My Heart Belongs to You (Medieval Romance Trilogy Book 3) (34 page)

Neither Ysabelle nor Alex cracked a smile.

“I will do what I have to,” she said.

They stared at each other, both firm in their convictions.

“What now?” Nicholas finally broke the silence.

“I think you have something to say to us,” Alex replied.

Nicholas tilted his head. “I do?”

“Yes, you do,” Ysabelle agreed. “And you should say it now and get it over with, for it won’t become easier by delaying.”

Nicholas didn’t understand any of this. No, not one bit. “What do you mean?”

Ysabelle looked at Alex, her mouth curled with disgust. “You’re right. He’s ungrateful.”

“I think it’s because no one taught him good manners as a child,” Alex affirmed.

She laughed. “I would have thought, when you taught him to dance and tell those horrible jokes, that you would have also schooled him in proper behavior.” She spoke as though Nicholas wasn’t standing right there, listening to every word they said.

Alex shrugged. “I tried, but he wouldn’t listen to me.”

“Should I call for the men?” she asked, taking a step toward the doorway. Crossing her arms, she tapped her toe in the dirt and gazed steadily at Nicholas.

“All right. There is no need for violence, wife.” Nicholas held up a hand to calm her.

Again, Alex and Ysabelle stared at Nicholas expectantly. But he didn’t understand. What did they want from him?

“And?” Ysabelle prodded.

Nicholas lifted his brows in questioning annoyance. “And…I am sorry for trying to send you both away. I didn’t realize how much I…”

He couldn’t finish. He didn’t know what to say.

“Need us?” Alex supplied.

“Love us?” Ysabelle rejoined.

“Appreciate us?” Alex spoke again.

It was Ysabelle’s turn. “Care for us?”

“Yes!” Nicholas roared, unable to hide the truth any longer. “I love you, I need you, I appreciate and care for you both. It has always been so. You belong in my heart, Ysabelle. You belong to me. Your home is with me, my life I would freely give for you. Need I say any more? For upon my life, I speak the truth.”

Tears fell from Ysabelle’s eyes and she shook her head. “No, you needn’t speak more than that. It’s all I’ve longed to hear since I met you.”

The grin on Alex’s face widened until it almost split his face.

“Does my speaking the words make you so happy?” Nicholas’s voice sounded soft, almost hesitant.

“Deliriously happy,” Ysabelle cried as she threw herself into his arms.

Alex joined the fray. Clapping Nicholas on the back, he laced one arm around Ysabelle’s trembling shoulders. Delicious warmth filled Nicholas to overflowing. Never had he spoken such words before. They were precious to him, something to savor as he did a hearty meal and cup of wine after a long, hard ride out in the cold.

Yes, he loved his wife. And his brother. And his unborn child. They were his family, his home. Everything that meant anything to him.

And now, he would lose them all.

Dread lodged in his chest like a burning clump of stone. When Ysabelle gazed into his eyes, he could contain the emotions no longer. He had this moment to cherish. Just a while longer to savor the intensity of finally belonging to someone who cared for him. But then he must go meet the English army outside.

“I do love you both,” Nicholas confessed, the words coming easier each time he said them. “I apologize for being such a brute. I never wished to spend the rest of my life alone.”

“And you won’t, for I love you also,” Ysabelle vowed.

His eyes widened. “You do?”

“Yes, I do.”

His heart pumped madly inside his chest. How he’d longed to hear these words. “Say it again, my lady. Just once more.”

She smiled, her eyes gleaming with joy. “I love you, Nicholas. I love you so much, and I promise to say it every day, so you’ll never doubt my words.”

Pulling her into his arms, he kissed her fiercely. Happiness spiraled through his veins, bursting from his heart like molten fire. Home! Finally, he was home. And it was not in a castle keep with a roaring fire and roasting meat. Home was in his heart, where his love for Ysabelle lived.

And now, he must face the English. Now, he could lose it all.

Chapter Nineteen

Picking her way through the dark, Ysabelle stole across the bailey. The chill air stung her cheeks in spite of the morning sun peeking over the eastern hills. She should have grabbed a shawl before she left the warmth of her chamber. She wondered why Nicholas didn’t awaken her when he left her side that morning.

He stood high above, upon the wall walk, staring out at the wide fields surrounding the castle. He looked imposing in his hauberk and helmet as his sword and shield winked at her in the sunlight. Alex stood by his side, conversing quietly. Nicholas bowed his head as he listened intently to what his brother was saying. Their men lined the battlements, faces turned to the west, standing at attention like wooden statues. Each warrior held weapons ready to launch at the enemy. Arrows, spears, axes and swords.

Fiery torches had been set at strategic locations long the allure, ready to light the tips of arrows or heat scalding tar, which would be aimed down upon the heads of English soldiers. Throughout the siege, Nicholas’s men had never looked so intense. They knew they could easily subdue any attempts the English made to defeat the strength of the castle wall. But something was different this time. Something had changed. Had the English succeeded in breaking through the wall?

A low humm filled the air, like rumbling thunder. As if a mighty giant had been awakened from slumber. Ysabelle had no idea what caused the noise. The air was fraught with tension and a shiver ran down her spine.

Reaching the wall walk, she climbed until she stood beside Nicholas upon the ramparts. He turned to greet her and she expected to be chastised for being there. Instead, he smiled and lifted a hand to welcome her into his embrace. Snuggling close, she wrapped an arm behind his back and looked down at the valley below. Swallowing a gasp, her eyes widened at the sight that greeted her eyes.

Ranks of English soldiers stood parallel to the treeline of the forest. Dressed for battle in chain mail and swords, their tall javelins and short swords glittered in the morning sunlight. Their banners slapped in the breeze, bearing the royal crest emblazoned in black and red. Beneath their helmets, their mouths looked grim. Lord Marshal was unmistakable, sitting his warhorse at the front, dressed in gray, his black hauberk covering a scarlet tunic.

Facing the English stood a body of men so vast, Ysabelle wondered who they were? She had no idea when the new army had arrived. These numerous men explained the low roar noise breaking across the moors. It was the sound of hundreds of men and horses preparing for battle.

A jolt of fear tore through her veins. She didn’t know if the unknown army was English reinforcements or Scotsmen prepared to fight for Nicholas’s cause. Heaven help the occupants of the castle if the strangers were for England. They could never fight such a formidable foe.

Their chain mail didn’t glitter, their harness didn’t shine like the English armaments. But Ysabelle thought their power and sharp weapons would be just as effective in killing.

“My father has finally arrived,” Alex said.

Ysabelle gasped. So, the new army was Scotsmen from Dalhousie, the Clan Ramsay. They would fight for Nicholas and Sutcliffe’s cause.

Praise the saints. She blinked back tears of joy, almost sagging with relief.

Alex grinned widely. “They arrived during the night. Earlier, Marshal sent a runner to demand Nicholas’s surrender. No doubt it was a desperate attempt to intimidate us because he knows he will now be given a good thrashing.”

Ysabelle didn’t need to be told what Nicholas’s answer had been. Glancing at her husband, she noted his hard expression. His profile seemed to have been chiseled from stone. “No doubt, you refused to surrender.”

“Of course he did,” Alex responded before Nicholas could answer. “Our fellow Scotsmen will show Lord Marshal that he cannot bully the people along this border.”

Stepping back, she clasped her hands together. War! They would fight! Not behind the safety of Sutcliffe’s ramparts, but a terrible battle at the foot of the castle walls in hand-to-hand combat.

The shock and horror of it consumed her. So many men would die. Their blood would cover the earth. Nicholas might be killed. How could she stand to lose him?

“Is there no other way?” Her voice broke.

Nicholas looked at her, his eyes filled with such tenderness that she threw herself into his arms. He held her close, the feel of his chain mail digging into her soft skin as a reminder of what was to come. He didn’t speak and she knew his answer. He would fight.

There was no other way.

“Nicholas and I were just preparing to go out and meet my father. When we are in position, the Normans will face us and charge. It is their way.”

Lifting her face, Ysabelle stood on tiptoes to reach her husband. He lowered his head to receive her kiss. Their arms tightened around each other, their bodies melding like metal in a smith’s forge. His scent filled her, his warmth reminded her that he was strong and alive. While there was life, there was hope. The Scots army would fight for their cause. Perhaps all was not lost after all.

“Have I thanked you for stealing me away from Malcolm de Litz?” she whispered against his lips.

A lazy smile widened his mouth. “When you fought me, I thought perhaps you cared for the rolling piglet.”

She laughed. “I never cared for that horrid fool. I simply feared my king’s retribution if I went with you willingly. As you can see, my judgment was sound. We are now at war with my king. Yet, I would make the same choice again, as long as I can be with you.”

“Ah, in that case, it was my pleasure, my lady.”

“I love you,” she said.

“And I love you.”

He pulled away, his hand skimming down her arm until only their fingertips touched. He offered one last smile of reassurance, then he was gone. She stared after him as Alex hurried to keep up with his long stride. Her heart ached and she clutched a fist to her chest. The ache grew, climbing up her throat until she couldn’t swallow. The pain was so great, she could barely breathe.

She watched as he entered the bailey. Placing his helmet on his head, he mounted his charger. Samson waved his massive head, his tail slashing the air as he pranced with his master to the gatehouse. She wished the beast wouldn’t appear so pleased to go into battle.

Alex rode ahead on his own warhorse. When Nicholas pulled in rein and stopped, Alex paused, looking back at his brother. Turning in the saddle, Nicholas lifted his head and he looked up at Ysabelle. She couldn’t see his expression, but she didn’t need to. Lifting a hand, he saluted her. She waved in return and blew him a kiss. Whirling the stallion, he tapped his spurs to the animal’s sides. Samson clattered over the drawbridge and was gone.

Ysabelle hurried to the merlons, peering over the edge to catch a glimpse of Nicholas as he emerged on the other side of the castle wall. She saw him and Alex riding out with a host of castle guards to join the Scots army. Her heart pounded as her attention was drawn to Nicholas. It was easy to pick him out as he sat his mighty charger at the fore of his men. He and Alex rode side-by-side until they joined another tall man sitting his horse amidst the rank and file of Scotsmen.

He must be Archibald Ramsay, the Laird of Clan Ramsay. Though he’d finally come to Nicholas’s defense, Ysabelle couldn’t bring herself to like the man. Not after the pain he’d caused her husband throughout his youth. Yet, he had finally come and would fight for Nicholas’s cause. They now had a chance at survival.

The battle would be evenly matched and fierce. There was a shifting among the English. A jolt of fear glazed her when she saw Lord Marshal riding out to meet the Scotsmen. Far back in the ranks, close to the forest edge, she could not mistake the obese forms of Sir Malcolm and Sir Lambert. They sat massive warhorses large enough to hold their great weight.

It was true, then. Malcolm was still alive.

Her throat clenched. She was a bigamist, but no matter what the Pope decided, in her heart she would always be Nicholas’s wife. If he fell in battle, she must live to defend their child, and she prayed that Father Edward would soon return with good news.

The subtle clinks of harness and weaponry filled the air as the multitude of armed men moved into position. There was a long pause and Ysabelle saw Nicholas staring at the English as they paired off, facing the Scots army row by row.

Sitting tall in the saddle, Nicholas showed no weakness from the wound in his shoulder. Ysabelle knew better. The injury had not yet fully healed. He would have to fight for his life and would be at a disadvantage. But that had never stopped him before.

She should have guessed that Maston was Nicholas’s real father. The two men had the same hard profile, the same stubborn chin with the cleft in it, the same curve of nose and brow. Nicholas’s stance, the way he walked, even his robust laugh was so like Maston’s. The truth was right before her eyes.

Her hand moved to her abdomen where her child rested within her body. Raw emotion moved within her. Finally, she understood what her father had been thinking. He’d wished only to give his son what should have been his all along. Could Ysabelle fault Maston for such a desire?

No! Her mind shouted. Nor could she deny her own love.

The armies started moving. She realized her knees were ready to buckle. Reaching out a hand, she steadied herself against the stone wall and felt the color fade from her cheeks.

“My lady?” James called to her from where he stood at the gatehouse. “You should go inside, where you will be safe.”

Ysabelle shook her head. “Please, let me stay a little longer. I’m not in danger right now.”

The man frowned, then ordered several armed guards to protect her if the English archers came too close.

A deafening yell filled the air. Turning, Ysabelle saw the two armies moving. The horses’ muscles bunched as they charged. Screams of fury raged among the men. The air filled with yells and grunts.