My Heart Belongs to You (Medieval Romance Trilogy Book 3) (8 page)

How she envied them their freedom.

“And if I refuse to let you inside Sutcliffe?” she said.

He shrugged behind her. “You will still be my wife before the sun sets, and I will be forced to besiege my own castle. I don’t wish to kill any of our people.”

“Our people?” She gave a short laugh.

“Yes, our people.”

His words tore at her. “Lord Marshal’s army must be only a short ways behind us. You’ll find it difficult to besiege Sutcliffe with King William’s men to fight outside the walls.”

“I will do what I must,” he said.

Though she was filled with doubt, his confidence inspired trust. She’d always longed to wed a man who would protect her home at all costs. It appeared Nicholas was just such a man and she could understand a part of why her father had chosen him to rule Sutcliffe.

“Even if it means your death?” she asked.

“Is that what you wish?”

She sighed with impatience. “Of course not, but neither do I like my choices. I see no way for my people to win.”

In the stillness that followed, the Ram patted her hands, his gauntlets scraping against her skin. An awkward gesture, as if he didn’t quite know how to soothe her. No doubt he wasn’t used to consoling a distraught woman. Yet, he tried, and that alone softened her heart.

“I know you’ve been through much since Maston died.” He whispered for her ears alone, the words seeming difficult for him to speak. “I regret you had to see Sir Malcolm cut down, but rest assured I’ll not let your king destroy us.”

And how could he stop it? His army wouldn’t be strong enough if her king laid siege to Sutcliffe and starved them out. But what choice did she have? None! Not really. Not unless she wished to defy her father as well as her king.

She sighed deeply. They couldn’t sit here all day. Her father would have invited the Ram in with open arms. Even in death, she hated to deny her father anything.

“Lower the drawbridge and raise the portcullis, Thomas,” she called to the guard.

“A wise choice, my lady.” Nicholas’s warm breath brushed her ear.

“Don’t think this gives you other rights,” she said. “I simply need time to decide what to do.”

His noncommittal grunt preceded the grating of the portcullis as it lifted. Minutes passed and her pulse pounded along with the grinding of chains. Nicholas clicked his spurs against his mount and they moved forward, their horses clattering over the drawbridge as they rode into the bailey.

Thomas and the castle guards awaited them. When they came to a halt, Ysabelle didn’t hesitate before she bolted from Samson’s back. She wanted nothing more than to reach the safety of her room, but the edge of her cloak remained snug beneath Nicholas’s muscular thigh. Caught short, she rolled onto the ground and scurried to pull her torn gown close around her.

A burst of lewd laughter filled the air as the Scotsmen watched her with glittering eyes. Ysabelle’s guards scowled with outrage. Nicholas stepped down from his horse with his cloak in hand.

“Secure the keep,” he growled and the Scotsmen scurried to do his bidding.

In short movements, Nicholas lifted Ysabelle to her feet and pulled the cloak over her shoulders, covering her. A territorial movement, as though he were protecting his property.

“Are you injured?” he asked.

Ysabelle stared into his frosty eyes. Anger boiled beneath his calm exterior. He obviously didn’t like his men looking at her.

“You’re not as cruel as they say you are.” She spoke with some amazement.

A heavy glower crinkled his brow, but he didn’t respond.

“Why do you scowl so much?” she asked.

His eyes narrowed.

“Doesn’t it hurt your face?” she pressed.

He laughed. “Foolish woman.”

He brushed tangles of her long hair back from her cheeks and she jerked away. His touch wasn’t something she could allow. Already, she felt the attraction between them like heat from a smith’s forge. She must fight it. He was wild and unpredictable, a dangerous man.

Conscious of his dark eyes locking with hers, she felt swallowed by their intensity. His head lowered to hers and her gaze was drawn to his sculpted mouth so close to her own. He smelled of leather and horses, completely male and desirable. It was several moments before he stepped away.

“The English will be here soon,” he said. “We cannot wait much longer before we wed. It will be my greatest bargaining tool to use in peace talks with your king.”

She shook her head. “Are you daft? King William will settle for peace only when you are dead.”

“He can try to kill me, but he won’t succeed.”

She shuddered, his words tearing at her soul. So arrogant. So confident. Though she found him more physically desirable than Sir Malcolm, she didn’t want to be forced into marriage ever again.

When she pulled away from him, he let her go, and she was conscious of him watching as she fled inside the hall.

Chapter Five

Nicholas stood within the bailey of Sutcliffe Castle and stared after Lady Ysabelle. The breeze blew dust around him, but he didn’t move as she scurried up the stone steps leading to the great hall. He briefly considered following her, but resisted the urge. Perhaps it would be best to give her time to adjust to all that had occurred while he planned his strategy against the English.

For most of the night, he’d ridden with the scent of her fragrant hair surrounding him. As she dozed in his arms, he’d felt the brush of her soft curls against his face, her body small and delicate in his arms. It had been no trouble to hold her secure. Slight of build, she was fragile and lovely. It would take little effort to hurt her. For this reason, he was even gentler with her. Never would he harm her the way his step father had hurt his mother.

He shook his head, thinking himself a fool. He mustn’t become enamored by this woman. No illusions disturbed him. Loving Ysabelle when she didn’t want him would only bring him pain.

Still, he enjoyed the fact that his betrothed was remarkably beautiful. Maston had spoken of her loveliness and also her caring nature. So far, Nicholas had seen ample proof of her stunning looks. But mild mannered?

Perhaps when she slept.

He resisted the urge to smile. He had long ago learned not to show pleasure or to disclose his inner thoughts. Emotion was a weakness that could cost him his life.

Pausing on the steps, she turned to look back at him, her eyes wide, her smooth cheeks flushed with color. Her long braid whipped about her and he longed to undo it and blanket himself in her curls, to press his face against her and inhale her woman’s scent. He stared at her. A vision of loveliness with her bare feet, slim ankles, and porcelain face.

Turning, she entered the hall, leaving him feeling suddenly bereft.

“She is beautiful.” Alex smiled down at Nicholas from where he still sat his horse. “I don’t believe I have ever seen a woman with smaller feet.”

Nicholas didn’t look at his brother. “It would have done some good if you had retrieved her something to wear besides the cloak.”

“What more did she need?”

“A gown and some shoes would have been wise.”

Alex grinned, his brows curved in mock insult. “Be grateful I gave her the cloak and no shoes. Otherwise, you might yet be chasing her across the moors.”

Nicholas grunted. “No doubt you were thinking with your crotch.”

Shrugging, Alex looked unperturbed. “I think as other men do, including you. You’re lucky to be blessed with a stunning bride.”

Nicholas patted his stallion’s shiny neck. “It would have been lucky for me had I been blessed with a brother who doesn’t talk so much.”

He led his horse to the watering trough, wanting to be alone. Alex followed, and a bristle of irritation swept Nicholas’s spine. He waited as his horse drank in slow gulps. Samson lifted his head and trickles of water drizzled from the destrier’s muzzle.

Alex chuckled. “Once the priest speaks the vows, I wager Lady Ysabelle will give birth exactly nine months from today.”

Nicholas hoped so. She was so small, he feared childbirth might kill her.

He frowned.

Thomas, the captain of the castle guard, removed his helm and approached. Nicholas was relieved when Alex stepped away with a soft chuckle.

“You are Nicholas Ramsay,” Thomas said. “I recognize you from when I accompanied Lord Maston to Dalhousie to arrange your betrothal to Lady Ysabelle.”

“I remember you also. How is your wife?”

A wary light flickered in Thomas’s eyes. “She has recovered from the ague that plagued her.”

“Good. Can I depend upon your support now?” Nicholas asked.

Though he held perfectly still, brutal energy pulsed in Nicholas’s veins. He feared Thomas might reject his claim to Ysabelle and Sutcliffe. It would be futile to fight the inhabitants of the castle. Nicholas wanted them to swear fealty to him and be his oath-men, not his enemies.

Thomas spoke in a thoughtful tone. “The king’s emissary was here looking for Lady Ysabelle four days ago. We explained that she’d gone to her uncle’s home, to mourn her father’s passing. Since you’ve brought her home, I take it you will be our new lord.”

“Yes, I will be Lady Ysabelle’s husband, just as her father agreed.”

Thomas smiled. “I know that is what Lord Maston wanted. Aye, we will support you, my lord.”

Praise the heavens! Elation spiraled through Nicholas.

Thomas clasped Nicholas’s hand, his ruddy face crinkled with a broad grin of approval.

Within the next few minutes, Nicholas announced to the castle guards who he was and that there would be a wedding feast soon. Nicholas was conscious of Alex returning to stand beside him, withdrawing his gauntlets. A murmur of delight ruffled through the crowd and Nicholas was grateful Maston had prepared his people beforehand to accept him as their new lord. If only Ysabelle were so easily persuaded.

With little fanfare, Nicholas gave instructions that cattle, sheep, and supplies were to be brought inside the keep. The people set to work without question, their horses and wagons rattling out of the gatehouse as they went to spread the word and collect provisions.

“The English might besiege us before your marriage,” Alex told Nicholas when they were alone.

“The ceremony will be done quickly.”

“I can promise the strength of my men to help you fight the English,” Alex interjected. “If my father will lend his aid, we might call in allies of other Scottish clans. King William will soon learn not to meddle along the border where he isn’t wanted.”

Alex’s offer touched Nicholas deeply and he couldn’t contain a look of amazement.

“Don’t be surprised, Nick. You’ve always been there to fight for me in numerous battles. I willna abandon you now. I’ve already sent a runner to Dalhousie to request my father send our men to your aid. No doubt he’ll come posthaste.”

Doubtful. Archibald Ramsay hated Nicholas, and he couldn’t keep from saying so. “Your father won’t be pleased to aid my cause.”

Alex shrugged. “It would help his own cause and mine also. Our king will reward my father well if he succeeds in helping add Sutcliffe to the long list of Scotland’s lands.”

Warmth suffused Nicholas when he thought of his new home. “I will see that Sutcliffe prospers. I will lay down my life defending these lands and also Lady Ysabelle. I will take her to wife this verra day.”

Alex clasped his arm. “Yes, brother. You’re finally home.”

Home!

A thick knot of emotion clogged Nicholas’s throat. Stillness settled over him, like a summer morning when the air smelled of freshly cut hay and baking bread. This was what he had always wanted. A place of belonging and people who needed him. With God’s grace, he’d now have a wife and children of his own.

Always before, the emptiness had haunted him. Until now. Now, he had found his place and would never leave.

Except in death.

*

Ysabelle raced through the main hall and up the spiral stairs to her bedchamber. She didn’t pause even to take a breath until safely inside, the solid door closed against intrusion. Breathless and shaking, she leaned her head against the stone wall, ignoring the abrasive texture against her skin. She wrapped her arms about her as a hoarse croak shuddered from her throat.

A prisoner in her own home! Now the Scots Ram was inside Sutcliffe, he would be almost impossible to dislodge. It was her own fault for allowing him entrance. Maybe she’d made an error. But what choice did she have?

She could only guess how much time she had before he forced her to the altar. He’d made it clear they would wed this evening. And if she refused, she wondered what new threats he might use against her. How could she stand against him if her people welcomed him? Once King William’s army arrived, Ysabelle doubted they would support the Ram’s cause, unless she married him. If her people refused to fight for his cause, Nicholas would be taken and killed.

The thought brought a sinking of despair to her heart. She didn’t want anyone’s death.

Pushing away from the wall, she decided not to wait for Ada to attend her. Though her body thrummed with exhaustion and she longed for a bath, she tossed a simple gown of black linen across the bed. Tearing the cloak and ruined nightdress from her body, she dipped her hands into a bowl of tepid water and washed vigorously. After drying herself, she pulled the gown over her head. The dark color suited her mood.

Kneeling down, she started a fire in the brazier and set a small cauldron of water over the flames to heat for tea. Sprinkling chamomile leaves into the boiling water, she left it to steep and sat before the looking glass. She undid the scraggly braid and brushed her hair, trying to soothe her disheveled nerves. Her reflection looked no different. Yet, inside, she seethed with turmoil. Sir Malcolm had all but stolen her innocence. If she let him, Nicholas Ramsay would complete the conquering.

Ada rapped on the door and peeked inside. Ysabelle almost sent her away but knew the woman was concerned about her. Instead, she waved for the woman to attend her.

Wringing her hands, Ada grimaced. “Why did you let them inside the castle, child? What were you thinking?”