Knights of de Ware 02 - My Warrior (39 page)

At times it seemed to her Holden de Ware must have been a dream she’d had long ago, that she’d imagined his deep, compelling eyes, his warm, insistent kiss, the comforting sweep of his arms around her. And yet the evidence of their intimacy stirred within her, substantial, alive, real. She ran her palm over her swollen belly for the hundredth time.

Katie patted her hand. “Why don’t you nap in your chamber, my lady? You must be worn out. You’ve been working on those designs of yours all morning. I’ll come up with a warm posset later.”

A nap did sound good. She’d slept badly the last night. The babe had kicked and struggled in her womb like a bagged cat. If she slept, perhaps she could find some peace. Perhaps she could forget her melancholy.

She bid Linet a good day and let Katie steer her to her chamber. Katie saw her settled comfortably in the plump bed, stirred the banked fire to life, and placed a motherly kiss on her forehead. Cambria was asleep before Katie reached the door.

It seemed hours later that the serenity of her dreamless sleep was shattered as a servant burst into the room.

“M’lady!” the woman cried breathlessly.

Disoriented and drowsy, Cambria struggled to sit up in the tangle of the bedclothes and her wits. The woman looked vaguely familiar, but Cambria couldn’t quite place the strange hazel eyes and thin lips. She was probably one of Linet’s maids.

“What is it?”

The maid nervously secured the door behind her. “I was told to come straightaway to you,” she whispered hastily.

Cambria rubbed the fog from her eyes.

“It’s about yer husband.”

The blood drained from her face.

“He’s wounded, m’lady, somethin’ fierce.” The maid worked her fingers together. “He’s been askin’ for ye, but he’s too far gone to move.”

Cambria’s eyes flattened. Her heart thudded woodenly against her chest.

“I can take ye to him,” the maid offered. Then she glanced suspiciously around the chamber. “If ye think yer nursemaid’ll let ye go.”

There was no question. Cambria
had
to go to him. No matter what the risk, she had to go to him. Malcolm and Katie would never allow it, she knew, nor would any of the clan, not in her condition. But she had to see her husband. She’d saved him from the ravages of fever once before, saved his life. Perhaps she could do it again.

With quivering hands, she gathered linen for bandages, a dagger, and what healing herbs she kept on her table. Then she donned beggar’s rags. If fortune favored her, no one would give a second glance to the plump, shambling peasant making her way through the front gate.

With the maidservant in tow, she managed to clear Blackhaugh’s wall unnoticed. But padding along the stretch of the main road, intent upon her grave mission, she let her guard slip.

The attack took her completely by surprise. The maidservant grabbed her roughly and shoved her into the thicket before she could resist or draw her dagger. And just as a chunk of rock slammed against Cambria’s temple, sending her to a land of no thoughts, she remembered who the woman was. Owen’s whore.

Linet rubbed the small of her back with one hand and her gritty, sleep-starved eyes with the other. Never had she felt so helpless, so useless.

Cambria had vanished. No one could find her. They’d searched for two days and nights now. They’d tried the hounds. They’d tried hunting parties. They’d even ventured into the camps of long-time clan foes to ask if the laird of Gavin had been seen.

A tear slipped from Linet’s eye. Damn that foolhardy Cambria! If this was all some adventure she’d embarked upon to assuage her boredom… But even as she thought the words, she knew they weren’t true. Alone, Cambria might have indulged in such mischief, but she carried a babe now, the future laird of Gavin. She wouldn’t dream of putting that life at risk. So where was she?

Linet stared out the solar window into the black, clear sky embroidered with a thousand stars, and the great expanse of the heavens made her shiver. Cambria could be anywhere in the vast world, anywhere at all. It would take a miracle to find her. It would take the eyes of the falcon and the instincts of…

A Wolf. The hair prickled at the back of her neck. It wasn’t the first time she’d thought of Duncan. A dozen times she’d considered sending someone to him. Surely he’d know what to do. He’d be easy to locate. He was no doubt fighting in the front lines of the war near Edinburgh. But she couldn’t send someone into that peril—to bear the brunt of both the battle and Holden’s fury when he learned his wife was missing.

She sighed resignedly. Holden must be told. Maybe there was nothing he could do. Maybe it was too late to save Cambria. But Holden would never forgive Linet if she didn’t give him the chance to try.

She swallowed hard. She’d go herself. It couldn’t be far. She’d be safe enough. Surely no one, Scots or English, would attack a pregnant woman. She’d find Duncan. And, God willing, he’d find Cambria.

“Missing!”

Duncan scowled, recovered at last from the shock of discovering his newly pregnant wife in the war camp with nothing but a scrawny squire for escort.

Holden focused on Linet’s face as intently as a falcon on prey, making the poor lady cringe. “What do you mean, ‘missing’?”

Linet shook her grief-weary head. “She’s nowhere to be found, Holden.”

Holden’s anger turned instantly to breathless fear. He searched Linet’s eyes. “You’re serious.”

Linet’s face dissolved into a mask of such hopelessness that he didn’t need an answer.

Holden’s heart tumbled inside his chest. He suddenly couldn’t draw breath. “What… How…”

“No one knows,” Linet said, her voice breaking. “We’ve looked everywhere. Malcolm’s beside himself. I thought if I came…”

Holden had to master his heart before panic claimed him. There was still hope. There was always hope.

“How long have you been traveling?”

“Two days,” the squire reported.

Holden bit back a curse. Duncan voiced one.

“And how long has she been missing?” Holden asked.

“Five days, all told,” Linet choked out.

Holden nodded, controlling keen despair only by clenching his jaw and looking past Linet’s crumbling countenance. Five days. Bloody hell. Much could happen in five days.

He swallowed down the terror that rose up to claim him, blew out a thin breath, and steeled his shoulders. “I’ll leave at once.”

“I’ll come with you,” Duncan said.

“And the king?” Linet said, glancing nervously at the soldiers encamped nearby.

“The de Wares have given more than their share of service,” Duncan assured her.

“I’ve proven my loyalty to the king,” Holden murmured. “It’s time I proved my loyalty to my wife.”

Holden searched feverishly through the Gavin woods. He’d sent his men back to Blackhaugh at sunset. But he couldn’t cease searching, no matter that his eyes could barely pierce the deep shade of the forest. He never doubted for a moment he’d find Cambria. He couldn’t afford to doubt it. He only hoped he’d find her in time. For more than an hour, he stomped through the underbrush, trampling bushes, searching for a sign—a scrap of cloth, a footprint…a drop of blood. He swayed on his feet.
God,
he prayed,
let her be safe.

Then, as he mouthed that silent plea, his attention was caught by an unnatural break in the branches ahead. He rubbed his forehead, afraid weariness may have made him imagine what he’d seen. But when he looked again, it was still there—the unmistakable shape of an
H
made from the bent branches of an oak. Someone had left him a trail.

A hard slap startled Cambria awake. Her head rocked over the splintery floor with the impact.

“Wake up, bitch!”

It was Aggie’s strident screeching. Cambria caught an unpleasant whiff of her unwashed body and winced. The events of the past days crashed down on her like a cartload of armor. A hundred times she’d wished she were not so unwieldy, a thousand times that she had her sword. She was useless like this, lying on her side, gagged, bound hand and foot, fat and slow and vulnerable.

“Haven’t ye birthed that whelp yet?” Aggie whined. “It’s been a week now, and I’m growin’ weary o’ this hovel.” She scratched her nose and bent down to stare into Cambria’s face. “Be a good lass, now, an’ I’ll give ye somethin’ to eat. We can’t have the heir o’ Blackhaugh goin’ hungry, can we?” She cackled and roughly loosened the gag from around Cambria’s jaw.

“Wa…ter…” Cambria’s voice was little more than a croak, and she hated to beg so pitifully, but her throat was parched, and her thirst that of two.

“Oh, aye, aye, ye’ll get yer water,” Aggie grumbled, snatching up a skin from the battered oak table and sloshing its contents into Cambria’s mouth.

Cambria welcomed the precious liquid and the bits of bread Aggie hand-fed her afterward, though they were tough to chew and difficult to swallow.

“It isn’t easy, is it, chokin’ down peasant bread?” Aggie sneered. “That’s all I’ve had to eat my whole life—the leavin’s.” She wadded another piece and stuck it carefully between Cambria’s teeth. “But no more,” she said, her feline eyes gleaming. “I’m goin’ to be a lady now. I’m goin’ to live in that big castle.”

“Blackhaugh?” Cambria managed to rasp out around the bit of bread.

“With servants o’ my own to feed me and dress me…”

“You?”

Aggie glared sharply down at her. “Aye. Me.” She set aside the chunk of bread. “Just as soon as ye see fit to birth that babe.”

Cambria choked down the last piece of bread. She was afraid to ask, but she had to know. “What are you planning, Aggie?”

Aggie ran her finger idly along the edge of the table. “I’m goin’ to save yer babe, lassie, don’t ye fret. And Lord Holden, when he sees how pitiful sorry I am that I couldn’t save the both o’ ye…” She sighed and drew her thin lips into a trembling pout. “He’ll keep me in the best chamber o’ Blackhaugh for saving’ his heir, so properly grateful he’ll be.”

Cambria’s heart fluttered. Aggie’s plan was diabolical. Ruthless. And worst of all, she was right. It would work. Holden would take the woman at her word. Bloody hell, she couldn’t leave her babe in this madwoman’s charge. It was unthinkable. She had to say something, anything, to change Aggie’s mind.

Summoning up all her powers of deception, Cambria managed to force a peal of derisive laughter from her throat.

Aggie turned on her with the fury of a vexed cat. “How dare ye!” she spat. “Ye won’t be laughin’ long after I yank that whelp from ye!”

Cambria continued to rock with laughter.

Aggie stamped her foot. “Damn yer eyes! What ails ye?”

Cambria shook her head. “Holden’s heir, is it? You foolish woman!”

Aggie was beside herself now with anger. “How
dare
ye!”

“Holden won’t be grateful in the least,” Cambria chuckled. “The babe isn’t his.”

Aggie sucked in a shocked breath. “What do ye mean?”

“The babe isn’t his, and he knows it. Why do you think he so willingly left for war?”

Aggie chewed at her lip. “Then whose babe is it?”

Cambria took a deep lungful of air. She’d have to be prepared for anything now. “I think you know the answer to that.”

A panoply of emotions coursed across Aggie’s face—confusion, fury, hurt, disbelief—before she said his name. “Owen.”

Cambria held her breath. Perhaps Aggie would let her go now. There was no point in keeping her. Owen was dead. Holden was removed from the game. As far as Aggie was concerned, Cambria was no longer a pawn.

The corners of Aggie’s mouth turned down, and her eyes grew ugly. “Poor Owen. He never could resist a twitchin’ skirt,” she muttered. “And I’ll wager ye strutted yer backside by him every chance ye had. If it weren’t for ye, he’d never have strayed. If it weren’t for ye, he might still be alive. And I’d be packin’ to move into Blackhaugh. Ye bitch.”

Aggie’s gaze fell on Cambria’s knife, embedded in the table, and sly smile distorted her features.

Cambria squirmed in her bonds.

Aggie seesawed the blade out of the oak and turned it over in her fingers. The burnished dagger hovered inches from Cambria’s face.

“It’s all yer fault,” Aggie whispered, leaning close, her eyes glassy.

Cambria winced as a drop of Aggie’s sweat dripped onto her cheek. God, no, she thought. She couldn’t die like this. Not bound and helpless. Not by her own knife.

“It’ll be a pleasure to slay ye, ye and yer spawn,” Aggie hissed. She raised the dagger high, coupling her hands on the haft.

Cambria had no time. No leverage. No momentum. The blade dropped. She ducked her head and rolled onto her back, toward the attack. The movement surprised Aggie enough to ruin her aim. The tip of the blade only grazed Cambria’s shoulder. But now Cambria’s arms were pinned beneath her, and her stomach was fully exposed.

Leering down, Aggie recovered her balance and raised the weapon again. The blade gleamed as it split the air. This time there was nowhere to go. Screaming as she strained the muscles of her stomach, Cambria shot her legs upward like a loosed catapult. She caught Aggie alongside the head, knocking her sideways. Cambria groaned. Her stomach felt on fire. But she’d gained a few precious seconds. While Aggie recovered her wits, Cambria got her legs under her enough to kneel.

Then Aggie slashed out in wild fury. Cambria bent forward to shield her vulnerable belly. The knife gashed her forehead. Once. Twice. Grazed her cheek. Aggie’s mad spittle sprayed her face.

Cambria couldn’t last much longer. Not with her hands bound behind her. Not without a weapon of any kind. She waited for Aggie to draw back for another strike. She gritted her teeth. Then she swung forward with her head as hard as she could, cracking it against Aggie’s. Pain flashed through her temples and down her neck. Her ears buzzed. Her vision fractured into a million fragments. But the knife whistled past her, harmless.

When her sigh returned, Aggie lay limp on the floor, the dagger deposited like an offering between them. Cambria had to work fast. Ignoring the complaints of her stomach, the sting of her shoulder, and the blood that threatened to seep into her eyes, she inched backward on her knees toward the knife.