night with you.”
“How can I—”
“I know it is wrong,” she rushed out. “More than I have the right to ask.”
Blue eyes narrowed. “On the morrow I will make arrangements for us both to sail.”
“And for that I give you thanks.” Trembling at the thought of letting him go, she stood. “You must accept that once you depart, we cannot see each other again. Ever. Please, lay with me until dawn.” She struggled to swallow. “But if you choose otherwise, I understand.”
“If I spoke with your fa—”
“My father will not change his mind.”
Alesia might be convinced that he couldna sway her father to end her betrothal, but Colyne believed otherwise. “Who is you father?”
Silence.
So be it. Once he’d delivered the writ to King Philip, he would seek the noble out and speak with him in private. ’Twould nae be difficult to find an influential lord who had a beautiful daughter named Alesia who had journeyed to Scotland as a missionary. And a woman who had served her people as a healer. Whatever the price to release her from her betrothal, he would pay.
She believed her decisions took away his responsibilities toward her; he disagreed. Though unaware of her betrothal, he’d known of her chaste state.
Still, he’d allowed intimacy.
Aye, he could blame his actions on her impassioned request, of how she’d pressed against him and destroyed his will, but he refused to use excuses for a choice he’d made. With his every intimate touch, he’d known his decision, had accepted its consequences.
After experiencing her untutored passion, the guileless sensuality of her every move, he’d wanted more than what one night would give them.
“I need you, Colyne.” Desire-filled eyes searched his with desperation. “If it is within you to forgive me for what I now ask, make love to me.”
Her desperate plea cut through his musings. His body hardened as his mind relieved images of her beneath him. “Alesia—”
She unbound the sheet and stood naked before him. Illuminated within the golden candlelight, her breasts, full, round, and tempting, lured him. “Do you still want me?”
He silently groaned. Want her? Colyne’s gaze feasted on her tempting curves, at how the shimmering light slid over her as he wanted his hands to, and doubted he’d ever get his fill.
A sword’s wrath! He should walk away. He wasna a green lad unused to joining with a woman or the pleasures the act inspired. But as her scent of woman and lavender teased his senses, never had he wanted anyone as much as he wanted her. If he were to be damned, then so be it.
Pulse racing, he crossed to her, claimed her mouth in a fierce kiss. He would find a way to right this wrong.
Dust-streaked sunlight stole through the aged window to expose the room in a dim glow. For a selfish moment, Colyne held Alesia, who slept in his arms, and enjoyed the hazy peace. It didna matter that he lay within a downtrodden inn or that, somewhere in the city, Renard’s men searched for him and wanted him dead.
For this one instant, he was content.
Though caution had advised him nae to touch her again after their heated discussion, his body had burned at how throughout the night she’d reached for him over and again.
Colyne pressed a kiss upon her brow. In sleep, the lines of worry that had marred her face since they’d first met had smoothed. She was beautiful. ’Twas as if the fairies had delivered him a princess.
The princess.
King Philip’s daughter.
She was still out there. And he prayed his kinsmen had found her. Odds were, even if she had been rescued, Renard had long since sailed to France and would have begun planting seeds of doubt about the Scottish rebel’s treachery in the king’s ear. Until King Philip’s bastard daughter was returned or the sovereign read the writ, the French king wouldna learn the truth.
However much he wished to linger, responsibility dictated otherwise. Aware he tempted fate, Colyne nibbled his way across the soft curve of her lips, then slowly claimed her mouth in a deep kiss.
A frown draped her brow, and then thick, honey-blond lashes raised. Through half-closed lids groggy with sleep, a smile, warm and sated, curved her mouth. “Make love with me.”
At her breathy request, he was lost. Colyne touched her with infinite care, amazed at the feelings she evoked. Would the passion she aroused always be so strong? He found himself believing ’twould be so.
A while later, with her body trembling from release, Colyne lifted himself on his elbows and stared at her.
“Good morning, my lord,” she said.
The husky purr of her words lured him back. He promised himself he’d only take a wee taste of her lips. Colyne leaned closer. Their lips touched. Melded. Heat stormed him and his mind hazed.
With regret, he pulled away. “I must leave to speak with my friend in Glasgow.” Then he made the mistake of glancing down. Beneath him, her breasts pressed against his chest, their bodies merged to where her warmth brushed against his hardness.
Her eyes, warm from their lovemaking, watched him, their invitation clear.
Colyne swallowed hard. “You are making it difficult to leave you.”
After a soft kiss upon his mouth, Alesia leaned back. “Can you not stay a while longer?”
“If possible, I would remain here forever.” He glanced through the grimy window to where the sun slowly rose into the sky and grimaced. He couldna delay his departure further. With a grumble, Colyne sat up, and then retrieved his braies.
She rolled onto her stomach. Naked, she watched him with sinful invitation. “How long will it be until you return?”
He silently lauded his stamina, comparing it to a saint’s as he tugged on his trews. “I should return before midday.”
“Do you think the men searching for us will be in Glasgow?”
“Aye. We have been lucky nae to have crossed paths with them over the past several days.” He resigned himself with one last glance over her tempting body. “Stay within the room until I return.”
Alesia’s mouth softened into a sensual pout. “I will miss you.”
“Aye, you will,” he said, with a boldness she aroused. Her laughter trickled through him, reminding him of all the reasons he wished to remain.
After he’d donned his garb and topped it with his cloak, Colyne gave in to one last kiss, slow and deep, until her hands wove around the back of his neck and she tried to pull him into bed. The chains of his forged mail clinked as he broke free.
She gave a frustrated groan. “You did that on purpose,” she softly accused.
He winked. “Indeed. But I am a man who never starts anything he canna finish.”
A wanton smile on her face, she sat up, her breasts jutting proudly, as if beckoning his return. “You could—”
“I must go,” he interrupted, too familiar with where his tarrying would lead. He shifted the tie of his trews, his teasing leaving more than her frustrated. “Upon my return, we shall finish this . . . discussion.”
“Colyne,” she called when he’d reached the door.
“Aye?”
Her hand slid to cup her breast as her gaze held his. “I shall be waiting.”
He clenched the handle of the door. A sword’s wrath, the lass was a temptress. He’d faced many an adversary on the battlefield with the odds against him. Surely he could resist the lass’s charms until his return. “Stay here,” he ordered. “Do nae go anywhere unt
il my return, nay matter the cause.”
At his reminder of the danger, she lowered her hands and her face paled. “What if you do not return?”
“I will be back.” Even if he had to crawl.
“Be careful.”
Colyne shot her a smile, wanting to ease her worries. “I will.”
A cool breeze greeted him as he stepped from the ramshackle inn. The early morning light exposed the poverty of the streets, the air ripe with dank smells oozing from the crumbling buildings shoved against one another.
Well familiar with the dangers of Glasgow, he made a slow sweep around him. Several people were out, but they kept their gazes averted as they passed. Confident he wasna being watched, he hurried toward a narrow side street.
Three streets away, as he rounded a curve, he spied several knights halting travelers and questioning them. With a curse he drew back and then peered around the corner.
One of the men turned.
He flattened himself against the wall. ’Twas the man who’d shot him with the bolt. He glanced down the alley. If he backtracked, ’twould make his journey twice as long. He grimaced. Alesia would worry at his being late, but he dared nae take the street.
Several hours later, the bells announcing the arrival of midday tolled as Colyne reached the Glasgow Cathedral. He grimaced. Alesia would be expecting him. At least she was safe where at the inn. But what if the men had discovered her whereabouts? Nay, he’d hidden their identities well.
He slipped into a side entrance. The scent of frankincense and myrrh hung in the air. Having visited the cathedral many times before, he moved with sure steps through the solemn hallways adorned with intricately woven tapestries.
At the end of the corridor, he gently pushed open a thick oak door. Stained-glass windows encased by sturdy, handcrafted frames arched toward the ceiling, designed with various finely crafted pictures of Jesus, Mary, and several biblical settings. With his every entry into this chamber, the enormous sense of spirituality filled him. ’Twas as if he could feel God’s presence.
The murmurings of a deep voice in Latin had Colyne glancing toward the front of the room.
On his knees, a bishop with his head bowed, adorned in long flowing robes, flanked by two priests, continued with their prayers.
Colyne walked forward, the thick woolen rug muting his steps. Several paces from the altar, he halted.
Melodic chants filled the chamber.
Familiar with the prayer, he silently followed along, saddened by his dual purpose here. He’d come to request aid in ensuring Alesia’s safety and future travel to France. But he also needed to break the news of the loss of their mutual friend, a man who had saved the bishop’s life.
Over the years he’d always anticipated his visits and enjoyed their time together. But he’d never considered that he’d offer Robert Wishart, a man who’d acted as his mentor throughout the years, such heartbreaking news. Though his friend wore the robe of a bishop, it wouldna protect him against the grief of learning about Douglas’s death.
With a heavy heart, Colyne brushed his hand against the place where the document lay hidden. Nay, he wouldna fail their friend. The writ would be delivered to King Philip.
The murmurs ended. Whispered strains of the prayer faded.
“Leave us,” Bishop Wishart said to the two members of the clergy without turning.
Colyne smiled at his friend’s ability to sense the presence of others. Another reason he’d chosen Robert to watch over Alesia. His innate sense would add another layer of safety against those who sought her. And though a bishop, with his broad shoulders and sturdy frame, his friend appeared more as if a knight.
Both priests rose. As they noticed Colyne, surprise, then recognition flashed on their faces. They nodded and then walked past. Moments later, the door closed with a soft swish behind them.
Robert made the sign of the cross. He stood and turned, his wizened face wrought with concern. “I am surprised to see you. The last I had heard, you were attending a secret meeting of Parliament in the Highlands.”
“Aye,” Colyne replied, nae shocked his friend would be so well informed. His station provided him with many venues in which to gather news of importance to Scotland’s fight for freedom. “You have heard about the abduction of King Philip’s bastard daughter?”
The bishop gave a solemn nod.
Hope filled Colyne. “Have they found her?”
Thick, shaggy brows dipped in worry. “Nay. Wherever the Duke of Renard has hidden her, ’twas with a crafty hand.”
“I had hoped they would have found her by now.” Colyne paused, hating the sad news he brought.
He frowned. “What is wrong?”
“Douglas is dead.”
The warmth in Robert’s eyes shattered to sorrow. “How?”
“By Robert Bruce, Earl of Carrick, Guardian of the Realm of Scotland’s dictate, Douglas was carrying a writ to King Philip, explaining the English duke’s treachery,” Colyne replied. “En route to the coast to sail to France, Renard’s knights attacked him.”
His friend’s face paled. “God in heaven! Renard has the writ Robert Bruce intended for King Philip?”
With a hard swallow, Colyne touched his cloak. “Nay, I have it. I came upon Douglas wounded and dying. I swore to him that I would deliver the writ.” He stepped forward and clasped a firm hand upon the bishop’s shoulder. “I give you my oath that his death will nae be in vain.”
Wishart’s fingers trembled as they touched the cross hanging from his neck. “I thank God you made it here safely.”
Silence hung between them.
Colyne stared at the crucifix secured behind the altar, at the blood weeping down Christ’s body. “I need to ask three favors of you.”
“Anything.”
A muscle worked in his jaw as he held Robert’s anguished gaze. “The only way the English duke could have known of the missive was if one of his informants were seated in the private meeting.”
“A traitor?” Though a whisper, the bishop’s question cut through the room like a curse.
“Aye,” Colyne replied, his own anger as fierce at deducing the reason. “I mention it as Robert Bruce needs to be informed of this news.”
“Consider it done.”
“My thanks.”
“Would your second request be to secure passage for you aboard a ship to France?”
“Aye, but if possible, I would sail with someone trustworthy instead of an unknown merchant.”
“The writ is too important to risk falling into untrustworthy hands,” Robert agreed, his voice trembling, evidence he struggled to contain his grief. “I shall send a runner to learn who is in port. If any captain’s ship we trust is moored at the pier, once he learns of the graveness of this matter, I am confident he will adjust his itinerary and sail to France posthaste.” He rubbed his thumb over the cross. “And the last?”
“There is a woman.”
Robert’s brow lifted. “A woman?”
“During my escape with the writ, I was wounded,” Colyne explained. “A French missionary named Alesia found and cared for me. Her party was attacked while traveling in the Highlands. She said they were returning from Beauly Priory.”
With a frown, the bishop rubbed his jaw. “I was nae aware of missionaries visiting from France.”
Unease swept him. “You did nae know?”
The bishop shook his head. “I have heard naught of such an arrangement.”
That didna make sense. One would think with the strife between England and Scotland, Alesia’s party would have taken every precaution to ensure their safety. So why hadn’t they informed the bishop of their arrival?
Chapter 12
Late afternoon bells tolled, sending nerve-shattering bongs through the waning spring day. The strong tang of the sea and the stench of the city invaded the confines of the chamber. Marie’s stomach churned.
She wrung her hands and again looked at the door. “Where are you, Colyne?” Hours h
ad passed since he’d left. Had he reached his destination? Had his pursuers seized him? Or had they killed him, and his body now lay on the street?
Stop it!
There could be many explanations for his delay. She searched her soul for reassurance, found naught but ominous reasons.
On a sigh, she turned toward the bed, and images of Colyne flooded her. The way he’d loved her, how he had ignited feelings she’d never imagined. With memories of him making her body tingle, the dankness of the chamber seemed less threatening. Marie released a calming breath. He would return.
And then what?
His fierce possessiveness as he’d loved her staked its own claim.
Mon Dieu. How could she have been foolish enough to believe that news of her betrothal would deter such a strong-willed Scot? He was an earl, a man used to wielding power.
Footsteps echoed outside.
Withdrawing her dagger, Marie flattened herself against the cool wood adjacent to the barred door.
The pad of firm steps halted.
Please let it be Colyne.
Pulse racing, she strained to hear the murmurs of other men, grumbles to alert her if they were English. Seconds dragged, each one stretching her nerves tighter.
“Alesia?”
At Colyne’s whisper, she sagged back.
The door thunked against the wooden bar as he tried to enter. “Alesia?” he whispered, this time louder.
Relief sweeping through her, she sheathed her dagger, tugged the barrier free, and flung open the door.
Colyne stepped inside.
She ran into his arms and poured herself into a kiss, erasing the hours of uncertainty.
The door shut against his body’s weight as Colyne turned with her and pressed her against the wood, his mouth taking hers as desperately.
A long moment later he drew back, his eyes dark with desire. “Had I known of your hearty welcome, I would have spent time away before.”
Heat stroked her face at his playful taunt, but when she made to turn away, he caught her chin. “You must think me foolish.”
“Alesia, I was but teasing.”