Diana Cosby by His Seduction

him.
    Her body trembled.
    Moved by something so simple, he found himself needing to assure her. “I will keep you safe.”
    “Aye.”
    The belief in her words left him humbled. “Rois, why did you accept my touch when I am a man you despise?”
    She turned to him then, her look still wary, but he saw confusion as well. And if he looked closer, he saw something fragile, something he yearned to keep safe. Shaken by the emotions she stirred, he let her go.
    “Griffin?”
    His name upon her tongue slid over him like finely woven silk, and his body hardened. Irritated that he wanted her like the air he breathed, he stepped back. “I am going to speak with your father.”
    Her face cooled and any hint of warmth was erased from her voice. “I will nae go with you.”
    “My lady, you will not be given a choice.” With a warning look, Griffin spun on his heel and departed.

Chapter Seven
    The cool morning air battered Griffin as he guided his mount over a decaying tree trunk littered with moss. Rocks clattered and leaves holding hints of color swirled beneath the flash of hooves. He savored the rush of wind, the tang of fall rich in the breeze, a time when the earth rested to renew with the spring.
    Breaks in the trees exposed the familiar outline of the Highlands, the cast of rock as formidable as the Scots who prepared to fight. The home of Andrew de Moray, who, alongside William Wallace, would lead the Scottish rebels to battle in but days with the English against fierce odds.
    God help them.
    An image of Rois asleep flickered through his mind, of how he’d crept out of their chamber at Dunadd Castle after she’d fallen asleep. He’d not told her of his meeting with the Earl of Surrey this morn, nor would he. When she’d awoken and found him gone, was she relieved? Or, anxious for her father’s safety, did she give his absence little thought and rush to Kincardan Castle to be with her father these last precious hours before he rode away to battle?
    As Griffin neared the base of the mountain, the two rebel leaders rode from a copse of trees to meet him. His mount whinnied as he drew him to a halt. He nodded to de Moray as he reined in his steed before him, then to Wallace at his side.
    “Lord Monceaux,” de Moray said. “What news do you bring?”
    “We knew King Edward planned to send a large contingent,” Griffin said, his words somber, “but ’tis far worse than we anticipated. The Earl of Surrey and Hugh de Cressingham ride toward Stirling Castle with an army of around fifty thousand.”
    “Blast it,” Wallace muttered. “We have ten thousand men in our ranks at best.”
    “There is more.” Griffin took in the grim expression on each man’s face, damning the news he would impart. “They travel with heavy cavalry and Welsh archers.”
    De Moray cursed. “As with his razing of Berwick, Longshanks believes his sheer numbers can destroy the last of our rebellion. But in this he will fail.”
    Determination carved Wallace’s face. “Aye. We are far from weak-kneed lackeys who cower and run at the first sign of a fight. This is our land, and by God, we will stop King Edward’s forces before they reach Stirling Castle.”
    “Are there any changes to the original troop battle layouts we discussed?” Griffin asked. With so many untrained rebels in their ranks, he doubted that winning against the seasoned English warriors could be achieved.
    “Nay.” De Moray fisted his reins. “We will position our men along the hills of the bridge across the Forth, north of Stirling Castle. ’Twill give us the best advantage to attack.”
    Griffin rubbed his jaw. “Think you the Earl of Surrey is foolish enough to order his men to cross the bridge?”
    Wallace grunted. “With the boggy land, ’tis the quickest route across.”
    “It is,” Griffin said, far from convinced, “but they could ride to a ford a short distance away where knights can cross in great numbers.”
    “’Tis indeed an option which, if I led