Highland Protector Read online

  “I want him dead,” she whispered, shocked at her own words.

  “Of course ye do. He is doing his best to destroy your entire family whilst seeking to enrich his own.”

  She stood up and began to pace the room. It was difficult to do so, but she finally stopped before a heavy tapestry that depicted the Garden of Eden complete with a particularly horrific-looking snake. That was Walter, she thought. The man had promised her a home and a family, things she had craved, and yet he had delivered only destruction. She tensed when she felt Simon step up behind her.

  The fact that he could not abide Ilsabeth’s sorrow, that he had actually stepped up to try and soothe her, told Simon that he no longer thought her guilty of anything more than choosing the wrong man while attempting to find herself a good husband and have her own family. “We will find the truth,” he said, and inwardly grimaced, wishing he had a more gifted tongue.

  Ilsabeth turned to face him and found herself nearly in his arms. It was tempting to hurl herself against his chest, using his strength to calm her fears and ease her grief. Tentatively, she placed a hand on his arm, needing to touch him, and felt his muscles tense beneath her palm.

  “I am afraid,” she said, and even she could hear the truth of that in her voice.

  “I willnae tell ye not to be,” he said, and gave in to the temptation to touch her hair by brushing back a thick lock that had slipped forward over her slim shoulder. “There is reason to be afraid and the fear will make ye take care. But ye were right when ye said Walter was a vain mon. He is verra vain and that can be a weakness. He also believes himself safe. Another weakness. Dinnae think that we willnae solve this puzzle, for we will. ‘Tis just that sometimes it takes more work and time than one would like.”

  She rested her forehead against his chest, idly wondering if he realized he was still toying with her hair. “There is only one thing that truly puzzles me about all this. I would have ne’er thought Walter was brave enough or clever enough to plot against the king. The mon can barely plan weel for a journey to the next village. He expects it to just be done. He says he is going and then waits for the horse, and all else that is needed, to be brought to him. So how could such a mon plot out a way to bring down a king?” She felt Simon tense against her, his fingers tightening in her hair, and she leaned back a little to look up at his face. “What is it? Have ye thought of something?”

  “Nay, ye have. There is someone behind Walter.”

  “Someone who is the true chess player in this game?”

  “Exactly.”

  “Weel, he did speak of his compatriots but he also spoke of the new king and didnae imply it would be him. Oh, and how he needed to complete his plans and make sure they would be acceptable to his compatriots. That must have been his vanity speaking because I truly dinnae believe the mon can plan anything.”

  Simon had suspected that Walter might not be the leader, but Ilsabeth’s insight into how the man behaved made him certain of it. That meant that Walter was also a follower and, from what Simon had seen of the man, he would be one who would be easy to break. The only problem was that, by appearing at court, Walter had made it difficult to just grab him and take him somewhere to be thoroughly questioned.

  His mind still busy trying to figure out how he might yet accomplish capturing Walter, Simon looked down into Ilsabeth’s upturned face. He suddenly realized that she was almost in his arms. Everything within him ached to pull her close and he tried to fight the temptation. Then she smiled at him.

  Ilsabeth had a quick look at how Simon’s eyes darkened nearly to black and then his mouth was on hers. She was not sure what had prompted the sudden kiss but she was determined not to do anything to make him stop. His mouth was soft and warm as it moved over hers. She wrapped her arms around his neck to steady herself and allowed the heat and desire stirred to life by his kiss to sweep over her. When he nudged at her lips with his tongue, she readily parted them. The kiss deepened and Ilsabeth shivered with delight. He tasted so good. With each stroke of his tongue within her mouth she pressed even closer to his hard body. And then, so abruptly she nearly fell, she was released and pushed away from him.

  “Nay,” said Simon, shaking his head to clear away the haze of passion. “Nay.”

  Before she could say a word, he fled the room. Ilsabeth placed her hand on her bosom, not surprised to find that she was panting softly and her heart was racing. Walter’s kisses had never made her feel this way.

  Frowning at the door for a moment, she then looked around. Simon had fled his little dark room.

  She smiled. Her brief fear that she had kissed so badly or tasted so vile he had been repulsed melted away. Simon had run away from her as if she were a demon about to tempt him into selling his soul. He did not hate kissing her; he liked it far too much.

  Straightening herself, she smoothed down her skirts and headed out of the room. A man did not run away like that unless he liked the kiss so much, he feared it. Ilsabeth was determined to make sure that Simon kissed her again. And again. Until his fear of it faded.

  Simon watched Ilsabeth leave his ledger room and then slipped back inside. He could still taste her on his mouth, still feel her lithe soft body pressed against his. His body was as hard as a rock and aching in protest of his pushing Ilsabeth away. Never had a kiss affected him so.

  Ilsabeth was a dangerous woman, he thought as he filled a goblet with wine. A hearty drink did little to ease the taste of her from his tongue but it did help to ease the desire knotting his body. He was going to have to be more careful, he thought. If nothing else, Ilsabeth had been put under his protection by her own family and all of her family was looking to him to save her. It would be dishonorable, and a breach of that trust, to seduce her. Simon just prayed that she did not try to seduce him. He did not think he had the strength of will to resist that.

  Chapter 5

  Ilsabeth tried to keep her gaze fixed upon her sewing, fighting the urge to look at Simon as they sat together in his hall. It was late, the children were asleep, and she could not help but wonder if Simon would take advantage of their solitude to kiss her again. She had quickly recovered from her sense of insult over how hastily he had fled from her yestereve, but that did not mean she would accept him ignoring her as he was attempting to do. She was still sure that a man only fled a woman’s kiss because he was afraid of where it would lead, to far more than a playful romp in the bed. It was also a comfort to know that at least a few of the overwhelming emotions he stirred within her were shared.

  Daring a glance at him from beneath her lashes, she caught him staring into the fire with his still unnamed cat sprawled in his lap. Ilsabeth decided that he did not name the cat because he was pretending that he did not want it. It was similar to how he acted with her. She could understand some of Simon’s reluctance to go beyond one stolen kiss for she was still accused of murder and treason. Even if he now believed in her innocence, he was a king’s man and could not entangle himself with such a woman. If nothing else, it could cause others to question his honesty and she knew Simon would suffer greatly if that happened.

  There was a wild spirit within her that was pressing her to try and seduce the man, but Ilsabeth fought to ignore it. What did she know of seduction? Ilsabeth believed that seduction was wrong, too, unless it was a game played out between two lovers. Seduction was one person using guile to make another do something she did not truly wish to do, no matter what her body begged for. She could never do that to Simon.

  For all Simon’s refusal to openly declare her innocent until he had more proof than her word, she still wanted Simon in ways she had never wanted Walter. Walter had never made her heart pound so hard she could hear the echo of its beats in her ears. Nor had he ever made her want to tear off his clothes so that she could admire his body, touch his skin, taste it. Sir Simon Innes was the man meant to be hers, the man every part of her cried out for, but she would win him honestly or not at all. Seduction only served to stir a man’s desire and,
from what she knew of men, that was no great feat. She wanted to stir Simon’s heart.

  Ilsabeth inwardly grimaced. That could prove a task far beyond her ability. She had not reached the age of one and twenty unwed because she was too particular in her taste. There had been few men interested in her as a woman, a wife, and the possible mother of their children. The only man who had really courted her and asked her to marry him was Walter and he had done so just to use her to hide his crimes and destroy her whole family. She now understood that what she had seen as an honorable resistance to despoiling his bride before they were wed was actually Walter’s utter distaste for her. Perhaps she should not be so confident of the reasons she thought Simon had run away from the kiss they had shared.

  “Sir, there is a rogue at the door to the kitchens,” announced MacBean.

  Startled by the man’s silent entry, but very glad to have her increasingly morbid thoughts disrupted, Ilsabeth smiled at MacBean. As always he looked as if he had just swallowed something bitter. “A rogue?” She glanced at Simon. “Ye ken many rogues, sir?”

  “Aside from ones who neglect to knock at a door before they enter a room?” drawled Simon, scowling at MacBean, who ignored him. “Nay. Who is this rogue, MacBean?”

  “I am nay a rogue,” came a voice from just outside the door to the hall. “I am a married man.”

  Simon sighed. “Let him in, MacBean.”

  “Tormand!” cried Ilsabeth when the man slipped around MacBean and grinned at them. She tossed aside her sewing and ran over to hug her cousin.

  “Ye are looking verra weel, lass,” said Tormand after kissing her on the cheek.

  “Thank ye. So are ye. Any new news of my family?”

  “Some, and I will tell ye as soon as I have some wine.”

  A muttering MacBean soon served them all some wine and then left. Ilsabeth sipped hers as Simon and Tormand drank their wine, idly exchanging pleasantries she had no real interest in. Her concern for her family made her impatient, however. She did not press them but she did begin to tap her foot, unable to quell that outside sign of her growing impatience.

  “Easy, lass,” Tormand said, and grinned at her again from where he sat beside her on the settee. “Matters have changed little. Your family still evades capture. ‘Tis said that the king’s soldiers have already ceased to avidly hunt them, waiting for some traitor to tell them where to look. I am here for two reasons. I was asked to see for myself that ye are weel, Two, and to pass on some information from Humfrey. Both requests arrived after I saw Simon yestereve.”

  “Two?” Simon frowned. “Why did ye just call her Two? Are ye a twin, Ilsabeth?”

  “Nay.” She glared at Tormand, who just laughed, as unaffected by her anger as her brothers always were.

  “She used to be named Clara,” Tormand explained. “Cormac’s firstborn was called Ilsabeth but she had the calling and became Sister Beatrice. Elspeth loved the name Ilsabeth so much, however, that she asked the lass here if she would mind taking it on. Afraid we all began to call her Two after that.”

  Ilsabeth sighed. “E’en Two is better than Clara.” She could see that Simon was fighting a grin and she glared at him. When that expression of her displeasure had as little effect upon him as it hadupon Tormand, she looked back at her cousin. “What did Humfrey have to say?”

  “Aside from complaining that Hepbourn left as soon as he realized ye hadnae been caught and that the mon’s mother is a verra harsh taskmaster, he told me that David is on his way to join up with Hepbourn,” replied Tormand.

  “Good,” said Simon. “The mon is most kind to save us all the trouble of hunting him down.”

  “We must be sure to thank him for that kindness when we get our hands on him.”

  “Ye think David could be useful?” asked Ilsabeth, frowning at the thought of the pale, chinless David being good for much of anything aside from stroking Walter’s vanity. “He isnae a plotter. He but follows Walter about like a faithful wee pup.”

  “Exactly,” said Simon, satisfaction heavy in his tone. “He is a follower. Followers can be a weakness one can use against the leader.”

  “I am nay sure Walter cares enough for David, or anyone, to risk himself to save the mon.”

  “So I think and soon David will be made to see that, too.”

  Ilsabeth rubbed her forehead as the pinch of a headache lodged itself there. “I fear I cannae make sense of that. How does that help us?”

  Simon suddenly felt like laughing he was so pleased by her utter confusion. Ilsabeth was no plotter. He had begun to see that more clearly with every passing hour in her presence, but the way she acted now only confirmed his opinion. She had a keen wit but not a devious one. He had suspected it when he realized she had barely escaped the trap set for her and might not have done so if her father had not planned for the need of one. Ilsabeth was a complete stranger to deception.

  “He follows, Two.” He grinned when she glared at him for the use of that name. “Followers are near always weaker than their leader. They often, quite foolishly, believe their leader will help them, keep them safe, and all of that. When they discover their leader is more than ready to cast them to the wolves, their loyalty shatters.”

  Shaking free of her bemusement over how handsome Simon looked when he smiled, Ilsabeth said, “Oh. And then they spill out all of their secrets, suddenly verra willing to take their leader down with them.”

  “Aye. Or so we hope. At times a follower is so afraid of his leader that, despite the leader showing him that that man cares nothing for his men, nothing will bring the follower to tell me what he knows. This will all depend upon how committed David is to the cause of bringing down the king. I but wonder who they think to replace the king with.”

  “I wouldnae be surprised if Walter thought he should be set upon the throne e’en if he isnae the one planning all of this. He ne’er fails to let people ken that he has the blood of the Bruce in his veins.”

  “So claims half of Scotland,” muttered Tormand as he poured himself another drink of wine.

  Ilsabeth laughed. “True, but I think Walter may actually have a rightful claim although ‘tis but a few wee drops, weel watered down and weak. However, as I told ye, Walter spoke as if another mon was to take the throne.”

  “He may just nay wish the burden of it, only the benefits of helping another mon take it. And, since it isnae Walter, then it is someone Walter believes will lift him higher in importance and power, enriching him,” said Simon. “Curse it, I need names. Names will give me the power to proclaim your innocence and get the soldiers away from ye and your family. If we can get our hands on David I just might get some.”

  “How do ye plan to get him? It willnae be easy to catch someone at court and spirit him away. If it was, I think ye would already have Walter in your hands, wouldnae ye?”

  “Hepbourn is making himself far too noticeable. I dinnae think David will.”

  “Ah, nay, he willnae. Nor would Walter allow it.”

  Ilsabeth listened as the men talked over ideas for getting their hands on David. She did not wish to know how they would get the information they hoped to get from the man. All she wanted to accomplish was to lift the cloud of suspicion off her and her family. David was part of the plot that had sent her and her family into hiding, and he was one of the ones plotting against the king, so he deserved whatever he had to suffer.

  “Weel, I think that gives us enough ideas to mull over,” said Tormand as he stood up. “I must needs get back to my wife. She doesnae like me coming so close to the court although she kens it is necessary.” He kissed Ilsabeth on the forehead. “Dinnae worry so hard, lass. Your father will keep your family safe and Simon will keep ye safe. We will soon drag the real traitors before the king. Next time I come, I will try to be in time to meet these children ye have taken in.”

  The moment Tormand was gone Ilsabeth picked up her sewing and stared at it blindly. She wanted to believe Tormand’s assurances, but her fear for her family
would not allow her to do so. There was so much that could still go wrong. She should not even be here, but with her family. She ached to be with them as they fought this battle.

  A battle they faced because she had been blind to the man she had chosen to be her husband. Ilsabeth took a deep breath as she fought the strong urge to cry. She suffered no pain at the loss of her betrothed but she did hurt over the loss of her dream of a home of her own and children. She also grieved over what that dream was now costing her loved ones.

  “Ilsabeth?”

  She could not look at Simon, knowing that her eyes would show her sorrow. “Nay, I shall be fine.”

  There was no mistaking that waver in her soft, husky voice and Simon would swear that he could feel her sorrow. He moved to sit beside her and put his arm around her. It was a dangerous thing to do but he could not smother his need to offer her comfort. When she leaned into him, her soft body pressing against him, everything inside him tightened with need. The clothing they wore was suddenly a painful, unwanted barrier between them. Even the scent of her had him aching to taste her skin. Sympathy, he sternly told himself. Only sympathy. A particularly insistent part of his body paid no attention.

  “ ‘Tis all my fault,” she murmured, resting her cheek against his chest.

  “Nay, the fault lies with Hepbourn,” said Simon. “He is the one who plots against the king, used ye,

  and now uses and defames your family to protect himself.”

  “Ah, so now ye believe me?”

  He sighed and gave in to the temptation to rest his cheek against her soft hair. “Aye. I still need proof, however, and that shall nay be easy to get. Traitors ken what fate awaits them and ‘tis nay a simple hanging.”

  “I dinnae think a hanging is so verra simple but I ken what ye mean. Compared to the horrific punishments dealt out to traitors, a hanging would seem preferable. That makes them verra cautious.

  “I should be with my family,” she abruptly said in a quiet voice. “I should be standing with them at such a time.”