His Sedution by Diana Cosby

Author:Diana Cosby
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Medieval
Publisher: 0
Published: 2013-12-15T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter Thirteen

Beneath the cloud-smeared afternoon light, the Scottish rebels’ makeshift camp came into view. A steady wind casting reckless leaves about through the day now rattled branches overhead, the taste of fall steady upon the breeze.

Griffin slowed his mount, glanced at Sir Lochlann. “Where is de Moray?”

The rebel gestured toward the rear of the encampment where several guards stood beside a large tent. “In there.”

With a curt nod, Griffin nudged his steed forward, Rois sitting in silence before him. Since his and Lochlann’s fight a day past, the Scot had spoken little. A choice he’d honored. Ironically, he kept silent due to Rois, who, with each passing day, Griffin cared about more. Regardless, with the demands of his secret life as a spy for the Rebels, a life with Rois was one he could never have.

Over the years he’d held naught but pride for the Scots, his work as Wulfe offering fulfillment in helping deter the strong-arm tactics of King Edward. For the first time, however, emptiness haunted him.

Fatigued, Griffin focused on the encampment, the battle-weary men scattered about, bindings covering many a wound, and for some, a macabre frame where a leg had once stood.

War.

He damned its vulgar hand, the cost, the stench that haunted a mind forever after. This was real, not the yearnings of a lonely fool. Lonely. Yes, he was that and more. Incredibly, Rois had taught him how alone he truly was.

For a short while he’d found a woman who made him feel more than he’d ever believed possible. But, he was a warrior. If he yearned for her when he rode away, so be it. Yearnings were inspirations of the mind, thoughts he could quell.

On a curse he kicked his horse forward. The soft cadence of hooves upon the pine needles echoed around them. A solemn hush swept the men as he passed. Several rebels sent curious glances his way as they rode past, but none offered a challenge.

No doubt Wallace had spread the word of his request for Griffin’s presence, but it far from answered questions the Scots would have of why a high-ranking Englishman loyal to his king would be entrusted to escort their other rebel leader to an Abbey. And him riding with Rois in tow but stirred the pot.

At the outskirt of the camp, he slowed his mount to a walk.

A laird walked nearby. Cool eyes met his.

Griffin recognized him as one of the men who had cursed him the day he’d wed Rois in the great room. Griffin nodded in acknowledgment.

The laird’s brow drew into a deep frown, and he turned away.

No, he’d won no friends that day.

“Rois, your father is camped a short ride to the north of here,” Sir Lochlann said.

“He is?” Hope filled Rois’s voice.

Griffin shot the Scot a hard look. “We will see Andrew de Moray. ’Tis why we came.”

Sir Lochlann nodded.

The Scot’s silence fooled him not. No reason existed to remind Rois of her father, except to cause division between her and Griffin as well as guide her mind to thoughts of seeing Angus.

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