by Denise Lynn
The scrape of the wooden bench moving across the floor let her know that he’d risen from the table. She closed her eyes tightly, praying he would just leave the chamber.
‘Are you dismissing me?’
She nodded at his incredulous tone. Apparently it had been a long time since anyone had sent him away—verbally, or otherwise.
Thankfully, his heavy footsteps headed towards the door, which he slammed closed behind him.
Without waiting for more than half a heartbeat, she turned away from the window to throw herself across the bed, burying her face in her crossed arms. This ordeal was not yet over. So why was she suddenly falling into a such a muddled state now? Dear Lord, she’d not wanted this to happen, not now, not here, not until she was safely home, but she couldn’t stop the tears, or the gasping breaths from escaping.
A firm hand on the small of her back surprised her until she realised it belonged to Dunstan. His nearness tore a strangled plea from her. ‘Please, just leave me alone.’
Richard sighed and sat on the edge of the bed. ‘That’s not going to happen.’
Her odd behaviour moments ago had caught him off guard. It wasn’t until he’d left the chamber and taken three steps away from the door when he’d realised what she was doing.
He’d heard her gasping sobs before he had come back into the chamber. The twisting of his gut had nearly kept him from pushing the door open, but he managed to swallow his unnerving response to her tears.
What was he supposed to do? Agnes’s tears had fallen nearly every day, but he doubted that a single one of them had been anything other than a means of manipulation. However, it had taken him months to figure that out and in the meantime she’d made him suffer the pangs of misery.
For months he’d been left feeling confused, frustrated and consumed by guilt. It was hard to determine which gut-wrenching emotion unmanned him the most. Regardless, he had no intention of going through that again.
Richard drew his hand along Isabella’s spine, knowing that whatever he did now would set the stage for their future. He didn’t want more endless months of tears and guilt, but Isabella of Warehaven was not the type of woman who easily dissolved into tears for little reason. Quite the opposite, in truth. He’d seen her fight to hold them in more than once.
With a silent curse, and a fervent hope that she wasn’t toying with him on purpose, he eased further on to the bed and pulled her up against his chest.
She stiffened, then tried to shove him away. ‘What are you doing?’
Her broken words tore at his heart and he had no desire to determine why that should be so. The only thing he wished to determine right this minute was how to make her stop crying.
He held her tightly against him, not permitting her to escape. ‘Tell me what has upset you so. I thought word of your father’s well-being would make you happy, not sad.’
‘Of course I’m gladdened to know he is not dead,’ she mumbled.
He stroked her hair, the silken strands curling around his fingers as if they wanted to cling to him, unlike their owner, who was doing all she could to avoid his touch. ‘Then what reason have you to cry?’
Her sudden, loud intake of breath should have served as a warning. Instead, it was her shriek of rage that gave him his first clue to her anger.
‘What reason do I have to cry?’ She pummelled her fists against his chest, ordering, ‘Release me this instant!’
Richard hesitated a second too long. She jerked back unexpectedly, slamming her head against his chin.
He loosened his hold and she bolted from the bed, shouting, ‘What is wrong?’
Richard glared at her and swung his chin back and forth to make sure she hadn’t broken his jaw before saying, ‘Obviously something is.’
She returned his hard stare. ‘Need I recite the list of crimes committed against me?’
Again? He waved a hand at her. ‘Oh, please do.’
‘I was kidnapped from my home.’
‘Guilty.’ An act he was beginning to regret. He nodded. ‘Continue.’
‘Thrown on to your ship.’ She paced the length of his chamber and while her expression remained tight and cold, her emotions were evident by the motions of her hands.
‘I was then carried across the sea.’ A deaf person could have kept track of the conversation by the way she punctuated each statement with a flurry of hand gestures.
‘And I was forced to care for you.’ Even she paused long enough to glance at the finger she’d pointed at him before quickly crossing her arms against her chest.
Richard leaned back against the pile of pillows at the head of the bed. ‘Anything you forgot?’
She uncrossed her arms and stormed to the end of the bed with her fisted hands held tightly against her side. ‘I was forced to marry you.’ She took a breath before adding, ‘Against my will.’
Oh, she was building a fine fit of rage. At least she wasn’t crying any more, which was an improvement. Instead of stopping her, he nodded and agreed with the obvious, ‘Yes, well, forced usually does mean against one’s will.’
‘And then...then you made me sleep in your chamber.’
He shrugged. ‘It would be deemed odd if my wife slept anywhere else.’
‘Oh!’ She turned away from the bed, only to swing back around and again exclaim, ‘Oh!’
Apparently, she’d run out of crimes to list. ‘Are you finished?’
When she nodded, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and rose. Like a hunter stalking his prey, he followed her as she backed away until the far corner of the chamber stopped her retreat. With both hands against the wall, he trapped her.
‘We have had this conversation before, Isabella, and this will be the last time. Yes, I kidnapped you and forced your hand in marriage.’
In response to her mutinous glare, he took another step forward, pressing his thighs against hers. ‘Not one hair on your head has been harmed. You are sheltered and fed.’
‘Sheltered? In a pigsty.’
‘It serves its purpose and, like it or not, this is your home now.’ Agnes had hated Dunstan’s keep. It was too small, too plain, too far beneath her. He wasn’t going to listen to another woman’s complaints. ‘You’d better get used to it, because this is where you’ll live and this is where you’ll some day die.’
At her wide-eyed look of horror, he added, ‘You are a means to an end and I will do anything to see that Glenforde pays for what he has done.’
Instead of backing down, or cowering in submission like any rational person might, she stared up at him to ask, ‘And I am to suffer for his sins?’
‘Suffer?’ He marvelled at her brashness. ‘It does not appear to me that you are suffering. Oh, yes, you are angry that you did not get your way in this. But you are not suffering.’
‘Who are you to decide if I am suffering or not? I am away from my family, bereft of all I hold dear—’
‘Bereft?’ He cut her off with a snort. ‘Give over, Isabella. Had I not spirited you away from Warehaven, you would have soon wed Glenforde. It was unlikely that the two of you would reside in your father’s keep. You’d have gone to Glenforde’s home, alone, without your family to protect you. Trust me when I tell you that then you would have learned the meaning of the word suffer.’
‘Oh, so I should be thankful you kidnapped me?’
‘Yes, now that you mention it, perhaps you should be.’
‘Phhpptt. You are mightily full of yourself, Dunstan. Does your arrogance know any bounds?’
‘I may be full of myself. But you, my dear, are my wife and you are sorely trying my patience.’
‘I feel so sorry for you.’
Richard closed his eyes for a moment. The urge to rail back at her was strong, but he stopped himself. Many months would pass before Wareh
aven landed on Dunstan and he had no intention of living in hell until then. Even when her father did come it would change nothing, they would still be married. He needed to somehow come to understand this woman’s odd moods.
Why was she trying so hard to anger him? He peered down at her and noticed that her hands resting against his chest trembled slightly. Interesting. So, she did harbour some fear, some realisation of her current situation.
‘What is all of this about, Isabella? Why the tears and the rage?’
‘I’ve already told you.’
‘No. I think you’ve led me on a merry chase to avoid whatever is truly bothering you.’
She lowered her hands and looked away, the pink of her cheeks deepening. He bit back a smile at her flush. If nothing else, at least he hadn’t been wrong. Something was chafing at her and whatever it was had little to do with the words coming out of her mouth.
To move this along, he stated, ‘I have other matters to attend. I really don’t have all day to stand here trying to coax answers from you.’
‘Then go.’ She tried unsuccessfully to shoulder past him. ‘Just leave me alone.’
Richard sighed as he blocked her escape. And just like that, they were right back to where they’d started. ‘I am not going to leave you alone.’ He stroked her cheek. ‘It is true, we are never going to be happy newlyweds, but most married couples aren’t. Would it not be easier to at least try to find a way to get along?’
Her cheeks flushed again and he paused, frowning. What the...? Oh, dear Lord above, the woman was nervous in his presence. Her tears might have been from relief to discover her father lived. He could understand that. But her anger had flared far too quickly when he’d done nothing except seek to comfort her.
She wanted him to leave the chamber. She was intentionally trying to anger him enough so he’d storm out of here. Why? He studied her face. Her gaze darted everywhere but at him. And when he did finally catch her attention, his lips twitched at the liquid shimmer in her eyes.
‘What do you find so amusing now?’
‘You.’ He slid his hand to the back of her head. ‘I’m going to kiss you, Isabella. So don’t say you weren’t warned.’
She gasped. ‘Don’t you dare—’
He covered her mouth with his, cutting off her useless threat. When she tried to pull away, he tightened his hold, keeping her in place until she leaned against him, her lips softening, then parting beneath his. And when she hesitantly returned his kiss, he thought he would drown in the sweetness.
She reached up with one hand to caress his neck, while the other one twisted the fabric of his shirt, clinging to it as if she, too, were drowning.
His heart thudded heavy in his chest and he gathered her closer, resisting the urge to sweep her up in his arms and carry her to the bed.
This was nothing more than a stolen moment of discovery. He didn’t doubt for one minute that when the spell wore off, she would once again find her anger.
But until then, he would savour the taste of her kiss, the silky slide of her tongue against his. He could wait, because he was certain that one day his fiery bride would want more than just a kiss.
She froze against him, her eyelashes brushing across his as she opened her eyes. Richard sighed with regret. He’d hoped the stolen moment would have lasted a little longer, but knowing it was over, he released her.
Isabella lifted her arm and he grasped her wrist as her opened hand headed towards his cheek. ‘No.’ He shook his head at her. ‘That wouldn’t be wise.’
‘How dare you!’
‘One day soon I’ll dare much more.’
‘Why you...you...’ She stopped mid-sentence, seemingly speechless.
‘You enjoyed that kiss as much as I did.’ Richard dropped her wrist to place a finger beneath her chin, gently closing her mouth. ‘So, don’t play the offended maiden, Isabella.’
He stepped back, then turned to head towards the door. Without glancing back at her, he opened the door and said, ‘I’ll be at the wharf late and will probably remain in town tonight.’
He closed the door behind him and it was all he could do not to laugh when something bounced off the chamber door.
Chapter Ten
In the waning light of the day, Isabella stood beneath the archway of the alcove and surveyed the work they’d completed these last three days. This bedchamber on the upper floor was even larger than the master chamber at Warehaven. She didn’t need this much space, but if her choice was this or Dunstan’s current chamber, she’d stay here.
A shiver trickled down her spine at the mere thought of him...Dunstan...Richard...her husband. She wondered where he was and what business had kept him from returning for two nights. Not that she was complaining, or pining for his company. Even though, to her shocked dismay, she’d actually enjoyed his kiss, but she also enjoyed dropping into bed, with fresh mattress stuffing and clean covers, then falling into blissful sleep, knowing that she’d not have to lay awake, alert to his movements while worrying about what he intended to do.
Besides, with the lord absent it had been easier to step into being the lady of the keep. He had to have been blind not to realise how badly this place needed someone to take it firmly in hand. At least with him gone, the maids and women from the village didn’t need to second guess her orders. Thankfully, only one of the men had seen fit to question her and she’d easily glared him down.
They might consider her young and possibly think her weak, but she’d been taught to command a keep by the best. As far as Isabella was concerned, no stronger woman existed than her mother. None would dare defy an order given by the Lady of Warehaven and come out of the confrontation unscathed. Isabella had no intention of being any less—to do so would only bring dishonour to her mother’s teachings.
She shook off the idle thoughts chasing her to look around the bedchamber. Now that the cobwebs had been removed, the rushes replaced, everything scrubbed and the walls freshly whitewashed, this was the most liveable chamber in the entire keep—not counting the kitchens. Once the newly returned cook had taken charge of her kitchen and scullery maids, she’d set them cleaning with a vengeance. Isabella had never seen a fire pit so soot-and ash-free before—even the pots appeared clean enough to be new. The kitchens at Warehaven weren’t as spotless as these.
One of the younger women that Hattie had coerced into helping them clean the chamber brushed an imaginary speck of dust from the freshly washed bed curtains. ‘There you be, my lady. Is there anything else you’ll be needing?’
While she would love to request hot water for a bath, Isabella wasn’t about to risk being interrupted by Dunstan if he returned, or one of the guards. She would make do with the cold water and cloths she had on hand.
Besides, she didn’t doubt that the woman was just as tired as she. They’d all worked non-stop to set this one chamber to rights. And they still had the rest of the keep to do. ‘No, I think we’ve all done enough today. You should be heading to your home before it gets too dark.’
The woman nodded, then left the chamber. As she pushed open the door, Isabella briefly saw the man standing guard. It had been a different guard each day and night. For whatever reason, the lord of the keep wanted her under constant guard—or supervision, she wasn’t certain which—but she wasn’t going to question the men about their orders, she’d save that for the lord himself. She was just thankful that the guard on duty was never the man who’d tried to accost her.
However, that little bit of relief didn’t stop her from wishing the door opened into the chamber and that there was a locking bar on her side. Whoever had installed the door must have been a drunken sot to have got it so backwards.
Just as she’d done the last two nights, she dragged a heavy bench over and placed it across the doorway. It wouldn’t stop anyone from entering, but when they tripped over
the bench, at least she’d know she was no longer alone.
Certain her privacy wouldn’t be interrupted unexpectedly, Isabella moved the wash basin, bucket of water and cloths into the alcove off to the side of the chamber. She removed her gown, groaning at the damage done to the best piece of clothing she owned.
Isabella laughed at her thought. ‘Best? More like only.’ She draped it across a small table, hoping that tomorrow she would find time to somehow, at the very least, save some of the embroidery work at the hem.
Once they finished cleaning the keep, perhaps she’d be able to talk Dunstan into loaning her money to buy fabric for a gown or two. She’d see he was repaid when her family arrived in the spring, as they undoubtedly would once the weather cleared.
After washing, she stirred the coals in the brazier, climbed into the oversized bed, blew out the flame on the oil lamp and snuggled down under the covers.
* * *
Richard paused at the bottom of the stairs. It would likely be easier to turn around and seek the bed in his small chamber at the rear of the Great Hall. He hadn’t slept above stairs in years—not since his first marriage had turned sour and he’d made avoiding Agnes his life’s mission.
He heard the buzz of whispers behind him and felt the undercurrent of unease and curiosity ripple through those still gathered in the hall. If he turned away now all would assume this wife was no better than the last. And while he hadn’t decided if that were true or not, he’d no wish for others to make that decision.
Besides, once the gossips on Dunstan Isle got started, there was no stopping them. Their tongues would wag until every last man, woman and child living here knew that Dunstan’s lord had little use for his wife.
That was the last thing he wanted to happen. He’d had two long nights to think about it and had come to the conclusion that it was imperative everyone believe he cared for Isabella, and she for him, when Glenforde came to rescue her. He wanted that cur to suffer in every way imaginable and seeing that the man who’d kidnapped his betrothed was a good husband, and she a satisfied wife, would only be the beginning.
