The Warrior's Winter Bride

by Denise Lynn

Richard shivered. He couldn’t remember ever having heard such a softly issued exclamation before. The obvious surprise and wonder in her hushed voice nearly made him groan with desire.

  She turned her face towards his. ‘Does it feel like that for you, too?’

  ‘Probably not as much.’ He turned his lips to hers, capturing her with a kiss to stop her questions and distract her on purpose.

  She opened her lips to accept his kiss and soon followed his lead. When she moaned, he reluctantly drew their hands away from her breasts, stroking down the length of her ribs and stomach, along the curve of her hip and down her leg as far as her arm would reach.

  He deepened their kiss, drawing her curiosity and wonder deeper into the play of their lips and tongues. She leaned up towards him, close enough that he could feel the pounding of her heart against his chest.

  Isabella was so focused on meeting the demands of his mouth, that she didn’t seem to notice he’d skimmed their hands up the inside of her silken thigh. There was no change in her breathing, or her focus, when he lingered over the patch of tight curls to knead the soft flesh beneath.

  Richard fought to restrain himself from giving into his urge to roll her on to her back and settle himself between her legs. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d so intensely wanted to claim a woman.

  Instead, he dipped a finger between the swollen folds of flesh. Surprised and emboldened by the hot, slick dampness already evident, he teased the nub with his fingertip. She curled the fingers of her hand resting against his chest, digging her fingernails into his flesh and angled her hips as if to get closer to his touch.

  Richard swallowed a smile. Oh, not just yet, sweeting. There was still at least one body part he wanted her to discover before taking this any further. He withdrew his touch to slide their still-clasped hands to his belly.

  He once again let her take the lead and without coaxing, she brushed over the thicker thatch of curls covering his groin to draw one fingertip along the length of his erection and around the rim towards the tip. His heart thudded inside his chest.

  Richard gave her but a few moments of tantalising exploration before he took back control of their movements to curl her fingers around his shaft and then grasped her wrist to move her hand up and down the length.

  As he’d already gathered, she was a fast learner and shook off his hold, giving him the freedom to do some exploring of his own. Which from the pounding of his own heart and the difficulty he was having in keeping his breaths even, he either needed to do quickly or expend more concentration on reining in his lust.

  Certain she was intent on discovering his reactions, he focused his attention on teaching her about pleasure.

  She didn’t reject his touch between her thighs, instead she let her legs go lax, giving him the freedom to cup her, kneading, stroking until she hastily broke their kiss to raggedly question, ‘Richard, what—?’

  ‘Shhh.’ He soothed her, then coaxed, ‘Trust me in this, Isabella.’

  She nodded, then buried her face against his chest.

  He felt her confusion and uncertainty in the sudden tensing of her legs. Before she could change her mind and pull away, he delved between the padded folds of flesh to once again feel the hot slickness of her more-than-ready body. Teasing, stroking until her breath was nothing but ragged pants and she released her hold on his shaft to curl her fingers into his back.

  With ease he slid a finger into her, drawing in a deep shuddering breath at the slick, hot flesh wrapping around him. He could barely imagine what it would feel like to bury himself in that lush warmth.

  Her soft gasp of surprise urged him on and he imitated the strokes that he hoped one day soon to make with more than just the touch of his hand.

  Richard gritted his teeth at the sound of her building climax. The heavy throbbing in his groin wanted more than just a touch.

  No, he silently whispered. It was more important to disabuse her notion of pain and fear than it was to satisfy his needs. Sweat beaded on his forehead from his shaken control over his body.

  Soon, her moans of pleasure turned to a frozen gasp as she arched her back. He felt her toes slide, then curl against his leg. The hot, wet flesh surrounding his touch pulsed as if trying to draw him in further.

  Just when he thought he could no longer deny himself, her legs fell lax, the pulsing eased and she withdrew her fingernails from his skin.

  Richard withdrew his hand and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her into a tight embrace as he rolled on to his back, bringing her along with him.

  Even though his heart still thudded heavy in his chest, hers eased and she pushed up on his chest to gaze down at him with an embarrassing, to him, look of awe. ‘I don’t think I’ll be needing any of your men tomorrow. I have other plans.’

  Humour teased at him. ‘What might those plans be?’

  ‘I need to gather ice for Satan and learn how to beg.’

  He knew exactly what she was saying. At the dinner table she’d sworn that ice would form in hell at Satan’s feet before she begged him for anything. And now...she was so willing to beg for more of his touch that she herself would provide the ice for Satan. It was completely inappropriate, but there was no helping it—he burst out in laughter.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Slowly stretching awake, Isabella sighed. She hadn’t felt this well rested since being taken from Warehaven.

  She yawned and threw back the covers, only to have her hand come in contact with a solid object. A quick glance brought her wide awake. Richard sat beside her on the bed, fully clothed.

  Her cheeks flamed as her mind whirled, remembering last night. She jerked the covers back up over her body and then sank down beneath them.

  ‘I need to go back to the warehouse today.’

  His tone was non-committal, flat. Where had the teasing man from last night gone? Unwilling to answer, she simply nodded. It wasn’t as if she required him for anything. Although she did wonder at the tweak of disappointment building in her heart.

  ‘We need to go over your plans for today.’

  Confused, she asked, ‘Why?’

  ‘I need to know how many men you’ll need and what tasks you wish them to perform, so I can give them their orders.’

  So, he had been serious at dinner last night. She was not permitted to perform her duties as the keep’s lady. ‘I have nothing planned for today. You can keep your men.’

  His glare could have lighted the cold charcoals in the brazier, but she didn’t care.

  ‘Now you’re going to be contrary.’

  He hadn’t asked a question, so she didn’t respond.

  ‘Why? Because you can’t get your way?’ When she remained stubbornly silent, he continued, ‘I am not going to give you control over men you know nothing about.’

  Isabella turned her head away from him. She knew she was being petty and that it could possibly come to hurt her in the end, but if she let him take complete charge of what was supposed to be her position, one she had trained for her entire life, where would that leave her?

  He grasped her chin and forced her head back to face him. When she closed her eyes, he tightened his hold. ‘Look at me.’

  She ignored him, afraid of losing her will in the deep blue depths of his gaze.

  ‘God’s teeth, woman, I am not giving in on this. You will do as I say.’

  At what sounded like a threat, she did look at him. ‘Or what?’

  He stared at her for a few long heartbeats, then released her chin and with a vile oath rose from the bed. ‘You have no need of any men today?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Have it your way, then.’ He strode briskly to the door, pausing to ask, ‘Are you certain?’

  ‘Very.’

  ‘Do not leave the keep.’

 
; His unexplained order and the slamming of the door behind him brought her flying from the bed. She was an idiot, a stubborn, witless fool. Perhaps if she gave in to him now, after a while he would relent. She needed to stop him. Her hand on the door latch, she opened her mouth and heard Conal’s voice float through the still-closed door, making her pause to listen.

  ‘Did you bother to explain it to her?’

  ‘Explain what? That someone left a missive stating Lady Dunstan is in danger? We don’t know who left it, nor do we know what the danger might be. Besides, she was being so contrary that she wouldn’t have heard me if I had tried to explain.’ The anger in Richard’s reply made her cringe.

  ‘Still—’

  ‘No.’ Her husband stopped his man from saying anything else on the matter, and then continued. ‘She’ll wallow in her self-righteous anger for a few days. But as soon as boredom overwhelms her, she’ll give in.’

  Self-righteous anger? If he wasn’t so close to the truth, she’d throw open the door and rage at him.

  ‘And if she doesn’t?’

  Isabella knew she would likely give in long before he expected her to—the thought of doing nothing for even a single day made her stomach churn.

  ‘She will. But in truth, she’s safer sitting in her chamber than anywhere else while I’m not here.’

  Conal’s snort of reply made her frown. Safer? Was she in some danger?

  Richard’s man asked, ‘Have you been able to determine who issued the threat?’

  Threat? What threat? As far as she knew the only person who’d ever posed a threat was her husband.

  ‘I’ve narrowed it down to a few people. We’ll discuss it on the way to Marguerite’s.’

  ‘And why would we go there?’ Conal’s voice held a note of surprise.

  She heard what sounded like a heavy slap—as if maybe Richard had slapped Conal’s shoulder, or back. ‘Because you stop there every morning to visit with your lady love before going to the warehouses—why would today be any different?’

  Conal’s grumbled reply faded beneath their departing footsteps.

  Isabella leaned against the door. What was going on? And who was Conal’s lady love, Marguerite?

  If Richard was seeking to protect her from something, why didn’t he just explain that to her? The thought that he was intentionally keeping her in the dark rankled. Why would someone threaten her safety?

  She wandered back to the bed and sat on the edge. She hated secrets, just hated them. Mostly because she could never figure out the correct scenario.

  Isabella dropped back on to the mattress, her head coming to rest on a pile of soft fur. She sat up and looked behind her. Someone—most likely her husband—had draped a gown, chemise, a pair of plain slippers, soft boots and a fur-lined mantle on the end of the bed.

  She ran her fingers through the silken fur and sighed with pleasure at such a wonderful gift. Apparently he truly wasn’t as displeased with her as he’d led her to think.

  If she couldn’t successfully figure out secrets, how would she ever figure out the man she’d been forced to wed?

  She picked up the deep forest-green gown and rose to dress. There would be an entire day of nothing to do but devise a plan to coax Richard into telling her what was going on. That way, tonight after dinner, and after they’d climbed into bed, she could set her plan in motion.

  * * *

  Isabella pulled the fur-lined mantle tighter about her in an attempt to shield herself from the biting wind. She stood on the wall surrounding Dunstan and stared out across the stormy windswept sea.

  ‘My lady?’ Another one of Richard’s ever-present guards braved the weather to try coaxing her back inside.

  She turned to glare at him. This one was much younger than the last, perhaps they thought she’d feel sorry for him. If so, they were wrong.

  ‘I am fine. Go back inside.’

  ‘But his lordship—’

  A curt wave of her hand stopped his words. ‘Is at the wharf and won’t know I’m disobeying him if you don’t tell him.’

  The guard’s sigh as he turned to stomp back to the ladder would have been laughable if she wasn’t so angry at his lord.

  Nearly a month ago Richard had carted her off to her chamber and taught her such a wondrous lesson about being in bed with a man. She still shivered with desire every time she thought about it. But since then he’d been distant and cold, ignoring her whenever possible. She’d never been able to coax him into their bed, let alone get him to explain what was happening. The one time she’d tried had ended with him leaving the chamber, never to return.

  A blast of wind pushed the hood of her cloak from her head. She pulled it back up, sinking her fingers into the luxurious lining. She had been quite pleased to find such treasured gifts then, especially after she’d forgotten to ask him for enough gold to purchase fabric to make a gown. But now they felt more like some sort of payment—a compensation.

  Which, as far as she was concerned, was fair considering the work she’d accomplished in the Great Hall without the help of his men. While he’d told her she couldn’t order his men about, he’d never said she wasn’t permitted to put the women to work.

  And she had. It hadn’t been that difficult, not after she’d stooped low enough to explain the circumstances to the women of Dunstan. Her mother would be horrified to learn she’d used such a sneaky trick, but her mother wasn’t here. And while Isabella wasn’t going to argue this with Richard any further, she wasn’t about to live in a pig’s sty.

  So, with help from Hattie, the women servants and a dozen more women from the village, the only thing they had left to finish was the floor. Everything else was cleaned, repaired or painted.

  She knew full well that Richard had noticed. Every night when he returned from the wharf, he’d paused to look around the Great Hall, his expression growing darker each passing day. Isabella wasn’t going to say a word until he asked. Of course, she knew that asking would come with pointed glares and angry accusations.

  Right now, though, his shouting would be a welcome change from his one-word answers and silence.

  She knew that men could be moody creatures at times, but this... Isabella shook her head. Something was wrong with him. Something she was not at all familiar with. Granted, there was some sort of secret danger that she’d not been able to discover anything about, but why would that make him ignore her? She posed no danger to him, or Dunstan. So, his off-putting manner had to be due to something else.

  She leaned her shoulder against the wall and gazed down towards the snow-covered village. Surely there was someone here on Dunstan who could answer her questions. Someone who knew her husband better, on a more personal level that his men did.

  Never would she question his men. Not only had he basically forbidden her contact with them, it would be foolish and wrong of her. He needed their respect, needed them to follow his orders, not be his friend, nor a confidant to his wife.

  She’d tried asking Hattie, but the woman seemed unwilling to divulge much in the way of useful information. Oh, yes, the older woman had told her stories about when Richard was a babe and young lad. Perhaps if she asked again, explaining why she wanted to know, Hattie might be more forthcoming.

  Isabella knew she really didn’t have many choices. Maybe a midwife? They were usually privy to every snippet of gossip. Or the priest? She’d not seen him since the evening he’d so willingly helped to seal her fate.

  No. Her best source would be Hattie. She just needed to figure out how to gain the woman’s trust enough to talk to her.

  A movement on the road leading up to the keep caught her attention. She leaned away from the wall. Richard and Conal were returning. And they were closer than she’d like. If she didn’t want her jaunts up here to the wall forbidden to her, she needed to get back inside before
he saw her.

  She grabbed the edge of her mantle, so she wouldn’t trip over it as she raced down the ladder to the inner yard. Thankfully, she’d been able to get one of the women to show her an easy way out of the keep and into the bailey. Unfortunately, the quickest way back inside would take her right across the middle of the open bailey where he’d be likely to see her.

  A quick glance towards the gates assured her that he wasn’t quite yet entering the yard. Still holding on to her garments, she took off at a decidedly unlady-like run, hoping to reach the postern gate before Richard and Conal passed through the main one.

  ‘My lady!’

  Isabella cursed, looked over her shoulder to see which guard was now hailing her and tripped, slipping on a patch of ice. Her knees hit the frozen ground hard enough to bring tears to her eyes and she fell forward, landing on one arm.

  She wanted to scream in frustration and pain, but before she had time to clear her mind a horse stopped alongside of her. There was no need to look up at the rider, she knew who she’d see. So, she relaxed as best she could, giving in to the throbbing of her knees and burning of her elbow, letting the sharp pains roll over her until she was able to take a deep breath.

  ‘Get up.’

  ‘Richard, the woman is injured.’ Conal’s tone was filled with censure.

  ‘This is none of your affair.’ Isabella winced at Richard’s cold, unforgiving voice.

  He repeated, ‘I said, get up.’

  She pushed herself up on to her knees with her good arm and then struggled to her feet. ‘I am fine.’

  To prove it, she took a step, prepared to return to the warmth of the Great Hall with as much dignity as she could muster, and then cried out in pain as her ankle crumpled beneath her weight, sending her right back down to her knees on the cold ground.

  Before she could catch her breath, Richard dismounted and came to her side. He pulled her up from the ground and swung her into his arms, holding her against his chest.

  She wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her face in the lining of his mantle. ‘I am sorry.’