A Woman of Honour Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Praise for Marlow Kelly

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Thank you for purchasing this publication of The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  A Woman

  Of

  Honour

  by

  Marlow Kelly

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  A Woman of Honour

  COPYRIGHT © 2014 by Marlow Kelly

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Contact Information: [email protected]

  Cover Art by Debbie Taylor

  The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  PO Box 708

  Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708

  Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com

  Publishing History

  First English Tea Rose Edition, 2014

  Digital ISBN 978-1-62830-465-7

  Published in the United States of America

  Praise for Marlow Kelly

  “A WOMAN OF HONOUR is gripping and had me interested from the very first...the guy wakes in a dark, dank, prison cell only to find himself with a woman and curiously he can’t even see her. All he has to judge her character are his other senses and a gut feeling that tells him he wants her from the first. Absolutely captivating!

  “Then they decide to make a break for it and pace and plot keep the reader turning the page, hungry for the ending to ensure not only the couple’s survival but the ultimate consummation of their love.”

  ~Lori Power, author

  Dedication

  To my wonderful husband, Steve,

  for his love, support and patience.

  Chapter One

  Scottish Highlands, 1307

  Duncan Campbell drifted into consciousness and opened his eyes to absolute blackness. He lay perfectly still on the cold dirt floor, listening. A small rustle of fabric echoed in the darkness. He cocked his head, getting a sense of the sound’s location, then rose to his feet.

  “Tell me who you are before I tear you apart,” he roared, seizing his opponent. Whoever it was didn’t answer, just silence. A fist punched him on the nose. Pain ricocheted through him, and he grabbed his face. In the dark, he lost his balance and fell in the dirt, cradling his head in his hands.

  “Oh my, are you all right?” asked a small voice.

  “No, I’m not.”

  “You threatened me, and I wanted to give you fair warning I will fight back if you touch me.”

  The lyrical voice stunned him. A woman? She spoke Gaelic with a strong, lowland accent. He shook off the pain and asked, “Where am I?”

  “Dunstaffnage Castle. Don’t you remember your capture? I’ve heard of people getting a bump on the head and not remembering their own name. Is that what happened to you? Did you bump your head?”

  Lord, she was talkative.

  “Is it?”

  “I remember I was hit from behind scouting the bast….Are we in the dungeon?” He rose to his feet.

  “Yes.”

  He grunted. On the bright side he hadn’t gone blind. On the other hand they were in a dank, windowless cell with no hope of escape. There wasn’t even a sliver of light coming through the door. Not that he knew where the door was.

  “How long have I been here?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve lost track of time. I think it’s because there’s no light. I can’t tell—”

  “Why would the MacDougalls imprison a woman?”

  “They don’t know.”

  “What? That you’re a woman. How can they not know?”

  “Because I look like a boy.”

  “Are you showing your legs?” He grinned. Perhaps she was a jezebel who thought nothing of revealing her body.

  “I’m wearing a tunic and hose. You can’t actually see my legs. I’m not a wanton.”

  Her last remark disappointed him, but maybe it was just as well. His head hurt from where the MacDougalls had knocked him senseless.

  “It takes more than clothes to look like a man.” He wondered about her appearance. Did she have high breasts and a slim waist? Were her legs long and shapely? She answered his questions before he could ask them.

  “I’m tall and thin for a girl and not the least bit pretty, or so I’m told.”

  “It’s not a very good disguise. You’re dressed as a lowlander, so you’re just as noticeable as if you were dressed as a woman.”

  “Oh. I didn’t know. I…” Her voice trailed, sounding lost and alone. He balled his fists to stop from hugging her. His own reaction puzzled him, leaving him off balance. He should stop talking, leave her in peace, and rest his aching head, but for some incomprehensible reason, he needed to hear her sweet, musical voice.

  “Why dress as a boy in the first place?”

  “It wasn’t my idea. I was travelling the pilgrim road to the Island of Iona. One day our leader, Brother Mark, came to me and said we were in danger and I should disguise myself. He gave me the clothes and cut my hair.” She paused, and swallowed.

  “And then?”

  “They came in the night…” Using her muffled sobs as a guide, he found her shoulder and patted it.

  “What were you going to do once you got to Iona?” he asked.

  “I’m becoming a nun.”

  The thought of that sweet voice imprisoned on a barren island made him irrationally angry.

  “You should fulfil a man’s needs and bear his children, not waste your life with a bunch of silly women.”

  She said nothing, but he was close enough to feel her tense. Was she thinking of punching him again? He fumbled for her hands, grabbed them, and pinned them to the wall above her head, flattening her with his body. Despite his headache his manhood jerked to life. He squeezed his eyes shut and then opened them again, surprised at his body’s reaction to her closeness. She struggled to free herself, but her efforts were useless against his superior strength.

  “Do not hit me again,” he growled.

  “Do not threaten me again.”

  “I was not threatening you. I was giving you my opinion. You do know the difference, don’t you?”

  “There you go again being rude just when I was going to forgive you and show you how pious I can be.” She stopped struggling.

  “Don’t bother.” He loosened his grip and released her.

  “What?”

  “You heard. I don’t need your forgiveness. You should be asking my forgiveness because you punched me without cause. And my head still hurts.” Despite the pain he was starting to enjoy himself.

  “I hit you because you frightened me, but you’re right, I’m sorry you’re hurt.”

  “Well you’re not forgiven.”

  “Why not?” Her voice rose with what he assumed was indignation.

  “There’s only one reason we would be in a cell together.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Because soon we will die together.” Perhaps he was wrong, but he didn’t think so.

  “And even though we’re going to die, you still can’t find it in your heart to forgive me?”

  “Maybe if you were very nice to me and warmed me with your s
weet, little body, I could see my way to absolving you.”

  She gasped and he couldn’t help but smile at her outraged reaction. He had no idea why he enjoyed baiting her, but he couldn’t seem to stop.

  “You’re the most sinful man I’ve ever met. I take it back. I don’t want your absolution. How can you think about your carnal needs at a time like this?” The ire in her voice made him want to continue their argument, but his headache was worsening by the minute. He had no idea why he enjoyed provoking her. He imagined her face flushed with anger and her self-control slipping. He would like to make her lose control in other ways. But for now he would have to let it go. He wasn’t in any shape to argue with her let alone pleasure her. He let out a long moan, backed away, pressed his hands to his head, and changed the subject again.

  “How did you end up in this place?”

  “I didn’t have the coins to pay for the boat. So they threw me in here.”

  “Why didn’t you just tell them you were taking the oath?”

  “I didn’t talk at all. I’m dressed as a boy, and if I spoke they would’ve known I’m a girl. I can’t disguise my voice.”

  “What’s your name?”

  “Isabel Douglas. And you are?”

  “Duncan Campbell.”

  “So tell me what did the mighty Duncan Campbell do to deserve the dungeon?” There was a hint of mockery in her voice, and he imagined her smiling.

  “I’m a Campbell and that’s excuse enough. We have been at war with the MacDougalls for as long as anyone can remember.”

  “Why haven’t they killed you?”

  “There’s only one purpose for keeping me alive.”

  “What’s that?”

  “They want to use me for sport.”

  “What about me?”

  “The fact that we are in a cell together does not bode well for you.”

  She fell silent. For the first time since waking, he had a good look around but could see nothing. There were no windows, no cracks, just the soul-destroying blackness. He ran his hands over his arms, torso, and down his legs, taking stock of his injuries. Small cuts and bruises covered his body. They were nothing to be concerned about, but the pain in his head was a different matter. Soon they would come for him and when they did, he needed to have his wits about him, and that wasn’t going to happen if he couldn’t concentrate. He moved to stand next to her and leaned against the wall.

  “Are you all right?” she whispered.

  “Of course, why would you ask?”

  “You groaned.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Your head hurts, doesn’t it? Bend your knees so your bottom rests on your ankles. I will help ease the pain.”

  He hesitated. “Why would you do that?”

  “I am going to be a nun. Can’t you tell I’m a kind and caring person?”

  “No.”

  “For pity’s sake, sit down before you fall down.”

  The pounding in his head intensified, so he did as he was told. She put a hand on his shoulder and used it as a guide, skimming the length of his arm and then his leg until she stood in front of him.

  “Widen your legs. I’m going to crouch between your knees and put my hands on your head. They’re cold so they might ease the pain.”

  The feel of her sliding down between his legs was a heady experience. She had not been exaggerating when she said she was slim. Her hand rested on the bare flesh where his kilt had ridden up his leg. Heat surged through him with the contact of her skin on his. He ground his teeth together and suppressed the impulse to kiss her.

  “Are you sure you’re becoming a nun? You don’t feel like a nun.”

  “Have you felt many nuns?” She laid her ice-cold hands on his head.

  The moment she touched his brow he felt better. Propping one shoulder against his chest, she laid her head in the crook of his neck. Her warm breath tickled his skin sending shivers down his spine. He wrapped his arms around her and relaxed. She smelt wonderful, surprising given their circumstances. She didn’t smell of soap or flowers, like other women he had known, but rather she smelt of woman. The indefinable quality went straight to his head and his manhood. He doubted she would be this close to him if she knew she aroused him.

  He listened as her breathing became rhythmic and he knew she was sleeping. He ran his hand over her head feeling her smooth hair and brushed his lips against the silky mass. He wanted to protect her. Not because she was weak but because she tried to be strong. She touched him in a way he had not expected. Somehow being with her gave him hope, lightened him.

  “Don’t worry sweetling, I’ll keep you safe,” he whispered into the darkness.

  He didn’t know how he was going to keep his promise, but when he did, he planned to make her his.

  Chapter Two

  Isabel jumped to her feet when the cell door slammed open. Duncan leaped, too and pushed her behind him.

  “Time for some entertainment,” a scratchy voice announced.

  Men swarmed into the tiny, dark cell. A fist struck her face causing flickers of light to spark behind her eyes. Further blows knocked her to the ground. Before she could struggle to her feet, rough arms grabbed her, dragged her out of the cell and through the castle. She pressed her lips together in an attempt to keep silent. Not that it mattered. They only cared about Duncan. It took four men to drag him and every now and then he managed to land a punch, striking his captors to the ground.

  Once outside, she squinted, trying desperately to adjust to the bright morning light. She wanted to shield her eyes with her hands, but the men held her arms in a bruising grip.

  Glancing through slits, she saw people on the walls of the castle, shouting obscenities and throwing rotten food as they passed by. It seemed the whole clan had come to see her die.

  Finally, the procession stopped at a large boulder just outside the castle walls. They pushed her right hand onto the rock. She bit down on her lip to keep from screaming in protest, scared that they were going to chop her fingers off. Then they forced Duncan’s left hand into place alongside hers and tied their arms together.

  “Let’s see how the great Duncan Campbell does when he’s tied to a skinny lad,” a short man with long, white hair announced. The clan cheered. The warrior strutted toward Duncan. His swagger spoke of self-importance, and she wondered if he was the MacDougall chief.

  “We are going to hunt you down and kill you like the animal you are,” he jeered.

  “Let the boy go, he’s done nothing to you,” Duncan roared.

  “No, the Campbells have killed our children—”

  “On the battlefield. You put them on the—”

  “Shut up. The lad stays.”

  White-hair strutted back to join the jeering crowd.

  “Follow my lead,” Duncan whispered, bending his head so he could reach her ear. For the first time since their meeting, she got a good look at him. The man was a giant. She was taller than most men and still had to strain her neck to look at him. Oh my, he was handsome. His skin was weathered to a light tan, with crinkles around his grey-blue eyes. Tawny brown hair framed his face, giving him the appearance of a ferocious lion.

  Looking at the screaming crowd, she realized the MacDougalls didn’t just want him dead, they wanted to use her to humiliate him. Anger boiled to the surface. How dare they? The thought of him dead, his beautiful body broken, made her chest hurt. Why should he matter? They had only spent a short time together and had argued for most of that time. But he did matter.

  Without warning their captors released their grip and walked toward the castle. She stared at Duncan as he hesitated for a moment, and then they both started to run. She had no idea where they were going. Duncan had instructed her to follow, and she trusted his judgment.

  Her heart pounded. Duncan matched her pace, and she was surprised at how natural it was for them to keep step with each other.

  A roar echoed from behind as a horde of MacDougall warriors gave chase. Blinding fear d
estroyed her ability to think. An icy trickle of perspiration rolled down her spine, beads of cold sweat dampened her upper lip and forehead, and the muscles in her legs weakened.

  “Are we safe as long as we outrun them?” she panted.

  “No, there’ll be some on the ledge,”—he nodded toward the rocky escarpment in front of them—“and more in the woods beyond.”

  She tried to concentrate, once again, on matching his step. They reached the rocky ledge, and she struggled to find purchase, slipping on the wet rock. Every time she slipped, the rope that held them together burnt her wrist. Duncan slowed, and she suspected it was for her benefit. Irritated by her own ineptitude, she forced herself to move faster.

  He cleared the ledge first, dragging her with him. As she scrambled to her feet, she came face to face with two MacDougall warriors. Duncan rushed at one of them, pulling her with him. Using his spare hand, he grabbed his adversary’s sword arm and head-butted his opponent who swayed and then sank to the ground, stunned.

  Isabel tried to stay out of Duncan’s way, but he jerked his arm, and their attached wrists threw her forward. She collided with the hard body of the other soldier. Duncan pulled on her arm causing her to stumble back. At the same time, he kicked the man in the groin. The MacDougall immediately curled in a ball, clutching himself.

  The first soldier staggered to his knees. Before Isabel could react, Duncan kicked him in the head. There was a loud snap, and he slumped to the ground. The Campbell giant then bent over the body, and grabbed a dagger from the fallen man’s belt. He turned the blade toward her and cut the bonds that held them together.

  “Run,” he yelled

  “Without you?”

  “I’ll catch up. Go.”

  She obeyed and ran toward the forest. Terror and fear rose like bile in her throat. Catcalls and jeers encircled her as the MacDougall horde honed in. She glanced behind her in time to see Duncan stuffing a sword and dagger into his belt. He turned in her direction and started to run.

  Content he would soon catch up, Isabel sprinted faster. An enemy clansman sprang from behind a tree, blocking her path. She rushed at him, and then, at the last minute, dropped to the ground. Leaning back on her arms, she kicked him in his knees. His legs give way, and he crumbled to the ground, landing hard on his back. She rolled to her feet and started running again.