Page 19 of The Knight Who Loved Me (Secrets and Vows #3)

19

J ames straightened and pressed his whole body against Isabel. She pushed hard against his chest and tried to kick him.

“Be still!” he ordered. “Unless you want all of our guests to see everything God endowed you with.”

She cursed under her breath, but she did stop fighting. He leaned over her as much as possible, while their hands tried to gather the edges of her shirt. She felt wonderfully soft and very feminine. If only there wasn’t an audience?—

“James!” Margery yelled again. “What are you doing?”

“Sword fighting.”

“With your wife ?”

“I thought you said you heard all the rumors.” While Isabel held the shirt up, James tried to tie the ragged neckline together.

“Are you finished?” Isabel hissed.

“I can’t see what I’m doing. Be still.”

After a moment, he stepped back. The garment sagged dangerously, and he saw a glimmer of her collarbone. “Do not make any elaborate movements.”

Isabel pushed him aside and picked up her sword, keeping her other hand at her neckline.

“I don’t think that sword is yours,” he said, looking warily up toward at least ten people on the stairs, all craning their necks to see what was going on.

She glanced over her shoulder as he followed her. “I had every intention of replacing the sword in the great hall. Perhaps if you gave me back my own?—”

“Not now, Isabel,” he said.

James followed his wife up the stairs. His guests stumbled back into the great hall as a group, their expressions ranging from shock to amusement. He couldn’t blame them. Isabel was disheveled but proud as she placed the sword on a table. She swept the murmuring crowd with a cool, haughty gaze. James winced as a seam gave at her shoulder and he caught a glimpse of skin. Then she marched upstairs and disappeared into the darkness of the corridor.

Every face turned to stare at him, and James grinned. “Is there a problem?”

Avery blew out a breath and shook his head. “I think Sarah and I will retire for the night. I’ve had more…entertainment than I can take. By the way, your tunic is ripped in a revealing place.”

James glanced down his body and remembered Isabel’s sword slashing through his garment just above his thighs. Good God. But except for a bit of leg, little of him was showing. He gave a mocking half-bow. Sarah’s face was blotched with color, and she was fanning herself weakly as she was led away, trailed by her flock of ladies.

Curious servants began to clean up the evening’s festivities. James ignored them and sat down before the fire, wincing from an ache in his side. He hoped Margery would go, but he wasn’t that lucky.

“James, would you escort me to my bedchamber?”

He sighed. “Did you forget the way?”

“I would like to speak with you in private.”

“Margery—”

“James!”

He stood up and bowed as he presented his arm.

“Oh stop that!” she said crossly, heading for the stairs.

~oOo~

Isabel hid in the shadows of a corridor outside Margery’s bedchamber. She pressed her back against the stone wall and prayed no one would come her way. She knew she shouldn’t care what her husband and his sister said to each other, but she had to know where she stood in the game she and Bolton played. Tonight he had been angry, but unable to stop himself from—touching her. She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to force from her mind the sensations of his tongue licking her breast.

If she barely breathed, she could just hear the murmur of their voices through the door. Thank goodness her husband wasn’t a quiet man.

~oOo~

James slouched in a chair before the hearth and stretched out his legs. He heard his sister sit down beside him.

“James?” Margery said tentatively.

“Hmm?” He didn’t take his eyes off the fire.

“For someone just fighting his wife with a sword, you didn’t seem to hate it. In fact, you looked as if you were taking her garments off one piece at a time.”

James faked a shocked look. “Margery!”

Her cheeks blushed red, but she still gazed grimly at him.

He finally shrugged. “She may look like a man in those clothes, and inspire me to great heights of anger, but once I see what’s underneath, I can’t help but remember she’s a woman.”

Margery winced. “Oh, James.”

“Forgive me, sweetheart, but you asked.”

“You’re bleeding.”

“Where?” he said examining his hands and legs. There was a tiny cut across one thigh. “She has good aim.”

“But your wife tried to stab you…there!”

“What’s a little bloodletting between married people?” he asked, giving her a rakish grin.

“You are not fooling me, James Markham. What is going on? I hear rumors you’ve married some wild woman, and I think they can’t possibly be true. But when I arrive, you’re trying to kill each other!”

“She wasn’t trying to kill me, just to work out some frustration.”

“Why should she be frustrated? She’s married to you, she’s wealthy?—”

“She’s miserable. She’s doing her best to humiliate me.”

“Why?” Margery asked in confusion.

He sighed. “Revenge.”

“Revenge? Is that why she robbed you?”

“Well, she hardly needed the money—although I don’t think she yet realizes what a grand heiress she truly is.” He explained the feud between their two families, and the obsession of the Earl of Mansfield.

Margery gaped at him. “I cannot believe that man raised his daughter to kill you.”

“She was his only child. I don’t think she ever had a friend, besides the knights and squires she trained with. I’m fostering the squire who helped her attack me.”

“Isn’t that dangerous?”

“No, he has nothing against me. He was only loyally trying to help his mistress. And I didn’t want to separate them. I have a hard enough time imagining how she grew up, let alone depriving her of her only friend in the world.”

“But James, don’t you worry she’ll try to harm you? When I talked to her earlier, she was very upset.”

“What did she say?”

Margery shook her head. “The words aren’t as important as the fact that she is miserably unhappy. I feel sorry for her.”

“You don’t feel sorry for me?” he teased.

She didn’t smile. “James, you have to talk to her, to come to some kind of compromise.”

His good humor faded. “Do not interfere. You know nothing about what’s going on in my marriage.”

“I want to know,” she said softly. “I want to help. You’re both so unhappy.”

“Listen to you, the expert on marriage,” he said, forcing a light tone. “Does this mean you’re ready to discuss a betrothal?”

She put up her hands. “You’re changing the subject.”

“People think I’m a fool to give you so much say in your future. There have certainly been enough marriageable men asking my permission to court you.” He suddenly paused. “Margery, is there a chance that my unusual marriage will interfere with your prospects?”

She hesitated, and that was enough for James. He swore softly.

Margery sighed and looked into the fire. “James, you’re wrong. What man would care who my brother was married to?”

“You’re naive, sweetheart. Many people care.”

“She’s the heiress to Mansfield! And she’s a misguided, confused girl?—”

“You make it sound as if I married a child. And as for confused?—”

“James, imagine what she must feel like in a strange place, with no one to turn to except a husband who either ridicules her or fights her.”

“But I didn’t?—”

“You need to be more patient with her. ’Tis obvious you feel some attraction.”

“You don’t build a marriage on ‘attraction,’ Margery. Maybe you need to start considering more men as potential husbands so you’ll learn this.”

“None of them appeal to me. I’ll know, James, just as Reynold seemed to know.”

The comfortable atmosphere between them vanished. James narrowed his eyes and stared into the flames as if they could sear his memories away. “I do not wish to discuss him.”

“James, you’re both my brothers. Can you imagine how I feel, having you angry with each other? You know that Edmund’s death was a training accident, that Reynold did not mean for him to die.”

“Reynold seduced my betrothed away from me,” he said coldly. “How should I forgive that?”

“And you had her kidnapped?—”

“For her protection.”

“—and she almost died.”

“Which I did not intend to happen.”

Margery sighed. “I am not blaming you. You did what you thought was right during the war. And I cannot deny that it was successful, that we lost none of our lands as so many others did. But can’t you accept that neither Reynold nor Katherine planned to fall in love and betray you, just as you did not mean for Katherine to be endangered?”

James frowned, but didn’t answer.

“I just ask you to think on what this rift between you is doing to our family.”

In a low voice, he said, “Even if I wanted to speak to Reynold, he would not see me. It is for the best.”

She shook her head sadly. “I won’t accept that. Someday, I want to have both of my brothers at my wedding, celebrating together.”

James took his leave and walked to his bedchamber. He found his wife dripping wet, wearing only a linen cloth. Annie was emptying the tub. He motioned Annie to the door and she said her good-nights.

Using a second towel, Isabel dried her hair, keeping her eyes on the floor and ignoring him.

“That was quite a performance,” James finally said, taking a seat before the hearth. “You couldn’t wait to get up here and bathe, could you?”

When he saw the small smile curve her lips, he didn’t know whether he wanted to shake her or kiss her passionately. He wanted to rip off the towel and seduce her, as was his right—but what kind of man would that make him? He’d become just like the man who’d already taken her virginity, the man who’d hurt her.

Instead he felt helpless as his wife turned her back and dropped the towel. Her hips were exquisitely round, her back a delicate long curve. As she reached for a clean shirt, he could see the edge of her breast and the lithe muscles of her arm.

Why didn’t he just seduce her? Hell, he’d just used a sword against his wife, when with one slip he could have killed her—and he thought she’d enjoyed it as much as he had.

The shirt fell in long folds down Isabel’s body, hiding what he craved. She walked toward him, carrying a blanket. He didn’t even pretend to look at her face.

“Are you sleeping before the fire,” she said, “or am I?”

Very slowly, he let his gaze travel up her body. She looked at him directly, unafraid, but her cheeks were flushed red.

He stood up and stepped aside. She lay down on the rug before the fire and wrapped herself in her blanket. Was he being a fool, waiting for her to come to him?

~oOo~

At dawn, Isabel awoke and lay still, listening to the sound of her husband breathing. She thought of the conversation she had overheard, and inside she ached. Bolton pitied her. She would have preferred his hatred. And as for Margery, Isabel should be thrilled she had upset even more of the Boltons. But the thought of ruining an innocent girl’s chance at marriage made her feel sick inside. Forced to retreat before hearing more, Isabel had almost been relieved.

What did they all want from her? She couldn’t be the woman they expected her to become. By the saints, Bolton only remembered she was one when he saw her naked.

~oOo~

The sky was almost fully alight as James kissed his sister as they stood together in the inner ward.

“Wish me Godspeed, brother,” Margery said.

“Where are you off to?”

She smiled. “Reynold has invited me to visit.”

He frowned. “You could stay here longer, you know.”

“Thank you for the offer, but I don’t want to intrude on a newly wedded couple. Good luck!” She turned toward the castle, where Isabel stood in the distance. “Take care, Lady Isabel.”

For a moment, Isabel did nothing, and the tension in James’s stomach heated up. She finally nodded, and his sister gave a relieved smile.

Margery mounted her horse and fell in beside Sarah’s litter. Avery raised his arm in salute, and their small party of travelers started under the gatehouse. James wondered what tales would soon be spread through the countryside about his new wife.

He mounted up to lead the small party of knights to Mansfield Castle. As Isabel approached, he scowled down at her choice of his tunic.

“What about the dress that was left for you?”

“Bolton, you can’t imagine that I could travel in such a thing.”

He grunted.

Isabel looked over the column of men, then frowned and stepped near his horse. She stood close to his leg and stared up at him with dark, serious eyes.

“Is William journeying with us?” she asked.

“I decided that he should continue his duties here. I certainly don’t trust the two of you together yet.”

She shrugged, but made no comment. She mounted her gelding, swinging her long leg up and over. James found himself watching the way her thigh was encased tightly in dark hose.

The first day’s journey was uneventful but tiring. Rain fell steadily for much of the day, and the coldness seeped down his neck until he occasionally shivered. Isabel was stoic as usual, and never complained.

Night fell, and they made camp deep in the forest, where the rain dripped through the trees rather than poured. James had a very small, enclosed tent erected for Isabel and himself. The rest of the company built tree branch shelters, and everyone settled into sleep early, for no fires would stay lit. He ducked inside the tent and pulled the flap closed behind him. He found Isabel curled with her back to him, wrapped in a blanket. How unusual, he thought dryly. Damn, but she infuriated him—and intrigued him. He didn’t have the first idea what to do about it.

~oOo~

They approached Castle Mansfield late in the day, when the sun had already begun to set. Their horses clattered onto the drawbridge. As they entered the gatehouse, he looked up to see the portcullis hanging over his head—rusted, but still deadly. They passed through the outer ward, with still another curtain wall to go. He glanced at Isabel, who had an eager, excited look in her eyes. He’d only seen that expression when facing her across a sword.

The gatehouse leading to the inner ward was manned by grim-faced soldiers, who bowed respectfully—to Isabel, he was sure. James was the enemy. And then he forgot about his wife as he saw the condition of the inner ward. Animal dung was scattered everywhere. Pigs rooted through a nearby garden because of a broken fence. The dovecote looked abandoned.

The keep itself rose up massively before him, with many towers and levels. He would never know worry again, with such a fortress behind him. But there was so much work to be done.

Suddenly, the barracks seemed to empty of soldiers and knights as men streamed into the ward. Isabel gave a glad hail and dismounted to run into the center of the troop. She was caught up in giant bear hugs, and passed from man to man. James felt his gut tighten, and he didn’t know why.

Most of the soldiers wore beards or dark stubble, with long unkempt hair and stains on their brigantines. They looked like time had stopped for them hundreds of years ago. James wondered if one of these men had taken his wife’s virginity—had hurt her?

He dismounted and approached Isabel while she was deep in conversation with a gruff knight. When she saw him, her eyes narrowed.

“Bolton,” she said. “This is the captain of my father’s— my guard—Sir Hugo Naughton.”

She didn’t say anything else.

And then the devil inside James came to life. He put his hand on her shoulder, let his fingers tease her ear. She stiffened.

“My wife just can’t keep these things straight in that pretty head of hers. I am the Earl of Bolton.”

For a moment, he thought the soldiers would attack him for touching their mistress. He kept his hand on his sword, daring them to. Sir Hugo finally gave a formal bow, his lip twitching beneath his overgrown mustache. The man narrowed his eyes and gave James a deliberately assessing stare.

“We were worried when Lady Isabel did not return home after her father died. Even the steward did not know her whereabouts. We had begun searching for her, thinking she was thrown from her horse. And then we heard that the king had given her to you in marriage.”

His stance made it very clear that there was little besides death he considered worse than marriage to a Bolton.

“Your loyalty is to be commended,” James said. “Carry on with your duties. I’ll have my wife show me the castle.”

Sir Hugo gave a brief nod and turned to his troop. Isabel began to follow the captain.

“Isabel, you are with me,” James said.

Her back stiffened and she turned slowly to face him.

“I would like to spend time with my men,” she said.

“They are also my men now, and you can converse with them in the great hall. Your duty should be to prepare for their meal and see to their comfort.”

He thought for a moment she would rebel, and he would have to chase her across the ward, but instead she gave him a cold black stare and went inside the castle. James tossed his reins to a page and followed her. The stench of rotting rushes and moldy food was almost overwhelming. The walls were bare stone, no tapestries to keep out the drafts. He turned to watch Isabel closely, and thought even she looked surprised.

Servants appeared to greet her, and they were warm enough to her, but cast wary glances at James. One old man stood before the rest with an air of command, and a frown of distrust. Probably the steward, the man James most needed to see.

He decided to wait on Isabel’s words. There was silence for a moment, broken by the wail of a child somewhere down a corridor. She looked at him, and he raised an eyebrow.

She took a deep breath, then turned to address the small crowd. “This is James Markham, the Earl of Bolton. As you know, I have been given to him in marriage by King Henry.” She stopped speaking, and gave him a cold look. “He is your lord now.”