My Heart Belongs to You (Medieval Romance Trilogy Book 3) (11 page)

Nicholas threw a glare at his brother. “No doubt Maston loved her and overlooked her rebellions. I’m sure she feels threatened and seeks to assert herself. Perhaps I must teach her differently.”

“It should prove amusing to see what she teaches you.”

Nicholas grit his teeth. “I have no tolerance for your jokes.”

Alex still smiled, but his eyes crinkled with concern. “Tell her the truth, Nicholas. She willna fight you if she knows. It would make everything so much easier.”

Nicholas’s tensed. The truth could destroy any hope of finding happiness with her. He dare not chance it. “The truth would only hurt her more. I want her to trust me.”

“Ah, yes, the fierce Scots Ram is worried he might hurt a mere woman’s feelings. Perhaps it’s your own heart you guard.”

“I have no heart.” Nicholas spoke between clenched teeth.

“The truth would bend her to your will.”

“Or drive her further away.”

“She’ll have to be told eventually.”

“No, I forbid it. There’s no need for her to know.” Nicholas scooted back from the table and stood. She showed Alex a grim expression. It mirrored his feelings. He must make himself clear on this point. There was too much to lose. “You will forget what you know, brother. It was an error for you to overhear my private conversation with Lord Maston. The truth changes nothing.”

Alex frowned. “It changes everything, Nicholas.”

“Forget it. Now!” Nicholas roared.

People in the hall stilled and stared at the head table. Silence reigned. Nicholas’s brows lowered in a stormy frown and he turned to depart.

“Where are you going, brother?” Alex asked.

Nicholas responded over his shoulder. “To speak with the lady of my keep.”

After seeking information as to the location of Ysabelle’s chamber, Nicholas mounted the spiral stairs three at a time. He climbed steadily until he reached the second floor. By that time, his temper raged and blood pounded in his head. He had given Ysabelle as much time as possible, hoping she would reconcile herself to their marriage. Obviously she had not.

Pausing outside the door to her chamber, Nicholas fought to gain control over his fury. Tolerance didn’t come easy and his temper neared its end. With his knuckles, he rapped against the solid panel.

“Who is there?” Her voice sounded dim and weary.

“It is your lord, my lady. I seek your presence.”

“Go away,” came her sharp reply.

Stunned by her defiance, he could barely keep from bellowing in anger. He was now lord of Sutcliffe. She would obey him.

He flung the door wide and stepped inside. And froze. Every ounce of fury drained from his body in a single moment of time.

Ysabelle sat in a tub, her golden hair piled atop her head, her bare skin glimmering in the fireglow as she bathed.

With a gasp of shock, she wrapped her arms across her chest. Her torso was slim, her shoulders creamy and smooth as she jutted her chin in challenge.

His mouth dropped open.

“Get out!” Ysabelle ordered.

Tendrils of damp hair curled against her long neck. She was more than beautiful, her pale skin almost translucent. Ethereal, like a fairy princess.

“How dare you?” she demanded.

She stared at his chest. Emblazoned with golden threads on the front of his black tunic was the Ramsay crest; an eagle with its sharp beak open in a silent scream, its fierce claws unfurled as it swooped down upon its hapless prey.

Ysabelle’s eyes widened. Perhaps his choice in wearing the garment had been unwise, but it was the only clean tunic he had in his saddle packs. He would not wed Ysabelle dressed in soiled clothes that stank of sweat and dust.

“You will remove yourself from that tub, my lady, or you will find out just how much I dare,” he warned.

Her gaze met his, her eyes spitting flame. “Sir, you are a clod.”

“It was not my intent to interrupt your bath, but you will join me below. I wish to present a united front to our people before we are wed.” His gaze took in her stiff posture.

Shifting restlessly, she gave him a glimpse of her flawless skin as she reached for a cloth to wrap around herself.

He’d been blessed when Lord Maston came to Dalhousie to betroth this woman to him. It wasn’t every day a bastard found himself so fortunate to receive an affluent estate and a beautiful lady for his wife.

A possessive tightening filled Nicholas. Even from across the room, he could see she grit her teeth as she spoke. “I sent word I cannot join you now.”

“I received your message, though it is unacceptable,” he said.

Closing the door, he approached the tub and she sank lower. The water lapped at the slim column of her neck and a droplet clung to her chin. He almost reached out a finger to wipe it away.

“You had best complete your bath with haste, lady. Father Edward will wed us this evening.”

Indicating the bath, she spoke in a strained voice. “You can see I am occupied.”

He took another step and Ysabelle inhaled sharply. Her eyes challenged him. “What has Father Edward said to you?”

“Since he performed our betrothal, he has agreed to wed us,” he said.

She blinked. “So, you will force me to the altar, just as King William did?”

“I think that willna be necessary. Surely you will honor your own vow to wed me.”

She flinched at his reminder. Hopefully her honor would win where threats could not. Nor did Nicholas wish to threaten or coerce her into being his wife. Together they would have much to face. It would be better if she became his wife of her own free will.

“It is treasonous for me to wed you.” Her voice was a tight whisper.

Two more steps took him to the edge of the tub. Looking down, he was enchanted by the way the water swirled about her shoulders. “I don’t believe you care what your king thinks.”

“I care what he does to Sutcliffe.”

She clenched her eyes closed, her skin a ghostly pallor that spoke of revulsion.

“Ysabelle, what is it?” he asked.

Her eyes opened, no longer filled with defiant light but only fear. His heart squeezed.

“Please don’t,” she begged.

His heart melted. Guilt lodged deep in his chest. If he forced her to the altar, he would win her hatred. He could not stand that. He wanted happiness with his wife, not loathing.

Her eyes closed again and she shook her head. “I want no husband.”

“Wee lass, open your eyes.” She did so, and Nicholas was lost in them as they glistened like dazzling jewels. “Never will I harm you. Rise and dress for our wedding.”

“I will pay you to go away. My father had much wealth.”

A bribe! Nicholas hadn’t expected this. “There is only one payment I would accept, and I doubt you would offer it.”

She met his gaze. “Name it.”

“You.”

She blinked, her rosebud mouth so full and kissable he had trouble concentrating. He forced his gaze to move from her lips.

“I offer gold and grain, flocks of sheep, and herds of cows. Will you accept it?”

“I only want you.”

“If I give myself to you, will you leave Sutcliffe?” Her voice trembled.

“Yes.”

Her eyes closed and she swallowed, her slender throat open to his gaze. He longed to press a kiss to the rapid pulse there, to breathe deeply of her warm, fragrant skin.

“All right. I will give myself to you if you and your men will depart immediately thereafter.”

Her eyes opened and he saw her dread and resolution. She planned to sacrifice herself so that Sutcliffe might be safe from war. Lust crawled through Nicholas’s veins, lulling him to accept her offer. But he wanted more than just a few fleeting moments of pleasure.

“You misunderstand me,” he said. “I will leave only if you accompany me, as my wife.”

A harsh laugh slipped from her throat. “You seek to keep Sutcliffe through subterfuge. If we wed, you will own my lands by default.”

“I have wealth of my own and may buy my own lands. Wed me and we will leave Sutcliffe this verra night. It is your choice.”

She frowned, her eyes crinkled with sadness. “If I leave, King William will take Sutcliffe. His tyranny is well known. I would never abandon my people to his abuse.”

“Then, we will remain here and I’ll protect our people from your king’s wrath.”

“You’ll bring death to us all.”

“No, we will have life here at Sutcliffe, and joy. You cannot prevent war by not wedding me, Ysabelle. Your king has set us on this course. You must choose.”

“If I refuse, will you send me away?”

His brows rose. Surely she didn’t want to leave her home. And what kind of life would he have here alone, without her close at hand? He wanted her. Nothing else mattered. “Where would you go?”

Blinking, she gave a short sigh. “Perhaps to a nunnery.”

“No, you willna be cloistered away. For some, it would be a relief. For you, it would kill your spirit. Besides, I have no doubt you would run the nuns ragged in the process. You should remain by my side.”

“I don’t like that option either.”

Her confession startled him. He didn’t like this situation either, but he was set on his course. He reached out and caressed her cheek, then turned toward the door. “I’ll await you down below in the hall.”

He left, praying she did as told and put on her wedding finery to meet him for their marriage.

Returning to the hall, Nicholas sought out Ada. In a few short words, he bade the hag to return to her mistress and help Lady Ysabelle dress for their wedding.

Her mouth dropping open in surprise, Ada scurried from the hall to do his bidding.

*

“Will he force you if you don’t go willingly?” Ada asked when she joined Ysabelle a few minutes later.

Ysabelle sat on the edge of the bed wearing a linen chemise. Her damp hair hung about her shoulders and arms in sodden strands. Nicholas had never harmed her. In fact, he’d been quite gentle, under the circumstances. But the memory of Sir Malcolm’s painful handling weighed her mind with doubts and she feared Nicholas might turn brutal if he didn’t get his way.

“I don’t know what he’ll do. I’ve pushed him as far as I dare.”

Ada frowned. “Did he hurt you like Sir Malcolm?”

“No,” Ysabelle shook her head and hugged herself as a shiver trembled down her spine.

With her brows lowered in confusion, Ysabelle picked up a brush and began to comb her wet hair, fanning it before the fire so it would dry more quickly. She didn’t understand Nicholas. Not at all. Each time they met proved to be a surprising revelation. She felt drawn to him even as she wished he’d go away. She couldn’t help wondering if he’d truly leave Sutcliffe if she agreed to wed him. But what would be the point? If she agreed to marry him, she would want to stay here even at peril of her own life. This was her home. It would kill her to never see the walls of Sutcliffe again.

Ada took the brush from her. “Remember the Ram’s cruel ways. Surely he is trying to deceive you with kindness. But such a man would destroy us all.”

“I know it’s possible he is trying to trick us,” Ysabelle admitted. “He is beguiling, but he’s ever hurt me, even when I tried to flee. I expected him to strike me like Sir Malcolm did, yet he is most desirable and persuasive.”

“It is lust, child. You must avoid him until the king’s men can overtake Sutcliffe.”

And bring death and destruction with them.

“I don’t want the king’s men here either.”

Ada’s eyes crinkled with amazement. “Surely you wouldn’t defy your own king. You must fight the Scots Ram. Don’t give in to his smooth ways. Remember your dear mother and what she suffered.” Ada hugged her. “I’m sorry for your dilemma, dearest. But don’t let Nicholas Ramsay win.”

Ysabelle kept her silence. She was uncertain, but surely Nicholas would take them all to their doom. “Father Edward believes I should honor our betrothal.”

Ada shrugged as she worked a snarl from Ysabelle’s hair. “That is because he’s a man of principle and thinks you should obey Lord Maston’s will. But Father Edward doesn’t always know what’s best.”

It was surprising to Ysabelle that Ada would defy the priest. “He means well.”

Picking up the silver-handled looking glass, Ysabelle studied her reflection. Peering close, she tried to find the answers there in her wide eyes. Searching her heart, she sought the truth. If only she could trust Nicholas. He’d offered her a choice, but she wasn’t certain he would keep his word. Was he a cruel barbarian as the gossips said, or was he a gentle lord who had awakened her soul with his kiss?

She would soon find out.

*

She wasn’t coming! The thought pounded inside Nicholas’s head until his temples ached. He clenched his hands, thinking he never should have offered Ysabelle a choice. And yet, he’d been forced to do so many unspeakable things that he couldn’t stand to hurt her any more.

He sat like solid marble before the long table in the great hall, conscious of Alex shifting nervously beside him. Torches had been placed about the room, the flames dancing with impatience, mirroring Nicholas’s mood.

Alex stifled another wide yawn and crossed his arms as he leaned against the high back of his chair. The other men and women in the room ate quietly, sensing Nicholas’s black mood. He’d hoped to wed Ysabelle before feasting on the succulent meal, but she was taking her sweet time in appearing. To appease everyone’s hunger, Nicholas had finally relented and ordered the food to be served. But where was she? And how much longer must he wait for her?

The priest stepped close to Nicholas, his long black robes swirling about his feet. The smell of incense spiraled around Nicholas’s face as the holy man spoke in a low tone. “My son, perhaps something is amiss. Might we send someone to check on Lady Ysabelle?”

“No, she’s still making up her mind,” Nicholas growled.

Father Edward drew back, his expression one of concern. Ysabelle had chosen to defy him and Nicholas didn’t want to accept it. The thought twisted his gut into cold anger. He should have dragged her downstairs and made her see their marriage was for the best. Force ruled and strength won the day. Letting her choose went against everything he knew.