Symon?
He bolted toward his friend.
The horse cantered without guidance, its reins loose over the saddle and tossed about in the wind.
A dark red line stained Symon’s left side.
Wild-eyed, the horse shied away at Duncan’s approach.
“Steady there, lad.” He snagged the bridle, the scent of blood strong. “Symon?”
His friend groaned and fell forward.
Duncan caught Symon and laid him on the ground as gently as possible. By God, the wound in his left side was an ugly, angry gash. It would take a needle and thread and a miracle to heal.
Why wasn’t he hidden with Wallace in the bogs west of Selkirk Forest? What had occurred for Symon to risk exposing himself? Duncan tore a strip off his tunic and pressed it to Symon’s side. “What has happened?”
Symon’s eyes flickered open. “Frasyer.”
Though whispered, the name exploded in Duncan’s mind like oil tossed in a fire too hot. “The bastard. I will—”
Symon coughed and blood trickled from his mouth. “Save Isabel.”
Isabel? His heart kicked for an entirely different reason. She was in danger? “Where is she?”
A shudder racked his friend’s body. “Frasyer has locked her in his dungeon.” He worked for his next words. “Get her out.”
“I will,” he said between clenched teeth, “after I murder him with my bare hands.”
“No. With your ties to Wallace, Frasyer would gladly use any excuse to kill you. You must sneak in.” Symon grasped Duncan’s tunic, his body trembling with visible effort. The despair in Symon eyes chilled Duncan’s blood further. “Promise me you will see her free.”
He’d loved Isabel, and she’d betrayed him. Everything in him screamed to keep his distance from a woman who’d seemed so pure yet was poison to his soul.
“You need a healer,” Duncan said.
Symon’s breathing faltered. His hands fell limp to his sides. “It is too late for me.”
’Twas true. His friend’s voice had eroded to a harsh whisper, his skin decaying to a chalky sheen. “Symon—”
“Save my sister.”
Duncan’s heart tore apart. He loved this man like a brother and despised Symon’s sister like Satan’s curse.
Symon’s gaze burned into him with fury. “Your vow!”
Duncan curled his hand into a fist and damned the words. Damned himself. He could do no less for a friend. “I swear it.”
A flicker of peace touched Symon’s face. “Give her this.” His hand trembled as he slid a finely woven cloth stitched with Wallace’s arms into Duncan’s hand. “Tell Isabel…tell her I love her.” He exhaled sharply. On a ragged breath, Symon sagged back, lifeless.
Chapter 2
With his body wedged against the cold stone walls of Moncreiffe Castle’s latrine shaft, Duncan’s muscles screamed their outrage. Bracing his boot in another slippery crevice, he pushed upward. With each step, he cursed the woman he’d come to rescue.
“You had better be appreciating this,” he muttered to himself. He tugged the cloth secured around his nose tighter, then reached for his next hold. As if Isabel would. He needed wealth and status before she’d grant him her favor.
Such as she had done with Frasyer.
The thought curdled in his gut with the impact of the stench surrounding him.
The worn, worsted wool sack hanging from Duncan’s shoulder snagged on a rough stone as he pulled himself up. He grumbled a curse under his breath as he untangled the bag holding the disguise for himself and Isabel.
Duncan wrapped his fingers tightly around the next stone. “And what did bedding an earl buy ye, lass?” His muscles bunched as he inched up. “The dungeon. And it is the why of it I will be learning when I reach you.”
Above him, the dim flicker of light sifted through the portal. He wrinkled his nose in disgust. The insult of having to scale the latrine chute at dusk was humbling. With Frasyer’s castle well guarded and after two attempts to sneak in having failed after his solemn vow to Symon two days past, Duncan had been left no choice but to slip inside using this dank entry.
As he stretched for the next indent, his fingers slid against the slimy surface. With a scowl, he wiped his hands on the thin cloth he’d wrapped around his waist to protect his trews. The stench was worse than fouled bog moss.
In the waning light, he searched for another hold. As much as he disliked Isabel, it would bring him no pleasure to inform her of her brother’s death. His chest squeezed with a suffocating ache as he remembered his friend. At least he’d seen Symon properly buried.
So where was Symon’s father, Lord Caelin? Of the many people Duncan had asked, no one seemed to know. He’d keep inquiring until he found him. As a close family friend, it was his duty to inform Symon’s father of his son’s death.
At the top of the latrine chute, he peered through the opening. A single torch lit the barren chamber. Mold clung on the lower walls. Rats squealed as they shot past, stirring dust motes. In the far corner near a poorly crafted bowl lay a pile of old rags. He scrunched his nose. The stench within rivaled that which clung to his garments.
“At least it is empty.” With a grimace, Duncan squeezed through the hand-chiseled opening.
Men’s voices echoed outside the door.
“Blast it.” He hauled the bag up and dropped it to his side. Turning toward the door, he withdrew his sword.
Seconds passed.
Nearby, water dripped from a crack in the ceiling. Wind from the loch tunneled up the opening with an unsettling moan. Thankfully, the voices faded.
Relaxing, he secured his sword, tore off the protective cloth from his nose and garb and used both to wipe away any evidence from his climb.
Disgusted when he did no more than spread the brownish stains, he threw the soiled linen on top of the corner pile where it blended in. If his clothes reeked of dung, so be it. Without water to aid his efforts, he’d done all he could.
He tugged the priest’s robe from the sack and shook his head at himself. “It is a sad day, lad, when you dress as a man of God for your enemy’s mistress.” But he’d made his promise—a promise he would keep before washing his hands of Isabel and her smoldering eyes and lying tongue once and for all.
He donned the garb, drew up the hood to cover his head, and headed down the corridor. At the entry to the stairs, voices echoed from below.
Duncan hurried down the spiral steps. As he moved into the shadows untouched
