His Conquest. Diana Cosby

dismal surroundings grew brighter as they moved deeper inside. They rounded the corner and the cavern opened to the outside. Sunlight streamed into the darkness like a golden rain to erase the shadows.

      A look of awe painted Linet’s face. She stepped to the ledge, scanned the gorge sprawled below. “It is beautiful.”

      “Aye.” He stumbled.

      She whirled. Worry streaked her face as she hurried back and set his arm over her shoulder to steady him. “You must lie down.”

      He grimaced. As if he had an option. His legs were beginning to give, and his mind was quickly following. Even now, he fought for coherent thought. With her help, he settled against the layered rock, the sun upon his face.

      Linet glanced at his right side, frowned. “Why did you not tell me you were bleeding?”

      “Na-Naught but a wee scratch.”

      “A scratch?” she scoffed. “I have tended to warriors from enough battles to know the injury is more than that. I need to cleanse the wound. Stay here.”

      Before he could object, she stood, removed her cape, and withdrew the water pouch she carried. Sunlight streaming behind her framed the slender lines of her body shielded beneath a linen gown.

      His rebuke fell away as he took in the smooth curve of her ankle. Her gown concealed neither her slim waist nor generous breasts. Even confused by fever, he couldn’t help but admire her supple curves.

      Ignorant of her effect on him, after giving him a drink of water, she knelt before him. “I must remove your tunic to see the extent of your injury.”

      A part of him wanted to refuse. But the warrior in him understood the threat of a wound untreated. This lass, wrapped within her innocence, knew naught of her potent effect.

      “I can remove it my-myself.” Seathan tugged the tunic over his head, his muscles screaming at the movement.

      She grimaced as she leaned closer. Her soft breath skimmed across his inflamed skin, and he gritted his teeth.

      Linet looked up.

      Stilled.

      Green eyes held hers, hot, burning with fever, but also laden with desire. His feral look sparked awareness in her body like flint to steel. Her lips tingled with remembrance of their kiss within the cell, that dangerous moment when she’d forgotten her objective, the reason she’d sought out Lord Grey. She inhaled, and his scent, that of earthy male and domination, flooded her senses.

      She pulled back, but images of him covering her mouth and of her drowning in his taste remained. No, she could not ponder such sensual thoughts. He was a dangerous temptation, one she could never accept. They had little in common except her brother, a man they both despised.

      Taking a steadying breath, Linet tore a strip of cloth from her chemise, dampened it, and gently began to cleanse the wound. Honed muscles rippled beneath her touch, skin battered by scars, those of a man seasoned by war. Those of a man who fought for what was his. Those of a man loyal to his country and family.

      Unnerved by her attraction toward a man who was dangerous to her on so many levels, she removed the cloth. She wrung the strip of fabric out, redampened it, only to have to touch him again. To be reminded of the man who stirred desires best ignored.

      Under her touch, his body tensed and a pained breath hissed from his mouth, but he made no protest.

      “The wound is long, but thankfully not deep,” she forced out as she fought for calm. “As we travel, I will find herbs to pack against the gash to ensure it does not fester.” She again wrung out the cloth, then continued dabbing away the small flecks of dirt outlining the wound. “In time, you should be left with only a scar.”

      “You are a healer?”

      At the softness of his words, she tensed. His simple question fooled her not. He sought clues as to who she was, details she could never give.

      “No. I have aided our healer when the necessity arose.” She gave him an admonishing look. “You need rest, not meaningless talk.” Before he could push for further information, a trait she was learning to expect from him, she stood. “Though it is early, you need to sleep. Besides, with Lord Tearlach’s men searching for you, it is too risky to travel.”

      He eyed her a long moment, then started to get up.

      The fool! She caught his shoulders. “If you move about, you will reopen your injury.”

      Seathan grimaced, shoved her hands away, and pushed to his feet. He gestured toward the far wall. “Th-There are blankets behind the stacked wood. Lift them and you will see other provisions as well.”

      A grand concession on his part. “Stay there until I retrieve them.” With efficient movements, she withdrew the blankets and started to make a pallet, anything to try to keep her mind off Seathan, off a man who made her too aware of herself as a woman.

      After all these years, and all the many men she’d met, nobles, knights, warriors from other countries, none had ever inspired but a token of interest. Now, she was attracted to a Scottish rebel who, if he learned of her connection to Fulke, would use her as leverage against her brother. And his trust? No, the pittance she’d earned would be forever lost.

      “Linet?”

      Seathan knelt beside her, his eyes too sharp, his nearness too potent. “What is wrong?”

      The sincerity in his voice unnerved her further. “Nothing, I am but making a pallet.”

      “You are shaking.”

      She glanced down to find her hands trembling—from thoughts of him. She swallowed hard. “I am tired.”

      “Aye, af-after traveling through the night, we both need rest.” He lifted the edge of the blanket near him and helped spread it out.

      “I told you to wait until I was done.”

      Seathan scowled. “I am a knight, not a crippled old man.”

      “You never need anyone, do you?” she asked, annoyance slipping into her voice.

      Fevered eyes narrowed. “And what of you? Who do you need?”

      “No one,” she replied, and immediately regretted allowing her question to become personal. She shook her head. “Lie down and rest.”

      “You will do so as well.” By the ire in her eyes, Seathan expected her to argue. To his surprise, she nodded. Unsure how much longer he could remain on his feet, he lowered himself on the blankets. Every muscle in his body screamed, but they had made it to safety.

      The soft weight of worsted wool covered him. “Here is my rolled cape to put beneath your head.”

      Though her voice was cool, her thoughtfulness touched him. A part of him had expected her to leave, not remain, nor tend to him as one who cared about him. Aye, she cared—that he lived. But she’d freed him from the cell for her own purpose.

      Why?

      They both had their secrets, he reminded himself as he watched her gracefully move about. How would she react if she learned the rebels were planning an uprising? The bloody English were confident they’d conquered Scotland, a foolish belief. His countrymen were a different breed compared to the thin-blooded Englishmen. Unlike the Sassenach, the Scots would not cease to pursue their goal of freedom, regardless of the odds.

      “Here.” Linet handed him a cup with water.

      Seathan drank slowly, the cool water heaven against his parched throat. He drained the wooden cup then handed it to her; their fingers brushed. Awareness poured through him in a lethal sweep.

      “My thanks,” he said.

      Linet’s eyes dilated as if she, too, had felt the heat. She nodded, turned away. “Go to sleep.”

      The foolish woman. Even in his condition, he could