My Heart Belongs to You (Medieval Romance Trilogy Book 3) (18 page)

Feeling distracted, Nicholas shook his head. He didn’t wish to mar his wedding day with plans of war, but there was no help for it.

“It is of no consequence,” he replied. “They willna gain admittance to the keep. Our forces can easily hold off Marshal’s army and many more.”

“Yes, unless they starve us out.”

“We are well provisioned,” Nicholas reasoned. “Only illness can force us to yield.”

“But we don’t know how long a siege might last. We’ll eventually run out of food.”

“I willna surrender,” Nicholas vowed.

“If the English are patient, they can wait us out.”

“I am more patient. Their men will begin to murmur. It’s springtime and they need to return soon to their lands if they’re to plant crops to feed their own families through the coming winter.”

“We also must plant crops,” Alex advised. “I only hope my father arrives soon. Our Scottish king has said he will support your cause, yet he hasn’t got the men to spare for fighting. Surely my father will send his men to our aid.”

Nicholas looked away, his muscles tense. “I expect no help from either mon.”

Alex nodded. “My father will send reinforcements. With our combined efforts, we can route the English and win the day. They’ll scamper back to William Rufus with their tails tucked between their legs. They’ve long tried to take Scottish land along the border, and we continue to repel them. This time will be no different.”

Nicholas smiled grimly, hoping this was true. “That’s a sight I’d like to see. Lord Marshal scampering off with his tail tucked high under his rump.”

Alex’s brows quirked. “But first, you must wed the prize, brother. Where is your bride?”

Turning, Nicholas’s gut tightened as he prepared to go to the gatehouse and signal his surrender. In spite of his insistence that he’d never give up Sutcliffe, he realized he may not have a choice. He didn’t want to cost the lives of all the people here. And Ysabelle would hate him if he dragged her to the chapel.

“Go and tell her the truth. It’s your only chance,” Alex admonished gently.

“Do not speak of it,” Nicholas growled.

“Even if she weds you, if you don’t tell her, she’ll never willingly give herself to you. If you speak the truth, it’ll soften her toward your goal.”

“I willna win her out of pity.” Everything within him recoiled. He couldn’t bear to hurt Ysabelle in such a way. The truth might destroy any chance of happiness he hoped to have with her.

She wasn’t coming. It was over. He’d lost everything. He took a step toward the door and froze.

She was here! Sudden joy pierced his heart. She’d come of her own will. Relief flooded him.

Dressed in a gown of yellow silk edged with golden cord, Ysabelle wore the finery of a lady. Nicholas now understood what had taken her so long. By the saints, she was worth the wait. When he’d left her, she’d looked like a drowned cat. Now, she was beautiful, regal and poised, a lady ready to meet her new groom.

Her soft hair glimmered like white gold. A sheer veil covered her head and fell to her waist, but her curls continued down her back, reaching past her hips.

As she moved toward him, her hair swayed about her like a curtain of exotic silk. He longed to press his face into its softness and breathe deeply of her sweet fragrance.

Her cheeks were heightened with color, her eyes wide and wary. Luminous, the color of emerald gems. When her gaze sought his, Nicholas was entranced, unable to break her hold. He detected her nervousness and reticence. Then, with a sadness as sharp as a blade, he knew the truth. She didn’t want to be here. She was compelled to wed him, just as he was compelled to fight for Sutcliffe.

He should leave. He should mount his charger and ride away. But his feet wouldn’t move. How lonely his life had been, how empty. He couldn’t go. Not now when all he’d hoped for was within his grasp. A family of his own. A place of belonging.

Alex clapped him on the back and grinned widely as he produced a bouquet of battered field daisies. Nicholas stared at the gay flowers. He cast a dubious frown at his brother, wondering how Alex had acquired them.

A soft murmur filled the air as the crowd opened a path for Ysabelle to pass by them. Followed by a frowning Ada, Ysabelle walked to Nicholas’s side, stopping only when she stood just before the altar. Without comment, Alex handed the bouquet to Ysabelle. Gazing wistfully at the white and yellow flowers, she blessed Alex with a smile so sweet it stole Nicholas’s breath. A lance of jealousy pierced his heart and he wished her smile had been for him. He understood Alex’s motivation in having the flowers.

Nicholas frowned, feeling inadequate. He should have gotten her the flowers, but he’d no idea it would make her so happy. He had so much to learn about the ways of women, but he was determined to try.

She turned to face him, and the smile dropped from her face like a stone falling to the ground. It mimicked his heart.

“I will marry you,” she said.

Turning, she looked at Father Edward, who gave her a reserved smile of encouragement.

“You’re certain this is what you wish, child?” the priest asked.

“Yes, I’ll honor my betrothal.” She nodded, but didn’t smile.

Ada whimpered and shook her head, as if at a loss.

A smile of approval curved Father Edward’s thin lips. “Lord Nicholas, take the Lady Ysabelle’s hand and kneel.”

Nicholas did so, his large hand shaking as it engulfed her small, fragile one. They both went down on their knees before the altar. There was much Nicholas longed to say to Ysabelle. Words of praise, consolation, and cheer. His voice caught and the words wouldn’t come. Only feelings were there to remind him that she was a noble woman and he should take special care of this prized gift. He would cherish her all his life.

“I will spend my life serving you, and one day you’ll no longer regret our marriage,” he vowed.

She blinked, her fine brows curved in bemusement.

Nicholas opened his mouth to tell her how grateful he was for her presence, but she bowed her head, staring at the stone floor. Her face was so serene and angelic. He couldn’t bring himself to disturb her when others might hear what he had to say. Later, in the privacy of their room, he’d speak to her.

She seemed to listen to every word the holy man said as he offered the sacrament and a blessing upon their union. The morning dragged on as Father Edward performed the ceremony, his low voice strong and calming. Nicholas barely noticed as he continued to stare at his bride. She was more than lovely and he could gaze at her all day long. A lump of emotion clogged his throat.

Finally, it was done. A tremor of elation pulsed through him and he couldn’t prevent a cry of exultation. Pulling Ysabelle into his arms, he kissed her long and hard.

The small room became stifling. Someone gave a hacking cough. Then a great cheer filled the room. Ysabelle felt her cheeks flame scarlet as Nicholas kissed her. She expected to be released, but his hold went on and on. Ysabelle thought she might swoon from the heat. A lance of desire swept her, but she fought it off. It was indecent to feel such things in front of a priest and their people, but Nicholas gave her no opportunity to argue. He wrapped his arms tighter about her and slanted his mouth over hers in what she believed was as carnal and base an act as ever she’d been exposed to.

Heat crept up her throat. Gasping for breath, she finally pushed away from her new husband. He tried to take her hand, but she evaded him. His heat was too overpowering. Looking up, she blinked at the sight that met her eyes.

He was smiling. His dark eyes crinkled with pure delight, his mouth wide, showing even white teeth. Not once since Ysabelle had met this man had she seen him smile. There was no lust in his expression, only sincere delight. It lit up his expressive eyes, crinkling them at the corners. An expression of pure joy. And all because she’d married him.

She was mesmerized, wondering why their wedding meant so much to him. She dared to hope he found pleasure in her as well as her wealthy lands. She also wondered what it would have been like to wed the Scots Ram without threat of war to haunt them, or his past reputation to frighten her. They would have met on their wedding day. She would never have known the horrid touch of a man like Sir Malcolm. In her innocence, she would have found Nicholas fine and counted her blessings to be wed to a strong and handsome man when so many of her friends were forced to marry old toads like Malcolm.

Ysabelle and Nicholas would have supped together at a celebration feast. There would have been laughter, dancing, and singing. Ideally, Ysabelle’s father would have been present, smiling his approval. And then, Nicholas would have taken Ysabelle to his bed.

A thrill of anticipation flooded her veins. How she hoped Nicholas would be considerate and gentle with her. And that they’d do well together.

Drawing away, Ysabelle turned her back on her groom and endured the congratulatory kisses and hugs from well-wishers. Tears of misery sparkled in Ada’s eyes as she hugged Ysabelle tightly. No words were spoken between them. Ysabelle knew the woman didn’t approve of her choice and she wasn’t surprised when Ada narrowed her eyes on Nicholas, then made a quick departure.

It was a restrained group, but the people chatted happily as they adjourned to the great hall to enjoy a subdued feast.

“Have faith and don’t fear, my child. All will be well,” Father Edward promised kindly.

Ysabelle showed a stiff smile, but said nothing.

“Congratulations, sister. I know you’ll be good for my brother.” Alex grinned as he embraced her.

“I’m more concerned with what is best for Sutcliffe,” she replied.

He shrugged, her words having no impact on his wide smile. “I believe that’s also Nicholas’s concern. I believe you’ll both do what is right for your people. I wish you joy in your marriage and a long life.”

“Thank you.” She spoke in a reserved tone, hoping his wish would come true.

“I’d offer to escort you to the table, but I’m sure my brother will want that privilege for himself.”

Turning, Alex faced Nicholas and reached out to clasp his brother’s hand. “You’re invincible, Nick. You’ve finally gained what should have been yours. It’s right that you find joy in this day.”

Ysabelle tensed. “Have you considered the possibility that the king may petition the Pope for an annulment?”

Nicholas leaned near so that only she could hear his words. “With no care that he offends and commits sacrilege, your king leaves Sees vacant and pockets Church rents. Once we have consummated our marriage and you grow big with my child, I doubt the Pope will grant an annulment.”

A child? With all the chaos around her, she hadn’t considered that possibility. A wondrous feeling swept her as she thought of a little boy or girl with dark hair and brown eyes.

Impossible. The vision was replaced by one of her, big with child, starving in the king’s dungeon. She could only guess what her king might do with her babe.

“No doubt I’ll become a widow before I quicken with your child.”

A slow smile curved his mouth, more startling because it was such a rarity with this man. It lit his entire face, changing his countenance from fierce warrior to charming groom. Ah, she longed to enjoy him and their wedding day. Yet, fear of the future kept her guarded.

“I willna die, Ysabelle. Fear not.”

He seemed so confident. Her hope warred with despair. Looking at him remotely, she picked up her skirts and walked away.

Ysabelle groaned softly as she took her seat upon the high dais in the great hall. Nicholas was no bumbling lad. She had little doubt she would conceive his babe posthaste. If the king defeated them, she’d be cast from her home with no way to care for her child. Her uncle might not dare offer her a haven if the king exiled her or tossed her into his dungeon for killing an English soldier.

Without waiting for Nicholas to join her, Ysabelle lifted her goblet with trembling hands and drained the heady wine in several swallows.

*

The wedding feast lasted into the wee hours of the morning. Ysabelle sat in her chair, exhausted from the ends of her hair down to her limp fingers. Eating little, she barely tasted the numbing wine she imbibed freely. Though there was plenty of food, she had wits enough to notice Nicholas rationed the meat, bread, wine and ale. With an impending siege, they were limited on their resources. Also, he wouldn’t allow his men to become drunk with the enemy camped just outside.

The gathering was sparse, for Nicholas had stationed numerous guards upon the battlements, watching closely in case Lord Marshal decided to attack in the night. Nicholas’s men ate in shifts, delighted by the prospect of beating the English and establishing a home here at Sutcliffe.

Nicholas seemed distracted, frequently glancing at the outer door. As the evening progressed, his men reported to him often and Ysabelle knew her husband remained by her side only in deference to their wedding and the consummation that would surely follow.

“My lord, my lady.” Thomas, the captain of the guards, nodded respectfully as he approached the table. Dressed in a hauberk, he held his helmet beneath his left arm. Beads of perspiration dotted his high forehead, the ends of his tawny hair damp with sweat.

“What news do you bring?” Nicholas asked, handing the man a cup of ale.

Thomas sat in the chair Nicholas pointed at and removed one of his gauntlets before he drained the cup thirstily. “The English are building a catapult, my lord. I suspect they’ll have it completed by morning. The air smells of rain, so I don’t think they’ll make much progress should they decide to tunnel beneath our walls. It’ll be too damp and they’ll suffer cave-ins if they try.”

Nicholas showed a grim smile. “Good. Warn the people that they must be careful if they walk outside. I don’t want them hit by flying rocks or balls of fire from the catapult.”

“Yes, my lord.” Thomas came to his feet and gave Ysabelle a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry, my lady. They’ll be gone soon enough.”

She returned his smile. “I’ll pray for their quick departure.”

With a nod, the man swiveled on his heel and left the hall.