My Heart Belongs to You (Medieval Romance Trilogy Book 3) (13 page)

“He must atone for his deed,” Nicholas growled as he led the way quickly along the forest path.

“He already has,” Ysabelle assured him. “He gave Madoc many coins, though it won’t replace Sara’s life if she dies. It’s obvious he feels remorse. I wouldn’t torture him more. If Sara dies, he will be forever haunted by the deed. That’s enough.”

Leading Nicholas’s horse, Madoc and Donal did not question the Scots Ram as he emerged from the forest carrying the bundled child. Ysabelle followed, wondering why Nicholas would care so much about a peasant child.

“Hold the girl for a moment.” Nicholas handed Sara to Madoc.

Staring dumbly, Madoc obeyed while Nicholas helped Ysabelle mount the gelding. Once she was situated, Nicholas reached to take Sara and carefully handed the girl up to Ysabelle. Pulling himself onto the horse’s back, Nicholas sat behind, taking the reins in a practiced grip.

Alex and a party of armed men dressed for battle soon appeared, racing their horses toward them in a flurry of hooves. Madoc’s mouth hung open and his eyes widened with fear as he scurried to pick up his son and move away from the trampling war horses.

Clouds of dust billowed around them, choking Ysabelle’s throat. She pulled the blanket over Sara’s head to protect the child’s face. Nicholas tapped his heels to the gelding’s sides and they hurried toward the keep. No words were spoken, but Ysabelle was conscious of the warriors drawing their swords and watching with vigilance until they clattered over the drawbridge and arrived safely inside the bailey. Skirting herds of cattle and flocks of sheep being gathered for the anticipated siege, they moved ahead of peasants who sought sanction within the castle walls. Soon, the grating of the portcullis filled the air as the guards secured the gatehouse.

Nicholas dismounted, reaching up to take Sara as Alex helped Ysabelle down. People stood around and gawked as Nicholas passed through the yard carrying the girl, with Ysabelle close behind. He didn’t stop until they reached the great hall, then he waited for Ysabelle to precede him up the spiral stairs so she could direct him where to take the child.

By the time Nicholas deposited Sara’s pale body on a comfortable pallet, Ysabelle was out of breath and had to wipe the moisture from her brow. The Ram was not winded at all as he leaned over the child. In the dimly-lit room, his fingertips caressed the tiny girl’s cheek for just a moment before he drew away and looked at Ysabelle. “Tend her well. I’ll return later to check on her progress.”

The Ram left and Ysabelle could only stare after him with amazement. His compassion for Sara was not in keeping with the brutality he’d been accused of. Surely he’d never killed a child before. Instead, he’d offered to postpone their marriage so Ysabelle might care for the girl. His generosity astonished her and she didn’t know what to make of this development.

Maybe this was why her father had betrothed her to the Scots Ram. Because Nicholas was fierce enough to hold Sutcliffe, yet gentle enough to care for their people. It was something to consider.

Turning, Ysabelle saw Ada standing by the door. The handmaiden threw a hateful glare at Nicholas as he passed. Her dislike for the Scots Ram was obvious and understandable. Ada was protective, the only mother Ysabelle had ever known.

The two women set to work, tending Sara’s wounds, applying a compress to the vicious gash on her forehead. Father Edward came an hour later to check on the child’s progress and Ysabelle was grateful for his presence.

“I will pray for her,” he promised.

“Pray for us all, father,” Ysabelle murmured as she pulled the blankets higher about Sara’s chin.

“Your betrothed is an unusual man,” the priest observed.

“Oh?” she remarked, thinking the same.

Ada snorted. “He’s a heathen.”

“Hush, woman. Don’t speak such words,” the priest scolded.

With a disapproving glower, Ada stepped away, but she remained mute.

Moving to the table, Ysabelle adjusted the tallow candle so she could see better in the dark room. The sun had set, bringing with it a decided chill in the air. She lit a fire in the brazier.

Father Edward went to stand by the washbasin. “Lord Nicholas could have forced his hand, yet he allowed you to care for Sara. I don’t know many men who would have offered such clemency.”

Ada harrumphed, throwing a sullen frown at the holy man. The handmaiden wasn’t about to be swayed by the priest’s words.

Ysabelle rinsed her cloth in the basin of water, her thoughts on the man who sought to be her husband. She stared as droplets of water fell from her hands.

“He hasn’t earned a place at Sutcliffe. His birth gives him no rights here,” Ada exclaimed.

Father Edward threw a warning scowl at the woman. “Would you contradict Lord Maston’s will? He always knew what Nicholas Ramsay was, yet he chose him to be Ysabelle’s husband. It is for God to judge what is in each of our hearts.”

Ada looked away, suddenly contrite. Ysabelle didn’t know what to make of this exchange. It seemed there was more to their conversation than she understood. But surely she was imagining things. “Sutcliffe will belong to my husband and, one day, to my son.”

Would her child also be Nicholas’s son? She shivered with confusion. She didn’t want to give Nicholas so much power over her. He might leave her with a babe and, once the king’s army defeated them, abandon her in the end.

Bowing her head, Ysabelle gazed at the flickering candle. How she wished it could illuminate Nicholas’s soul so she might know for certain what was in his heart.

Ada huffed with exasperation. “The Ram is as cruel as those heathens who set upon Lady Alys so many years ago. Surely you don’t want him to use Ysabelle in the same way.”

“Ada!” Father Edward rebuked. “This situation is entirely different from what happened to Ysabelle’s mother. You must not speak of that now or ever again. You gave your vow of silence on the matter.”

Ada clamped her mouth shut. Guilt filled the woman’s eyes and she shook her head with shame.

Ysabelle stared at the two. Confusion fogged her mind. “Is there something more I should know? Have you told me everything?”

Father Edward smiled kindly as he patted her arm. “There is nothing more to tell, my dear. Your father rescued Lady Alys and brought her here for their wedding. Though she didn’t live long, your father loved your mother deeply. You brought him solace. When Lady Alys died, her joy was full. Never forget that, child. Always remember how much your parents loved you.”

Clenching her eyes closed, Ysabelle moaned with grief. “I wish father were here now. I don’t know what to do.”

“What does your heart tell you?” Father Edward asked.

Ada huffed with impatience and left the room. Ysabelle blinked her eyes and reached to touch her lips, remembering Nicholas’s warmth and passion. She couldn’t forget his gentleness as he carried her to and fro even as he denied her shoes so she couldn’t escape. Yet, now he’d offered her a choice. Though he said they must be wed, he gave her the option of declining.

“I tested him,” Ysabelle confessed.

“I don’t understand.”

“Last night, Nicholas came to me and said he would wait for me. I didn’t believe him. To test his word so I might know if I can trust him, I waited and waited, expecting him to break my door down at any moment. I wanted to know what he might do.”

She looked into the priest’s eyes, feeling deceitful for what she’d done. But she had needed desperately to know if the Scots Ram would keep his word. It was more than important that she understand from the beginning if he was a man of honor.

“He never came, until he heard that I’d gone to tend Sara,” she exclaimed with wonder.

“Ah,” Father Edward smiled. “Now, I understand. When I asked if we should send for you, Lord Nicholas declined and said you were still making up your mind. He seemed most nervous.”

A soft laugh rose from her throat. “Nervous is not a word I would use to describe the Scots Ram. Impatient would be better, don’t you think?”

A wide smile split the priest’s face, his eyes crinkled with merriment. “Yes, my lady, I believe you are correct. Yet, I sense so much goodness in him.”

The smile slipped from Ysabelle’s lips and she frowned. She also sensed his decency.

“In the morning, what will you do?” the priest asked.

With a sigh of frustration, Ysabelle sank down on the wooden chair sitting next to the bed. She didn’t speak for some time, not knowing what to think. If Nicholas had smashed through her door and dragged her to the altar, she would have fought him to her death.

A choice! How could she fight him, or defy her father’s will and continue to reject the Scots Ram?

She couldn’t.

Ysabelle stared at her hands, not knowing when the priest left the room. Frustration and fear waged a silent battle within her. Looking toward the bed, she saw that Sara rested peacefully now. The herbs Ysabelle had given the girl to reduce her pain must have taken affect. If only she would regain consciousness, all might be well.

In the soft fire glow, Ysabelle curled her legs up in the hard chair, but she found no rest.

Chapter Eight

In the dark room, Nicholas gazed at his betrothed, his heart turning somersaults. Ysabelle’s white-gold hair shimmered, luminous as it caught the moon’s rays that streamed in through the small window. Curls fell over her shoulders, draping her in a silken halo. Her skin held a translucent glow, her eyes closed and fringed by long lashes, her mouth softened in sleep. He wondered how she could rest in such a hard, uncomfortable chair.

He’d never wanted any woman as he did this one. She’d become a craving in his blood. Something he desired at all costs. But it wasn’t lust he felt. He recognized that emotion well enough. No, this was a yearning he didn’t understand. Something deep within his soul that he couldn’t let go. He wanted her. To smile at him. To laugh and trust.

To love.

Force had been such a part of his own life, he was determined not to use such a weapon on her. Although she had the temerity to stand up to him, he wanted only to protect her. No other woman ever dared speak to him as Ysabelle did. They feared him too much. It made no sense why his desire to be near her bordered on desperation. He’d barely met her, yet she was constantly in his thoughts. Something about her connected with his soul and bound his wits until he could think of nothing but seeing her again.

Perhaps he was smitten. Such a confession would win disbelief from his brother and mockery from his men. As always, Nicholas would savor his feelings, keeping them to himself. At least until he could decide what it was he felt for this woman.

Walking to Ysabelle’s side, he reached out to run his fingertips over her soft cheek. Lifting long tendrils of silky hair away from her sweet face, he rubbed them between his fingers, awed by the soft texture.

Ysabelle exhaled a gentle sigh, her soft breath warm against his hand. He withdrew, knowing she needed rest.

Glancing at the bed, Nicholas saw that Sara rested quietly, her face peaceful. Ysabelle had applied a bandage to the slash on the girl’s forehead and a healing salve to the other various cuts and scrapes on her cheeks. The rest of the child’s body was covered with a warm blanket. Only her broken arm stuck out from beneath the covers. The limb lay bandaged and splinted with straight thin pieces of birch and strips of cloth. The faint odor of herbs made his nose twitch. It pleased him that his betrothed was a healer with a great deal of skill. Her many talents amazed him and he realized she’d be an asset in his life.

If only she would wed him in the morning.

A lump of unease lodged in his chest. Sara appeared well enough for Ysabelle to leave her side for an hour or two. So far there had been no sign of the English king’s army, but Nicholas was no fool. It was only a matter of time. Soon Lord Marshal’s men would surround the castle.

Ah, perhaps he was a fool after all, to think a woman such as Ysabelle would agree to be tied to him. He’d known nothing but death. And for every life he’d taken in battle, remorse had laid another stone upon his heart, tearing his soul apart until it haunted him. Each night was his enemy, bringing anguish instead of rest. Even now, guilt ripped inside him for seizing Ysabelle against her will and dragging her to Sutcliffe so he could take possession of both.

Yet, he had meant what he had said. If Ysabelle would wed him, he would leave Sutcliffe and go away somewhere, anywhere, as long as she remained by his side. As long as he no longer must live alone.

With a shuddering sigh, Nicholas dragged a hand through his hair. He must visit Father Edward and confess his sins. There were so many of them. Perhaps he was beyond help, beyond redemption.

Ysabelle stirred, her hand lifting to her face. Her eyes opened and she looked straight at him. Nicholas froze. Their gazes locked and held. He stood transfixed for several pounding moments, unable to hide the yearning inside his heart.

Her green eyes darkened and she shifted as she sat forward. “What do you want?”

“Only you, my lady,” he whispered.

She frowned, stretching her slim body. “Why have you come here?”

“To see how the child is doing.”

Ysabelle’s gaze lifted to the bed. “She is well, though she hasn’t awakened yet.”

“And this concerns you?”

She nodded. “I fear there may be something wrong inside. I’ve seen it happen before. A man who was injured in the head by falling rocks slept for days before he finally died without waking up.”

“Is Madoc her only family?”

Ysabelle frowned. “Yes.”

A lance of pity struck Nicholas and his gaze swept over Sara’s small face. Having seen so much evil in the world, the innocence of a child amazed him. A fierce desire to protect her filled him.

“Thank you for tending her. Many children in Sara’s situation would be cast aside to fend for themselves,” he said.

Ysabelle’s brow furrowed with doubt. “You mean because she is a bastard?”

“Yes,” he nodded, knowing firsthand how cruel people could be to a child of ignoble birth.

“Sara’s birth wasn’t her fault and I would never abandon her. She would die without care,” Ysabelle reasoned, as if she understood Sara’s situation firsthand. “She of all those involved is innocent of her creation and she deserves the right to grow and be happy like other children. She deserves parents who love her.”