His Woman. Diana Cosby
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back to the well.
The door beside Duncan creaked open wider. Two more guards ran past. After a quick glance around to ensure no one saw him, Duncan slipped inside the keep.
Servants hurried about, some grabbing empty cauldrons, others blankets to soak and beat at the flames.
“Put your backs into it and put out the fire!” a commanding voice roared from the bailey.
At the curt order, Duncan froze. He turned and looked out the stone exit. Outlined in the roar of flames stood Frasyer’s familiar outline.
Bedamned! Isabel had said Frasyer was away. From the fear in her eyes, he’d believed her. Part of him marveled at how he seemed ready to accept her word at face value; the other part cursed his lingering naïveté, which had put him in this situation of wanting to help a woman who didn’t deserve it.
A man ran past him and slammed the door to the keep, cutting off Frasyer’s next words.
Holding his left arm tight against his chest, with the whir of activity, Duncan passed through the great hall unnoticed. When he reached the turret, he ran up.
As he passed the second-floor exit, his legs grew heavy. It took his entire concentration to push forward. When he reached the third floor, his vision began to blur.
Bracing himself against the wall, he lifted his cloak. Blood stained a wide swath of his undershirt and was seeping onto his robe. Grimacing, he tore a strip of cloth from the hem of his undershirt, then wrapped his arm tight to stop the flow of blood.
By the time he reached the chapel door, his legs trembled as if weighted by stones. He shoved the door open and entered. Embraced by the scent of frankincense and myrrh, he glanced around.
Candles flickered on a nearby wall, filling the chamber with a golden glow. The crucifix behind the altar lay haloed within the calm, its simple beauty lending to the surreal air.
But the room stood empty.
Where was she? He glanced toward the robes. “Isabel?” The garments hanging along the wall remained still.
“Isabel?”
Silence.
Another wave of dizziness swamped him. He gritted his teeth. Slowly, his mind cleared, and Isabel’s words of caution echoed in his mind. Blast it. She’d told him to be careful, because she’d already decided to search for the Bible without him.
How could he have again given her his trust? He glared down the corridor toward the opposite end of the hallway to where the stairs spiraled up one more level. A forth floor, a novelty that only a man of great wealth could afford. And Frasyer’s father’s pride and joy.
Like father, like son.
His anger built. As Frasyer’s mistress, Isabel had known the likelihood of the Bible being hidden on the elusive upper floor, but having planned on sneaking away, she’d kept him ignorant of where Frasyer’s chamber lay.
Duncan started toward the steps. At the top, the corridor unfolded before him. Unlike the barren hallway below lit with several torches shoved within dreary wall sconces, a finely woven burgundy rug graced the entire length. Torches burned outside of each entry like polished sentinels, rigid within their ornate sconces.
Portraits of the current Earl of Frasyer preceded that of the majestic parade of his ancestors hanging prominently along the walls in gilded frames, each of their faces captured in an unyielding stance. The array of finely crafted swords hanging on each side of the portraits embellished the obvious.
Luxury. Wealth. Power.
A slight scrape of the door to his immediate left was Duncan’s only warning someone was coming. He scanned the corridor. Bedamned, nowhere to hide!
He flattened himself against the wall, his dagger drawn.
A door creaked open.
Duncan lunged and slammed the person against the door, his dagger against the neck.
“Duncan, no!” Isabel gasped.
He blew out a deep breath and secured his weapon, all too aware of the soft press of her body wedged against his. “I told you to stay in the chamber below.”
“I—”
“Never intended to remain and wait for me.”
The flush on her cheeks betrayed her guilt. She glanced toward the window where outside, yellow flames from below in the bailey fragmented the night. Her mouth turned down.
“You risked going outside to start a fire?” Isabel asked. “I cannot believe that you—”
“Lass,” he interrupted, irritated by the awe in her voice. He was far from a hero. More of a fool. “We face a greater risk than my going outside. Frasyer is here.”
Her face paled. “He cannot be. It should have taken him several days to ride to Lord Monceaux’s with my father and deliver the charges.”
The sincerity of her reaction was believable, but he’d learned his lesson. “Then why has he returned early? Or have you been lying to me about his leaving all along.”
“I would never betray you like this.”
His arm throbbed. Her image wavered before him. He steadied himself. “And what do you call breaking your vow to wed me for Frasyer’s bed?”
For a long moment she stared at him, her face filled with sadness, then crumbling to regret. “The only decision I had.”
“Decision?” Her explanation was naught but twisted words. He shook his head to silence whatever she was about to say. “There is little time for your prattle.” With his arm hurting like the devil, he urged her forward. “Go.”
The muted yells of men below supported his claim. Once safely away, then he would have his answers.
Isabel tried to pull free.
“What?” he demanded.
She shook her head. “I…It is nothing.”
“For this once, spare me your lies.”
Eyes filled with anguish met his. “Only one reason would cause Frasyer to return early. My father is injured. Or”—she swallowed hard, her voice thinning, her entire body beginning to shake—“he is dead.”
“Isabel.”
She ignored him. “Mayhap en route, Frasyer arranged for my father to have an accident? Nay, Frasyer wouldn’t kill him,” she rambled. “He would never risk losing his control over me.”
After her incarceration, the contempt in her voice didn’t surprise Duncan, but her comment resurrected suspicions that she harbored a far darker secret.
“How long has Frasyer been gone?”
“Two days.” She frantically searched his face. “But I need to know if my father is alive.”
“Lord Caelin is not dim-witted,” Duncan said. “With his poor health, he would not be foolish enough to challenge Frasyer or his guards.” Unless he’d imbibed in one too many drinks, which wasn’t likely under the earl’s guard. “I believe he still lives.”
Isabel seemed to find strength in his words. “Do you truly think so?”
“Aye.” Duncan scanned the corridor, which was staggered by several doors. “Which room is Frasyer’s?”
She didn’t seem convinced. “Duncan—”
“Which one?” he pressed.
A loud cheer roared from the bailey.
“It sounds as if they have extinguished the fire. Hurry.” Another wave of weakness struck him. He pushed forward. He refused to pass out until after they’d escaped.
Isabel shot him a nervous glance. “We may need to search