My Heart Belongs to You (Medieval Romance Trilogy Book 3) (10 page)

“But things have changed. I’m now a widow.”

Father Edward’s brows lowered in a concerned expression. “I must ask you something, my child. I don’t mean to embarrass you, but you must answer truthfully. Was your marriage to Sir Malcolm consummated?”

Ysabelle’s face flooded with heat and she looked down, shaking her head. “No, the Black Ram charged into the room and took me away. I am yet chaste.”

The priest sighed. “And you told Lord Marshal and the priest who performed the marriage that you didn’t want to wed Sir Malcolm?”

“Of course,” she croaked. “But they held me down and muffled my screams. Lord Marshal threatened to take me to King William’s dungeons at Winchester, and then the king would have handed Sutcliffe over to Sir Malcolm. I couldn’t let them do that to my people.” Looking up, Ysabelle saw the grave expression on Father Edward’s face. “You don’t approve of the king’s tactics?”

He shook his head, his face dark with anger. “What William did was wrong.”

“He still has the power to destroy us,” she said.

“Only through strength of arms. His personal coffers have swelled from the benefit of Church funds. His actions border on sacrilege and he has lost religious support because of it. For this reason, I don’t believe the Pope would support him or your forced marriage to Sir Malcolm.”

A blaze of hope pierced her chest. Could it be true?

“You were not wed in the eyes of God, Ysabelle,” Father Edward told her. “Now that Sir Malcolm is dead, you are free to marry once more.”

Ysabelle’s heart plummeted. “What are you saying, Father?”

“You should honor your vow and marry your betrothed. Though I don’t approve of his tactics, Nicholas Ramsay was innocent of King William’s actions to wed you to Sir Malcolm. You must be obedient to your father’s will.”

Obedient! Ysabelle stared at the priest with dismay. This wasn’t the answer she wanted to hear. She’d hoped to find a way out of wedding Nicholas. The priest was supposed to be on her side.

“The man terrifies me. Ada believes he will harm me, just as my mother was harmed.”

“I don’t agree.”

She shuddered and bowed her head so Father Edward wouldn’t see the fear in her eyes. She didn’t want to confide these things in the priest. It was too humiliating.

“Nicholas Ramsay can be a brutal man,” she whispered.

Trembling with misery, she felt the priest touch her head and caught the tangy scent of incense clinging to his robes. Though the room felt quite warm, she shivered.

“Don’t fear him, my child. I have spoken with him many times over the years and know he can be kind.”

“Perhaps he has deceived you,” she said. “Once he has won his way, he could show himself to be the brutal monster we’ve heard so much about.”

He snorted. “People aren’t always as they appear. Even your father was formidable in battle, but he was kind to you and your mother.”

True! But her father had lied to her. And that hurt most of all.

Ysabelle closed her eyes. Her making was not Lord Maston’s doing, yet he’d loved her when he could have repudiated her mother and set them both aside. There wasn’t a time in her life when she could remember Maston ever treating her unkindly.

And then he’d died. And King William’s emissary had descended on her, forcing her to wed a lascivious old man. Now, Nicholas Ramsay was here and trying to force his will upon her.

For the first time in her life, she doubted Father Edward’s wisdom.

*

By late morning, Nicholas stood high upon the ramparts, watching the constant trail of people plodding over the worn road toward the keep. They brought with them bags of grain, barrels of ale, herds of sheep and cattle, and flocks of geese and chickens. Lord Maston had managed his lands with precision and the storage holds of the castle swelled with supplies.

Nicholas had sent runners to call the villagers and farmers to Sutcliffe. It wasn’t necessary to elaborate on the danger. Having faced this threat before, they knew what to do. The border was close enough to spit. Many English herdsmen had Scottish wives, and vice-versa. What good fortune! With Nicholas’s army resting safely inside the castle walls, no one could easily defy him even if they wanted to.

Riding the perimeters of the town, he spent several hours with his men, ensuring the castle was secure against attack, getting to know the people, reassuring them that he and his men would offer protection. There was little to be done to prepare for siege. Lord Maston had left the battlements in excellent condition, the armory packed with weapons, the storage rooms filled with supplies.

Nicholas checked the two wells himself, making certain they had enough water to last. A castle could withstand a siege so long as thirst, hunger, or illness did not conquer them first.

That done, Nicholas bathed, scrubbing the sweat and grime from his body and hair. Dressed once again in a clean tunic, he sheathed his sword at his side and climbed the stairs leading up to the chapel on the top floor of the keep. Before he heard the oaths of Lord Maston’s garrison, he would take counsel with Father Edward.

Since his childhood when he was condemned as a bastard, Nicholas had always been suspicious of priests. But Father Edward was different. Each year, Lord Maston had sent the holy man to the northern highlands, to meet with Nicholas. Over time, Nicholas had come to trust Father Edward and rely on his advice. Perhaps the priest might give him some constructive advice on how to deal with his new bride.

At the doorway of the chapel, Nicholas paused, hearing voices within. Thinking not to intrude, he turned to leave. A woman’s anxious tone reached Nicholas’s ears. He froze.

Ysabelle.

Though she spoke in whispers, he could not mistake her distress. After a momentary pause, the priest’s soothing response could be heard. Nicholas should leave now, but years of doubt and betrayal held him there. They might be plotting against him.

Suspicion drew him to the doorway. He stood where they could see him if they looked up.

Ysabelle knelt on the stone floor, as if having just finished praying. He had no idea how long she’d been here. The priest sat in a chair before her. From a stained glass window set high in the wall, the afternoon sunlight filtered downward, landing squarely on her bent profile. Beams of gold glistened off her white-blond hair and radiated across the tiled floor. The outline of her face looked fragile and unearthly.

Angelic.

Tears ran unheeded down her cheeks. Her head was bowed, her small hands clasped to her chest. Guilt lodged in Nicholas’s throat. Knowing he must be the cause, he could hardly stand to witness her misery.

She didn’t want him.

Father Edward reached out and rested his hand on her head. When he lifted his gaze and saw Nicholas standing there, the priest’s eyes crinkled with sadness. And in that moment, Nicholas knew there was no plotting here.

Without a word, he turned and left, allowing Ysabelle whatever solace she might find.

An hour later, he returned, once again seeking Father Edward. The priest was alone now, sitting exactly where Nicholas had last seen him with Ysabelle. Though she was gone, Nicholas could almost feel her presence in the room. The scent of heather teased his nostrils and he looked around, thinking he might find her close by. Disappointment seeped through his veins when he didn’t see her.

Father Edward sat staring at the far wall, his forehead creased with deep thought.

As Nicholas approached, the holy man looked up and came to his feet. Though he didn’t smile, Father Edward held out an open hand. “Welcome, Lord Nicholas. It has been a long time since last we met.”

Nicholas stilled. This was the first time the priest had addressed him as lord. A restless sigh slipped silently from Nicholas’s chest. Father Edward and the people of Sutcliffe had accepted him. If only Ysabelle would do the same.

*

With determined stride, Nicholas entered the hall sometime later to see that arrangements for the feast were being prepared. Like everything else at Sutcliffe, the hall was clean and smelled of fresh rushes and savory meat. Thomas had told Nicholas this was Ysabelle’s doing. She demanded order, often working beside her people to groom the keep. Just one more reason for Nicholas to appreciate his future wife.

Servants bustled about to feed his men a simple meal of bread and cheese. The food would tide them over until the banquet later that evening. Colorful tapestries hung upon the stone walls, emblazoned with snarling lions. Sitting at the head table, Nicholas looked down from the spacious dais and counted his good fortune while silently thanking Maston for this precious gift. Once this war ended, Nicholas would no longer wear the Ramsay eagle upon his shield. Instead, he would adopt the crest of Lord Maston’s golden lion and make it his own.

With a quiet word to Ada, Nicholas bade the woman seek out Lady Ysabelle and request her presence in the hall. It was time they be seen together, so their people wouldn’t doubt his position here at Sutcliffe.

Her spine stiff with disapproval, Ada left to do his bidding.

Alex entered the hall and came to sit beside Nicholas. Tearing off a piece of warm bread, he glanced at his brother. “Where is your betrothed?”

“No doubt resting from her ordeal,” Nicholas commented.

Alex’s brows rose in question. “You have not sought her out?”

Alex’s infernal curiosity never ceased to annoy him.

“She’s verra weary and I thought to allow her time to rest while I saw to other matters. I’ve just sent for her.”

“I’m sure she’ll come willingly.” A wide grin spread its way across Alex’s face, but his words didn’t carry much confidence.

Nicholas didn’t reply but a cloud of doubt fogged his mind. He wasn’t sure what to do if Ysabelle still refused his demand that they wed immediately.

“There’s been no sign of her all day. Do you think she’s hiding?” Alex asked.

Nicholas almost laughed. The thought of his little spitting cat hiding from him was ludicrous. “No, but she may have chosen to ignore our presence.”

“What will you do if she continues to defy you?”

Nicholas’s turned so his dark gaze rested on his elder brother. “Her people will swear their oath to me after we wed. She’ll be my wife before the sun sets. Even Father Edward agrees it’s my right to demand the marriage whether Malcolm de Litz had lived or died.”

“Do you think Lambert de Litz will claim Sutcliffe now his father is dead?”

Clenching his teeth, Nicholas shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. I hold the keep. He can’t have it.”

“If Lady Ysabelle refuses you, the oath of her people won’t matter much. She has a mind of her own.”

What an understatement. He only hoped she would yield to reason.

Nicholas popped a piece of mellow cheese into his mouth and chewed furiously. “Of course, but I perceive she has enough loyalty for Maston to do as he asked. I don’t blame her for being upset, but I think she’ll do what is right when the time comes.”

A thoughtful frown lowered Alex’s brows. “Though it was my hand that did the deed, she will blame you for Sir Malcolm’s death. Do you think she cared for the mon?”

Nicholas grimaced. “I hope not. If she prefers to be wed to such a mon, she is more a fool than I believe.”

“You must consummate the marriage ere the English arrive. Even then, King William will still seek your death.”

“True,” Nicholas nodded. “But with my marriage to Ysabelle and the possibility of my heir, the church will honor our vows. It would take my death to free her, and I don’t plan to die any time soon. I have no doubt King William and I can arrive at some kind of agreement.”

“Then, who will you support? The English king, or the Scots king?”

Nicholas scowled. Truthfully, he didn’t care. But he had enough political acumen to tread carefully. “Though my father was English, I have given my vow to Scotland’s king. I will remain loyal.”

“Be careful, Nick. Your lands sit along the border. It might chafe to ride the fence.”

“I willna support a king who would steal my bride from me.”

Alex chuckled with amusement. “It will tweak William’s pride mightily to have a Scotsman ruling Sutcliffe.”

A sigh rumbled in Nicholas’s chest. “My concerns are more for the comfort of my wife and our people. I have no doubt my lady has a preference. When the time comes, I’ll consult her. Though she sometimes acts rashly, Maston told me she is loyal. I will soon discover if that’s true.”

Chapter Six

Within minutes, Ada returned after Nicholas had sent her to request Ysabelle’s presence in the great hall. With a superior smile, the handmaiden stood beside Nicholas’s chair at the lord’s table and curtsied stiffly. “Begging your pardon, my lord, but Lady Ysabelle asked me to send her regrets. She cannot join you this evening.”

Nicholas tensed. “Canna’ or willna?”

Ada pursed her lips. “She did not say, my lord.”

With an impatient snort, Nicholas peered at the woman. “What did my lady say, exactly?”

The maid blinked several times and wrung her hands. Nicholas frowned and scooted his chair back from the table. Sensing his rising displeasure, servants set their trenchers of meat and cheese aside and scurried toward the safety of the back of the room. Light from the massive fireplace sent flickering shadows across the walls, but the cheery warmth suddenly dimmed.

“I would rather not repeat her words, my lord,” Ada said.

No doubt, it wasn’t kind. Ysabelle had a penchant for speaking her mind. It amused Nicholas, to a point. Now, he was anxious to end this verbal warfare.

“Speak,” Nicholas urged. “Do not fear.”

Ada gave a deep harrumph. “My lady said it would be a cold day in Hades before she supped with the Scots Devil in her very own hall.”

A bark of laughter escaped Alex. Anger boiled up within Nicholas and he felt the color drain from his face. The little minx still defied him. It didn’t bode well. Nodding at the handmaiden, he clenched his hands as she bobbed her head and departed.

Alex guffawed into his goblet of wine. “So, she has the temperament of an angel, soft and biddable. A gloriously beautiful maiden who has never caused a moment’s trouble. I believe that is what Maston said.”