My Heart Belongs to You (Medieval Romance Trilogy Book 3) (19 page)

Nicholas turned to consider Ysabelle. His brooding gaze rested on her for the longest time. Unable to read his expression, she looked away. She jerked when he leaned close against her side and whispered for her ears alone. “Perhaps you would care for another slice of roast duckling? It’s quite tender and verra tasty.”

His smooth tone made her shiver. Ysabelle stared at the piece of untouched fowl and various other tempting morsels he’d previously placed upon her trencher. “No thank you.”

His brows rose. “You aren’t hungry?”

“No.”

“I perceive you’re not happy, my lady. What can I do to make you smile?”

Looking up at him, she realized he wasn’t jesting. His eyes crinkled with concern and he appeared quite earnest. He really wanted to see her smile. And for several moments, she actually wanted to accommodate him, just to make him happy. “I’m afraid this isn’t a day of rejoicing for me. It’s a day to prepare for battle, which I don’t want.”

Nicholas nodded. “No doubt you’re afraid.”

She didn’t like him knowing so much about her. “Actually, I’m annoyed.”

His frown deepened, his eyes blazing. “Are you annoyed because you’re now married to me, or annoyed to have so many strange Scotsmen in your hall? Perhaps you’re annoyed that you’re not still wed to that rolling piglet, Sir Malcolm, hmm?”

She stiffened and answered him in a politely cool tone. “I’m annoyed by the inconvenience you and King William have forced upon Sutcliffe.”

He snorted and turned away. An hour later, her people swore fealty to the Scots Ram on bended knee. Tears quivered on Ysabelle’s lashes, falling unheeded to her chest. Nicholas had truly taken her father’s place as Lord of Sutcliffe. In spite of the danger they faced, she thought her father would have approved.

When Thomas came to announce the English army had stationed men in the forest and on the other side of the river, Nicholas’s attention was momentarily drawn away from Ysabelle.

“I wish you weren’t so troubled,” Alex told her.

“Truly?” her eyes widened with her sarcasm.

“Truly,” he confirmed. “I’m sorry we’ve brought you grief. I also sense remorse in Nicholas.”

“Ha!” she scoffed. “That great oaf doesn’t know the meaning of the word.”

Alex leaned nearer, his eyes crinkled with concern. “Though he doesn’t speak his thoughts, I’ve learned to read him well. Rest assured, he regrets that he was forced to steal you away and prepare for battle against your king.”

Shaking her head doubtfully, Ysabelle could scarce believe any of this. “It does you ill to apologize on behalf of your brother.”

“You’re right. As time passes, he’ll learn how to express himself.”

Picking up her hand, Alex placed a quick kiss upon her knuckles. His earnest apology touched her heart, his eyes crinkled in a troubled frown. She lost all desire to scorch him further with her words.

She tugged her hand free. “Never mind. I don’t wish to discuss it now.”

Looking up, she saw the dark glower on Nicholas’s face. She tried to detect whether it was a foreboding of things to come, irritation over the presence of the English army, or merely displeasure that Alex had kissed her hand.

“Give him a chance, Lady Ysabelle,” Alex whispered. “His heart rests in your hands. You can crush him to the ground or raise him to the stars.”

Ysabelle jerked toward her new brother-in-law and found his startling blue gaze quite serious. Gone was the teasing smile and boyish charm. He meant what he said.

“How is it possible for a mere maiden to crush a violent warrior? I believe you have it reversed,” she said.

“Nicholas only wants to take his rightful place as lord of Sutcliffe. You control his future happiness, of course. You have the power to free him from his nightmares,” Alex explained.

“Nightmares? I don’t know what you mean.”

“In time, you’ll come to understand. It’s my fondest hope his bad dreams soon fade and cease to haunt him.”

“What bad dreams?”

Seeming piqued that they were conversing without him, Nicholas shifted closer and came to his feet. Holding his hand out to her, his gaze pierced her. His curt tone brooked no denial. “Come, my lady. The hour grows late. Let us retire.”

Their people began to leave, seeking their rest before they must face the English upon the morrow. Standing on wobbly legs, Ysabelle realized her doom had finally come.

Chapter Eleven

With shaking limbs, Ysabelle stood and stared at her husband’s outstretched hand. She couldn’t bring herself to clasp it, but merely stared at his long fingers.

“My hand isn’t a serpent,” his soft voice sent shivers across her shoulders. “I’ll not bite you, Ysabelle. Take my hand and show our people that you support the vows you’ve made with me.”

Ysabelle took his hand, almost flinching at the warmth as his calloused fingers tightened around her own. She’d vowed to be his wife. No longer could she deny him. But she prayed he wouldn’t abuse her as Sir Malcolm had done.

Alex came to his feet. Taking a step toward her, he smiled mischievously as he signaled two other men to help him. When they reached for her, Ysabelle cringed, a low cry on her lips. The memory of her wedding to Sir Malcolm flashed through her mind. She’d been held down at the altar, her yells for justice muffled beneath a scrap of cloth they’d forced into her mouth. She’d fought them, almost suffocating against the gag. After the ceremony, she’d been dragged to the lord’s chamber, stripped naked by strangers, and dressed in a sheer gown that showed more than it covered of her body.

“No!” She jerked free of Alex and moved behind Nicholas. Surely he wouldn’t allow them to shame her in such a way. She couldn’t stand much more. Already, she was dangerously close to screaming.

Her trembling knees almost buckled with relief when Nicholas placed a solid arm across her shoulders and pulled her into the protective crook of his arm. “Don’t even try it, Alex.”

The Ram glowered at his brother and the other two Scotsmen. With disappointed frowns, the men withdrew. For once, Ysabelle felt grateful they feared her husband too much for such antics. From the first, she’d feared Nicholas, yet she was drawn to him like the setting sun to the horizon. She didn’t understand the hold he had over her. His strength, his gentle gruffness, his vow to keep her safe. These were all traits she’d admired in her beloved father. With Nicholas, it was the same, yet different. Something about him, a mysterious attraction she couldn’t explain, kept her spellbound. She couldn’t understand the nameless fascination that drew her to him when her senses warned her to flee.

Yet, in some ways, Nicholas was not at all like her father. He was too harsh and had seen too much of war. Truly he needed someone to teach him how to smile. Who better to do so than his new wife?

Hesitating by the stairs, Ysabelle resisted Nicholas’s gentle tug as he ascended the first step. She longed to follow, yet feared the unknown.

Nicholas paused, looking over his shoulder at her. His gaze consumed her, his voice soothing. “Don’t be afraid, my wee lass.”

His tone lulled her into submissiveness but her mind warred with itself. She was no coward. She was a woman. Her father’s daughter.

Taking a step, she followed. The warmth of his hand on hers, the sound of his breathing as they climbed up the narrow stairwell, the heat of his body so close to her own, filled her mind. Trepidation pooled in her abdomen, leaving her shaking and cold. She focused on taking one more step.

At the doorway to the lord’s chamber, Nicholas stood back to let her enter. “This isn’t your doom.”

She froze at the portal, wondering how he knew her thoughts so well.

She went inside, the weight of his gaze followed her, like a millstone settling into its base. Heavy and oppressive. Closing the door, he stood before it as she stared blindly about the room. Expectancy tingled over her skin and she rubbed her arms.

“Are you cold?” he asked.

She shook her head and bit her lower lip to keep it from quivering. He stood watching her, silent, his presence filling the room like a blast of summer wind.

*

Nicholas waited, giving Ysabelle time to adjust to her new role. He held back, not wanting to frighten her. She gazed at her personal possessions, which he’d ordered be placed around the chamber. Her color heightened in surprise. A thick auburn carpet spread across the cold floor. Her trunk of clothes sat at the foot of the bed next to his. Her brush and comb rested upon a table beside several small pots of what he assumed were fragrant ointments. Such feminine bobbles were alien to him and he was curious to investigate.

A servant had lit the fire in the brazier and cheery warmth filled the room. Tapestries showing Lord Maston’s golden lions hung from the walls. The shuttered window was closed against the chilling breeze. He was truly alone with his new bride.

“I know this was Lord Maston’s room. I hope you don’t mind me taking over the accommodations.”

She lifted her head and looked at him. “Under the circumstances, of course I mind. But you are now the lord of this keep, so it is only fitting.”

He looked away, wishing there was a way for him to dispel her resentment. His presence in this room, and at Sutcliffe, meant he’d dominated the keep. His new bride wanted nothing to do with him. He couldn’t blame her and compassion coiled around his heart.

She stared overly long at two tall-backed oak chairs resting before the fireplace. He’d asked that they be delivered to the room earlier that afternoon. Visions of him and Ysabelle sitting together in the evening, holding hands, discussing the events of their day, filled his mind.

“You don’t like them?” he asked.

She shivered. “They’re too large, too hard, too cold.”

He stepped toward her, thinking she’d just described him. “Ysabelle. Bring softness into my life. That’s all I ask for now.”

Turning to face him, her mouth dropped open in surprise. Nicholas cleared his throat, feeling nervous as a young lad. He didn’t know why he’d said such a thing. Seeing her here, knowing she belonged to him, it diminished every horror he’d ever suffered, every deprivation, every pain. Finally, he’d reached his goal. He had a home. A wife and family of his own.

Elation swept him with such power, it left him euphoric. Ysabelle’s angelic face, her gentle grace, called to him. Nothing else existed right now, except her. He could sit and gaze at her for hours and never get enough. His hunger to feast his eyes upon her countenance seemed insatiable.

Emotion clogged his throat. A desire to woo and appease her drove Nicholas to reach out and caress her bare arms.

A troubled frown tugged at her forehead and her eyes rounded with uncertainty. As she turned her face away from him, his heart plummeted.

“Do you fear I might kiss you?” he asked.

“Yes.”

A lance of doubt speared his heart. She didn’t want him. His throat closed and he tensed. “Do I repulse you?”

She shrugged a sensuous shoulder. “No, but Sir Malcolm wasn’t kind.”

Nicholas breathed with relief. He’d feared she might find him abhorrent. In reality, Sir Malcolm had taught her to fear men. Nicholas had much to overcome, but he was determined to try. Even now, this woman held his heart and soul in the hollow of her palm. How he longed to tell her, but he’d long ago learned never to express his true emotions. It brought betrayal and pain. He couldn’t speak the words now. Perhaps never. Like her, he was also afraid.

“Though you don’t realize it, you are in control, Ysabelle. Lord Maston told me you’d be loyal to me if I could win your trust.”

“I can never trust you.”

Her words tore at him, yet he refused to give up on his goal to win her. “I hope that’s not true.”

A throaty scoff was her reply. She was beautiful in her doubt and Nicholas longed to prove her wrong. He was determined to do so, believing he could bring her pleasure. But could he win her love? If he hurt her, she would lose all confidence in him.

Taking a step nearer, he smoothed his hands over her shoulders. Her skin gleamed like alabaster in the dim room. Shadowed firelight flickered across the walls and her face. He resisted the urge to bury his nose in her hair and inhale her sweet fragrance. Instead, he pulled her close as he lowered his head and stared into her eyes. They were deep pools of emerald green and he found himself lost within their depths. She tensed.

“I’m not Malcolm de Litz,” he told her.

She blinked. “You’re still a man.”

Doubt filled his mind. “Though I know you’ve married me with misgivings, I wish to make a promise to you.”

She shook her head. “You’ve already made vows to me before Father Edward. Surely that’s enough for one night.”

“There’s one more pledge I would make, between you and I alone.”

Her fine brows arched. He’d give almost anything right now to see her smile. “I vow to put your safety above all else. Never will I harm you intentionally.”

She tilted her head to one side. “You pledge your loyalty, but I doubt it’ll last past the first pretty skirt that swings in front of your eyes. Numerous lords wed their ladies so they might have legal heirs and lands, but they usually take a leman soon after.”

Shaking his head, his gaze never wavered. How he abhorred such a practice. It was what had brought him into the world, into a life of misery and pain. Never would he do such a thing to his own child, or to Ysabelle.

“There will be no one but you, as long as I live. Our children will be legitimate in every way. They’ll grow up knowing that I’m their father and they’ll inherit all I have to give them.”

With her scent teasing his senses, he lowered his head and kissed her. A sigh whispered past her lips, pleasing him. With a gentle tug, he pulled her into his arms. Though stiff, she didn’t resist.

The crackling fire was the only sound in the room, filling the chamber with flickering light. Shadows played across the stone walls. In spite of the warmth, Ysabelle shivered.

Drawing back, Nicholas’s sharp gaze locked with hers. Though she quaked to her very bones, Ysabelle refused to retreat, the feel of his arms strong but gentle around her. A tingle of danger shivered up her spine, but she didn’t pull away. She felt caught there, reckless and immobile. As though he had cast a magical spell over her. She longed to run, yet she longed to stay. What power did he wield over her?