His Conquest (3 page)

Seathan searched the stalls through the slats. No one worked within. “Come.” Seathan tugged her forward. Keeping to the shadows, he crept through the well-kept stable.

“You are trembling.”

The worry in her voice had him damning his body’s weakness, and her keen eyesight. “Keep moving.” He inched forward, careful to keep out of sight of anyone within the bailey.

Lightning flashed. Thunder rolled in its wake. The rain of moments before increased to a downpour.

“Post extra men upon the wall walk,” a commanding voice ordered from nearby.

Seathan stilled. Tearlach. A damnable voice he would recognize to his grave. The woman’s hand tightened in his. “You know him?” he demanded in a rough whisper.

“Of course. He is lord of Breac Castle.”

Aye, but the nerves in her voice indicated a much closer tie. “Is he your lover?”

Delicate nostrils flared. “I despise him.”

Truth spilled through her words, but instinct assured him that she concealed more from him. Still, a part of him found comfort that she knew not Fulke’s touch.

“Keep low—and quiet.” Careful not to startle the horses, he eased forward, using the distant torchlight as a guide as they wove through the stables.

“I want every corner of Breac Castle searched again,” Fulke’s voice boomed, this time closer. “They must be here!”

Christ’s blade. Tearlach had discovered his escape. He’d wanted to have traveled several leagues before his absence was discovered.

Seathan stilled. The full impact of the viscount’s words slammed home. He turned toward the noblewoman. “They?” he asked, the softness of his burr laden with threat.

“You could not have escaped alone,” Linet whispered.

Which made sense, but far from soothed his instinct that something was seriously amiss.

“We have searched all of the buildings, my lord,” a man’s voice called out.

“I care not,” Lord Tearlach yelled. “Search them again. By God, they will be found this night!” The slap of footsteps faded as his knights scattered, rushing to do their lord’s bidding.

The splat of water sloshed in a puddle nearby.

“Someone is coming. Hurry!” Seathan dropped, then rolled into a stall.

Linet followed.

Once inside, Seathan lifted a pile of hay. “Get in.” She crawled beneath the heap and he joined her.

The bay within the stall stamped its feet and snorted.

Footsteps grew louder.

Seathan clamped his hand upon his dagger.

“Ho, Blanchard,” a deep male voice rumbled. “Not liking the storm?”

Torchlight flickered over the pile of straw above Seathan as he sheltered Linet with his body. He put a finger over her lips.

She nodded.

Through the wisps of hay, he caught sight of the knight as he rubbed the bay’s neck. After a pat on the withers, he began making his way down the line of stalls in a slow, methodical sweep.

Long moments passed, each one stealing precious darkness they needed to make their escape. More disturbing, with each passing second, heat from Linet’s body melded with his. The soft warmth, infused with her woman’s scent, was designed to seduce.

Seathan gritted his teeth in disbelief. With his body screaming from its torture, one would think he could ignore her scent, how well she fit against him, or the lingering memory of their kiss. But sheltered by the backdrop of falling rain and caught within the blanket of the hay’s warmth, he was all too aware of her presence.

A bloody curse.

Soft footsteps crunched on hay as the knight slowly made his return. He stopped one last time outside of the bay’s stall, lifted his torch in a slow sweep. As if satisfied everything was in order, he exited the stable into the downpour.

“All clear,” the knight called once outside.

From far away, Lord Tearlach ordered him to help search the dungeon again.

Other guards’ voices echoed in the pounding rain as they reported in from around the castle.

Seathan exhaled. They were safe—for now.

“That was too close,” Linet whispered.

Her soft breath upon his face assured him her lips were but a whisper from his own. Awareness burned through him, and he hardened. The situation would be funny if it were not so serious. Beaten and barely clinging to consciousness, his body seemed not to care.

He swallowed hard, trying to ignore that if he but leaned forward, he could again taste her, the alluring essence of woman, and for a moment forget the pain washing through him.

“We must make it into the tunnel before the guard returns,” he gritted out.

“We will.” The conviction within her words inspired his own. She pressed her hand to his chest.

He stilled, too aware of her, dangerously so. “What is it?” he asked, not needing his thoughts clouded by desire.

“Nothing.”

But he heard the tremble of her words, her desire to say more, and damn her, her concern. He wanted no woman worrying about him. Let her care for a man who wanted a woman in his life for something more than a night’s pleasure. He’d learned well of a woman’s deceptive ways, a lesson Iuliana, his former lover, had impressed upon his mind with devastating clarity.

Seathan caught the noblewoman’s hand and shoved to his feet. The stall blurred around him. He braced his feet and sucked in a deep breath.

“Lord Grey?”

“Seathan,” he hissed out.

Seathan?
Linet stilled, surprised at his offer of familiarity. As if she would ever understand him.

He glanced past her. The rain was beginning to slow. “Move.” He took a step forward, then another.

“No. It is too far. We must return to the tunnel before you pass out.”

“We cannot go back. Too dangerous.”

The stubborn man. “As if your falling on your face in the middle of the stables is safe?”

Obsidian eyes bore into hers. “I am well enough to travel.”

Far from it, but she remained silent. They would need all of the Scot’s arrogance to keep him moving.

Torches illuminated the upper bailey, an open expanse where Fulke and his men trained during the day.

She pointed toward the stone tower farthest away. “The next tunnel is through a door inside the arsenal tower.” He nodded as they continued along the path.

They stole through the shadows, keeping the curtain wall to their backs, the fresh scent of spring rain filling her every breath. Both were soaked, but at least the rain would erase their tracks.

She shot a worried glance at the Scot, who was visibly struggling. Let him make it!

“Lord Tearlach,” a guard called from the wall walk above.

With a muttered curse, Lord Grey flattened himself near her against the curtain wall, his chest heaving.

Hidden within the deep shadows, Linet peered out.

In the distance, her brother came into view, then halted.

She held her breath. Had Fulke seen them?

Long seconds trod past, then he turned and headed toward a nearby guard, his stride lengthened by his too familiar fury. The heavy rain fractured his words. “…seeher, tell me!” Fulke demanded.

“Yes, my lord,” the guard replied.

Fear tore through her. Had Lord Grey heard her brother’s reference to her? Terrified, she glanced over. His eyes were shut as if he was focused on fighting back the pain. Linet glanced toward Fulke.

Her brother whirled and stalked toward the keep.

“Go,” Seathan ordered in a soft command.

She shot him a quick glance, shaken to find him watching her with unsettling interest. No time remained to wonder the reason. She nodded, thankful when moments later they entered the arsenal tower, then slipped into the tunnel and closed the door.

“We have no candle,” he stated.

“The tunnel is short and straight,” she assured him. “I know it as if the back of my hand.” At his light touch indicating she should lead, she headed into the blackened passage.

Shrouded in darkness and embraced by his male scent, she found the setting strangely intimate, despite the danger. Unsettled by her thoughts, by his muscled body straining at her side, she focused on her goal.

Silence punctuated the darkness as they traveled. In the distance, Seathan caught the growing sound of rain.

“We are almost there,” she said.

He heard her worry, doubts that he could reach the safety of the forest, concerns that tormented him as well. But he’d be damned if he’d give up.

Clenching his teeth, he lengthened his stride.

Through the opening ahead, hints of purple touched the sky. “Sunrise,” he hissed as if it were a curse.

She looked at him, her eyes laden with worry as well as hope. “They will not expect us to depart the castle through this tunnel.”

True, but it did not remove the danger of their being seen. At the tunnel’s rim, in the pale light, Seathan surveyed the steep slope broken by boulders and shrubs. He released her.

She glanced at her freed hand, then toward him. “You trust me now?”

“Nay, we are out of Breac Castle.” He ignored her flash of irritation and started down the steep slope. Loose rock had him catching a nearby bush; his body screamed as he jerked to a stop. He held tight.

Behind him, Linet made her way down with caution.

Each step led them closer to safety, but with the purple hues growing lighter in the sky, before long the sun would break the horizon. Even with the shield of rain, if a guard looked down, they would be seen.

He gritted his teeth, swore, but step by step, descended the damnable rocks. At the bottom, sweat covered his body, and his mind swirled with dizziness. Dragging in a deep breath, he steadied himself.

A gentle hand caught his arm. “Seathan?”

He ignored her and glanced up. Dawn sifted across the sky, its exposing light spilling upon the forest around them. “Move.” He stumbled forward.

She caught him, fighting to steady him. “Lean against me.”

He hesitated.

“Your pride will not save your life!”

Damning his weakness, Seathan leaned against Linet as they continued. His life and possibly his brothers’ lay in the hands of this slip of a woman. A woman who held secrets. A woman who called Tearlach her lord.

A woman he could never trust.

With care, Linet walked across the leaf-and-needle-strewn ground scattered with patches of snow. The rich fragrance of earth and spring offered a soothing mix but did little to ease her worry. Since they’d entered the forest, Lord Grey was leaning more of his weight against her, and his arm around her shoulders was losing its grip.

He started to slump forward.

“Hang on to me!”

Ire flashed on his sweat-streaked face. His grip tightened. His steps, however shaky, kept pace with hers. “I will.”

He would, but for how long? With the way he was trembling, the pallor of his face, and his sluggish movements, the only question left was when his legs would finally give out.

She scanned their surroundings void of the fall of rain. The fragile morning sunlight spilled over the treetops, dawn’s warmth meager against the cool mist clinging to the air. But with the Scot’s fevered body leaning against her, she was hardly cold.

They needed to find somewhere to rest and, if possible, build a fire to dry their clothes. Frustration brewed within her. With the woods soon to be swarming with Fulke’s men in search of them, they couldn’t take the risk.

The land angled upward.

Seathan halted, his breathing rough.

“We need to keep moving,” she said.

“I…” He closed his eyes, then slowly opened them. Piercing green eyes glazed with pain stared at her.

Beneath his intense stare, she caught her breath. Within the dungeon she’d believed his eyes black, but she was wrong. Exposed by the sun, they reminded her of emeralds beneath a storm-filled sky.

Where had that foolish thought come from? As if it mattered. Linet tried to push him forward.

He didn’t budge.

If he stopped now, there was no way she could carry him. God forbid if he passed out. “I said keep moving!”

Teeth clenched, he started forward.

Step by laborious step, they ascended the hill, each movement taking a visible toll on the earl.

Please let him reach the top of the knoll.
Linet rolled her eyes at the absurdity of her thought. Here she was silently pleading they’d make it several more paces when days of arduous travel lay ahead, their path cluttered with mountains that made this rise of land look like a poor-told jest.

A journey that in Lord Grey’s condition, he would never finish.

After the earl’s surly demeanor and distrust, ’twould serve him right if she left him slumped against a rock. And why shouldn’t she leave him behind? She owed the rebel nothing. If anything, it was he who owed her thanks for saving his life.

Not that she expected his gratitude.

Linet took in the vast roll of hills ahead of them, terrain that would erode to steep angles of rock and cliff. Could she make it to the Highlands alone? Unlikely, not on foot. Why hadn’t she thought to have arranged for horses awaiting them? Then again, the chance to slip two steeds out of Breac Castle’s gates without Fulke’s knowledge was a near impossibility.

The forest before her posed a daunting challenge, with thick stands of elm, ash, pine, and shrub, wild animals, and rivers to navigate.

Although the English had subdued the Scots and dismissed the possibility of war as but fleeting rumbles of unrest, bands of English troops as well as outraged Scots traveled these lands. To come upon either could result in disaster.

Sweat streamed down the rebel’s wan face as he labored with each step.

Guilt rolled through her. Her brother was responsible for Seathan’s suffering.

Seathan?

Look at her, one kiss and here she was thinking of him in familiar terms. What next? Would her mind turn to other, more intimate thoughts? She sobered. No, Lord Grey was the last man she would seek out for permanence, or believe capable of giving his love. Warriors like him were drawn by power, by the challenge of battle.

She wanted neither.

One day she would find love, but it would not be from a Scottish rebel intent on war.

Seathan stumbled. “Bedamned,” he grunted as he righted himself. Lines of strain dug across his brow as he pushed forward.

“You are keeping a good pace,” she lied. She stole a glance behind them. Soon Fulke would order his men to search beyond the castle walls. With the earl’s pace but a crawl, Fulke’s knights would find them before midday.

The sun peeked above the trees when they finally topped the hill.

She glanced at Seathan. Haggard lines furrowed his face, his breaths hard, ragged gasps. However much they must keep moving, he needed to rest. She started to halt.

He scowled at her, broke free. “Go.”

“Are you addled? Without my help, you are as good as dead.”

A smile as cold as it was determined touched his mouth. “Dead? I grew up here. Unlike you, this forest is my home.”

“And if I leave you here,” she said, “your grave.”

“Better th-than rotting in Tearlach’s cell, or hanging from the bastard’s rope.”

“In that we agree. However determined—or pigheaded—you are, you would not make it a league before you fell on your arse.” She jammed her hands upon her hips. “Which would serve you right.”

Green eyes narrowed. “Be gone. I—I need not a weak English lass slowing me down.”

Anger ignited inside her. “Weak English lass? I could have left you in the dungeon to die, or abandoned you anytime since.”

“Tell me,” he said through gritted teeth, “wh-why does my freedom mean so much to you?”

She firmed her lips.

“No answer? I thought not.” Seathan waved his hand in dismissal. “You have served your purpose. Leave.”

Outrage exploded through her like hot oil poured on fire. “Purpose? You are an arrogant, ungrateful malt-worm. Stay here then and die. I assure you, I will lose not a whit of sleep!”

Linet turned on her heel and headed north. Let the braggart rot in his self-pride. Let him try to make the journey on his own. Yes, he’d make it—about ten paces before he fell on his stubborn, pride-filled face and passed out.

Then Fulke’s men would find him.

And kill him.

She glanced back.

Seathan hadn’t moved.

The irritating Scot stood atop the knoll with unwavering defiance. Oh, he was trying to look fierce, as if even in his weakened state, single-handed he could take on a contingent of King Edward’s men.

She stilled. Sweet Mary, his fierceness was but deception, proven by his swaying and ashen hue. And she understood.

An intelligent man, he’d realized that at their pathetic pace, it was only a matter of time before Fulke’s guards would catch up to them and put her in danger. He’d pushed her away—to save her life.

The lout!

How dare he be noble and attempt to protect her when she was trying to save his sorry hide. Linet stormed back. At her approach, his mouth drew into a formidable grimace. A threatening tactic her brother had tried to use on her as well.

And failed.

Irritated, she poked a finger into his muscled chest. “Your fierce looks will not work. How dare you try to manipulate me!”

Eyes bright with fever bore into her. “As you did to me back in the cell?”

Her finger wavered, then fell. Guilty, but that wasn’t the point, neither did she miss that he didn’t deny the tactic. Why did he have to go and make this all a mired mess? Her plan was simple. She’d wanted nothing more from him than his escort. Once they arrived in the Highlands, when she walked away from him, there would be no looking back, no remembering him. He meant nothing to her. Never would.

Except now he had to go and be noble.

“I am not a weak-willed maid who will be running off at the first sign of threat.”

No, Seathan agreed through the haze of pain storming his mind. On that he agreed. This lass, half English, half Scot, had a backbone many a man would admire. But he couldn’t tell her that, or allow her to remain at his side. If he passed out, he couldn’t protect her. Alone, he would hide within the woods as he had done many times throughout his life. Rest would help him heal. As for travel, somehow he would make it to his home, Lochshire Castle, to send a messenger to warn Wallace and the other rebels about Dauid.

Seathan shot her a menacing look, one that had left squires trembling in their boots. “I told you to leave.”

Lavender eyes flashed with defiance. “You did, but I am staying to help your ungrateful, stubborn hide as your mind is obviously mulled by fever.”

Stunned, he stared at this wisp of a woman. The lass was looking out for him? Lured by his status or wealth, women never cared for him without thought of personal gain. She blurred before him.

He focused, barely.

She caught his tunic.

“Wh-What are you doing?”

“I need to check your wounds.”

He had to convince her to leave before he collapsed. “I have changed my mi-mind. I will not escort you to the Highlands.”

Shock streaked across her face. “But you—”

“Lied.” An untruth, but if it would sway her to go, so be it.

Her mouth fell open. She started to shake her head, then stopped. Linet angled her chin. “I do not believe you. You are a man of your word.”

“You know naught of me.”

“I know you are on the verge of collapse. Instead of thinking only of yourself, you are honorable enough to try to persuade me to leave for my own safety.”

He opened his mouth to speak. A dizzying buzz assaulted him. Seathan closed his eyes to ward off the sensation.

Gentle hands caught his shoulders. “Seathan?”

The concern in her voice lured him to admit his tactic. Nay, she must go. He opened his eyes, focused.

A gust of wind, laden with the rich softness of spring, spiraled around her, lifting soft strands of her amber-gold hair in a wayward drift.
Magical.
The unearthly thought whirled in his mind as if he’d drunk too much ale. A heady feeling that numbed the pain strumming his body and made the dangers around them fade.

He inhaled deeply, as if to breathe in her scent would purify his mind, savoring the fragile innocence she wore like a mantle. He’d thought her beautiful in the cell, but with her face embraced within the golden rays, her cheeks rosy against her ivory skin, she seemed angelic. He grimaced. An illusion for sure.

“Seathan?”

The desperation of her voice forced him to focus. “Need to go.” Lord Tearlach would be in a rampage until he was recaptured. And Seathan needed to find and warn his brothers of Fulke’s search as well as Dauid’s treachery.

Emotion overwhelmed him as he thought of the bodies of his knights hacked with merciless glee. John, a man he’d introduced to his wife, whose newborn babe he’d held. And Eoin, a man he’d grown up with, a warrior he’d called friend.

“Do not pass out on me!” Linet demanded.

He glared at her. Naught would stop him from serving justice to Dauid. “A-Aye, lass, we will go.” Through grim determination, Seathan started forward. Muscles screamed with his every step. Sweat rolled down him as if a dam had broken. Images of his butchered men drove him on.

Relief poured through Linet as Seathan started forward. His stumbling gait mattered not. When he’d closed his eyes moments before, she’d thought he would keel over.

Time trudged by with aching slowness as they pressed on. With the passing hours, the sun rose to its zenith.

In the distance, the rush of water grew. Birds called out in trees green with buds that would soon unfurl to leaves, sprouts of grass dared to peek through earth ravaged by winter, and the scent of the air, rich with the tang of spring, sifted on the breeze.

The joy she normally found in the rebirth of the land was overshadowed by the threat of danger.

And her doubts that they truly would escape Fulke’s wrath.

The earl halted.

She turned toward him. “What is wrong?”

Green eyes torn with indecision watched her.

“Swear on your life what I…I am about to show you will st-stay secret.”

Her body tensed. Had he found a sanctuary where they might rest? Linet scanned the area. Within a thick stand of ash, boulders lay in a large clump. Except for a sharp drop-off to the right that plunged to a gorge below, nothing that represented an entry existed. So why was he asking for her vow?

Intrigued, she nodded. “I swear it.”

He raised his hand, pointed; it trembled. “There.”

She frowned. “The trees?”

“Look between the trees. There is a pile of large boulders. A…A cave is hidden beyond.”

“I see no entry.”

“Do you see the moss?”

Linet nodded.

“The mo-moss is woven on a blanket that drapes across the entry.”

“Brilliant.”

A grim smile touched his lips. “Effective.”

It was. The English knights would ride by the rebel hideout.

From behind, a man’s yell broke the silence.

Seathan turned toward the sound. “Tearlach’s men.” He caught her and stumbled forward. “Must get out of sight. Stay on the rocks.” He tugged her as he hurried forward.

The steady thrum of hooves increased.

A branch slapped her face; she caught the next one and shoved it away.

He reached toward the moss, tugged the blanket, and moved aside.

Linet hurried in.

Seathan followed. The moss-sewn cover flopped against the entry, smothering them in muted darkness. “Wait.” He leaned against the wall, his chest heaving. “Le-Let your vision adjust.”

A horse whinnied. The thrum of hooves sounded nearby.

“Over here,” a man called out.

“What have you found?” another man asked.

“Footprints,” the first man replied.

Linet gasped.

Seathan motioned for her to keep silent, his pulse racing, the wound in his right side sticky with blood. Bedamned. If only there had been time to erase their tracks.

“It looks as though the tracks lead to the rocks,” a man said. “Methinks they went into the trees.”

“Mayhap,” a second man replied. Long seconds dragged past. The clomp of hooves upon rock and leaves echoed from outside.

“I do not see anyone,” the first man said, this time his voice closer.

Linet’s body trembled against Seathan’s. He leaned against the wall for support. Out of reflex, he drew her to him, his other hand clasp around his dagger.