by Denise Lynn
Extended absences were a normal way of life—especially for a community involved in sea trade. She’d been at the quay numerous times with her mother and sister when the ships had finally returned to harbour. Never did she remember witnessing such a display as this at any homecoming.
It struck her as odd. Had these men left under some cloud of doom? Had they been headed out to a known, or suspected, danger? Or did Dunstan’s shipping schedules keep them from home often enough to cause this level of emotion?
If the size and number of the storage buildings were any indicator, Dunstan prospered well from his chosen method of commerce.
How much of it was legal would be anyone’s guess. But then, less-than-legal goods had been stowed and transported on both her father’s and brother’s ships a time or two. Besides, with this never-ending battle for the crown, many not-so-legal activities occurred on a daily basis.
Her escort came to an abrupt stop. He released her elbow and pulled a flame-haired giant into his embrace.
Once the backslapping and greetings were completed, Dunstan scanned the harbour, asking, ‘Has the Lisette Reynolde returned?’ When his man shook his head, Dunstan frowned, then asked, ‘Where is Father Paul?’
Shocked that Dunstan would so quickly seek the services of the priest, Isabella was speechless.
‘He awaits you at the keep.’ The red-haired man’s gaze drifted to her and then back to Dunstan. ‘I assume this is your intended?’
‘I am not his intended.’
She waved off the man’s assumption and turned to her captor. ‘You plan to wed so quickly?’
‘That is the plan, yes.’ Dunstan glanced at his man. ‘A plan everyone knew before I left.’
‘Well, yes, but we hadn’t expected it to happen the moment you stepped on land.’ The man’s voice rose, causing those around them to give the trio a wide berth. ‘You don’t think that perhaps a little...gentler handling...a bit of ceremony, or celebration might be in order?’
Dunstan grabbed his man’s arm and turned him towards half-a-dozen waiting horses. ‘Enough. I don’t need you to tell me how to behave.’ He spared little more than a glance at Isabella, ordering, ‘Get over here. You’ll ride with me.’
Only yesterday he’d commented on her less-than-brave behaviour. If he wanted her to thwart him, she’d be more than happy to oblige. ‘Like hell I will.’
She grabbed the reins from his hands, tucked the long skirt of her gown into the girdle about her waist and then hauled herself up on to the saddle. Isabella put her heels to the horse’s side, suggesting over her shoulder, ‘You can walk, or use another beast.’
Catching up with Dunstan’s man, who’d set off as soon as he’d mounted his horse, she asked, ‘What do I call you and just where do I find this Father Paul?’
‘Conal is my name and unless you have a taste for becoming the next Lady of Dunstan this very night, you don’t want to find the priest.’
In the end, she might not have a choice in the matter, but she’d prefer not to find herself tied to Dunstan before the moon fully rose. She’d rather swim back to Warehaven.
‘Then would you—?’
Conal raised one hand, cutting off the rest of her request. ‘Before you even ask, I’ll not help you escape, nor will I naysay Lord Dunstan’s wishes.’ He cast a sidelong look at her. ‘Have you considered that he may have had good reasons for what he did?’
‘Oh, yes, I’m certain every knave has a good reason to steal a woman away from her home on the eve of her marriage.’
The ensuing bark of laughter didn’t come from Conal. Nor did the hand grabbing the reins from her fingers belong to the man-at-arms.
Dunstan looped her reins to his own like lead strings, while saying, ‘And I would think that a woman so eager to wed would have been at her betrothed’s side instead of wandering around a dark bailey alone.’
‘That still gave you no reason to spirit me away.’
He ignored her statement to warn, ‘You take off like that on your own again and I’ll make certain you rue the day you were born.’
She gasped at his obvious threat. ‘You wouldn’t.’
‘Behave like a wayward child, my lady, and I’ll treat you like one.’
She glared at him. ‘You wouldn’t dare.’
‘I wouldn’t dare what?’
Isabella was almost certain that he wouldn’t lay a hand on her—damaging her wouldn’t be in his best interest. So, what would he do? She felt the heat of her flushed cheeks as she remembered his earlier warning that some injuries couldn’t be seen.
He leaned over on his saddle, closer to her, and answered his own question. ‘I would lock you away in a tower chamber without much provocation.’
Even though his deep, sensual tone gave her a moment’s pause, relief washed over her, making her response nothing more than a simple breathless, ‘Oh.’
Dunstan sat upright and shook his head. ‘I can only hazard a guess about the direction your mind took, my lady. But let me assure you that I would never force myself on you uninvited.’
Uninvited? ‘And you think for one minute that I would ever—’ The barely perceptible twitch of his lips told her that she’d once again fallen prey to his mindless prattle.
Chagrined that she’d so easily let herself be led into this absurd conversation, she lifted her chin a notch, gave a good jerk on her horse’s reins to free them and urged the beast ahead of the men.
‘Stay on this road. You’ll end up at the keep.’
Richard watched her ride ahead of them. With the ocean on one side and ever-thickening brush on the other, she had no choice but to stay on the road. Thankfully, since the ship had returned, his men and some of the men from the village saw to it that the path to the keep was lit with torches.
‘She is a high-born lady, my lord; you should not tease her so.’
‘She is Warehaven’s whelp through and through. Trust me, the lady is well able to take my jibes and hand out some of her own.’
‘That may be so, but you aren’t her father or brother.’ Conal’s bristling censure was evident in his words.
Richard ignored his man’s attitude. Something had been bothering Conal before the ship had docked. ‘No. I am not her father or brother. But I am soon to be her husband.’
Conal snorted before asking, ‘Were you able to discover how that accursed dog, Glenforde, came to be involved with Warehaven?’
‘No, I didn’t. I still have no idea why the Lord of Warehaven gave his daughter to Glenforde, but he did.’
‘Then it’s a good thing you came to her rescue by kidnapping her.’
‘She would never agree.’
‘No. And from the looks of it, she’ll agree with this marriage even less.’
Richard shrugged. ‘Does it matter?’
‘No. But over time she might be persuaded to change her mind.’
‘You, my friend, are a hopeless sot when it comes to women.’
‘Perhaps.’ Conal nodded towards Isabella riding ahead. ‘So, what if Glenforde doesn’t come for her?’
That was the second time he’d heard that opinion voiced. ‘He stands to lose too much if he doesn’t.’
Conal’s snort startled the horses. Once the beasts calmed down, he said, ‘You’d better hope so. Otherwise you’ll end up with a wife for no good reason.’
‘I’m sure I can find some use for her.’
Conal laughed softly before commenting, ‘Careful, you might find yourself wanting this wife.’
‘Perish the thought.’ Quickly changing the subject, Richard asked, ‘How did you fare while I was away?’
The humour left Conal’s face in a rush. He turned a hard glare on Richard. ‘Next time, leave someone else in charge.’
‘What happened?’
> ‘The master of the inn is keeping company with the baker’s wife. So the baker refuses to supply the inn with breads or cakes. The baker’s wife tired of the bickering and has taken up residence with Marguerite.’
‘That must make your visits...interesting.’
‘My visits?’
‘Do you think nobody has noticed?’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘Please, don’t seek to fool me. Everyone on the island is well aware that you and Marguerite have been enjoying each other’s company for at least three years now. I keep waiting for her to one day make an honest man of you. Although, I must admit, I am starting to give up hope.’
Conal ignored the jibe about his lady friend. As if Richard hadn’t said a word, he added, ‘Now the innkeeper is declaring his lover a whore and the baker is seeking restitution for his loss.’
‘Ah.’ Richard sighed. ‘Well, good. Nothing has changed.’
Chapter Seven
Isabella paused before the gated entrance into Dunstan Keep. The men in the twin towers stared down at her a moment before shouting to their approaching lord, ‘She yours?’
His? No, she was not his. If she belonged to anyone it was her father—her breath caught as she remembered her father’s body falling to the beach. No. She would not slip into grief until she was safely back in her family’s embrace. If she now belonged to anyone it was to her brother, Jared—or with hope and a trunk full of luck, eventually a husband of her choosing.
But most definitely not Dunstan.
However, on rare occasions, she did know when and how to hold her tongue. This seemed to be one of those times, so she waited for Dunstan and his man to join her.
Once they were alongside of her, she unclenched her jaw to say, ‘I am not yours.’
He ignored her and waved up at the men as he passed beneath the arched gate. ‘Yes, she’s mine.’
It was all she could do not to scream. But his grin told her that he knew exactly what she felt and had goaded her on purpose. Instead of screaming, she forced a smile to her lips and followed him into the keep.
Once they were in the courtyard, Dunstan dismounted, then came to her side to assist her from the horse. She accepted his help, making certain to curl her fingers tightly into his shoulders—more to bring him pain than for support.
He rewarded her petty action by pulling her hard against his chest. She struggled to free herself from his hold.
‘Keep fighting me, Isabella. I love nothing more than a good battle.’
She fell lax against him. ‘Let me go.’
‘Not until you apologise.’
Snow would douse the fires of hell before she did so. ‘I did nothing that requires an apology.’
While keeping one arm securely around her, he grasped her wrist and placed her hand against the wound on his shoulder. The thickness of the padding beneath her palm made her stomach tumble with guilt.
She turned her face away and softly said, ‘I am sorry. I didn’t mean to irritate your wound.’
‘I beg your pardon? I didn’t hear you. What did you say?’
Isabella took a breath before repeating herself a little louder, ‘I said I was sorry. I didn’t mean to irritate your wound.’ Glancing up at him, she added, ‘But it was no less than what you deserved.’
‘Perhaps.’ He released her wrist and then grazed her chin with his thumb. ‘But it would be wise for you to remember that I am your only protector here.’
He had a valid point. Had she done any serious harm, she would be at the mercy of his men. She had no way of knowing what manner of men inhabited this godforsaken isle.
She turned away from him and looked up at the keep atop the hill. Made of stone, with round towers at each corner, it was every bit as big as Warehaven.
He pushed past her. ‘Come. Father Paul should be here soon.’
Good. At least then she would have someone on her side. The priest couldn’t very well marry them once she voiced her objections to this union.
Following him up the steps cut into the earthen mound, she was more than a little surprised to find an entrance at the top of the hill. Confused, she asked, ‘Isn’t this dangerous?’
‘Dangerous? How so?’
‘A ground-level entrance?’ Had this man spent so little time on land that he didn’t know the first thing about defending his keep?
‘Until the enemy can learn to fly, we are secure.’
If someone wanted possession of Dunstan badly enough, they would find a way. But she wasn’t about to argue warfare with him.
He held the metal-studded door open and followed her inside. She’d expected to walk into a storage chamber at the ground level of the keep. Instead, she paused to discover they’d come through what she would consider a postern gate leading through a thick fortified wall that opened to a courtyard running the length of the keep and not directly into the building.
When she turned to ask why the gate was at the front of the keep, Dunstan hitched an eyebrow. ‘Rather deceiving at first isn’t it?’ He glanced up at the wall to order, ‘Drop it down.’
The men, who she hadn’t seen at first, lowered a portcullis into place behind the studded door, effectively cutting off the entrance from the bailey.
Dunstan stared down at her. ‘No one gets in.’ Before guiding her to the steps angling up against the wall, he added, ‘And no one gets out.’
Isabella took his comment as a veiled threat—a warning that she’d be unable to escape. What would he do, or say, when she proved him wrong?
Although, as she trailed behind him along narrow courtyards, and up even narrower stairs, only to cross over walkways that had surely seen better days, Isabella wondered if his warning had been necessary. Escaping was one thing—simply remembering the way to get back to the outer yard would prove a challenge.
Finally, they entered the keep through a larger, heavily studded door. Her thoughts and concerns of escape vanished as the stale, rancid air of the Great Hall slammed against her face.
Isabella quickly covered her nose and mouth with the sleeve of her gown, but it did little to veil the stench of the ill-kept hall. She blinked as tears welled from her stinging eyes and prayed there wasn’t some damp, musty tower cell awaiting her.
Dunstan shot her a dark frown that she couldn’t decipher, but she wasn’t going to uncover her face to question him.
It was all she could do not to gag when he led her across the filthy hall to a smaller chamber on the far side. While this room was in even worse condition than the Great Hall, at least it had two narrow window openings. Thankfully, he saw fit to open both shutters letting in fresh, albeit cold air.
‘Your servants are lax in their duties.’ She stated what she thought was obvious while gasping for breath.
‘Lax?’
Isabella ran a fingertip across the thick layer of dust on the top of a chest. ‘This didn’t accumulate overnight.’
He turned his head to glance in her direction, his dark expression even more stormy. ‘I’ve yet to see anyone perish of dust.’
She kicked at an obnoxious clump of mouldy strewing herbs, sending it rolling across the floor. ‘It takes more than a few days for this to grow.’
‘And is easily removed with a broom.’
‘The lady of this keep should be ashamed.’
‘Presently, there is no lady.’
‘Then the housekeeper should be severely reprimanded.’
‘There is no housekeeper. And before you ask, there are no chambermaids, scullery maids nor a cook.’
She’d assumed he had no wife, since he was so determined to give her that unwanted title. And he’d told her aboard the ship that his mother was deceased. But to do without any women in the keep was something she could bar
ely imagine.
‘It is just you and your men?’
He nodded in reply.
‘What do you do for food?’
‘The same thing men have always done.’
She knew that meant one of the lower-ranked men did the cooking or some of the village women acted as camp followers did during a march to battle and performed the duty.
Isabella looked slowly around the chamber. Besides the dust and mould, there were cobwebs thick enough to suffocate someone should they have the misfortune to walk into them. Sheaths of papers that had tumbled from the small table in the corner on to the floor were half-covered in rotting rushes. She didn’t want to think about the vermin living undisturbed in the bedding.
This is what her father’s and brother’s chambers would have looked like without her mother’s oversight. Well, at the very least her father’s chambers would have looked the same, if not worse. Her brother Jared was a little more organised.
She doubted that Dunstan Keep had always been in this condition, not when the wharf and village appeared in order and inviting. So, how had this happened?
‘And none of you see anything wrong with...’ she waved an arm to encompass the chamber ‘...this?’
‘We have managed quite well.’
‘Yes, I can see that.’
‘Enough!’ He spun away from the window. ‘I have no desire to listen to your complaints.’
His sudden movement, deep threatening tone and fierce scowl forced her back a step. ‘Complaints?’ The shrillness in her voice made her take a breath. Regardless of how threatened she felt, showing any sign of fear would be a mistake. To regain a semblance of self-control, she glanced pointedly around the chamber, asking in what she hoped was a milder tone, ‘The sorry condition of your keep does not bother you?’
Dunstan stormed towards her, his hands clenched at his sides. ‘The condition of my keep is none of your concern.’
She fought the urge to bolt from the chamber—where would she go? But it was impossible to stand firm in the face of his anger and it would be foolish to remain within arm’s length of danger. Moving away quickly, she put the small table between them.