My Heart Belongs to You (Medieval Romance Trilogy Book 3) (20 page)

“Are you frightened of me?” he asked.

No! She almost spoke the word out loud, for it was the truth. She felt strangely safe in his arms. And yet, she wondered if that was foolhardy. Her common sense told her that she should be afraid.

“I fear no man,” she said, trying to convince herself it was true.

“Good.” He smiled, the gesture so startling and brilliant that she felt her heart soften toward him.

Lowering his head, his nose touched hers. She couldn’t move away from the intense heat of his gaze. A feeling of helplessness swept her. His warm breath grazed her lips. She responded by raising her face to his.

He kissed her gently, his lips warm and firm. Her stomach whirled and a rush of anticipation filled her. She tensed, trying hard to resist him. Malcolm had never been this persuasive or tempting. He hadn’t smelled of clean spices and sandalwood, nor had he wooed her with kindness.

Nicholas’s calloused hands caressed her, moving with languid slowness up her arms, showing none of the violence Malcolm had displayed. Against her will, a longing sigh slipped from her throat. Their kiss deepened as his fingers tangled in her hair. His mouth claimed hers roughly. Splintering waves of pleasure pulsed through her veins. She could taste the desperation in his kiss. A desperation that mirrored her own.

Their breath mingled and she thought she might die from the pleasure. Confusion filled her mind. Ada had warned her to fight Nicholas, yet she was smart enough to realize he was seducing her.

“I can tell them that we consummated our marriage, Nicholas. This isn’t necessary, truly. Surely my word is enough,” she said.

“In the morning, they’ll seek proof. I cannot afford any doubts.” He spoke gently, resting his forehead against hers, their gazes locked.

“Ada will tell them she saw proof. They won’t doubt her.”

“Ada willna lie to Father Edward,” Nicholas said. “Should the legality of our marriage come into question, do you think the priest would lie to the Pope?”

No, not ever. But she didn’t say so.

He caressed her arms again, his hands warm and calming. The heat from his palms soothed her. When he dipped his head down and kissed her again, shattering waves of excitement twined through her veins.

“I also want children,” he whispered against her lips. “I will hire a surgeon to reside here at Sutcliffe. No expense will be spared to see that you are cared for.”

Children? It was her fondest desire to hold her own babe within her arms. But a child with this man could be foolhardy.

As Nicholas kissed her, his taste reminded her of warm, honeyed wine. She softened against him. It happened contrary to her will. She couldn’t understand why her body betrayed her.

He lifted her onto the bed, their mouths clinging together. Looking up, Ysabelle caught a shadow looming over them. Her eyes widened as the gleam of a knife lifted high in air and she gasped.

Ada! A wild light filled the woman’s eyes. And in a moment of frenzy, Ysabelle understood the handmaiden’s intent.

“No!” Ysabelle thrust Nicholas aside and rolled just as Ada stabbed the bedding. The hilt of the knife buried to the hilt in the soft mattress.

In a rush of movement, Nicholas took Ada by the throat and all but threw her across the room. Ada squawked in outrage as she slammed against the wall. Her head bounced backward as she slumped on the floor, knocked senseless. With a roar of fury, Nicholas came to his feet, standing over Ada, his hands clenched and ready for battle.

He would kill her!

“Wait, please!” Ysabelle launched herself from the bed and scurried to place herself between her husband and the senseless handmaiden. Crouching on the floor next to the old woman, Ysabelle prepared to defend Ada’s life.

Ada sat up, blinking and swaying dizzily. When her vision seemed to clear, the woman burst into tears and she buried her face in her hands.

“What is the meaning of this? Do you conspire to murder me?” Nicholas demanded, glaring at Ysabelle with accusation.

She gasped in outrage. “Of course not. I would never do such a thing.”

“My lady had nothing to do with it, my lord. Please,” Ada sobbed. “Please don’t harm my lady. I alone have planned your death. To keep you from harming Lady Ysabelle. Oh, my poor lamb. I wanted to spare you the pain, but I have failed.”

“Ada, why would you do such a thing?” Ysabelle asked.

“So he wouldn’t leave you with a babe before the English take his life. I don’t want you to raise a bastard alone, starving to death when the king casts us out. Just like your mother. Just like your mother.”

“Hush now!” Ysabelle shook the distraught woman, desperate to prevent Ada from disclosing the truth of her birth to Nicholas. Heaven only knew what he would do if he found out she was a bastard.

“Oh, what have I done?” Ada whined.

“Cease your tears. We are not going to be cast out, Ada,” Ysabelle spoke in a stern voice.

Ada gave a shuddering breath and wiped her eyes. Now the threat was past, Nicholas’s hands relaxed, but his jaw remained rock solid, his shoulders tense.

“Your lady and I are legally wed. Our children willna be bastards,” he told Ada.

Coming to her feet, Ysabelle pulled Ada up and wrapped her arm around the woman’s frail shoulders. Ada’s soft sobs continued.

Murder! Glancing at Nicholas, Ysabelle could hardly believe what Ada had tried to do. Surely the woman rode the narrow edge of insanity. She wasn’t in her right mind.

“I’ll take her to her room,” Ysabelle said. “She won’t trouble you again, my lord. I will see to it.”

Doubt filled his eyes but he nodded his head and let them pass. Ysabelle left the room, closing the door behind her.

Nicholas stared at the oak panel, his mind swirling with doubts. Though he knew Ysabelle had never wished to marry him, he didn’t believe she was cowardly enough to murder him in their marriage bed. She would see that Ada caused no further harm. If not, Nicholas would be forced to send the handmaiden away. In the meantime, Nicholas planned to use more caution in the future.

Ysabelle was gone only a short time and Nicholas breathed with relief when she returned. Locking the chamber door against further intrusion, she approached the bed slowly. He watched her, finally lifting an arm to welcome him into his embrace. She came willingly and he held her tight against his heart.

“Is all well?” he asked as he kissed her brow.

“I gave her a sleeping draught. I will speak with her tomorrow. She sought only to protect me, my lord. Please don’t harm her.”

If it meant his death, he could refuse her nothing, but he didn’t say so. “If the old hag attacks me again, I cannot promise what my actions might be.”

Shaking her head, Ysabelle clasped her hands together behind his back. “I vow she will do you no more harm.”

His fingers tangled in her hair. As he kissed her, she answered him with abandon and he pushed aside any doubts. They shared a passion he thought unreal and fictionalized by the bards. And much later, Ysabelle rested her cheek against his chest, just over his beating heart.

“Perhaps you have conceived my babe,” he murmured. “A son with golden hair and emerald eyes.”

Her pulse whipped into double-time and her breath caught in her throat. “How can I protect our child from my king’s wrath? If I’m cast out of my home, I have no idea how to provide for an innocent babe.”

“I will protect you. There is no need to fear.” Heavy doubt assailed his mind. If she conceived, would she hate his child? He hadn’t thought of that before, though he didn’t think she was the type of woman to treat her own child cruelly just because he was the sire.

Sitting up, she scooted off the bed and came to her feet. Stumbling about in bemusement, she quickly dressed.

Nicholas swung his long legs over the side of the bed and stood up. With an awkward attempt, he reached out to comfort her. She thrust him away. The situation seemed hopeless and he realized he still had not won her.

He sighed. “Ysabelle, we are wed and I have made you mine. Don’t push me away.”

She paused, her forehead pulled down in a thoughtful frown. “I don’t want a child that King William will send far away from me.”

Nicholas flinched. He wondered if his own mother had felt the same way before she’d died, when Archibald Ramsay threatened to send her bastard son away where she could never see him again. Yet, Mary Ramsay had wanted Nicholas. She had told him so on many occasions. Though young, he remembered his mother’s whispered words and gentle kisses upon his brow. And he had believed her. Her love had sustained him through the long, dark years that followed.

A mother’s love.

Ysabelle didn’t want his child. He couldn’t really blame her. And yet, it was all he had ever wanted. A home, wife, and children of his own. This one goal had kept him sane. If he were to lose them now, he couldn’t survive. He would have nothing to live for.

Ah, there were worse things than death.

“There is your proof,” she pointed at the sheets where her virgin blood gleamed crimson. “You are now lord of Sutcliffe and have all that you desire. Now, leave me in peace.”

She tried to pull away, her expression distant and cold.

Warning chimes sounded in his head. He couldn’t allow her to remain remote. It would destroy the elusive happiness he had always desired. Fighting the English was easy. He knew how to wield a sword and spear, but to win Ysabelle’s trust was beyond him. He had no idea what he should do to win her heart.

Enfolding her in his arms, he held her tight as he coaxed her in a soft tone. “Don’t fight me, sweeting. All will be well. Trust me.”

“You cannot defeat the English. And once you are dead, my king will give me to someone else. I will be used over and over again by a pack of horrid men.”

“I will win this war,” he whispered hoarsely. “No other mon will have you.”

Cupping her chin, he lifted her face to his. She enjoyed his kisses and he used it now to his advantage. To breach the icy distance between them.

Reaching up, he wiped the tears from her cheeks and deepened their kiss until her eyes closed and she sighed with relish. And as he made her his yet again, he thought that perhaps they had a chance after all.

Chapter Twelve

The flickering light of the tallow candles sent shadows chasing about the room. When Ysabelle curled against Nicholas, he almost cheered. Victory!

And so the assault began. For the better part of an hour, he did nothing but kiss her until she no longer evaded him. Their breath mingled in sweet torture. Their lovemaking seemed surreal and exquisite.

Through the single window in the room, Nicholas saw that dawn had broken over the land. Streams of morning sunlight spread across the stone floor.

“Lord Marshal will attack soon,” Ysabelle observed quietly.

“Shh,” he quieted her with another kiss. “Don’t invite the English into our chamber just now. Think only of me, Ysabelle. Think only of what we share. You and me. Alone with no one else to interfere.”

She kissed him and his heart soared. Never before had he known such feelings. Nothing had ever felt so wonderful, so complete.

A pounding filled the room and he drew back, shaking his head.

“Lord Nicholas! The English approach. They wish to converse with you.” A loud voice cried against the solid panel of the door.

Again the knocking resumed, blending with the hammering of Nicholas’s blood against his temples.

In a single bound, he was off the bed. Sword in hand, he threw open the solid oak. Standing naked as the day he was born, he shielded Ysabelle from view and glowered at the intruder. Ysabelle dove underneath the covers and clutched the soft bedding around her.

“What is it?” Nicholas barked, his expression tight and angry as he faced one of his men.

“Your pardon, my lord. But the English await you outside the keep. They ride beneath a white flag and wish to speak with you. I believe they seek a truce.”

Nodding his head, Nicholas cast a quick glance toward Ysabelle. She had curled against the pillows, watching him with wide eyes.

“I will be there shortly,” Nicholas bit out the words before closing the door.

He moved about the room, gathering his clothes and jerking them on. Ysabelle sat up, chewing her bottom lip nervously. “Do you think Lord Marshal might agree to leave us in peace?”

The note of hope in her voice was unmistakable.

“I doubt it. More than likely, he will demand my surrender before they attack the castle.”

Such was the way of war. There would be no disgrace to surrender now, before the siege. Ysabelle and her people would be spared any brutality. If Nicholas surrendered after the siege began, the English could kill many of Sutcliffe’s people, depending on how merciful they felt and what their own losses had been.

Regardless of the outcome, Nicholas knew Ysabelle would not be harmed, though she could end up living the rest of her life in a nunnery after all.

“Will you swear an oath of allegiance to King William?” she asked.

He didn’t look at her as he donned his hauberk and sheathed his sword at his side. “I was raised a Scotsman, though my real father was English.”

“Perhaps King William will agree to a truce if you swear allegiance to him,” she suggested.

“Yes, and my loyal Scots warriors would desert me. The Scottish king would descend on us and we would be in the same predicament as we are now. Who would you have me support? I must choose one side only.”

Her brow crinkled with thought. “You must remain loyal to your Scots king. You have no other option.”

He glanced at her, surprised by her words. He had thought she would be adamant that he swear fealty to King William. Though it would not be his choice, he was prepared to do so if it would please her.

“You surprise me.” He held his metal helmet beneath one arm, his feelings sharp and dangerous.

She shuddered. “It’s the right thing to do, although I fear that won’t help us much. When I look at you, all I see is a conquering lord, powerful and fearsome.”

“You needn’t fear me. Surely I’ve proven that to you by now.”