His Conquest. Diana Cosby
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he asked, his heart softening a degree.
“It matters not.”
From the coolness of her reply, it did, but to disclose the reason to him would splinter the tough exterior she carefully built. A facade he, too, had forged out of sheer necessity. Any similarities between their lives, however, ended there. The challenges he’d faced were far from the pampered existence this noblewoman had enjoyed.
Her fingers curled within his palm. Seathan tried to ignore the softness of her flesh, how the velvet of her skin pressed against the roughness of his calloused hand, and how too easily he could imagine her fingers upon his body in a silken caress. Though she’d kissed like a siren, he’d tasted her innocence.
Who was this noblewoman? More important, what had prompted her to free him?
Or rather, who?
Though she was cloaked in a cape of worsted wool, her serviceable garb hid neither her refined quality of speech, nor her regal bearing.
Unease crept through him. Even as he’d accused her of having a part in Lord Tearlach’s twisted game, mayhap to free him for the thrill of the chase, his charge made no sense. Not that he’d put such past the Sassenach, whose amusement at Seathan’s capture had eroded to fury when he’d refused to divulge any information under torture about William Wallace or the rebels’ plans.
Which had led to Tearlach’s order for Seathan to hang at first light.
If the viscount wasn’t behind her actions, then who? Her request for an escort to the Highlands rang sour. A noblewoman needing protection would not seek out a man beaten to the point of near collapse. She had chosen him for a distinct purpose.
“Linet?”
“Yes?”
“Naught, I but wanted to know if indeed that is your real name.”
Red streaked her cheeks. “Proof I am not lying to you?” She shook her head. “Worry not. I expect nothing more from you than your vow given to escort me to the Highlands.” She faced forward and continued walking at his side.
If only it were so simple to believe her. Lives of thousands lay at stake. He would be a fool to accept words easily given. No, he’d watch her, listen for her to stumble and expose her true motive.
As he walked, a chill shook his body, then another. He forced himself to continue, each step punishing muscles long abused. He released her hand. The last thing he wished to do was reveal his deteriorating condition to her, but he needed to prepare for the worst. If possible, to make a plan before he passed out.
“Once we are safely away from Breac Castle,” Seathan said, “we must hide.”
Linet studied him a long moment. “Your injuries are slowing you down. For that I am sorry. How much longer do you think you can continue?”
The sincerity of her words caught him off guard, but he needed not her sympathy. “Nay doubt my ability to travel if need be.”
“I never doubt men like you.”
Unsure whether she paid him a compliment, he ignored her claim. Her opinion mattered little. After he delivered her to the Highlands, he would never see her again.
The candle sputtered.
“Halt.” Seathan shot her a warning look, shielded the candle with his free hand. The flame trembled, then grew. The wavering light barely illuminated a foot before them. Though he didn’t want her to see his weakening, his need to ensure she didn’t bolt swayed his decision.
He reached for her.
She stepped out of range. Within the cast of yellowed light, outrage sparked in her gaze. “You believe holding me is necessary?”
“Aye.” Her defiance intrigued him. He stepped forward, caught her hand. “I will take no chances until the castle walls are far behind us.” Then, when it came to her, he would still use caution. Though truth rang in her words, questions about her motive sat ill within his mind.
On a frustrated sigh, she relaxed her hand within his. “There are several dangerous twists ahead. They must be taken with care.”
He raised the candle. “Lead the way.”
An order given, Linet mused, by a man comfortable with taking the lead regardless of the task. But in this, they shared the same goal—to escape. She started forward, and Lord Grey kept pace at her side.
A rat scurried before them, then disappeared into the darkness. They skirted shards of pottery strewn around the next bend.
“Breac Castle is a Scottish stronghold. Or was,” Lord Grey said.
“So I was informed,” she replied, well aware the Scot but probed for information. Linet neglected to add that the transfer had occurred twelve years past, when King Edward had seized Breac Castle and bestowed it upon her father for his staunch support of the crown.
Except a year later, with the death of Queen Margaret, the Maid of Norway, who was pledged to marry King Edward’s heir, Edward of Cavernarvon, division had cut through Scotland.
She remembered her father’s disgust for those of unworthy lineage who had come forward claiming ’twas their birthright to gain the throne. Then, how her father had placed himself within the English king’s eye by backing Robert Bruce, lord of Annandale, in his bid to claim the Scottish throne.
Linet was proud of her father’s stand, for supporting what he believed was just. The past few years had exposed King Edward’s true ambition, not to ensure that Scotland gained a king, but to become its sovereign.
After the capture and sack of Berwick, the Battle of Dunbar, then King John’s submission to King Edward, the English ruler had achieved his goal.
Her father believed in a fair hand, something the English sovereign seemed to overlook.
Sadness swept her as she remembered the people slaughtered for King Edward’s self-serving goal. Thank God her father and mother had not lived to see the town of Berwick razed, including every man, woman, and child. And once the massacre had ended, English knights had torched the tragic heap.
The senseless slaughter still burned in her heart. How could any man lust for power enough to take a life, especially that of an innocent child? She might forgive many things, but never that.
King Edward had dared claim the sack of Berwick a victory, but in her heart, he had delivered much more than war against the Scots.
But desecration.
Had her father suspected King Edward’s dark plans to conquer Scotland? If so, it made sense that he’d kept his belief a secret.
A secret he’d never shared with Fulke—a son who held in esteem the English king and his caustic methods of gaining power, a son who shared the English king’s trait of greed. Characteristics she despised.
She slid a covert glance toward Lord Grey—a rebel who opposed King Edward’s carnage, a Scot who dared risked all for his beliefs.
Though dangerous, this man possessed the qualities she’d admired in her father. But neither his qualities nor his similarities to the man she’d looked up to changed the hard fact.
In the Scot’s mind, she was the enemy.
How he viewed her mattered little. Once she arrived at her mother’s village in the Highlands, she would be free to live the life she chose.
Linet’s heart ached as she took in the sturdy walls of stone offering a path to escape. She would miss Breac Castle, the memories made over the years, the laughter shared.
But not her brother.
After Fulke’s treachery, he no longer held her respect.
Or her love.
Lord Grey shoved forward with predatory intent. “They will search the tunnels for me, will they not?”
“Eventually,”