Page 6 of The Knight Who Loved Me (Secrets and Vows #3)

6

W hen James reached his bedchamber, he sank into a chair before the fire and put his head in his hands. He had planned to coerce the Angel with food, to torment her about hurting her partner, all in a bluff to get her to reveal herself.

But then he had remembered the boy’s reaction in the forest, when he had desperately revealed the location of the ribbons so the Angel wouldn’t be hurt. All at once, James had found himself using that information, playing the woman against her partner. He should be exhilarated that his plan had succeeded without bloodshed.

Instead, he was torn apart by the most passionate kiss he had ever received. And he’d kissed so many women. But always there had been a part of his brain detached from the emotion of the act, analyzing every technique he used and what to change the next time he needed to calm a nervous woman with a kiss.

But with Isabel Atherstone, he’d lost himself. The woman had robbed him, humiliated him, and almost gotten away with it—but still he had continued to kiss her. Lost in the hot recesses of her mouth, he had forgotten the boy, forgotten his purpose. He still didn’t even know the boy’s name, because he couldn’t bear to be with Isabel for a moment more, and not kiss her.

Yet…it bothered him that he could not fathom her motives. She wanted revenge, but for what? Her name was familiar, yet he couldn’t think why.

He had to get control of himself, James thought, sweeping the hair out of his face and collapsing back in the chair. Yes, he’d been undone by her kiss, but nothing else could come of it. She was a barbaric, savage woman, who’d had many men before him. She had taken his money, humiliated him, and meant to kill him. It had to end. Because of her noble identity, he would have to send notice to the king of her crimes. Let His Majesty deal with her.

~oOo~

The guards allowed Isabel to descend into William’s dungeon. She felt numb, defeated, but one look at her squire’s face made her forget her own worries. She could tell from his dirty cheeks that he’d been wiping away tears.

As her feet touched the floor, he threw his arms around her and held on. She awkwardly patted his back. Finally, William stepped away, gripped her shoulders, and stared intently at her face.

“Do you have injuries I cannot see?” he demanded. “Does it hurt?”

“I am fine,” she said, trying to pull away.

“Isabel, do not lie to me! Let me help.”

“He did not harm me.” She turned away from him and went to the arrow loop. Leaning against the damp rock, she buried her head in her arms. She heard William approach.

“I don’t understand,” he said softly. “What happened? Why did you scream?”

“He kissed me,” she murmured wearily.

“What did you say?”

Isabel whirled and faced him, anger rising. “He kissed me.”

William’s mouth dropped open. “That’s it?”

“Do you not see? He did it deliberately, knowing you’d misinterpret.”

The blood drained from his face. “You mean I—I revealed your secret for no reason? I put you in harm’s way?”

“William, it was not your fault. He would have discovered eventually. And I—I was not much help. I reacted badly.”

“My lady, of course you reacted, having a man like that kiss you,” he said, and put his hand on her shoulder. “Forgive me.”

Still looking out the window, she patted his hand. She hoped he wouldn’t ask what had happened, because she could barely admit it to herself. She had allowed the kiss of her family’s worst enemy—and she had enjoyed it. She wanted to groan her mortification, but the boy was upset enough.

What was wrong with her, that she could find the kiss of a man she hated so wildly exciting? Her body still throbbed from the heat of him, and she felt achingly incomplete. He was a monster, he had raped his betrothed—and would she have allowed him to take her as well? Was she that weak-minded, to be swept away by a sexual desire she had never felt before?

No , she angrily thought, I would have killed him first .

“My lady,” William said hesitantly, “there might be something to be said about a man who does not wish to use physical violence unless necessary.”

Isabel turned to face him. “What are you saying?”

“Maybe…he is not all bad. He has not harmed us.”

“Yet,” she added. Her voice rose. “William, he enjoyed forcing me! This is what he does! Do you not realize that this has harmed me, to be made to do something against my will, something so vile?”

Liar , she told herself.

William’s eyes widened. “Do you think he’ll…continue?”

“Only if he wants to see my blade part his ribs.”

~oOo~

James wasn’t about to trust himself near Isabel Atherstone. He sent good food, a basin of water, and a change of garments into the dungeon and left her and her partner alone. He would discover the boy’s identity eventually. He reasoned that the Angel must have someplace to sleep nearby, so he sent out soldiers to search for anything unusual, like recent cooking fires, or shelters.

Within three days they discovered a hut not quite deserted, with a large hidden supply of black ribbons. James arrived just as they’d begun to dig up the floor. The dowry money was there, complete and untouched. He promptly sent a missive to King Henry, asking him to take his captive off his hands.

Two evenings later, James was whistling as he came down for supper. He wore his finest garments to let all his people know that his world had righted itself, that he was once again the very eligible Earl of Bolton. But a muddy messenger waited tiredly beside one of the large fireplaces. James halted on the lowest step, feeling unease lance his stomach. He put on a false smile and went to greet him.

“Lord Bolton,” the man said, rubbing his red beard nervously. He held out a sealed letter. “His Majesty sent me with a message for you.”

James almost wanted to refuse it. Why did he have such a bad feeling about this? He was about to be rid of a thief.

He took the parchment. “Bring your men in to take supper with us.”

“I’ve no men, my lord.”

James’s mouth went dry. “But surely you need more than yourself to guard two captives.”

The messenger dropped his gaze. “I am traveling back to London alone, my lord. Perhaps you should read the message.”

James grimly opened the parchment and began to read.

And then his fine world fell apart.

King Henry was giving Isabel Atherstone to him in marriage, in gratitude for all James had done for him. She was the only heiress to a wealth of properties and castles and money. The king’s own priest would be arriving the next day to marry them. The banns had already been posted in London.

James stared in shock at the parchment, the words blurring together. Marry that savage, that harlot? All the respect he’d worked so hard for would come crashing down around him. He’d be the joke of London, and a pathetic wretch to his people. Isabel Atherstone obviously knew nothing about being a good mistress, a helpmate. God’s teeth, she wasn’t even easy to look at. What kind of life would he have, miserable in his own home, no longer welcome in society because of his outcast wife? And outcast her they would—especially knowing she was a sword-wielding thief. Who knew how many lovers she’d take behind his back?

He began to pace, ignoring the messenger who scurried away. He could barely control the rage that bubbled in his gut. Could he refuse in some polite way, perhaps on the grounds that she wanted him dead? Hell, King Henry already knew this, and it hadn’t mattered. He couldn’t afford to risk the king’s wrath.

The choice had been taken away from him. With a curse he threw the parchment into the fire.

He had to face the truth—who else would have him since Katherine broke their betrothal? Oh, he could find a minor noblewoman or two, but none with Isabel’s money and lands. True, since he had to marry her, he could always exile her to another of his manors, but who knew what havoc she could wreak if left alone.

Galway approached him. “Milord?” he said hesitantly. “Is something amiss?”

James stared into the fire, the flames threatening to consume him. “Tell the steward to prepare for a wedding tomorrow.”

The unflappable Galway was silent for a moment. “Who is to be married?”

“I am.”

Galway’s gaze was also directed at the fire. “And the bride?”

“Do you need to ask?” James said, glancing at him.

Galway’s eyes widened for a moment, then he was impassive once again. “A royal command?”

“She’s incredibly wealthy, so the king is expressing his gratitude.”

Galway sighed. “ She’s rich?”

James grunted in reply.

“He couldn’t just give ye another manor?”

~oOo~

Isabel sat on the pallet beside William, who was dozing with his chin on his chest. Another day was half over, another day of wondering what Bolton would do with them, when he would be back. Six days had passed since he had kissed her. She’d been fed well and left alone. To keep from feeling as if the weight of the entire castle pressed down on her, she and her squire had trained hours at a time with imaginary swords. But always her thwarted revenge simmered inside her.

She had been thinking long and hard how to escape. Whenever they dropped the bucket in with food, she debated a quick climb to the top. She knew she could do it, and she didn’t think they’d cut the rope to injure her. But what would she find in the tower? Three big soldiers with weapons. Even she was not that foolhardy.

Yet every day that passed, a knot of anxiety tightened deeper in her stomach. What did Bolton plan? Was he sending her to London and the king’s justice?

The trap door suddenly opened, and a shower of dirt fell to the floor. The rope came down—without a bucket. She got to her feet warily.

“Lady Isabel?” called an unfamiliar voice. “Please step onto the loop.”

William stood up beside her. “What do you think this means?”

She shrugged. “I shall go up. We cannot sit here forever. I’ll be back for you.”

She stepped into the loop and held on. They pulled her up through the hole and she leaped onto the floor. A large man with Viking looks stood impassively before her. She put her hands on her hips and waited.

“I am Galway, Lord Bolton’s captain of the guards. You will come with me to the great hall.”

When he moved to take her arm she pulled away. “Why would I run? My man is down below. And I cannot escape your guards on foot.”

He inclined his head and led her into the inner ward. Isabel took a deep breath of fresh air and sighed. The breeze smelled of harvest and apples and the coming winter. How she’d missed the freedom of the outdoors.

She felt the hostile stares of the soldiers as they passed the barracks perched atop the stables. The smithy ceased his hammering to come out and glare. Isabel’s chin rose with pride not defensiveness. After all, if they knew what their master and his family had done, they wouldn’t support him. It was her duty to make sure they all found out.

She walked up the stairs and entered the great hall just ahead of Galway. There were trestle tables being set for supper by maids who gasped and pointed at her. Groups of soldiers and servants and travelers were waiting for their meal, and they too turned to stare as if she were the evening’s entertainment. A dog raced up to greet her, sliding through the rushes as it came to a stop. Galway pushed it aside. The smells of hot food were almost overwhelming, but she was brought back to the peril of her situation by the sight of Bolton standing at the hearth next to a black-robed priest.

Isabel’s bewilderment was replaced by dread. She felt her steps slowing, saw the priest’s mouth drop open. Galway took her arm and led her closer, and she knew it was useless to resist. What was happening?

Bolton stood like a dark, impassive statue. His narrowed eyes bored into hers and she detected a smoldering rage she had never felt from him before. He disdainfully raked her body with his gaze. She stiffened and turned away from him.

The white-haired priest was obviously trying to collect himself. He looked at her garments, at her face, then away, and harrumphed. When he again lifted his gaze, a patronizing smile spread his lips.

“God’s blessings, Lady Isabel,” he said, nodding his head briefly.

She ignored him and turned back to Bolton. “Why have you brought me to a priest?”

“Ever to the point, dear Angel,” he said, and his voice was laced with dark sarcasm.

He suddenly didn’t seem like the same man. For the first time in her life, she wanted to run.

“Your presence is requested at a wedding, Angel,” he said. “ ’Tis a shame you didn’t dress for the occasion.”

The room suddenly seemed to press down on her like the rock walls of the dungeon. Her breath came hard with foreboding.

“And you are the bride.”

She knew her face went white; her chest felt clutched by a massive fist. This couldn’t be happening.

Isabel swallowed to moisten her parched mouth. “What kind of torture is this?”

“No torture, my child,” the priest said, ignoring Bolton’s glare of warning. “The king has graciously given your hand in marriage to Lord Bolton. Joining your two vast estates will please His Majesty greatly.”

She took a swift breath and turned her intense gaze on Bolton. “You demanded to marry me?”

His eyes were the blue of winter ice. “Hardly. I wanted never to see your face again, but the king has other wishes, which I have no choice but to obey.”

“Well, I have choices.” She turned to leave, and Bolton grabbed her wrist. His grip was strong, almost painful. “Get your hand off me.”

“From now on, my hands will do what they want to your body.”

With a swift intake of breath, she went for her sword hilt, but of course it wasn’t there. “I’ll kill you before I let you touch me.”

“My children!” the priest said, stepping between them.

Bolton let her go.

“This is not the way to begin a marriage,” the priest continued. “Many marriages begin on less than friendly terms. With good will, your lives can be happy.”

When Bolton said nothing, Isabel realized he actually meant to go through with this farce.

“Father,” she said, never taking her eyes off Bolton, “you cannot force me to marry a man I despise. He and his family ruined mine!”

She heard Bolton inhale swiftly. “Father, allow me to speak to my betrothed in private,” he said. “I’m sure I can persuade her of the king’s wisdom.”

The priest bowed and left them alone, the entertainment for a crowd of hundreds.

Isabel faced Bolton, her chin up. She didn’t know what his plan was, but she would not submit.

“What fool notion is this?” he demanded, closing the distance between them.

She didn’t step back.

“When are you going to tell me what I have supposedly done to you? I’ve never seen you before.”

“Does the name Mansfield mean nothing to you?”

“Your father, the earl, is dead, and you are the heir of much of his property, although not the title, of course. What of it?”

She felt the blood rush to her face at his callous disregard of her father’s life. He had lived the last few years in horrible pain because of Bolton’s father. He had walked with a pitiable limp, and raged against his fate, or soaked his misery in ale. And he had never let her forget what the Boltons had done.

“You do not remember the tournament where your father so cruelly wounded mine?”

Bolton’s eyes narrowed. “Go on.”

“And the siege where your grandfather killed many of my family.”

“I seem to recall there might be more to that story.”

“And the start of it all, when your great-grandmother betrayed my great-grandfather instead of marrying him, beginning a family hatred that’s gone down generations!” At each word, her voice grew louder and louder. They were the center of attention now, and more and more people filed into the hall. Let them watch, let them learn of Bolton cruelty .

“Of course, I’ve heard of this ridiculous feud,” he said, looking angry and exasperated, “but frankly I’d forgotten the family name involved.”

“Forgotten?” she cried, and quickly grabbed the eating knife from his belt.