Highland Honor [Murray Brothers Book 2] Read online

  "But ye refuse my help."

  "I must. This is not your trouble. It would be discourteous to pull you into the midst of our difficulties."

  "Even if I am willing to be pulled into the midst of them?"

  "Just so."

  Nigel shrugged. “As ye wish."

  "We do thank you most heartily for your kind concern."

  "We?” said Gisele, but Nigel just smiled and Guy ignored her interruption.

  "Despite your courteous refusal of my aid,” Nigel said, “be assured that it still stands. Ye ken where to find me if you change your mind."

  Nigel bowed slightly and left. Only feet from Guy's tent he stopped and looked back. He briefly considered sneaking back and lurking around the tent to listen to what was said, then shook his head. They would be more cautious now, would whisper and guard their words, making eavesdropping impossible. He could only wait and pray that they sought his aid before whatever threat they feared caught up with them.

  "That may have been a mistake,” Guy said softly as he secured the flaps of his tent.

  "We do not need the Scotsman's help,” Gisele said as she sat down on a small, blanket-covered chest.

  "Such confidence you have in my ability to keep you safe.” Guy sat down by the small, rock encircled pit in the middle of the dirt floor and began to make a fire.

  "You are most skilled and highly honored as a knight."

  "Thank you for that accolade, but my reputation, meager as it is, has been earned in battle, in honorable combat. This is different. I am all that stands between you and a veritable horde of vengeful DeVeaux and their hirelings, none of whom are known for acting honorably. Another sword could be helpful."

  "We do not know if he means to use that sword to help us or to prod us into the hands of our enemies. The Scotsman could well be one of those DeVeau hirelings."

  Guy shook his head. “I cannot believe that."

  "You do not know the man."

  "True, but neither have I heard ill of him. We should not discard him completely."

  Gisele inwardly cursed and rubbed her hands over her newly shorn hair. She could not believe Sir Murray meant them any harm, but feared her opinion was formed by the man's fine face and beautiful eyes. Guy admitting to feeling the same trust in the man only lessened her unease a little. She had been running and hiding for too long to trust easily, even in her own opinions. Some of her own kinsmen believed the accusations against her, had turned their backs on her, so why should some stranger from a strange land offer to help? And would he still offer once he learned why the DeVeaux hunted her, or how much they were offering for her capture?

  "Then we will not discard him completely,” she finally said, “but neither will we blindly accept him as our friend."

  "Sometimes one can be too cautious, cousin."

  "True, but do not forget why I am in hiding. Sir Murray may not be so friendly or so ready to aid us when he learns the reason for our caution and this deception.” She smiled faintly. “Many a man finds it difficult to forgive a woman who kills her husband."

  "But you did not kill him."

  "The DeVeaux believe I did, as do some of our own kinsmen. Why should a stranger believe me over all of them?” She nodded when Guy grimaced and softly cursed. “We will watch and make our decision about the Scotsman with care."

  "Agreed. I but pray that the DeVeaux do not find us first."

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  Two

  "Most pages dinnae wear such bonny amulets."

  Gisele cursed, shoved her garnet-encrusted locket back inside her jupon, and glared at the grinning Scotsman as she hefted her sack of wood over her shoulder. She did her best to ignore his beautiful smile as she started to walk through the wood, back toward Guy's tent. It had been one full week since Sir Murray had intruded upon her secret. The man had shadowed her every move. She was constantly bumping into him, seeing that alluring grin at every turn. Gisele was not sure what annoyed her more, his persistence or her unshakable attraction to the rogue.

  "Do ye want some help with that kindling?” Nigel asked as he fell into step by her side.

  "Non,” she snapped, irritated that she was unable to walk faster than he could. “Have you not considered the chance that all of your attention to me could rouse some suspicion?"

  "Aye, but I dinnae think that the suspicion will be that ye are really a lass and nay a lad."

  "What could they think if not that?"

  "That I have grown weary of women."

  She frowned, then gasped and blushed as she understood what he meant. “That is disgusting."

  Nigel shrugged. “'Tis France."

  "Be wary, my fine knight. I am French."

  "Aye, and ye are the bonniest sight I have set eyes upon in the long seven years that I have roamed this land."

  That effusive flattery made her heart beat a little faster, and Gisele silently cursed the man. “Have you nothing else to occupy your time and thoughts beside my paltry problems?"

  "Not at this time."

  At the edge of the wood, while they were still sheltered by the trees and the shadows they cast, Gisele turned to look at him. Why did he have to be so handsome? Why did she feel anything for him at all? She had been so sure that her brutal husband had killed all interest in men for her, but she recognized the signs of a dangerous attraction even though it had been well over a year since she had felt any such thing. Where had this fine knight been when she could have enjoyed a flirtation, savored the warming of her blood and the clouding of her thoughts without fear? He was out wallowing in wine and women, she suddenly thought, and scowled.

  "This is not a trouble you need to concern yourself with,” she said.

  "I ken it, but I have chosen to intrude.” He briefly grinned as he leaned against a tree and crossed his arms over his broad chest. “Why are the DeVeaux hunting you?"

  "Merde, you are like a hungry dog who has sunk his teeth into a bone."

  "My brothers always said that I could be a stubborn bastard. Lass, I ken ye are being hunted, and I ken by whom. Your disguise has been no secret to me since the moment ye donned it. I also ken that ye have a bounty upon your sweet head. The only thing I dinnae ken is the why of it all.” He met her gaze and held it. “Why do the DeVeaux want ye dead? I think ‘tis because they believe ye killed one of their kinsmen. If that is the truth of it, then which kinsman, and why should they ever think that a wee, bonny lass like yourself would kill anyone?"

  He was close to the truth, she thought, captivated by the warmth of his amber eyes. Too close. A large part of her desperately wanted to confide in him. More alarmingly, a large part of her desperately wanted him to believe in her innocence.

  She forced herself to look away, afraid that his gaze would pull the truth from her. To trust him with the truth would be to gamble with her life and, quite possibly, with Guy's. She simply could not take that chance. To her disgust, she was also afraid that he would not believe her, would turn against her like so many others, and she knew that would deeply hurt her.

  "As I have tried to tell you—” she began, then realized that he was no longer listening to her, had instead straightened up and was staring intently toward the camp. “Is something wrong?"

  "The Sassanachs,” he hissed.

  "The who?"

  "The English.” He pushed her ahead of him as he began to hurry back to the camp. “Ye must get to Guy's quarters and stay there."

  "But, I see nothing. No alarm has been sounded. How can you know that the English are close at hand?” She stumbled, only to be roughly straightened up by him and pushed forward. “Merde, do you smell them or something, or are you just mad?"

  "Oh, aye, I can smell the bastards."

  Before Gisele could question that a cry rippled through the camp. Men scrambled to arm themselves. She looked at Nigel in amazement even as he shoved her inside Guy's tent and disappeared. The first sound of swords clashing reached her ears and yanked her free of her bemuseme
nt. She tossed her sack of kindling aside and grabbed one of Guy's daggers, then sat down on the dirt floor facing the tent opening. If the battle came to her she was ready to meet it.

  As she sat there, tense and alert, she found herself wondering about the Scotsman, something that happened far too often now for her liking. This was not a good time to be concerned about anyone, especially a man. Such distraction could easily cost her her life. All of her attention had to be on one thing and one thing only—eluding the DeVeaux. Her heart and mind, however, did not seem to want to heed that truth. No matter how hard she tried to get the amber-eyed Scotsman out of her head, thoughts of him continually crept back in.

  Nigel Murray was an exceptionally handsome man, and many a woman would be unable to resist thinking about him. That knowledge did little to soothe Gisele's concern and irritation. She should be better than that. She had seen the dark side of men, seen the black heart a beautiful face could hide. The Scotsman did not seem to carry that taint, but Gisele knew she could no longer trust herself to make that judgment. Although she had adamantly if futilely refused to wed DeVeau, having believed all the dark tales about the man, even she had not realized the depths of his amoral and brutal nature.

  Gisele cursed as thoughts of her dead husband brought the dark memories of her time with him rushing to the fore of her mind. It had been almost a year since she had found his mutilated body and, knowing that she would be blamed, had run for her life. They had only been married for six months, but she knew the things DeVeau had done to her would scar her for life. So, too, would what she saw as her betrayal by her family. They had done nothing to help her before or after her marriage to DeVeau, and many of them had believed the DeVeaux claim that she had murdered her husband. That was beginning to change, but she knew she would be slow to forgive and forget.

  A scream brought her attention back to her precarious position. It was the chilling sound of a man dying, but what alarmed her more was how near it was. The battle had drawn dangerously close to the tent. Gisele slowly stood up as the clash of swords continued at what sounded like only a few paces away. Hiding within the tent no longer felt safe. It began to feel very much like a trap.

  The dagger held tightly in her hand, she inched through the tent opening and then halted. Horror and fear held her rooted to the spot. Guy was in a fierce battle for his life with two men whose shields held the heraldic colors of the house of DeVeau. They had found her, and they were about to cut down one of the few members of her large family who had believed in her, just as they had cut down Guy's friend Charles. Gisele shuddered as she quickly looked away from the amiable young knight's body.

  "Get away!” bellowed Guy as he nimbly evaded a lethal thrust of a sword.

  Just as Gisele realized that if Guy knew she was there so did the DeVeaux, a third DeVeau man appeared and slowly approached her sword in hand. She held out her dagger and knew that the huge knight had every right to grin so arrogantly. She and her tiny weapon were no threat to him.

  "Drop the dagger, you murderous whore,” he said, his deep voice little more than a rough growl.

  "And make this injustice easier for you to commit? Non, I think not,” she replied.

  "Injustice? Non, this is justice. You killed your husband, cut off his manhood, and rammed it down his throat. You deserve all the DeVeaux wish to inflict upon you."

  It suddenly occurred to Gisele that the manner of her husband's mutilation promised that she would never find an ally amongst the men hunting her. The way the knight had spoken of it told her he found it of far more consequence than the murder itself. She found herself wondering if Sir Nigel would be equally appalled and withdraw his support, perhaps even join the DeVeaux, then forced herself to pay heed to something of far greater importance—staying alive.

  "I will not go back to the DeVeau lair,” she said, careful to keep just out of reach of the knight as she tried to get around him, to find a clear route of escape.

  "Oh, oui, you will. Alive or dead."

  "Dead? I believe the DeVeau pack of dogs wish me alive so that they might show me more of their brutality."

  "This chase has lasted for so long that I think they no longer care."

  "Ah, but I care. I would prefer the wee lass alive,” drawled a thickly accented voice in English.

  Gisele's eyes widened when she saw Sir Nigel standing behind the knight who confronted her, but she did not think she looked as surprised as the knight himself. She certainly did not share the DeVeau man's obvious fear. She quickly stepped back as the knight whirled around to face Sir Nigel. He was much too slow to save himself. Although his death was far more merciful than the one he had planned to deliver her to, she still felt sickened as Nigel cut him down. Silently, she pointed to Guy, who was hard pressed to simply hold back the two men trying to kill him.

  Even though she was afraid to look and did not want to see any more death, especially not Guy's or Nigel's, she turned to watch the battle. Its outcome would decide her next step, and that could be a decision she had to make immediately. She also prayed, vehemently, that Sir Nigel and Guy would not pay too dearly for protecting her.

  When Nigel cut down his opponent Gisele felt relieved, almost cheered, for one brief moment. Then Guy's opponent made a skilled thrust that Guy was too slow to deflect. She cried out along with Guy when the sword cut into his left shoulder. Only his quick shift to the right kept the blade from piercing his heart. Even as she moved to help her cousin, Nigel stopped the DeVeau man from delivering the death stroke, swiftly turning the man's attention from taking a life to desperately trying to save his own. It was a short battle, and Sir Nigel quickly ended the man's life. Gisele was just kneeling beside Guy when Sir Nigel wiped his sword on the dead man's jupon, sheathed his weapon, and moved to help her.

  "Sorry, cousin,” muttered Guy, clenching his teeth in pain as Gisele struggled to open his bloodsoaked jupon.

  "For what?” she asked, fighting to ignore the blood and the pain she had to cause him.

  "My first attempt to protect you was a miserable one."

  "Non, fool, it was most gallant."

  "Charles is dead?"

  "I fear so."

  "Curse the DeVeaux and all their progeny. Charles was a good man, the best of companions."

  "I will see that his body is tended with care and honor,” Nigel said.

  "Thank you most kindly.” Guy looked at Nigel and smiled faintly. “Where did you come from?"

  "When I listened to ye speaking by the river I heard the name DeVeau. I took it upon myself to find out what I might about the family. Then in the heat of the battle, I saw ye and your friend turn and run this way. Then I spied the DeVeau men, and felt ye may need some help."

  "And he needs more help now,” Gisele said. “All I need to tend to his wound is within our tent."

  Nigel lifted Guy up and carried him into the tent. Gisele followed, pointed to a bed of sheepskins covered by a blanket, and he gently set the younger man down on it. As Gisele worked to clean, stitch, and bind her cousin's wound, Nigel found a wineskin, sat on a chest, and helped himself to a hearty drink.

  When he had realized that Gisele was in danger he had been seized by an urgency he had not felt in a long time. Seeing her facing a large, sword-wielding knight with only a strong spirit and a small dagger had stirred his admiration, and also made him eager to cut down the man threatening her. He found that both curious and unsettling. It had been a very long time since he had felt any such emotion.

  As she stitched Guy's wound, her face pale with concern, Nigel studied her. She was tiny in height and stature. In the clothes she wore there was little indication that she was a woman, yet his body had no difficulty in reacting to her as one, swiftly and regularly. Gisele was unquestionably pretty with her small face, faintly pointed chin, straight nose, and wide, vividly green eyes. Her dark brows were delicately arched, enhancing the wideness of her eyes, and her lashes were long and thick. She had the most beautiful eyes he had seen in years.
None of it, however, explained the feelings she stirred within him. Adorable though she was, she was no blinding beauty who could inspire men to risk all for no more than a kind word from her full lips. And yet she drew him to her as if she were.

  Entangling himself in her troubles was unwise. From all he had learned of the DeVeaux they were a huge family, rich, powerful, and brutal. A man with his wits about him would do all he could to distance himself from such a family's enemies, would be very careful never to let a DeVeau mark him as an enemy, too. Instead, he had rushed in, sword raised, and killed three DeVeau knights. He could still save himself, for all witnesses to his rescue were dead or would never tell the DeVeaux, but he knew he would not back away now. He felt compelled to help Gisele whether she wished him to or not.

  "You have decided not to return to the battle?” Gisele asked as she finished washing up and moved to start a fire.

  "That fight was near o'er when I decided to come and save your bonny skin."

  She scowled at him, watching very closely as he had a long, hearty drink of her wine. “Guy and I were doing well enough, although I thank you for your kind aid.” She cursed softly when he grinned, revealing that he did not believe her claim any more than she did herself. She and Guy had desperately needed his help, and she somewhat resented that.

  "Ye find it verra hard to admit that ye are neck deep in the mire and sinking fast, dinnae ye?” he asked, still grinning.

  "A vivid turn of phrase,” she murmured. “I have cared for myself for nearly a year with no more than an occasional assist from my family. I believe I can continue to survive."

  "Whate'er ye are running from, lass, is beginning to catch up with you. Aye, ‘tis so close that it has taken the life of a friend and nearly taken that of your kinsmon. Has that happened ere now?"

  Gisele sat down before the growing fire, snatched the wineskin from his hand, and took a large drink. “Non, that has not happened before. I am sorry for Charles, very sorry, for he was young and honorable, a boyhood friend of Guy's. Guy's wound has weakened him, but it will not kill him if properly cared for."