My Heart Belongs to You (Medieval Romance Trilogy Book 3) (24 page)

She breathed deeply of the clean air, trying to settle her nerves. Looking further out, she saw the tents and campfires of the English. Men huddled around the fires and there was little activity as they waited for the storm to cease.

A movement near the forest edge caught Ysabelle’s eye and she peered through the dark. She could just make out the shapes of six men, dressed in dark clothing, sneaking toward the woods. They carried heavy packs on their backs and she wondered what they were up to.

From their furtive movements, she could tell they weren’t English. Perhaps some of her people left the safety of the castle. The fools! They could be killed.

The largest man turned and she gasped as she recognized his profile.

Nicholas!

What was he doing? If the English found him outside the castle walls, they would kill him.

A lance of fear pierced her heart. An anxious dread caused her to inhale a shallow breath. She had no idea why his possible death should distress her. She only knew that she would never recover from such a blow.

She watched silently as he spoke to the other men, seeming to give them thorough instructions. She wished she could hear what he said. He nodded his head once and the men departed into the sheltering trees, leaving Nicholas to remain behind.

Ysabelle tensed. Using the dense foliage as cover from the prying eyes of the English sentries, Nicholas worked his way back toward the castle. After a moment, he disappeared from view. He must have taken advantage of the storm and used the easily over-looked sally port to leave the castle without notice. She would be relieved when he was safely inside. But then, she wondered why she cared. It didn’t make sense.

Hugging herself tight, Ysabelle watched the guards as they changed their shift upon the battlements. Though they didn’t bother her, she realized they were conscious of her company, nodding with respect as they moved closer. They kept their backs toward her, silently offering privacy and added protection. Touched by the gesture, she knew her presence made them nervous.

A drizzle fell from the sky, misting her face and clothing. Ysabelle didn’t care. Lifting her face, she squeezed her eyes shut and enjoyed the cool refreshment.

After a few moments, she turned to look at the gatehouse and froze. She stared with disbelief. Dazed as bitter humiliation swept over her. Standing transfixed, she was unable to look away as she gasped a shuddering breath and held it for several pounding moments. She exhaled painfully.

A sheet with a dark stain had been hung against the stone wall, high upon the ramparts. As the rain beat against it, the blood had become soaked and widened against the pristine whiteness. There was no doubt what the blemish was. Proof of her consummated marriage to Nicholas.

Although this was a custom of her people, mortification seeped into every pore of her body. She felt hurt and betrayed.

She looked down as Nicholas entered the bailey and spoke with his captain. She refused to try and hide her presence. When he looked up and saw her standing there, she wasn’t surprised that he turned to ascend the stairs leading upward toward her.

Soon, he stood beside her, but she wouldn’t meet his gaze. The dark cloak he wore made him seem that much more ominous. Droplets of rain beaded on his wide shoulders and ran down his chest.

Without willing it to, her gaze moved to the hanging sheet slapping against the wall. In the dark, it seemed like a ghostly apparition, haunting as the wind beat against it.

“It was necessary,” he said.

“To shame me?” Her voice quivered.

“No, to prove we are married in name as well as deed.”

“To win your prize,” she accused in a harsh whisper.

He stepped to her side, his hand reaching to squeeze her arm gently. “You are the prize, Ysabelle. I willna let them take you from me. In case they petition the Pope, I had to prove you are mine.”

Shaking off his hand, she glared at him, feeling what little trust they had gained slipping from their grasp. She clutched the shawl about her shoulders with whitened knuckles. “You could have told them. It wasn’t necessary to fly it high for the entire world to see my disgrace.”

“I’m sorry it has distressed you, but it’s no disgrace to give yourself to your husband. Hanging the virgin’s sheet from the window is an old custom. It’s a sign of honor, to prove your husband was the first mon to take you. It’s something to be proud of.”

Proud? That didn’t describe how she felt at that moment. Hurt, deceived, and alone seemed better words. “Perhaps under different circumstances, I would agree with you. Surely you have achieved your goal. Take it down now.”

“I’ve just given Thomas the order for it to be removed,” he said.

Good. At least it would be gone before morning.

Turning, she tried to brush past him. He reached out a hand to stop her and she jutted her chin, offering him a challenging glare.

“It changes nothing between us,” he spoke low. “I am your husband, and you are my wife.”

“True,” she agreed. “I doubt it will change King William’s mind either. He will still see you dead and then hand Sutcliffe over to any man of his choosing.”

His eyes narrowed. For a moment, she thought he would kiss her. And heaven help her, she longed for him to do so. He had taught her passion, and now she didn’t know her own mind or body. She was spellbound by him and prayed he kept his distance, knowing she couldn’t fight his magnetism any longer.

Yes, he was right. She was his. She couldn’t fight it any longer.

He let her go and Ysabelle was grateful. Hurrying back to the hall, she climbed the stairs to her room where she changed out of her soggy clothing and dressed in a warm woolen gown of mauve. Brushing her damp hair, she plaited it down her back. Then, she made her way to Sara’s room, surprised to hear voices as she peered around the open door.

Nicholas sat on the bed with Sara in his lap, cradling her broken arm carefully as the child counted each of his long fingers. He had removed the dark cloak and now wore black hose and a linen chainse of the same hue. Gone was his chain mail and weapons, save only a slim dagger he always wore on his hip.

“One. Two. Three.” the girl recited the numbers again.

As she watched them silently, Ysabelle was touched by the fiercesome lord’s gentleness as he held up his calloused hands. He folded a finger as Sara touched each one when she spoke the right number.

“Verra good,” he encouraged.

Ada sat slumped in a chair, eyes closed, her chin on her chest as she snored quietly.

Nicholas snapped his hand closed around Sara’s fingers, trapping her hand in his grasp. Sara squealed with surprise and laughed.

“You can’t do that,” she exclaimed.

“Why not?” he asked with raised brows and playfully tickled the girl’s ribs.

“You’re cheating.” Sara giggled and squirmed to be free. Ada snorted and shifted restlessly before nodding back to sleep.

Ysabelle heard Nicholas laugh and her mouth dropped open with amazement. It was dramatic, like deep thunder. Something rare to be treasured. A lance of jealousy speared Ysabelle’s heart and she wished she had been the recipient of such pleasure.

Again, Ysabelle found herself astonished by the two differing sides of her husband. He was smiling, a rare treat indeed. The expression lit up his entire face and sparkled his expressive eyes. His harsh features softened and he was stunningly handsome. A man among men. Then, it was gone as he encouraged Sara to lie down.

“Come now, get under the covers. You should be asleep,” he ordered Sara gently.

One moment Nicholas was harsh and cruel as he faced Lord Marshal and his men. The next moment, he was tickling a small girl. Who was this man? And what secrets did he hold?

“Will you come see me in the morning?” Sara lay down obediently as he snuggled the blankets beneath her chin.

Nicholas smoothed a golden curl away from the child’s cheek and stood to his feet. “Of course.”

“Promise?” The child looked upon the dark lord with such adoration that Ysabelle knew a soft pang of longing so strong it almost made her weep.

The child trusted the Scots Ram completely. Why could Ysabelle not do the same?

“I promise.”

Turning before Nicholas found her eavesdropping, Ysabelle planned to return to her room. She veered down the hall and instead made her way to the chapel, hoping Father Edward was still awake.

The chapel was dark and cold. In the passageway, Margaret was just retiring for the night.

“Where is Father Edward?” Ysabelle asked the woman.

“He has left the castle, my lady.”

“Why?”

“He has gone on an urgent errand for Lord Nicholas,” Margaret whispered in a conspiratorial voice.

“What errand?”

The servant shrugged. “I know not, my lady.”

“When did he leave?”

Margaret crinkled her eyes with thought. “It was but an hour ago, my lady.”

Ysabelle stiffened, believing Father Edward had been one of the six men she’d seen earlier this night sneaking into the woods. What was Nicholas up to? Why would he endanger the priest’s life?

“Can I get you anything,” Margaret asked.

“No, thank you.”

Ysabelle returned to her room. Knowing she wouldn’t be able to refuse him, she prayed Nicholas would stay away from her tonight. She was no longer immune to him.

He was already there, sitting in the shadows, waiting for her.

Startled, Ysabelle hesitated before the door, briefly considering returning to the great hall. Nicholas looked up, his dark eyes gleaming. He stood and walked to her. Without a word, he picked her up and carried her to the lord’s chambers. Knowing it would do her no good, she didn’t fight him.

Using his foot, he pushed the door closed behind them. After setting her on her feet beside the bed, he bolted the door against intrusion.

Ysabelle noticed he, or perhaps Margaret, had started a cheery fire in the brazier. His dark eyes were mesmerizing as he looked down at her. She stared at his sculpted mouth.

“This is our room,” he told her. “From now on, I will expect you to sleep here, with me. Your chambers will be given to Sara as soon as she is well enough to occupy them.”

It would do no good to argue the point. He was her husband and his request was legitimate. Inwardly, she sighed. Before long, she would conceive his babe. But she was surprised by his generosity toward Sara. “You intend to make this a permanent arrangement?”

“Yes. Sara willna return to the woodcutter’s cottage.”

“Why have you made this decision?” Ysabelle asked, surprised.

He shrugged. “She has no parents and the woodcutter has enough mouths to feed with his own son. We will see that Sara is cared for and given opportunities another child in her position would never be able to consider.”

“You mean a bastard?”

Dipping his head, his gaze never wavered from hers. “Yes, since you put it so bluntly. Margaret has told me other children tease Sara and she has no friends. She barely has enough food to eat. I don’t want her to grow up cruelly simply because of her parent’s mistake. When the time comes, I’ll provide her with a dowry and she’ll one day wed.”

Ysabelle swallowed tightly, thinking he could have been talking about himself. It touched her that he sought to ease Sara’s plight. She wondered what kind of man he might have become if he’d been raised with kindness instead of cruelty.

Sympathy and gratitude softened her heart. She sought to push it aside, wishing to remain indifferent to the Scots Ram. Their marriage could not endure. Yet, he compelled her. As though he were a sorcerer and wielded magic to keep her by his side.

His eyes glittered in the fire glow as she went to sit upon the bed. She removed her shoes, noticing his gaze as it followed her movements.

“Who were the men you sent into the woods tonight?” she asked.

He stiffened. “I feared you might have seen them. It is nothing for you to worry about.”

“Did Father Edward leave with them?” she pressed.

“Yes, but he’ll return soon. Do not fear. He’s safe enough.”

“Where did they go?”

“On an errand for me. Put it from your mind.”

“What errand?”

Looking away, he didn’t respond. His manner was closed and Ysabelle realized she would get no more information out of him. The stubborn man.

*

When Nicholas joined Ysabelle in the large bed, she turned onto her side, feigning sleep.

“I know you are awake,” he spoke low.

She didn’t move. Pressing her shoulder, he turned her to face him and saw that her eyes were filled with worry.

“Don’t fear for Father Edward. Truly, he is safe. They are traveling fast and I sent my best men to ensure he gets through without danger.”

“I trust that the priest will be safe.” She sighed with misery, her eyes glistening with tears.

Hmm. If that wasn’t bothering her, then what was? It occurred to him then that she feared him.

“Don’t cry, sweet lassie,” he told her as he kissed her.

She stiffened and it occurred to him that she was fighting against her own desire. He persisted, showing her a tenderness he had not known he possessed.

“Why do you cry?” he asked.

She refused to answer, merely shaking her head as she clenched her eyes closed.

In frustration, Nicholas lay staring up at the timbered ceiling. For several minutes, he listened to her uneven breathing. She shifted several times and he knew she was upset. Her sorrow tormented him and he longed to find a way to defeat her fears. Why? Why did she cry? Perhaps Alex might know the answer and he decided he would ask his brother for advice in the morning.

Chapter Fourteen

“Have you told her that Malcolm is still alive?” Alex asked Nicholas the next day when he joined his brother in the great hall.

Guards and men-at-arms had gathered to take their morning meal and Alex sat close to his brother so they could speak in private.

Nicholas tasted his pottage before pushing it across the cloth-covered table. “No, it didn’t seem right to tell her the news. I still am not sure I believe it myself.”