My Heart Belongs to You (Medieval Romance Trilogy Book 3) (21 page)

“What will you do?” she asked.

He walked to her, bending down to place a slow kiss against her lips. “My father taught me that, when you are not certain what to do, that is the time to do nothing. Instead, I will wait and see what the English will do.”

“I trust you won’t wait too long. It may chafe to ride astride the fence. You’ll have to make a decision sooner or later,” she warned.

He chuckled. “Your wisdom is sound. But never fear, my lady. When the time comes, I will make the right choice, and then I will make the choice right.”

He kissed her again and felt a leap of victory when she reached up and clung to him. Never did he imagine kissing a woman could be so delightful. And that alone gave him the confidence he needed to face the matter at hand.

He whispered against her lips. “I beg your pardon, my lady, but I must leave you now. I will return soon.”

She frowned and clasped her hands over her cheeks, as though they flamed with mortification. “Then, go. I haven’t forgotten the price should my king overtake Sutcliffe. This interruption suits me fine.”

He laughed. “Ah, I see the shrew is back. I wish I had time to kiss you and prove that nasty remarks are no longer necessary between us.”

Climbing from the bed, she quickly dressed. “I have duties to attend and so do you. Fear not, my lord. With our marriage consummated and the castle under siege, I doubt there is much I can do to escape you now. You have won all that you desire. Sutcliffe is yours. Now, you must fight to keep it.”

Pushing her mussed hair over her shoulder, she opened the door. Barefoot, she left the room. Nicholas let her go, staring at the closed door.

“Yes, Sutcliffe is mine,” he whispered to himself. “But what of you, Lady Ysabelle? What must I do to win your heart?”

He wondered how a man could woo his wife when he wasn’t kissing her. Perhaps Alex might tell him how to win Ysabelle.

Not without much teasing and laughter. Alex would be highly amused by the topic. And no doubt, Nicholas would have to restrain himself lest he lose his patience and slam his fist into Alex’s face. But it would be worth it if he could learn the secret to his lady’s heart.

Turning toward the bed, Nicholas gazed at the bed sheet. He paused for several moments, thinking. Then, he hurried to fold it up. Tucking it beneath his arm, he left the room.

*

Nothing but a white flag could have drawn Nicholas from the safety of Sutcliffe’s walls. Though he’d been told that Lord Marshal had honor, Nicholas was no fool. Lord Marshal would undoubtedly do whatever was necessary to win this war and Nicholas didn’t trust the English or their king.

With that in mind, Nicholas cautiously agreed to meet with Lord Marshal. Nicholas mounted his warhorse in the bailey. His battle standard of a charging black ram waved high overhead as the portcullis was raised and the drawbridge lowered. The morning sun beat down on him, but the breeze held an icy chill.

Nicholas and his men rode out to meet the English. As their horses clattered over the drawbridge, excitement gripped him, a cruel elation that charged him with energy. It was something he hated, but couldn’t deny. Even before engaging in combat, the heat of battle was upon him. Yet, for the first time, he had no desire to fight. He would much prefer to return to his chamber with Ysabelle. Though they were now wed and the marriage consummated, Nicholas knew it was a tenuous possession. He knew Marshal would enjoy ending his life and handing Ysabelle and Sutcliffe over to another husband appointed by the English king. But he must live. To protect Ysabelle. If Nicholas died and she carried his child, it would be a cruel life for her and his babe.

Pushing such morbid thoughts aside, he concentrated instead on the moment. He planned to live a long and happy life, if possible.

The king’s emissary sat his black charger on the opposite side of the river, a stoic expression on his face. Several English soldiers flanked him. Wary of leaving the safety of the gatehouse, Nicholas led the way as three dozen of his armed men followed him. They were battle-hardened warriors, dressed for war, prepared for any trickery, prepared to fight to the death.

If all went as planned, Nicholas would convince the English that their claim to Sutcliffe was foolhardy. Ysabelle was his and he would not relent.

High above on the ramparts, bowmen stood ready to shower arrows down upon the English. As long as they stayed close to the castle walls, Nicholas and the men with him had an advantage. If the situation turned ugly, they’d be able to escape.

Although the day was new, thick clouds scuttled across the sky, boding ill of a storm to come. Looking up, Nicholas relished the sight of his standard snapping in the breeze. Adjusting his battle helm and the weight of his sword, he caught the scent of rain. Alex rode by his side, also dressed in chain mail. It was good to have his brother near. Though Alex had a jovial sense of humor and friendly disposition, he was a fierce warrior upon the battlefield.

“It will be difficult for Marshal to dislodge you from Sutcliffe. Surely he must know the attempt is futile,” Alex observed as they rode forward.

Nicholas didn’t respond. He merely looked ahead, taking in every detail of Marshal’s fifty mounted knights waiting near the forest edge. One hundred armed soldiers stood on foot, armed with spears, swords, and crossbows.

“This puny army willna defeat Sutcliffe,” Alex purred with confidence.

“No doubt reinforcements have been sent for,” Nicholas remarked. “Once King William hears what I’ve done, he will send more men to squelch this uprising and try to send me to a swift death.”

Alex gave a harsh laugh. “He can try, but he doesn’t know you verra well.”

Marshal edged his stallion forward, accompanied by two other men.

“Who are they? Do you know them?” Nicholas asked Alex.

“Lambert de Litz sits upon Marshal’s right. He is Sir Malcolm’s son,” Alex jutted his chin toward the obese man. “They say he’s a coward in battle and won his spurs by purchase rather than deeds.”

Nicholas scowled. Lambert was so large he almost bowed the back of his horse.

Alex sneered at the man, his voice laced with disdain. “He will be easily defeated in battle. See how he wears his hauberk like a woman’s apron, hanging from his neck, with the sides unbound over his fat gut. He looks like a corpulent old maid wearing a dress.”

“Yes, but the priest is a different matter,” Nicholas observed. “I don’t want to make war with the Church.”

Nodding in agreement, Alex heaved a disgruntled sigh. “I have heard of priests fighting in battle but have never faced one. How the devil can he fight in those heavy robes, wearing no protective armor?”

Nicholas’s gaze took in the large golden cross hanging from a chain at the holy man’s waist, along with a sharp dagger. The corners of the priest’s mouth curved in a grim expression, his beady gaze severe as he glared with disapproval at Nicholas.

“Why have they brought the priest?” Alex grumbled beneath his breath.

“No doubt to convince me I will be excommunicated and my soul condemned for my offense in stealing Ysabelle from beneath their noses.”

“Do you think they would really try such a ploy?”

“I have no doubt.”

Alex snorted. “Do you care?”

“No, my soul was lost long ago. But my lady will care. I would prefer she and I end this day on good terms. I have caused Ysabelle enough anguish already.”

“Have you consummated your marriage?” Alex asked. “It is the only bargaining power you can use against them.”

Gritting his teeth, Nicholas’s did not respond as they faced the English. He wished not to sully the memory of his special time alone with Ysabelle. It was something he longed to hold to himself and contemplate in his heart, something precious that belonged only to them. Yet, it must be done. The truth must come out soon.

He raised a hand and his men halted. Nudging his mount, Nicholas and Alex rode alone to meet Marshal. His men remained behind, waiting. There were no sounds but the jostling harness, the shifting of heavy feet, and the rushing of wind and river.

When they paused before Marshal, Nicholas rested his hand upon the hilt of his sword and cleared his mind. It was a strategy he had been taught by Lord McDonald years earlier. To think of nothing but his battle goal. Unwilling to compromise, unwilling to relent. Disciplined. Prepared to kill at a moment’s notice.

“We have come for Lady Ysabelle,” Marshal got down to business.

Dressed in full battle gear, Marshal did not smile. His ruddy face was solemn, his back stiff. His beady eyes looked shrewd and cruel. Nicholas would die before turning Ysabelle over to such a man.

“You cannot have her,” he said.

Sir Lambert and the priest sat their horses beside Marshal. Though they were close enough to hear the conversation, the rest of their men remained far back so they could not hear their words.

The priest’s thin lips pressed tight. Lambert shifted his ample weight in the saddle, a restless movement that showed his fear. Did they really think Nicholas was fool enough to hand Ysabelle over to them?

“You stole her away like a common thief,” Marshal raged. “The lady is gently bred. Surely you realize the harm your actions have done her?”

“She is unharmed and no doubt stronger than you think. But I will tell her of your concern,” Nicholas said.

“It is cruel to force her. No doubt she is frightened nigh unto death. Have you no chivalry, sir?”

Nicholas snorted. “And I suppose it was her preference to wed Sir Malcolm? You did not force her with threats?”

“That was different,” Marshal snapped. “It was an order from her king. She is bound to obey her sovereign.”

Nicholas curved his mouth in a cruel smile. “You are a hypocrite. I have wed her already and she is mine.”

Would his claim satisfy Marshal?

The priest leaned forward, his eyes flashing with outrage. Nicholas braced himself, prepared to hear a torrent of condemnation. It no longer mattered. He’d already lived in hell. He would not give up Ysabelle, the only heaven he had ever known on earth.

“You cannot wed a married woman. It is bigamy.”

“What do you mean? I am Lady Ysabelle’s only husband.”

A slow smile creased Marshal’s face. “Her first husband yet lives. Though you tried to murder him, Sir Malcolm survived the ordeal and seeks the return of his bride.”

Coldness swept Nicholas as dread lodged in his gut. He kept his expression carefully calm, but inside his mind boiled with confusion. Malcolm de Litz was still alive. How could this be? Surely it was a ruse. A trick to steal Ysabelle from him.

Nicholas’s hands tensed. “I myself witnessed the mon fall beneath my brother’s blade.”

“Yes, you cut him down like a coward,” Lambert sniped to Alex. “But the surgeon said the blade struck no vital organs. My father will soon heal.”

Alex stiffened and he shook his head. “You lie.”

Nicholas felt his face pale with rage. A bigamist? It could not be true. The fates could not be so cruel.

Lambert’s cheeks reddened with anger. “I speak the truth.”

“The mon is rolling in fat,” Alex shot back. “No doubt he had plenty of tallow to pierce without puncturing any vital organs.”

Lambert huffed with offense. “You have stolen my father’s wife. Give her back.”

Nicholas’s hands tightened until he heard the grinding of his gauntlets against the steel hilt of his sword. He shifted slightly forward, ready to attack Lambert if he so much as twitched. The liar! He would kill Lambert with his bare hands for spouting such falsehoods.

A haze of red filled Nicholas’s eyes. His head pounded with fury. Just as he prepared to launch himself from his saddle, Alex lifted a hand and pressed his palm against Nicholas’s chest. Wrath pounded in his veins. He was prepared to shake Alex off.

“Think of Ysabelle and what she would want you to do,” Alex’s soft words soothed him.

Licking his lips, Nicholas breathed deeply, allowing reason to cool his mind. He must remain composed. He must keep his head and remember the goal.

Ysabelle. She was all that mattered now.

“You cannot have her,” Nicholas finally said.

Marshal scowled. “Though it will be a few more days until Sir Malcolm is strong enough to depart his bed and seek his lady wife on his own, the man yet lives and has asked for her safe return. His son has accompanied us to make the request.” He indicated the obese man to his right. “Surely you would not keep a wife from her ailing husband?”

“I don’t care if she has twenty husbands. You willna take her.”

Lambert’s heavy jowls wobbled as he glared at Nicholas. He wore no helmet and his thinning hair barely covered his enormous round head. Nicholas had no doubt the son would soon be a mirror image of his father in girth and conduct. Nicholas would die before sending Ysabelle to such a fate.

“You make it sound as though there was affection between Lady Ysabelle and Sir Malcolm,” Nicholas charged. “Let us call the marriage what it really is. A sham. You gave Lady Ysabelle no choice in the matter. She never agreed.”

“The vows were spoken,” Lambert argued. “Witnesses were present.”

Nicholas’s brows rose. “Witnesses? No doubt you paid them to lie.”

Lambert blustered with outrage. “My father is alive. You have no right to hold his wife or his lands.”

Tired of this banter, Nicholas spoke low. “Ah, we arrive at the crux of the problem. Land. That is what you really want, isn’t it? But you will have none of Sutcliffe.”

“Then, you refuse to return her and leave Sutcliffe peaceably?” Lambert challenged.

“I willna leave my home. I am lord of Sutcliffe and Ysabelle is now my legal wife. But you are welcome to try and take her from me.”

“This is an outrage,” Marshal exclaimed.

Nicholas shrugged. “Malcolm de Litz’s marriage was not consummated and will be annulled.”

“This is blasphemy,” the priest spoke up. “King William himself commissioned me to perform the marriage. It is binding and cannot be put aside simply because the vows were not yet consummated.”

Looking at the man, Nicholas was not impressed. The only holy man Nicholas trusted was Father Edward and only then because the priest had proven himself over the years. Every other priest Nicholas had ever met had loathed him because he was a bastard. “As a mon of the Church, you understand a woman has the right to accept or deny marriage. Ysabelle was quite vocal in refusing her marriage to Malcolm de Litz. Also, de Litz did not succeed in consummating the vows. In the eyes of the Church, they are not wed.”