His Woman Read Online Free Page A

mistook it for a post and relieved himself on it.” He shook his head with disgust. “I have aired it outside for the past three nights and still it reeks to the heavens.”
    The knight shrugged. “I have said myself the beasts should stay outside once the meals are over, but Lord Frasyer insists they remain within the keep.”
    “He is a stubborn man,” Duncan agreed, “but one whom I serve through our Lord’s guidance.” He was surprised God didn’t strike him down for that blatant lie. It’d take more than the Lord to achieve Duncan’s forgiveness or acceptance for Frasyer luring Isabel away from him.
    Or of Frasyer murdering Symon.
    “Bless you, Father.” The knight departed.
    Duncan started down the steps. As he passed an arrow slit, he noted the sun had set and blackness was eroding the last fragments of the day. He had to hurry.
    In the great hall, he avoided several more requests for his time with excuses of being needed at the chapel posthaste. At the dungeon’s entrance, Duncan slipped past a guard busy charming a wench for a romp. With the castle secured for the night, the sentry had obviously dismissed any possible threat.
    The trickle of water echoed from below as Duncan made his way down the steps Frasyer had shown him years ago, a time when they were friends. A lone torch impaled at the top of the steps illuminated the tufts of moss clinging in patches on the rough stone wall, lined with spider webs.
    With quiet steps, Duncan rounded the last bend, only to collide with the ripe scent of the poorly kept cells. “God in heaven.” Isabel lived in this? Had Symon known, he would have urged Duncan to kill Frasyer outright.
    At the first door, he squinted through the tiny peephole.
    Empty.
    A tormented groan, he recognized as male, echoed from inside the next cell. Despite his assurance that Isabel meant nothing to him, his blood iced. Please, God, let Isabel have been spared such brutality.
    Duncan moved on. Meager rays of light filtered through the small, narrowed windows. He couldn’t make out if a prisoner was inside. After listening for several seconds, he concluded it was empty.
    Frustrated, he hurried down the corridor. If possible, the stench grew worse. He almost heaved. Aye, he and his brothers had taken prisoners, a casualty of battle, but they’d ensured the men were treated with basic decency. This filth, that of rotting food and unkempt cells, wasn’t fit for a maggot.
    Whatever Isabel had done to upset Frasyer, she didn’t deserve this.
    “Where are you, lass?” His whisper melded with the echo of men’s groans. Was Isabel hurt? Sick? Lying helpless and unable to yell for help?
    If he didn’t find her soon, with daylight fading, he might never be able to. With his mind steeped in emotions he’d rather not feel, Duncan moved to the next cell.
    He peered inside. Wisps of the waning light embraced the profile of a woman standing near a pathetically small window. It outlined her slender body, the soft curve of her jaw, the paleness of her cheeks, and the lush whisky-colored tresses that settled over her shoulders like dying embers.
    Isabel.
    The years peeled away. Her laughter rushed over him, deep and warm. How her fingers had trembled as they’d skimmed across his chest with a nervous touch, and the need that had exploded between them as he’d stolen his first kiss.
    Duncan smothered memories of their past, angry he could still be moved so deeply when it came to her. He removed the bar that bolted the thick wooden door and shoved it open.
    Torchlight spilled into the dank chamber.
    At the scrape of metal against wood, Isabel turned, her amber eyes wide and unsure. She frowned. “Father?”
    Duncan glanced behind him, half expecting to see a priest. He muttered a curse and shoved back his hood. “Nay.”
    Isabel paled. “Duncan?”
    “Quiet, lass.” He kept his voice soft. “The guards will be making their rounds soon, and you will be giving us both away.” With one last