“You know where Wallace is hiding.”
“Tell the bastard naught,” Symon growled.
Her throat tightened. Why had her brother spoken? His claim had undermined any argument she might have used to deny her knowledge of the rebel leader’s hideout.
Isabel touched the dagger hidden beneath the folds of her cloak. If she could move close enough to Frasyer, mayhap she could catch him by surprise and buy her brother and father time to make their escape.
“I wish to speak with you in private,” Isabel said.
Frasyer arched a brow. “Speak.”
She turned sideways and tried to step between her father and brother; they didn’t budge. “Let me pass.”
“Frasyer will not take you,” Symon stated.
The earl’s gaze flicked to where her hand had paused over her weapon. “Do not be a fool and challenge me, Isabel. I have twenty-two of my best knights in company.” At her silence, the earl’s lips curled into a nasty expression. “I see you have made your choice. An unwise one that your father will pay for as well. Not with his home, but with his life.”
“No!” She shoved at Symon’s shoulder; he blocked her as Frasyer and his men charged him.
Metal clanged as Symon intercepted a blow from Frasyer’s master-at-arms. Two knights caught her father and slammed him against the wall. The knight closest to Lord Caelin bashed the hilt of his sword against her father’s head.
Isabel withdrew her dagger as her father staggered, blood seeping from a narrow gash in his head. “Da!”
Symon’s strangled curse caught her attention. Air exploded from her chest as Frasyer shoved his blade deeper in Symon’s side. “Symon!”
With a rough pull, Frasyer freed his weapon.
Clutching his side, his face blanching, her brother crumpled to the floor. His claymore jangled to silence by his side.
The room spun. Isabel dropped next to her brother and gathered him into her arms. “Oh, Symon!”
“Isa—” A cough staggered from his lips.
“Stay quiet,” she whispered, horrified at the bright red beginning to stain his side. Oh, God, please don’t let him die. Not Symon. He was her only hold on sanity in her fractured life. No matter what, she could come to him. Always.
He couldn’t die.
Frasyer caught her shoulders and hauled Isabel to her feet. “Where is Wallace?”
“Damn you!” She shoved against his chest and broke free. Isabel drove her dagger toward Frasyer.
The earl caught her wrist and squeezed. Pain ripped through her arm, and the knife clattered to the floor.
“You are a fool,” the earl seethed.
A few feet away, Symon gasped for his every breath. Sprawled within his left hand lay the delicate embroidery of Wallace’s arms.
“Let me go to him,” she pleaded. “Symon needs me.”
Frasyer’s fingers bit deeper into her flesh. Cruel, determined lines scored his face. “Tell me.”
“Do not,” her father yelled.
Like a wolf sensing its prey, Frasyer’s gaze settled on her father, pinned against the wall by two of his knights. “Mayhap he knows.”
Fresh fear ripped through her veins. Isabel’s entire body trembled. “No!” Frasyer’s brand of questioning would cripple her father. And her brother, her dear brother, who lay dying, she had to protect him as well. “He knows nothing. I swear it.”
Frasyer glanced at Lord Caelin with disdain.
She strained against his hold. “He is no threat to you.”
“No?” Frasyer watched her with a calculating expression. “He had a rendezvous with a known outlaw.”
The bastard. “He met his son!”
“As Earl of Frasyer and magistrate of these lands, I view his presence differently.” He tugged her closer, his mouth curling into a sneer. “Give me what I want or I will charge your father with aiding the rebels and he will hang.”
Stricken, she stared at the man to whom she’d already sold her soul, loathing him more than she’d ever thought possible to loathe another human being.
“He knows nothing,” she whispered. “You know that. All that interests his mind is gambling and drink.” Isabel cringed inwardly at the truth. If it would save him, she would admit anything.
“Is that so?” He leaned closer until their faces were inches apart. “I am not so sure. Lord Caelin is known for his, let us say, questionable associations.”
Her brother’s moans from several feet away, dragged her gaze toward him. She needed to tend to Symon. “Please, do not do this.”
“Whatever happens now is your decision. Will your father live or die?”
“My brother—”
“Too late for him. It is your father’s life that we speak of.”
Fear clawed at her chest. Desperately, she searched for another option to save her father and caught sight of her dagger on the floor. Isabel tore her hand free and dove for her weapon.
With a grunt of disgust, Frasyer planted his boot upon the blade. He stared down at her. “You may not be privy to the rebels’ plans, but I would wager you know where they are hiding.” He reached down and snatched the dagger. “It will take a fortnight to prepare and deliver the charges of your father’s suspicious activity to King Edward’s Scottish adviser, the Baron of Monceaux.” His voice turned silky. “If you have not told me where Wallace’s hideout is by then, your father will be found a traitor against England and hung. After, I will deal with you…in private.”
Isabel opened her mouth to respond, unsure what to say.
“The Bible,” Lord Caelin hissed between rough breaths.
Isabel crawled closer to her father so she could hear him.
Lord Caelin lifted his head nearer to her. “In your mother’s Bible. Search for the answer there.”
At the knowing smile creeping over Frasyer’s lips, she froze. He’d overheard!
The earl gestured toward her father as he spoke to his master-at-arms. “Take him to the Baron of Monceaux at Rothfield Castle. Notify him that Lord Caelin is to be charged with treason against the crown, and I will be sending a writ outlining the details of his offenses posthaste. King Edward will enjoy displaying his head on a pike for all to witness the penance if they dare to betray him.”
“Yes, my lord.” The master-at-arms motioned toward several knights. The men wrestled her father out the door.
“Da!”
