The Warrior's Winter Bride

by Denise Lynn

  Outside of battle, he’d never in his life intentionally harmed any man smaller or weaker. He certainly wasn’t about to start doing so with a woman now. He gritted his teeth at the ungodly thought, threw the covers off and rose from the bed. Without another word, he crossed the chamber.

  Isabella backed away, reaching behind her for the door. ‘Don’t touch me.’

  He again tossed her over his shoulder. ‘Too late.’

  This time, instead of arranging the covers to separate them, he dropped her on the bed and launched himself behind her. With one arm wrapped about her waist, he pulled her back tight against his chest, hooked a leg over hers and pulled the covers up.

  ‘Now, close your eyes and go to sleep.’

  When she struggled against his hold, he simply tightened his arm, hoping that eventually she’d wear herself out.

  Once her struggles lessened, Richard closed his own eyes, certain that he’d have little trouble holding on to her if he fell asleep. After all, he’d long ago learned to remain alert even though he slept. Had he not, it was doubtful he’d be alive today.

  Just as the hazy relaxing cloud of slumber rolled over him, Isabella reached for the edge of the bed. Her upper body followed her extended arms, while her soft rounded buttocks pressed against his groin, sweeping away any thought of sleep.

  With a grumbled curse, Richard opened his eyes. While splaying his fingers low over her belly, he pulled the pillow from beneath her head and curled his arm in its place. He pressed his palm against her forehead, tipping her head back to ask hoarsely, ‘Is it your intention to ensure neither of us sleeps this night?’

  To lend emphasis to his question, he held her in place and thrust his hips forward. ‘If so, you are succeeding.’

  She froze immediately, gasping a strangled, ‘No.’

  The surprise in her voice only sent more blood rushing to his groin, making rational thought difficult. Richard groaned. What was it about this woman that enticed him so? She was nothing more than a means to an end—a pawn—someone to use to his advantage.

  So why then did he keep having to remind himself of that simple fact? And why did he ache to touch her, to taste her, to take her and make her his wife in all ways?

  Even through the layers of clothing separating them, the heat of her body swirled around him like a warm, beckoning caress. It was all he could do not to accept such a tempting invitation.

  She tugged at his wrist, trying to move his arm. ‘You need to release me.’

  ‘No.’ He snuggled impossibly closer. ‘I find this rather comfortable.’

  Finally, with an exasperated huff, Isabella fell still. After a few moments of blessed silence, Richard thought—hoped—she’d fallen asleep and he once again closed his eyes.

  And once again, just as sleep promised to overtake him, Isabella broke through the fog. ‘This will not work.’

  Richard swallowed the growl rushing up his throat and asked, ‘What will not work?’

  She relaxed, easing down into the mattress and against his chest. ‘If you think to seduce me with this sudden bout of gentleness, rest assured you cannot.’

  Seduce her? The notion hadn’t entered his mind—until now. He didn’t know whether to laugh at her assumption, or curse at the ideas filling his head.

  ‘I cannot? And why is that?’

  ‘I am immune to your...charms.’

  ‘Charms?’

  She tapped his forearm. ‘Yes, this holding me close and not attempting to force yourself on me.’

  He choked on a laugh, then cleared his throat. ‘The only reason I am holding you close is so you can’t run a knife through my heart while I sleep.’

  ‘No. I think you lie. If you were truly worried that I might murder you in your sleep, you would have gone elsewhere.’

  ‘You don’t think it would appear odd were I to sleep elsewhere on my wedding night?’

  She shrugged. ‘You gave your man bloodied sheets to flaunt before the others. As far as everyone is concerned you already...did your duty.’

  Richard rolled his eyes. Did his duty?

  Before he could say anything in response, she continued. ‘So, the only reason for this...closeness...is an attempt at seduction. And just so there is no doubt in your mind, let me assure you, it will not succeed.’

  Richard withdrew his arm from beneath her head, unhooked his leg from hers and rolled on to his back. He was torn between two immediately clear options—kiss her until she shut up, or lock her up somewhere and conveniently lose the key.

  He sat up, grabbed a pillow and the top cover from the bed and tossed them to the far side of the chamber. Leaning over her, he stroked a fingertip along her cheek. ‘Because I am too tired to think clearly or battle any further, you win this round, my lady. But to erase any doubt from your mind, let me assure you of one thing...’ He paused until she turned her head and looked up at him. ‘...I have never in my life backed down from a challenge.’

  ‘But I didn’t—’

  He cut off her denial by covering her lips with his own. It didn’t matter what she’d said, she could lie to herself all she wanted, but her body didn’t lie. He knew the truth the instant her mouth softened beneath his.

  Chapter Nine

  ‘My lady?’

  Before Isabella could fully open her eyes the window shutters creaked open. Sunlight flooded the chamber, near blinding her and stripping away the last vestige of sleep.

  She sat up on the bed and squinted at the older woman now bustling about the room while shaking her head and muttering in disapproval.

  ‘What was his lordship thinking?’ The woman tossed the linens from the makeshift pallet into a pile. ‘Bringing a lady here with the keep in this condition is unforgivable.’ She tossed some clothing atop the pile. ‘And to keep you in this tiny room—he needs his ears boxed.’

  Swooping up the pile, she stood alongside the bed. ‘Never you fear, I’ll see this set right. If you’re hungry, I’m sure the cook has put something together by now.’

  Isabella’s stomach growled, supplying the answer before her lips could form the words.

  ‘How thoughtless of me, of course you are hungry.’ The woman headed towards the door, promising, ‘I will return soon with some food.’

  Her senses still muddled, Isabella called out, ‘Wait. Who are you?’

  ‘Hattie, my lady.’ Still at the door, she added, ‘His lordship came to the village at sunrise, on his way to the docks. After seeing to some matter at the bakery, he ordered his servants back to the keep and asked if I would see to your needs for a time. Now, with your permission I’ll get you something to eat and then we can plan this day’s activities.’

  ‘Yes, thank you.’ Rising from the bed, Isabella wiped her sleep-tousled hair from her face, wondering just what activities would be in store for her. Obviously a cook had been found—or retrieved—and perhaps a few servants would be on hand to help clean.

  Actually, she hoped there were more than a few, because cleaning this keep would require an army just to make it presentable. She shook one of the bed curtains and coughed at the dust flying up into the air. Her mother would be horrified.

  To her relief, the items needed for her morning ablution were stacked on top of the chest at the end of the bed. Noticing the ribbons to braid through her hair, she knew these necessities hadn’t been provided by Dunstan.

  * * *

  Hattie returned with the promised food just as she finished adjusting her ornate girdle low around her waist.

  Two men carrying a small table and benches followed the woman into the chamber. The younger man—little more than a boy—dipped his head, put the benches beside the table and left.

  However, the older and much larger man wasn’t as quick to take his leave. She’d seen this man before on the shi
p. He sauntered towards the door, then turned to face her. His bulk dwarfed the small chamber and he raked Isabella with a look that reminded her of a hungry wolf and made her feel somehow dirty. ‘It’s a shame Dunstan saw fit to leave you...unattended.’

  Isabella guessed from his pointed hesitation that he meant defenceless, not unattended. She took a step away from him, noting the width of his shoulders, the size of his meaty arms and his two missing fingers with trepidation.

  ‘I would never leave my special woman wanting for my attention.’

  Special woman? What had Dunstan told his men? She moved towards the table, intent on arming herself with the knife sticking out of the round loaf of bread. The small weapon wouldn’t do much damage against this oversized oaf, but it was all she saw readily available.

  He came closer to tower over her. ‘Come now, sweeting,’ he drawled low and throaty as if that would tempt her to ignore his ale-laden breath and threatening manner. ‘Wouldn’t you rather have a real man keeping you safe and warm instead of a lad who uses you, then leaves you to fend for yourself?’

  She swallowed the sour taste in her mouth as she reached for the knife. Hattie caught her attention and shook her head. For half a heartbeat Isabella feared the woman was working with the man and was silently warning her not to fight what would be a lost cause.

  But a heavy thud and the man’s gasp right before he dropped to the floor like a boulder at her feet dissolved that fear.

  She drew her confused attention from the floor up to Dunstan’s angry frown. ‘Are you uninjured?’

  After she nodded her reply, he shouted for Conal. When his man rushed into the chamber, he pointed at the moaning heap on the floor, ordering, ‘Get him out of here. Confine him so I can deal with him later.’

  Once Conal and his staggering charge left the chamber, Hattie turned on Dunstan. ‘Now will you listen to me instead of being so pig-headed?’

  Taken aback by the way the older woman spoke to the lord of this keep, Isabella remained silent.

  Dunstan sat down at the table, motioning for Isabella to join him before he answered Hattie, by asking, ‘Which chamber would you prefer?’

  ‘She is a lady.’

  Isabella sat across from him and watched the byplay between this master and servant with interest.

  ‘I am not opening either of those rooms.’

  ‘Then she will take yours.’

  ‘So be it.’ He turned his attention to the food and Isabella. Without preamble, he explained, ‘Hattie was my nursemaid and since then has become the island’s chief busybody.’

  The woman snatched the loaf of bread from his hands and tore it into two chunks—one for each of them. ‘It’s truly a sad thing that you still need a busybody to keep you from doing yourself harm.’

  Isabella swallowed some water in an effort not to choke.

  ‘It’s more of a sad thing that you seem to constantly forget your place.’

  Hattie’s short bark of laughter was punctuated by a deeper frown from Dunstan. To break the tension she feared would escalate, Isabella asked the woman, ‘Have you been on Dunstan Island long?’

  ‘From before this one here was born, yes.’

  Dunstan briefly pointed his eating knife towards Hattie. ‘She came here with my mother and stayed on after I was born.’

  ‘Someone needed to keep an eye on you.’

  ‘I am no longer in need of a wet nurse.’

  ‘And I am still waiting for you to prove that.’

  ‘Enough!’

  Isabella leaned back as Dunstan’s face reddened. His eyes blazed. She wished she could somehow slide beneath the table before he completely lost his temper.

  However, Hattie showed no signs of fear—or of relenting. Instead of making a quick escape, the woman patted Dunstan’s shoulder. ‘I tease you overmuch at times and for that I do apologise. It is hard to remember you no longer need or want a mother figure.’

  ‘Remember what you will, it makes no difference to me.’

  Isabella cringed. His surly tone made it quite clear that he truly didn’t care. However, Hattie’s pursed lips and frown made Isabella wonder if Dunstan’s current behaviour was out of the ordinary for him.

  The older woman shook her head. ‘Ack, I wonder how you’ve managed not to choke on your sour mood these last months.’

  Dunstan shrugged in response, but from the smoothing of his brow, it appeared that his ire was fading as quickly as it had first appeared.

  Dismayed by this odd exchange, and Dunstan’s easy manner with this woman, Isabella tried to focus on her food. Obviously Hattie’s relationship with his mother gave her added worth in Dunstan’s eyes. While she wasn’t quite family, neither did she appear to be a servant.

  The older woman made the bed, asking, ‘You will not be overwrought if I move Lady Isabella into your old chamber?’

  ‘Aye, it will wound me deeply to have her housed elsewhere. Especially since I so enjoy sleeping with one eye open all night.’

  ‘Warehaven would be a better place to house me,’ Isabella interrupted his obvious sarcasm.

  Dunstan rolled his eyes, but otherwise ignored her. ‘I’m sure it will suit.’

  ‘I have no doubts on that.’ Hattie looked at Isabella, adding, ‘But perhaps the lady would like to have the final say.’

  Isabella nearly jumped at the chance to escape this small room. ‘The lady would be happy to take a look.’

  ‘No.’ Dunstan shook his head. ‘The lady and I have other matters to attend.’

  After Hattie left the chamber, Isabella curled her fingers around the handle of the eating knife. At Dunstan’s raised brow, she drew her hand away from the utensil. Not that the short blade could do much damage, but gripping it would have made her feel safer.

  ‘What matters have we to attend?’

  Yawning, he stretched his arms out, over his head and then brought them back down. ‘There is still the matter of the bedding.’

  ‘No. We—’ Isabella pushed back from the table in a rush, knocking over the bench and choking on her reply.

  Dunstan’s eyes glimmered. But it was that familiar twitch of his lips that let her know he had once again intentionally led her mind astray.

  He rested his elbows on the table. ‘It is far too easy to unsettle you.’

  She glared at him, wishing she could find words vile enough to describe what she thought of his amusement at her expense. While his action reminded her of Jared, this man was not her brother, he had no right to tease her in such a manner and she wanted to tell him so. But instead, she righted the bench and sat back down at the table. ‘After all that has happened to me—at your doing—why would I not be unsettled?’

  To her horror, she heard her voice waver. Her hands shook, stomach knotted and her throat grew tight enough to make swallowing difficult. Isabella knew that now, since she was dry, warm, had gained a night’s worth of good sleep and had decent food in her belly, she was on the verge of losing the tight grip she’d kept on her grief thus far.

  She could no more help it than she could stop the sun from rising. It was her way—she could forge through a crisis with her wits about her for the most part, but once all was calm and back to normal, she became inconsolable, weepy and unreasonable. It was a weakness, a fault her mother had brought to her attention more than once. Like a silly fool she’d actually thought she would be able to hold back the heavy sadness weighing on her heart until she returned to the arms of her family. She sniffed back the threatening tears.

  Dunstan reached across the table and placed a hand over hers. ‘Isabella, look at me.’

  The unusual gentleness of his touch and his voice was nearly her undoing. She drew her lower lip between her teeth to keep it from trembling and lifted her head to stare at him.

  ‘Do you remembe
r when you thought I’d turned the ship around to take you home and you knew we were heading south?’

  Unable to reply, she only nodded.

  ‘We did head south, just long enough for one of my men to depart the ship.’

  ‘Why?’ Her voice cracked and she wanted nothing more than to find a reason to grow angry and set her coming bout of sadness aside for a little while longer. Unfortunately, Dunstan’s calm, easygoing manner, while unfamiliar, wasn’t providing her an outlet for rage.

  ‘Everyone knows that Warehaven is Matilda’s half-brother and even though the empress is in Normandy, surely word of her brother’s condition would have reached her. So, I gave my man orders to quickly find news of your father and to return on the Lisette Reynolde.’ He stroked his thumb across her hand. ‘The ship docked early this morning.’

  Oh, no, she didn’t want to hear this from his lips. No. It was not his place, not his right to tell her that her father had died at his hands and that she’d been forced to wed her sire’s murderer.

  She gasped at the pain lancing through her heart and tried desperately to blink away the tears blurring her vision. The rage she’d been seeking should have sprung to life, but it hadn’t. Instead, fear—cold and empty—filled her with a dread she’d not known before this moment.

  Dunstan’s hand tightened over hers, as if offering comfort, and he reached up with his other hand to brush at the tears on her cheeks before cupping the side of her face. ‘Isabella, he is not dead. Wounded, yes, and from what I hear, angry as a crazed boar, but your father is not dead.’

  A roaring, like a gale-force wind, ripped through her ears, leaving her dizzy and muddling her mind. She shook her head, trying to clear the annoying howl. ‘He lives?’

  ‘Yes.’

  She drew her hand from beneath his and rose. Quickly, before she lost the ability to speak, she said in a rush, ‘I thank you for telling me. But if we’re done here...’

  As her words trailed off, Isabella felt his stare piercing her back, but she wasn’t about to turn around to face him. She stood in front of the narrow window, her hands pressed tightly into her stomach and stared through a gathering of tears out at the windswept sea.