The Warrior's Winter Bride

by Denise Lynn

  He sat up on the bed and swung his legs over the side. ‘Is there something wrong with you?’

  Isabella paused. Since it would be normal for her and Beatrice to have been betrothed at a very young age, of course he would wonder at the reason for such a lack. She should lie and tell him that there was something drastically wrong with her.

  It had to be something that would make him think twice about forcing a marriage between them. Something—gruesome. Some terrible thing that would make him shiver with dread. Perhaps something that would convince him to turn the ship about and return her to her family.

  But what?

  ‘Too late.’ Dunstan leaned forward. ‘It has taken far too long for you to answer.’

  She narrowed her eyes and lifted her chin a notch. ‘Perhaps my...condition is so severe I’ve no desire to sicken you with the details.’

  ‘Other than a smart tongue and lack of common sense, there is nothing wrong with you.’

  His smug certainty nipped at her temper. ‘You can’t be sure of that.’

  ‘Actually—’ he rose from the bed and stepped towards her ‘—I can.’

  She held her slipper out like a shield, as if the scrap of fabric and pearls would protect her from his advance. ‘What are you going to do?’

  Dunstan snatched the slipper from her hands, tossed it across the cabin, then slowly circled her. He passed by her side, touching her ear as he kept walking. ‘I know your ears are fine.’

  He brushed a fingertip across her lips as he crossed before her, making her lips tingle. ‘It is obvious you are capable of speech. And I know you can see, so nothing is wrong with your eyes.’

  Isabella silently cursed her own stupidity. He’d accepted her statement as a dare—as a way to intentionally trap her in her own lie.

  He stopped behind her and placed his hands on her shoulders. Isabella fought the urge to shiver beneath his touch.

  Patting her shoulders, he lowered his hands, running them down to her wrists. Leaning over her, he commented softly, ‘And if I am not mistaken, these two arms seem to be normal.’

  He trailed his hands up to caress the back of her neck, asking, ‘I wonder what else needs to be investigated?’

  She tried unsuccessfully to pull away from him. ‘Nothing.’

  ‘No? Then how can I be certain you are whole?’

  Isabella ground her teeth before answering, ‘I am fine. There is nothing wrong with me.’

  ‘Ah.’ With his thumbs still on the back of her neck, he snaked his fingers to encircle her throat and with his fingertips beneath her chin tipped her head back, forcing her to look up at him.

  While the placid expression on his face warned her of no ill-conceived plans to choke the life from her, the gentle, deadly warmth of his hold silently threatened her in a way no brandished sword ever could.

  This hold was more personal than the tip of cold metal against flesh. The heat of his fingers belied the damage he could cause.

  ‘So, you were seeking to lie to me?’

  She stared up at him. He knew full well she’d lied. He had only been mocking her, baiting her, and she’d stepped into his trap with little thought.

  If she kept up this ruse, she knew he would follow through with his examination until she cried off. Unwilling to be humiliated any more than she already was, she whispered, ‘Yes.’

  ‘What?’ He stroked the ridge of her throat. ‘I didn’t hear you.’

  ‘Yes.’ Isabella reached up and grasped his wrist. ‘Yes, I lied.’

  He slid his fingers lower to circle the base of her neck, but did not remove his hands. The less-threatening hold did nothing to ease the trembling of her limbs.

  ‘You are being forced into a marriage you do not want. There is nothing you can do to prevent it.’

  His hands, gently rubbing the tension from her neck, might be welcome another time, another place. Now, however, his caressing touch was an unwelcome reminder of what was to come. If they wed, and unless she could convince the priest on Dunstan to not perform the rites, it was becoming a certainty that they would, he would own her body and soul.

  ‘Rest assured, Isabella, that I expect little from you as a wife.’

  Her breath caught in her chest. Did that mean they would not share a bed? Once his business with Glenforde was complete, would she be able to petition for an annulment?

  ‘We will wed. You will share my bedchamber.’

  Isabella’s heart sank. Sharing his bed would dash her hopes for an annulment. What would she do, how could...? She bit her lower lip to keep from crying out in surprise at the sudden clarity of the devious vision springing to life in her mind. If all else failed, her family could make her a widow.

  ‘As long as you do not seek to lie to me, I will treat you well. Deal with me honestly and you will want for little.’

  His statements gave her pause. He would not say such things unless someone, at some point in time, had deceived him. A woman most likely—a wife, or love interest, perhaps?

  The irony of this moment was not lost on her. Now, as she plotted his imminent demise, he swore to treat her well if she did not lie to him.

  A tiny pang of guilt grew deep in her belly, twisting its way towards her heart. Isabella swallowed a groan, refusing to let misgivings rule her future.

  Dunstan stepped back. With his hands no longer on her, she was able to tamp down the guilt.

  ‘I am weary and need rest.’ He headed to the bed. ‘Come.’

  She stared at him in shocked dismay. ‘I will not join you in that bed.’

  ‘You have done so these past nights.’

  ‘When you were incapable of doing anything more than sleep.’

  ‘That is all I intend to do now.’

  His intentions didn’t matter, he was more than capable of doing whatever he wanted, should she agree or not. She shook her head. ‘No.’

  Dunstan sat on the edge of the bed. ‘My bandages need to be changed.’

  Isabella narrowed her eyes at his subterfuge. He was giving her that sad oh, woe is me look again. The same one her father had used on her mother when he wanted something he knew full well he didn’t need.

  She wasn’t yet Dunstan’s wife and she didn’t care for him, his wants or his well-being in the least. ‘Your man Matthew is quite capable of changing the bindings.’

  ‘His touch isn’t as gentle as yours.’

  She shrugged. ‘Then perhaps you need to speak nicer to him.’

  ‘I rest easier with you at my side.’

  Again, she shook her head. ‘We are not wed yet. Until that day comes...’ Because she held tightly to a slim thread of hope that Dunstan’s priest would see reason, she silently added, if it comes. ‘I will not share a bed with you.’

  ‘Then where do you think you will sleep?’

  She didn’t know. But she was certain of one thing—she was not sharing his bed.

  He’d been correct—she had done so these last few nights, but she hadn’t felt threatened or in any danger. However, the situation had changed. Dunstan had already proven he was more than capable of forcing her to do his will.

  Feeling his hard stare, she answered, ‘Since I am not tired, it doesn’t matter where I sleep.’ At his frown, Isabella rose from the stool and plopped down into the corner of the cabin, wedging herself tightly against the hull’s timbers. ‘This will do fine.’

  Dunstan shook his head and rose from the bed. ‘It is cold. Permitting you to develop the chills and a fever will not suit my plans.’

  His plans? What about the plans she’d had? ‘What do I care about your plans?’

  He ignored her question and motioned towards the bed. ‘Join me of your own free will, like an adult, or I’ll carry you like a child. The choice is yours.’

  Sh
e clenched her jaw at having a version of her own words tossed back at her, but refused to move.

  He rubbed his forehead as if seeking to ease the throbbing of an aching head. Then he shouted, ‘Matthew!’ When his man hastened into the cabin, he held out his hand. ‘Give me your dagger.’

  Matthew did so without question and, when waved away, left the cabin without a word.

  Isabella gasped. He would kill her for not sharing his bed? She turned her face into the timber beam to avoid witnessing her own death.

  ‘Oh, for the love of—’ He broke off on a harshly snarled curse and grasped her wrist. ‘If my intent had been to kill you, I would have done so at Warehaven. Open your hand.’

  She did as he ordered, but kept her face averted.

  ‘What is wrong with you? I thought a Warehaven would be braver than this.’ When she turned her head to stare up at him, he slapped the dagger’s handle on to her palm and tightly closed her fingers around it. ‘Now, get in the bed.’

  Chapter Six

  Finally. After endless weeks of searching for Glenforde’s whereabouts and these last six days at sea, this journey was nearly at an end.

  A cold wind raced across Richard’s face, bringing a chill to his cheeks and reminding him of the narrow margin in which they’d beaten the turn of the season. With the onset of winter at hand, this venture home had been a race against time. Another week at sea would have found them in dire straits. Strong winds, enormous waves and deathly cold water could have spelt doom for any foolish enough to set sail.

  Yet he’d intentionally detoured this journey home by a day—long enough to set one of his trusted men ashore on the Continent with orders to return with the information he sought. The man would return to Dunstan on the last of his ships that would hopefully soon leave Domburg. Once that ship and this one reached Dunstan’s harbour his entire fleet would be safely careened during the long winter for repairs and general maintenance.

  Richard directed his attention towards the fast-approaching coastline. The quickly setting sun behind them cast shadows on the rock face of the cliffs. Soon, night would fall and they would be unable to safely enter the harbour until daylight.

  A quick glance assured him that Matthew had the men and ship well under control. The sail slid down the mast as oars splashed into the water.

  It was imperative that the ship be manually steered through the narrow inlet into Dunstan’s harbour lest she be smashed to pieces against the jagged boulders hiding beneath the surface of the water on either side of the inlet.

  Once again he looked shoreward, relieved to see the torches flare to life in the towers flanking the entrance to the harbour. It was necessary to have those lights as guideposts.

  Richard positioned himself at the centre of the aft deck, noting that the bow of the ship was just off-centre of the torchlights.

  ‘Hard to port!’ he shouted down to the men on the rudder. When the bow pointed dead centre between the lights, he yelled, ‘Hold!’

  While steering the ship past the boulders, then between the cliffs wasn’t as easy as it might appear with a crew not as well trained as this one, he was grateful for the natural protection Dunstan’s unwelcoming coastline provided.

  Most of the island rose up from the sea like a rock-faced mountain and needed little protection from unlikely intruders. Those who were brave enough to try either gave up in frustration, or drowned after their ship broke apart against the boulders.

  The short, narrow strip of beach on the other side of the island existed only at the whims of the tide and wind. If a ship anchored there, it risked being either blown against the cliff face, or left high and dry on the exposed sandbar.

  The other danger, as he’d learned, was anchoring just off the beach, only to later watch his ship sail away without him when the tide unexpectedly turned and the anchor failed to hold against the rapidly rising water. Chasing the unmanned ship down had proven far easier than bearing his father’s wrath.

  Even with the dangers of anchoring at the beach, his grandfather had determined it the weakest point on the island. Which is why a stone-fortified keep had been built at the highest point above the beach.

  If a force did manage to make landfall there, they would be unable to gain entrance to the keep without suffering the loss of many lives.

  And still, even with all of this protection—natural and manmade—Glenforde had broken through Dunstan’s defences. Richard knew the man had not done so unaided. Someone on the island had to have offered assistance.

  Who? And why?

  A sharp gasp caught his attention. He turned to see Isabella’s head appear over the edge of the forecastle deck. ‘Go back inside.’

  But instead of doing as she was told, she scrambled the rest of the way up the ladder to stand beside him. After planting her feet for balance, she tipped her head back to look up at the sheer rock cliffs flanking them.

  Richard swallowed his groan. When his wife had first witnessed this sight, she’d been terrified, claiming that he’d brought her to the entrance of hell. Agnes had hidden her face in her hands and cried with fear.

  Since he’d expected the same reaction from Isabella of Warehaven he’d ordered her to stay below. Following orders was obviously not one of her strengths—a lack he would see remedied quickly.

  From the way she easily fell into the rhythm of the slightly rolling deck, it was apparent that the Lord of Warehaven hadn’t cosseted his daughters inside the keep on dry land. This one at least had been aboard a ship or two in her life.

  Without looking at him, she said, ‘The rocks are close enough to touch.’

  ‘No. It only appears that way.’ Although they were close enough that men were stationed along both sides of the ship with long, sturdy poles in hand just in case they did get too close to the cliffs.

  ‘Has this always been here?’

  Richard frowned. Did she think he built it? He could hardly imagine the feat. ‘Yes. Of course.’

  ‘Does it cut all the way across the island?’

  ‘No. The cliffs will become lower and level out. After the curve ahead this inlet will open into the harbour. Beyond that is a small inland river that leads to the shipyard.’

  ‘Oh.’ So fascinated by the towering walls of rock, she barely glanced to the curve ahead. ‘Is this the only way into the harbour?’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I just wondered.’

  He knew exactly what she wondered. Half-tempted to let her worry, he left her to stew a few moments before he finally relented. ‘Your father and brother have both been here before. They know how to gain safe entrance to the inlet.’

  ‘I thought perhaps...’

  When her words trailed off, Richard laughed. ‘You thought what? That I would lure your family here only to watch their ship crash against the rocks?’ He shook his head, adding, ‘Since their death is not what I am seeking, doing so would not serve my purpose.’

  She closed her eyes, shivering a moment at the memory of watching an arrow find its mark in her father’s chest, before asking, ‘Then it is only Glenforde’s death you seek?’

  ‘As I said before—I am not interested in your family.’

  He hadn’t answered her question. ‘I know you think Glenforde will come for me.’ She shrugged her shoulders. ‘I am still not certain.’

  ‘And I say you are wrong.’ He leaned closer to warn, ‘You might want to pray that he does come.’

  Isabella understood the unspoken warning—if Glenforde didn’t come, she could very well bear the brunt of Dunstan’s revenge. Instead of telling him the reasons Glenforde would never come, she stepped away, assuring Dunstan, ‘I will.’

  As the ship eased out from the gentle curve, the harbour opened up before them. She blinked at the sight before her.

  An entire town seemed
to appear from thin air. The harbour was alight with countless torches. People—women, men and children—lined the full docks and streets. Some laughed, some cried, but all waved and shouted their welcomes to those aboard the ship.

  Ropes were tossed to men waiting on the nearest dock and the ship swung easily about as it was wrapped and tied around the mooring post. Beyond were numerous, large storage buildings.

  From the looks of it, Dunstan did more than kidnap unsuspecting women.

  ‘You look surprised.’

  She nodded, admitting, ‘I am.’

  ‘Did you think me nothing more than a brigand committed to mayhem on the high seas?’

  Isabella couldn’t help herself, she ran her gaze down his body. With his overlong near-black hair, dark looks and recent actions, how could she think him anything else? ‘Apparently, looks are deceiving.’

  He took her elbow and led her towards the ladder. ‘This war for the crown makes pirates and thieves of us all. When in truth I am no different than your father or brother.’

  But he was different. She shivered beneath his touch. So very different than either of them.

  Richard easily picked Conal, his man-at-arms, out from the crowd of people on the quay. The big red-haired man looked grim, as if all were not well on Dunstan. Since there was no show of force—neither friend nor foe—crowding the docks, things couldn’t be too dire.

  Certain that he would find out how Dunstan had fared in his absence soon enough, Richard turned his attention back to Isabella. ‘Since you managed to climb up here, I assume you can get down, too?’

  She peered over the edge of the deck and then took a step back. ‘I can manage on my own, thank you.’

  It was on the tip of his tongue to mention her mishap in his cabin a few days ago when she’d managed to be tossed to the floor.

  Instead he descended to the deck below and waited for her to do the same before escorting her off the ship towards his waiting man-at-arms.

  From the countless tears and seemingly overexcited cries of reunion, Isabella could only assume these men had been gone from Dunstan an unusually long time.