Chapter 6 #2
Why was he being so nice to her? Why did he care what happened to her? Elizabet was so confused. And growing more so by the instant. She sat again, her thoughts muddled. Her gut said trust him, though she knew him not at all.
She nibbled at her lip, contemplating the possibilities. It must be Tomas. Who else could want her dead but him? He was also the only one not present when John was felled.
She peered up at the Scot, studying his expression, trying to read his thoughts.
In truth, why should he lie to her? What had he to gain?
And if he’d intended to ravage her, he would never have ended his kiss.
Nor had he harmed her, in truth. He had stolen a kiss in anger and then had set her away from him.
Her cheeks burned with the memory of his embrace.
She had been keenly aware of his body’s reaction to her.
She was not so naive that she didn’t understand how a man’s desire manifested itself.
She didn’t dare even look at him while her thoughts were centered there.
He swore that her brother was unharmed, and she had to believe him.
She wanted to believe him!
But why would Tomas wish to kill her? Her father couldn’t possibly have anything to do with it. Had Tomas escorted her all this way only to murder her in cold blood?
Nothing made sense.
She wasn’t close with her father, but he was a kind man who’d felt terribly that he had no means to support all his children. And he may not have loved Elizabet, precisely, but he cared about her, and he certainly seemed to love John.
He’d wed Margaret to fill his coffers with gold to replenish his estates, but still there had not been enough to support his youngest son and bastard daughter.
Nor had her dowry been adequate to find her a suitable husband— not in England.
And it had pained him deeply to send John away with her.
He had done so with tears in his eyes. She could not conceive that her father would plan their demise.
Nay.
Margaret, then? But why? What reason could Margaret possibly have to want her dead? And in truth, Margaret’s brother had been nothing but kind to her the entire journey.
Still, this man standing before her seemed to be telling her the truth—at least, the truth as he believed it. And something about the look in his eyes begged her to trust him.
“Who is your cousin? I will go and speak with him on your behalf.”
The entire predicament left her reeling.
Jesu, but Piers had no idea they were even coming—nor did he know who she was. John carried the letter from her father, begging Piers’ support.
And it stood to reason that if Piers didn’t know they were coming, he couldn’t possibly be the one to wish her harm. Then again, neither was he obligated to champion her. Still, it seemed her best course of action was to go to Piers and ask for sanctuary.
She sat again, the enormity of the situation making her legs weak.
“Piers de Montgomerie,” she confided, and peered up at him hopefully. She took a tremendous risk in trusting him, and she prayed to God he spoke the truth. Then again, she prayed he didn’t. How could she bear it if her own father meant to kill her?
She relayed to him the rest of the tale, explained everything that was pertinent, omitting her precise relationship to Piers.
He didn’t need to know that. Nor did he need to know that Piers did not know of her.
By the time he had the opportunity to speak with Piers, hopefully John would have found him as well, and Piers would certainly know her father’s handwriting.
That was enough. The letter John carried would make clear the rest. She explained about the letter her father had written and named the men she’d traveled with, all the while praying she’d made the right decision in trusting this man.
He stood before her, listening calmly, hardly speaking a word, only nodding as she gave him her account, and she sensed his sincerity.
“And ye have no inkling who might wish ye dead?” he asked .
Blinking, Elizabet shook her head. “None. These men were commanded by my father to see us safely to our destination.”
“What about Tomas?”
Elizabet shrugged. “I never sensed any animosity from him at all.”
He nodded. “Well, lass, if ye will trust me and remain here safe from harm, I swear I will go directly to Piers with all that you have told me.”
Elizabet scrunched her nose in disgust. “Here?” The place gave her the shivers. She peered about to find that the shadows had grown deeper. Night had fallen. “Nay,” she said. “I will come with you.”
“I can travel more quickly alone and it is far safer for you to remain here,” he insisted. “I promise to return at once with help.”
Elizabet swallowed as she studied his face. His blue eyes were filled with such compassion that she knew in her heart he meant everything he said.
Those blue eyes, as he looked at her, were like those of an angel. He was her guardian angel.
The thought took her breath away.
“I will only stay if you will not lock me in.”
He smiled warmly. “I never intended to, lass. If ye will look,” he charged her, “there is no lock on the door.”
She would have liked simply to trust him, but good sense told her to check. She did and found that he spoke the truth. She turned and narrowed her eyes at him. “And leave me unfettered as well.”
He lifted his brow at her, seemingly amused by her dictates. To show her they were empty, he held up his hands. “I seem to have forgotten the chains.”
She sighed heavily, feeling suddenly weary. “Very well, then. I’ll remain here on the understanding that if you do not return anon, I will leave here and go to Piers myself.”
His brow furrowed. “I would not advise leaving, lass. These woods are not so peaceable as they seem, and the way is long and perilous from here.”
“Nevertheless, I will only remain if I am free to leave,” Elizabet persisted.
“There will be no one to stop ye.”
“Very well, then I’ll stay.”
With that settled between them, he stood and looked down at her a long moment, and then he reached out and brushed the hair from her face. “Och,” he said, “I canna imagine who would harm a hair on that lovely head.”
His hand lingered, not touching her, though very near her face, and she lowered her gaze, torn. His words both thrilled and disquieted her.
But men never did anything without promise of reward, and thinking he meant now to claim his, she readied herself to defy him.
Never had a man spoken so huskily to her and not wanted something in return.
If he chose to abandon her after she refused him, then so be it. She would find her own way to Piers.
“There is a blanket in the corner,” he surprised her by saying. “The night will grow cold.”
She looked up at him, swallowing the sour retort she had readied. A gentle giant stood before her with a smile so warm it squeezed her heart.
“I will return soon with Montgomerie,” he promised, and then simply left her seated at the crude little table without saying another word. He never even looked back as he shut the door behind him.
Elizabet pursed her lips as she stared at the closed door, contemplating her dubious savior. The man confused her more than any she had ever met.
“Surely he wants something,’ she muttered to herself.
Later he would try to claim his prize, she decided.
Later he would offend her—after he returned.
She could not believe any man would be so selfless as to expect nothing for his trouble.
And yet, nothing was precisely what he would get—aside from her gratitude and a simple thank you very much.
Elizabet’s affections were not for sale, and she didn’t want a man in her life.
Freedom was too near at hand.