My Heart Belongs to You (Medieval Romance Trilogy Book 3) (17 page)

“Little fool,” Nicholas finally spoke, his voice unnaturally low. “Didn’t you think before leaving the safety of the castle? I would have thought you’d learned your lesson by now.”

“I thought I had time. I planned to hurry about my task and return to the castle before anyone noticed I was gone.”

How could she tell him that she’d longed to speak with her father? To tell him all that had happened since his death. To ask why he hadn’t told her she was a bastard. She thought she was safe, seeking a few answers. But she’d found none.

Her teeth chattered with cold and she clamped them together as she looked up at the Scots Ram. His face was tight with fury, his eyes so dark and stabbing she feared he might pierce her through with one glance.

Spatters of blood covered his shirtfront, face, and sword. Looking down at herself, Ysabelle’s breath caught in her throat. She looked much the same. Never before had she seen death so close and brutal. Even Malcolm’s demise hadn’t been this bloody.

Now, the mighty charger pawed the ground and pranced nervously, as if hungering for a fight. Nicholas clutched his sword in his hand, his head back, the long wet hair clinging to his face and shoulders as he glared at her with a frightening expression. Waves of anger pulsed from him. She felt it rushing at her. The Scots Ram had returned, fierce and volatile. She still didn’t know this man. Maybe she never would.

Poised before her, his left hand held the reins to restrain his stallion. The animal’s nostrils flared as it snorted and waved its great head.

Surely this was bloodlust. This was how Nicholas had earned his title of Scots Ram. His hard look was remote. Closed. Lethal.

Ysabelle turned away.

“You’ve made your choice,” Nicholas said quietly.

He sheathed his sword and stepped from the stallion, the supple movement reminding her of his skill and strength in battle.

Ysabelle fought the urge to run and hide in her room. She wondered if Nicholas would still want to marry her if he knew she wasn’t legitimately born. Whether Maston had sired her or not, he was the father of her heart and had taught her grit and courage. She wouldn’t disappoint him now.

Without preamble, Nicholas swept her into his arms. Her gaze clashed, then locked with his as she pressed her palms against his chest. A thrill of expectation shot through her.

Carrying her with apparent ease, his power surrounded her as he entered the keep. He spared not a single word to Alex or the other men as he crossed the great hall and mounted the stairs leading to Ysabelle’s chamber.

The door to her room stood ajar and he shouldered it open. Crossing the thick rug that covered the stone floor, he placed Ysabelle on her feet beside the bed, then stepped back.

“What do you intend?” she asked in a wobbly voice.

His tone was tight. “You ran to me and fought for my cause against your king’s men. You’ve made your choice.”

Yes, and she was ashamed of herself. She’d betrayed her own king. Yet, she would do it again if it meant Nicholas would be safe.

She cared for him. Heaven help her, she did. Why? How?

She groaned and shook her head.

Nicholas’s eyes narrowed and he stepped closer until she found herself staring up into his chilling gaze.

“The enemy is at the gates. We must wed now, before all is lost,” he said.

Ysabelle watched him for several moments, hardly able to believe what she heard. Memories of his gentleness clashed with those of his violence. “How can you show tenderness one moment and be so brutal the next?”

“When I’m at war, do you expect me to kiss the enemy?” he asked without mirth. “I would rather kiss you.”

Shaking her head, she stepped away, wrapping her arms about her, wondering how she could make him understand. “How can you make jokes at a time like this?”

He cocked his head to one side. “Jokes? I speak the truth.”

Dare she confide her fears to him? It would be a weapon he could then use against her. She didn’t know if she dared trust him with the truth. If he knew she wasn’t Maston’s legitimate child, he might send her to a nunnery for the rest of her life.

His jaw hardened. “I’ll await you in the chapel. Clean yourself up and don’t keep me waiting long.”

Turning, he left the room, closing the door silently behind him.  

Chapter Ten

Ysabelle stared at the closed portal of her bedchamber after Nicholas had left the room. Placing her fingers against her temples, she tried to ease the painful pounding in her head. Her heart thudded within her chest and her limbs quaked.

When a light tapping sounded, she flinched, thinking he’d returned. But no, the Scots Ram never knocked.

She called out in a shaky voice. “Who’s there?”

“My lady, it’s me. Ada.”

“Oh, Ada.” Ysabelle ran to throw the door open and admit her handmaiden.

Slipping inside, Ada secured the portal once more before taking Ysabelle’s trembling hands in her own. “I passed that heathen Scotsman in the stairwell. He looked angry enough to throw me down the stairs. He said I was to attend you for your marriage. Did he hurt you, little lamb?”

Ysabelle could barely speak as she found herself hugged tightly by the elderly woman. “No, he’s never harmed me in any way.”

“Then what has he done to upset you?” Ada asked.

“It’s what I did. I betrayed my king.” Ysabelle hid her face, feeling guilt wrench through her. “I don’t know what came over me. When I saw Lord Marshal’s men riding out of the forest, I didn’t think before I turned and ran to Nicholas. How could I betray my king in such a way?”

“Shh, dear one. You mustn’t be so distressed,” Ada soothed.

“How can I not be? Will our people pay for my treason with their lives?”

“Surely not. Wouldn’t the king understand that you were fearful of the soldiers and ran away from them?”

Ysabelle moaned. “It’s worse than that. When we were surrounded by Lord Marshal’s men, I thought we might be cut down.” Standing, she began to pace the room. “Oh, heaven help me, Ada. I stabbed one of the English soldiers as he tried to pull me off of Nicholas’s horse.”

Ada hissed with horror. “No! Why would you do such a thing, child? You should have stabbed Nicholas Ramsay instead.”

“I couldn’t do such a thing. I thought only of Nicholas, fearing they might kill him. I didn’t even think about my own life until later, once we were safe.”

“No!” Ada cried. “He seeks to use you. Why would you want to protect him, child?

She clenched her eyes closed. “I don’t know, but I would do it again, as long as I can keep him from harm. How can this be?”

“Oh,” Ada moaned, her face ashen. “He has enthralled you. You must fight the hold he has over you. Don’t be seduced by his swarthy good looks. He’ll hurt you, just like your mother was hurt.”

“It’s more than his handsomeness that holds me, Ada. He is unique. His vulnerability cries out to me.” She rubbed her eyes, trying to silence the screaming in her head.

“Vulnerability? I know of no weakness in the man.” Ada looked at her like she’d gone daft.

“You’re wrong. He’s suffered so much in his life, yet he asks nothing in return.”

“He asks everything from you, my lady. He would take all you hold dear.”

“As is his right. I’m his betrothed. His brother said that Nicholas is loyal to the death.” Ysabelle reasoned softly.

Ada snorted. “Of course his brother would say that.”

“But I sense it’s true. I’ve seen how Nicholas treats his men and his horse. He could have come here to Sutcliffe and put many of our people to the sword if it suited his whim. Yet, he’s been kind when didn’t need to be. And now, I’ve killed in his defense.” With a low moan, she covered her face with her hands.

“Shh, you are overwrought.” Ada led Ysabelle to a chair where she made her sit. “Your actions definitely pose a problem. But surely there is something we can do so the king doesn’t believe you’re a traitor.”

Ada loosened Ysabelle’s soiled dress and dried her wet hair. Ysabelle sat motionless. Blood covered her gown, the red turning brown as it dried. She couldn’t forget how it had come to be there. The smell of death filled her nostrils. She could still hear the scream of the man she’d stabbed. Lifting her hands, she rubbed her skirts, trying to remove the stains from her clothes and her mind.

“What have I done?” she exclaimed.

Ada wrung out a cloth in the washbasin and pressed its coolness to Ysabelle’s heated cheeks. Gently, Ada began to cleanse the dried blood from Ysabelle’s face. The water pinkened as Ada rinsed the cloth out.

“Look!” Ysabelle pointed at the basin. “That is what I did for Nicholas Ramsay. I killed for him.”

“I don’t understand your motives, my lady,” Ada spoke as she brushed Ysabelle’s hair. “But I don’t think you should torture yourself. You did what your father would have done. You fought to protect Sutcliffe.”

“Yes, but did my defense leave us in worse shape than before?” Ysabelle smiled bitterly.

“It’s done now. Perhaps there’s a way we could sneak you outside the keep and you could go to Lord Marshal and explain.”

“And be forced into marriage with another old man? I don’t think so.”

“You’re right, dear one. The only way you can be free is if you remain behind the walls of Sutcliffe and Nicholas Ramsay dies.”

Ysabelle shivered and spoke with confidence, unwilling to consider his death. “He will not die.”

“All men die.”

“It would be a sad day for a man such as Nicholas Ramsay to pass from this world. A day like when my father died.” With a deep sigh, Ysabelle closed her eyes, remembering that horrid time like it was moments ago. The pain was still so raw.

And then she knew. Maston had loved her and wanted to protect her. He’d known what would happen if he didn’t claim her as his own child. Even if she’d remained at Sutcliffe, she would have been shunned, a bastard all her life. That was why he hadn’t told her the truth. To shield her from the cruelty of others.

Somehow, this knowledge lightened her heart. To be so loved was awe-inspiring. Now, she mustn’t shirk her duty to her father and Sutcliffe. She must protect them if possible.

She let Ada tend her. The handmaiden became unusually quiet, as if lost in her own thoughts. Ysabelle didn’t ask what was on Ada’s mind. She knew the woman hated Nicholas.

“I must check on Sara,” Ysabelle spoke absentmindedly.

“Don’t worry. I bathed the child and coaxed her to take some nourishing broth. She’s resting peacefully. Hannah is with her now. You also should rest.”

“I cannot nap now. Lord Nicholas awaits me.”

The maidservant hesitated and Ysabelle opened her eyes. Ada shook her head slowly. “What do you mean to do, my lady?”

“I will wed him, of course.”

With a cry of grief, Ada cupped Ysabelle’s cheeks with her hands. The older woman’s eyes filled with tears. “No, dear Ysabelle. Don’t marry this man. He will seal your doom.”

Ysabelle sighed. “Remember what happened to Lord de Lacy after he refused to wed a woman twenty years his senior? The king’s soldiers put him on the rack, then lopped off his head and stuck it on a pike and left it to rot on the castle wall as a reminder of what would happen to anyone else who defied the king. Nicholas cannot win this war. They will kill him eventually, Ada. But I will honor my father’s will and wed the man he betrothed me to.”

“Perhaps the English will kill him soon and you can be free of him.” A half-gleeful, half-tearful smile curved Ada’s mouth.

The thought brought a pang of dread to Ysabelle’s heart. She shuddered. “I don’t believe that. He reminds me of father. He will live and defend Sutcliffe.”

Ada’s spine stiffened and her lips tightened with disapproval. “He is nothing like Lord Maston.”

Ysabelle didn’t question Ada’s vehemence, but she knew her father would have given up a battle only in death.

Ysabelle closed her eyes. “The king will send more and more men until Sutcliffe finally falls. To protect our people, I must guard my heart. When Nicholas is finally taken and executed, I must be prepared to face whatever fate King William decrees for me.”

“Dear child,” Ada gasped.

“Oh, how I wish father were here,” Ysabelle whispered.

But he wasn’t. And never had Ysabelle felt more alone.

*

“Has she agreed to the wedding?” Alex asked Nicholas as they stood in the chapel, waiting for Ysabelle to appear.

The heat was oppressive, the sun spraying through the stained window high above.

Anger twisted in Nicholas’s gut. He could hardly believe Ysabelle would defy him still. After all that had happened, she must realize he was fighting for her good.

Alex shook his head as he tsk-tsked with irritation. “She won’t come.”

“She will come.” Even as he spoke the words, Nicholas was filled with doubt. He was a fool to stand her and wait. He should have dragged her to the altar, but he could never do that.

“You shouldn’t have given her a choice,” Alex admonished.

“She will come,” Nicholas spoke between clenched teeth. He hoped it was true, for he wouldn’t ask her again.

Alex looked skeptical. The men and women crowded inside the small chapel also appeared doubtful. Some spectators cast nervous glances in Nicholas’s direction, while others dropped their chins to their chests, weary with boredom. A loud snort filled the air.

“How much time did you give her?” Alex asked.

Nicholas almost bit his tongue. “You know, it would give me great pleasure to smash your face right now.”

Alex chuckled softly. “You’re welcome to try.”

Over an hour had passed since Nicholas had left Ysabelle’s chamber. He’d stationed several men at the postern gate, and every outlet, to ensure she couldn’t leave the safety of the castle. He’d threatened the guards with dire consequences if they failed to keep her inside. There were few places she could hide from him. Yet, if she still refused, he’d be forced to admit defeat. And then what? He had no idea what he’d do without holding a legal right to Sutcliffe.

“Lord Marshal’s men have set up camp outside the castle gates. He has at least two hundred archers and knights with him,” Alex spoke low. “Soon, they’ll send an envoy to demand your surrender.”