How the flat stomach all but invited his gaze lower.
He wasn’t sure which was worse, the emotional torment she had put him through, or the knowledge that his body still welcomed the sweet torture of her physically.
“Hurry up,” he hissed.
“I am ready.” She stepped into the light, her willowy body now hidden within the folds of a page’s clothes and her hair concealed beneath the hood of the cloak.
“That should hide you well enough.” He silently cursed the vision of her naked etched in his mind.
Isabel frowned. “What if they do not believe I am a lad?”
“For both our sakes, you had best pray they do.” He drew up his own hood. What more could he say? Surely she knew the risks if they were caught. After living under Frasyer’s roof and spending time in his dungeon, she should have become well acquainted with his cruelty. “This way.”
At the landing, he was pleased to find the guard and the serving wench he’d passed earlier thoroughly immersed in their carnal act.
He motioned Isabel past the lovers. When she caught sight of their coupling, she lowered her gaze. Duncan frowned. With her role as mistress, he would have believed any innocence long past.
They approached the door to the great hall and Duncan paused. “Stay with me,” he ordered under his breath. “Whatever happens, do not look around.”
They’d barely entered the bottom floor of the keep when two guards heading toward the dungeon passed them. He increased his stride, the hard set of the men’s faces prodding his unease.
With Isabel at his side, they crossed the large room. Appearing too tired to bother with comings and goings, the servants cleaning the trencher tables never looked up.
Once Duncan and Isabel had climbed the tower steps to where they were hidden from view, she halted. “Why are we going up?”
A faint smile curved his lips. Why indeed. He opened his mouth to inform her of their foul escape route when a shout arose from below.
“It is Lady Isabel,” a man yelled. “She has escaped.”
“Search the keep,” another man’s voice boomed.
Duncan grabbed her hand and started up the steps. “Run!”
Instead, she yanked her hand free. “You go. Escape while you can.”
He whirled on her. Was she mad? Had Symon been wrong? Did she want to stay with Frasyer? “Blast it, lass. We have no time for this foolishness.”
Isabel touched the embroidery shoved within her pocket. “No. I am not leaving.”
Chapter 3
Duncan glared at Isabel, furious she’d argue about leaving. “It is not a debate.” He caught her arm.
“Duncan—”
Ignoring her protests, he hauled her behind him as he hurried up the stairs. After a few tense moments, the abating pounding of footsteps below assured him they were safe for now. With their lord’s fury driving them, the knights would search the lower floor. Then they would work upward.
Until Frasyer’s men found Isabel, no space would be left unchecked.
They reached the latrine he’d used to enter the castle, and Duncan opened the door. A blast of fouled air greeted them. He started inside, but with her free hand, Isabel caught hold of the entry wall.
“Stop, Duncan.”
He rounded on her. “If you have not noticed, the guards are scouring the castle for you!”
Amber eyes darkened with regret. “I cannot leave. You have fulfilled your obligation to Symon. Go,” she added when he opened his mouth to speak.
He gritted his teeth. Aye, he should leave her behind without a care. If she were caught and hauled to the dungeon, ’twas her decision.
Shouts of men boomed in the turret.
Her face paled. “They are coming up. Hurry.” She twisted her hand free and backed into the corridor. “If I am caught, I will swear to them I escaped alone. They will not suspect your help. Go. You will be safe.”
Why was she acting like this? Almost as if she cared about him? “I promised Symon I would see you safe.”
“And you have done that.”
“I do not remember giving you a choice.” Duncan grabbed her hand and jerked her inside the latrine. She struggled to break free as he shut and barred the door.
“We will be caught if we stay here!”
He shot her a hard look. “Once you are away from Moncreiffe Castle, if you are foolish enough to return to the rat-infested haven of Frasyer’s dungeons, it is your choice.” Duncan started toward the round stone opening he’d crawled up earlier.
Isabel fought to break from his grip with his every step. “I told you, I cannot leave!”
He hauled her to him. “What is so blasted important that you would stay here at the risk of your life?”
“I—”
“Check the upper floors,” a guard shouted nearby.
Duncan leaned toward her with menace. “Answer me!”
Isabel scraped her teeth across her lower lip as she glanced at the door. Muted yells of men searching the keep echoed in the distance. Panic churned in her eyes as she faced him.
“My mother’s Bible.”
Of all the answers he’d expected, none were even close. “You will have to think of a better reason than that.”
“I must take it with me.”
Desperation battered her tone, but he refused to be swayed. “Procure yourself another Bible, or rather, if you are foolish enough to return, ask Frasyer to commission a scribe to pen you another copy. Regardless of the phenomenal cost, I am sure your lover will gratefully gift you with another.” Hurt flashed in her eyes at his harsh words, but how did she think he’d feel at her breaking their betrothal a week before they were to wed to become Frasyer’s mistress? He, at least, had loved her.
Frasyer was a man who Duncan had grown up with, a man he had once called his friend. But after the day Duncan had won a youthful joust between them, Frasyer’s friendship had soured, his goal since, regardless of his title, was to win or take whatever Duncan desired.
Including Isabel.
He watched her now, as indecision flickered across her face and he couldn’t help the twinge of regret that he no longer held the ability to surmise what she was thinking. Too much time had passed. The bond they’d once held was long lost.
“If I do not find the Bible,” she said with an ominous softness, “my father will hang.”
Stunned, Duncan straightened. “Lord Caelin is here?”
“No.”
“Then where is he?”
“Please.” Her tone held desperation. “We do not have time for this discussion.”
“Aye, you are right there, lass. But I am not moving until I get answers. What does your mother’s Bible have to do with your father’s life?”
The guards’ voices grew closer.
“I will say this once more,” he warned into her panic-stricken gaze. “If I do not get the truth, I will truss you up and carry you, willing or not.”
The words burst from her in a rush. “Frasyer has charged my father with giving the rebels money and sent him to the Baron of Monceaux in England for his crime. Before I was taken away, my father told me to search in the Bible. I believe proof of his innocence lies within.”