His Woman Read Online Free Page B

glance toward the steps, he jumped into the cell and landed on the stiff bed of stale straw. “Hush.”
    “But—”
    Duncan stepped forward and caught her arms.
    A mistake.
    He was close. Too close. The moment was too familiar, as if no time had passed. As if he could blink and make the nightmare of the last three years disappear.
    Her full lips had parted in surprise, but wrapped within the soft luminescence of moonlight, all he could think of was her taste. Of how she had once responded to his touch. Except he’d never claimed what was rightfully his—that she’d given freely to his enemy. Nay, even worse, a false friend, as Frasyer had been during their youth.
    Duncan released her as if burned. Isabel stumbled, then recovered.
    “Why are you dressed like a priest? Or”—Isabel angled her chin—“has Frasyer sent you?”
    “Frasyer? Nay. I came to help you escape.”
    She studied him as if trying to decide if he was telling the truth. “Why?”
    His anger shoved up a notch. “Look around you, lass. You want to stay in this filth?”
    She shook her head and slowly exhaled, drawing his attention to how her dress hung on her slender frame. The bastard was starving her. What other brutalities had Frasyer inflicted upon her?
    “You should not be here,” she said. “You are putting your life in danger.”
    He gave an indignant snort. “And you would be worrying about me?”
    “Please leave.”
    He ignored her frantic warning. It didn’t make sense. Unless…Duncan caught her wrists. “Is this a trap you helped Frasyer set up?”
    Outrage spilled across her face. Isabel tried to yank her hands free. “I would never do such a thing.”
    “Like you would not break your betrothal with me to go to Frasyer’s bed?” Bedamned! He hadn’t meant to ask. He had no desire to relive the bitter betrayal of that time, but the words had already slipped from his mouth.
    Isabel stiffened. “I would not see you harmed.”
    Oddly, he found himself believing her. In the scarred light, Duncan scanned the dismal cell. Except for a wooden bed piled with aged straw and a moth-eaten woolen blanket along with a half-empty bowl with contents he didn’t wish to fathom, the chamber lay bare.
    “I see Frasyer bestows his mistress with only the best of lodgings.”
    A blush scalded her cheeks, but she didn’t turn away. “Why have you come?”
    He released her. “Because Symon asked.”
    At the mention of her brother, her face lost any trace of color. Then, like the first rose of spring, her expression bloomed with hope.
    “Symon?” A smile quivered on her lips. She stepped forward. “He is alive? Thank Mary, I thought he had died.” She laid her hand on his forearm. “Where is he? I must—”
    “Isabel.” At his rough tone, her hand fell away. A dull pounding built in his head. He’d not wanted to tell Isabel like this, with her hopes soaring and her looking at him with such tender belief.
    “Duncan?” Amber eyes watched him with fragile hope. At his silence, she clenched her hands into trembling fists. “Where is Symon ?”
    There would be no easy way to tell her. He handed her the embroidery. “He is dead.”
    “Dead?” Isabel’s breath strangled in her throat as she clutched the delicate fabric. She’d allowed herself to hope, to believe the impossible. The cell blurred around her.
    Symon.
    Her brother, mentor, friend.
    Dead.
    Somewhere in the blackness, hands, strong and firm, caught her shoulders and brought her up against something warm. Something solid.
    “I am sorry.”
    Duncan’s whisper echoed in her mind. She’d foolishly allowed herself to believe the impossible—that her brother lived. All she wanted now was to cling to Duncan and allow him to protect her from this heartbreaking reality. To pretend the past three years had not happened. To imagine Symon healthy and happy, and Duncan’s arms around her a common occurrence, not a gesture of borrowed support.
    A yell from the courtyard startled