taking his gaze from hers, the earl nodded toward another knight. “Travel to Lord Caelin’s home and retrieve the family Bible. If anyone asks, tell them Isabel wishes to have it for prayers.” He turned toward her with a smug look. “She will be needing each and every one.”
The knight gave a brisk nod and left.
Her trembling legs threatened to buckle. How had everything gone so horribly wrong? She’d come here to see Symon and her father. Now, they were taking her father to England where his sentence of death would be certain. And Symon, dear Symon, her voice of sanity was dying. Pain fisted in her chest as her brother struggled to breathe.
Frasyer jerked her closer. “You know what you have to do to free your father.”
So riveted on the sight of her brother crumpled upon the floor, she barely heard Frasyer’s threat. Her brother was expiring.
“Is—Isabel,” Symon rasped. He coughed, a rough, strangled sound.
Her heart was breaking as she watched her brother fight for each breath, his pale face glistening with sweat.
“Please, help my brother,” she begged.
Frasyer’s eyes narrowed. “Tell me where Wallace is hiding.”
The one thing he wanted was the one thing she couldn’t give him. After Symon had sacrificed his life for Wallace’s cause, she refused to betray him. Or the freedom hundreds of people—their people—had sacrificed their lives for.
Neither could she allow her father to die.
From the depths of her trauma grew a will so fierce, a determination so deep, she almost gasped. The strength, drive to succeed, overwhelmed her. She knew what she must do. While Frasyer attended his estate, she would find a way to slip from her chamber and retrieve the Bible. She prayed the heirloom held proof of her father’s innocence against Frasyer’s charges.
Then Lord Monceaux would make the prudent decision. She wanted to believe that as King Edward’s adviser to the Scots, he would not hang a clansman when incontestable evidence of his innocence existed.
As her only hope, she had to try.
Isabel leveled her gaze on Frasyer. “I will tell you naught.”
Disgust soured his face. “Then rot where you belong.” Frasyer dragged her to her feet and shoved Isabel into a guard’s arms. “Lock her in the dungeon.”
“The dungeon!” Horrified, she fought to break free. She’d expected to be left guarded in her chamber as was common for gentry-held captives, not locked within the vile confines Frasyer had constructed below ground. To her knowledge, no one had ever escaped from there.
At least not alive.
“Frasyer!” Isabel pleaded.
He didn’t turn or stop to listen as he headed outside. The clatter of hooves upon dirt and rock sounded as Frasyer, leading his men, rode past.
“Come.” The guard dragged her toward the door.
Frantic, she glanced toward her brother. “Symon!” She tried to jerk free of the knight’s grip. He tightened his hold and hauled her outside.
As the fading shards of sunset greeted her, brilliant in their red-gold streaks across the sky, she caught one last glimpse of her brother’s limp form.
A deep keening tore from her soul. Symon’s blood stained the earthen floor in a crimson puddle. In his left hand, sprawled open, lay the delicate embroidery of Wallace’s arms she’d gifted him with but moments before.
Leaning against the stone wall, Duncan MacGruder stared at Alys haloed in the red-gold of the waning sunset. Her full mouth begged to be kissed, but her eyes were ripe with hesitation.
His body hardened nonetheless. Both knew why he was here. He’d tasted her charms many times before. Her ploy as an innocent was a game they both enjoyed.
A cloud slid over the fading sunlight, casting the woman in shadows. He blinked as her eyes grew more intense, her hair darkening to the spellbinding shade of aged whisky.
Isabel.
His breath caught in his throat at the wash of betrayal and longing her image evoked.
Sunlight spilled free as the cloud moved past and the image faded.
Bedamned. Why had he thought of Isabel now? The very memory of her threatened to destroy his mood. Would he ever forget her? In an agile move, he leaped to the ground before Alys. Aye, he’d bloody well erase every trace of Isabel from his body, mind, and soul.
“Just one kiss?” He allowed his smile to deepen into a dimpled curve.
“Me mum is expecting me.” Alys made no move to leave.
“I will not keep you, but my heart would be breaking without a taste of your lips.” He placed his hand over his heart. “You would not leave a man begging you for a wee kiss, would you now, lass?”
She hesitated a playful moment. “One then.”
With his body thrumming with anticipation, he nuzzled her neck, savoring the silky skin of her throat. She shuddered, and he slid his hand up to slowly caress the back of her neck.
“Duncan?”
He nibbled his way along her jaw. “Aye?”
“I thought you were going to kiss me?”
“I am getting to that.” When she wrapped her hands around his neck and drew him closer, he backed her farther into the cool shadows. He edged her against the stone wall until he could press the entire length of his body against hers.
At her moan, he cupped the swells of her breasts. Blessed simplicity. A soft, warm body to lose himself in without the complications of love.
Or betrayal.
Hoofbeats pounded in the distance.
He pulled away and whirled toward the sound. A rider was heading straight toward them. Friend or foe? With the English scouring the countryside for Wallace or any rebel supporters, one could never tell.
“Duncan?”
He glanced at Alys, the desire hazing her eyes made him curse the interruption more. Still, he had no choice.
“Be off with you now.”
A pout formed on her lips. “But I thought—”
“I will be returning to your house later tonight. We will be finishing.”
The echo of hoofbeats increased.
A frown touched Alys’s forehead as she glanced toward the incoming rider. She faced Duncan. “I would be liking that.” With a blush on her cheeks, she slipped around the stone wall and disappeared.
At the thud of hooves upon tufts of grass, with his body still raging its demand, Duncan glared at the incoming rider. He
