by Denise Lynn
While he didn’t want the people of Dunstan to hate her, he’d prefer they had nothing, or very little, to do with her until after his confrontation with Glenforde and her father.
Glenforde was going to die by his hand. Richard hadn’t come this far to miss that opportunity. Every fibre of his being screamed for Glenforde’s blood. The thought of revenge had been the only thing that kept him waking up every morning after the senseless slaughter on Dunstan, it had been the only thing that had dulled the pain. The passing of time had only tempered that thirst, making it stronger, hardening his resolve until it became as dear to him as breathing.
When that day finally arrived, he would not hesitate to kill anyone who physically came to Glenforde’s aid. And that is what the people of Dunstan risked should they decide to support Isabella. He didn’t doubt for one heartbeat that she would beg and plead for the life of the man she’d once been set to wed.
If, through some misplaced sense of loyalty, any of his people saw fit to answer her plea, he would send them to their grave. No one who stood in his way would be spared. So, it was safer for all if, for now, they kept their distance from her.
Of course he couldn’t explain that to her. He didn’t trust her not to use it against him. In truth, how could he blame her? She was a pawn, a mouse caught fast between two angry cats, and he’d put her in that position on purpose.
And until this matter was settled, that is where she would stay. Regardless of what he had to do, or how angry it made her.
He pushed open the chamber door. Isabella was hunkered over his open chest, holding something in her hand. A step closer to her brought the item in to view—a wooden doll, meticulously carved and painted by his hands.
Richard’s heart seemed to stop. Time reversed itself until one fateful moment froze in his mind with horrifying detail. A single blonde curl rested against a too-pale cheek. Her head bent at a strange angle and blood had dried where it had pooled beneath her open mouth. Blue eyes, open wide as if in horror, stared at nothing. And the doll that never left the crook of her arm lay on the ground just beyond her reaching fingertips, as if, at the very moment of death, she’d still wanted her doll in her arms. But she’d been denied even that slim thread of comfort.
‘No!’ Without warning, he lunged to tear the doll and its final wrappings from Isabella’s grasp. His hands shook as he carefully folded the embroidered scrap of fabric around the doll before placing it back in its fur-lined nest and slamming the lid of the chest closed.
He glared down at Isabella, trying to see her through the haze of rage and loss. ‘Do not touch this chest again.’
Isabella’s questions stuck in her throat at the look on his face. She scrambled backwards, away from the irrational anger reaching towards her, only to fall on to a pile of linens she’d removed from the chest. Raising her hands to ward off his approach, she choked out, ‘I’m sorry. Richard, I’m sorry.’
His expression didn’t waver and she wasn’t all that certain he saw her. Isabella studied him. His unfocused glare seemed to slice through her, moving past her as if he was somewhere else, seeing someone else. She stayed where she was, not moving, and closed her eyes.
‘How dare you touch her things!’ He grabbed the front of her gown and lifted her from the pile of linen. ‘I will see you dead before allowing Glenforde’s beloved to foul her memory.’
His nearly growled threat dried her throat so she could barely swallow. Isabella knew she should be afraid—any person with half their wits would know this was a moment to appear weak and submissive—and she was afraid, but she wasn’t yet ready to die.
She reached out and wrapped one hand along the side of his neck, curled the fingers of her other hand over his shoulder, pulled her body against his, hooked her feet around his legs and hung on for all she was worth. Her reaction might appear foolish to another, but wrestling with a brother and sister had taught her to protect the soft parts of her body. If Richard’s idea had been to beat her for going through his things, clinging to him would make that a little more difficult for him.
To her amazement, he tore his hands from her gown and when she thought he would pry her body away from him, he drew her harder against him in a tight embrace. With his face buried in her neck, he hoarsely whispered, ‘Forgive me. I...’
His words trailed off as he released her. She loosened her hold on him. Not sure of his state of mind, she stepped out of his reach, but waved towards the bed, suggesting the only thing that came to her mind, ‘Richard, you are exhausted. Rest awhile.’
His lack of response worried her. She wanted to get him off his feet before his shaking legs refused to support him any longer, but at the same time, she had no desire to get too close. Going to the opposite side of the bed, she patted the mattress. ‘Just lay down awhile.’
He walked to the bed woodenly, like a man caught in the throes of a terrifying nightmare, and dropped on to the edge.
Uncertain what to do for him, she kept her wary gaze on him. His entire body still visibly shook and the hands he lifted to his face trembled so badly that fear for her own safety fled.
Friend or foe, this man was in agony and needed soothing. She would never turn her back on a stranger in need, how could she turn away from Richard?
She sat down near the head of the bed and reached across to place a hand on his shoulder. When he didn’t shrug off her touch, she tugged gently, coaxing, ‘Please. Rest.’
Slowly, he laid down on the bed, facing away from her on his side. That was fine, at least he hadn’t tried to get his hands on her or bolted from the chamber. Isabella slid into the bed behind him and placed an arm across his waist. To her unexpected surprise, he turned over and drew her close.
He said nothing, but with his face buried in the side of her neck, he held on to her like she was a lifeline keeping him from going under. She, too, remained silent, stroking his back, running her fingers through his hair, waiting for the tremors to subside.
Once they finally did and he seemed to relax across her, she rested her cheek against his head. ‘Richard, I may hate what you’ve done to me, what you’ve forced me to do, and while I might seek to annoy you in payment, I would never intentionally upset you in such a manner as this. Never. Please, tell me what I’ve done so I do not accidentally do so again.’
After one long, shuddering breath, he turned his head, so he rested on her shoulder, with one arm across her stomach. He shifted the arm beneath her so he could reach up to stroke light circles on the side of her neck. Gentle, teasing movements that suddenly made the muscular thigh resting between her softer ones more...noticeable, in ways that seemed inappropriate and far too welcome at the same time.
Isabella closed her eyes briefly, praying he couldn’t feel the swift pounding of her heart.
‘You didn’t know.’
It took her a moment to make sense of his statement. She didn’t know what? Oh, the trunk. ‘Who did the doll belong to?’
‘Lisette.’
‘Who was Lisette?’
‘My daughter.’
Isabella frowned. He had once accused Glenforde of killing a child and she hadn’t believed him. Her stomach tightened at the thought that he might not have been making up stories to frighten her. Determined to find out what she could, she asked, ‘Your daughter?’
‘Yes. A daughter born too soon.’
She sighed. This was going to be like picking nails out of a board with her fingers. She reached up to stroke his cheek and he jerked his head away from her touch, but not before her fingertips brushed the dampness on his face.
Isabella held her breath. This was not a man who would shed a tear over something minor or imagined. This was serious and very real. She suspected that he wasn’t evading her questions, he was answering her as best he could under the circumstances.
Unsure how to proceed, since she was
fairly certain she knew the answer, she chose the direct route. ‘Richard, what happened to Lisette?’
The finger stroking circles on her neck stopped. The arm draped across her stomach tightened. ‘Your husband-to-be killed her.’
Every muscle in her body stiffened. She curled her toes in an effort to stop her legs from trembling. He hadn’t been concocting stories.
‘Why? Why would he do such a heinous thing?’
‘Do you think I have not asked myself that very same question?’
When he made a motion to move away, Isabella tightened her hold on him. ‘No, stay. Talk to me. Help me understand.’
In truth, it didn’t matter whether she understood or not, but this ate at him, it was like a poison in his blood and she wanted to somehow lance it and let at least some of the vile humours drain away.
‘Why? Your understanding doesn’t change anything.’
No, it wouldn’t change a thing. His daughter would still be dead and she’d still be here on Dunstan as bait for Glenforde. What would happen to her afterwards was anyone’s guess. But right now, this moment, his talking about it might make things more bearable for him. Although she knew that if he were like most men of her acquaintance, his willingness to talk would soon pass. ‘No, it’ll change nothing. But it’s part of your life and you are my husband. I want to know about the man I wed.’
He settled back into her embrace. ‘It was all my fault.’
If she hadn’t been confused before, she was now. ‘What do you mean, your fault?’
‘I wasn’t here to protect them.’
She rolled her eyes at the ever god-like notions of men. ‘Richard, are you not one of Stephen’s men? Do you not own more than one merchant ship? Unless you are possessed of some inhuman power, you cannot be everywhere at once.’
‘Perhaps not, but I should have been here.’
‘Because you knew what was going to happen?’ Isabella knew she could, and at some point probably would, cross an invisible line that would turn him from talkative to defensive.
‘What? No.’ There was a touch more life to his voice. ‘Had a hint of what was to come reached me, I would have been here and none of this would have happened.’
‘Or, you could be dead, too.’
‘You think Glenforde could have beaten me?’
Ah, now his defensiveness was starting to kick in. Since she truly wanted to know what had happened, she needed to disabuse him of that notion. ‘Heavens, no, Richard. The man is a weak coward who puffs up his own image by ill treatment of those deemed smaller.’
‘Yes, well, he proved that well enough.’
‘So, what happened? Did he attack Dunstan while you were away?’ When he remained silent for a few moments, Isabella warned, ‘If you don’t tell me, I’ll be forced to make up things in my mind.’
His heavy sigh brushed against her neck. ‘He landed in the cove instead of the harbour. Nobody ever anchors a ship there, it isn’t always safe. Someone from Dunstan, who knew the tides and currents, had to have told him when it would be safe to anchor there and how long he could stay before he would lose his ship.’
She knew she could be presuming much, but asked, ‘The cove isn’t patrolled during low tide?’
‘Of course it is.’
‘Then—’
‘How did he make the landing?’ He completed her question, then continued. ‘That’s what I haven’t been able to determine. All I’m certain of is that he did and since three of the four men on guard there were also killed, he obviously had help from someone already on the island. The fourth man lived only long enough to identify Glenforde’s ship, but didn’t see his attacker.’
‘Could he not have docked in the harbour to allow a man or two off his ship before leaving to sail into the cove and await some sort of signal?’
‘Yes, he could have. But he didn’t. The harbour master had no record of Glenforde’s arrival at the docks.’
The Dunstans had been a seafaring family longer than her own, so she was certain he employed only the best men for the most important positions. But to make certain he’d considered every option, she had to ask, ‘And you trust your harbour master?’
‘Yes. Without reservation.’
‘Then I’m sure you are right. Glenforde had to have had assistance. So, how did he come across your daughter? Wasn’t she in the keep with her nursemaid?’
‘That lying she-devil of a whore met him in one of the cottages and took Lisette along with her.’
‘The nursemaid?’
‘No. My whore wife.’
Stunned into silence, Isabella reminded herself to breathe. He was already married? Finally, after she could catch her breath, she hesitantly asked, ‘Where...where is...your...wife?’
‘Glenforde slit her throat.’
His short, blunt answer brought an icy fear to Isabella’s heart. If Glenforde had treated Richard’s wife and daughter so cruelly, and she had no reason to doubt him, what did that mean for her future? She knew she was here as bait, that had never been a secret. But what about afterwards?
Another thought shook her to the core. Dear Lord above, what if Glenforde turned his attention to her sister? For the first time since this all began back at Warehaven’s bailey, she hoped Glenforde did come for her—and received all he deserved.
Richard released her and shoved himself off the bed. He stopped halfway to the door and turned back to look at her. ‘Do you have what you need from the chamber?’ He motioned towards the pile of linens. ‘Is there anything else?’
‘No, there’s nothing else.’ She sat up. ‘I have no reason to come back here.’
‘Good.’ He turned back around and headed to the door.
‘Richard.’ He stopped with his hand on the door latch, but didn’t look at her, so she asked, ‘What happens to me after Glenforde pays for his crimes?’
‘I don’t know.’ With that, he left the room.
Isabella stared at the door. His abrupt departure and even more abrupt change of mood confused her more than his rage and the aftermath. Since she didn’t think he was normally given to such sudden changes, she could only surmise that after his family’s deaths he had taken no time to mourn his loss, too intent on seeking revenge that he’d not given his soul time to grieve.
Other than her grandparents, she’d never experienced the loss of a family member. When her mother’s mother had died, Isabella remembered being so sad that it physically hurt for days afterwards. And then there would be times when she’d be almost normal...until she remembered what had happened, bringing the sadness and pain back once again. But eventually, even though she’d have moments of near unbearable sadness, the pain started to fade until eventually she could think of her grandmother without feeling as if someone was trying to tear her heart from her chest.
Her mother had reacted in the same manner—only for longer periods of time.
But when King Henry died, her father spared one night for his pain at losing his father and, while he had still been sad for weeks afterwards, that one night had been his only display of grief.
Had Richard spared even one day for his loss? She didn’t think so, not since he was still suffering bursts of outrage and utter sadness. His teasing didn’t bother her overmuch, even though it did rankle at times. She could find a way to suffer through it until her father came. And his blustering barked orders, or demands, were easy enough to ignore—her brother acted in the same ‘I am your lord’ manner at times and she ignored him quite well.
But this anger, this blind rage that dragged him back to the horrors and left him shaken, needed to change. He had to somehow get beyond the nightmare and his need for vengeance. Otherwise his narrow focus on revenge might make him foolishly careless.
How? She frowned, wondering how she was going to help him without him
realising what she was doing.
A niggling imp in the back of her mind asked, Why?
She shrugged. There was no way of knowing what was going to happen to her. Even though she dearly longed to return home to Warehaven and forget this entire kidnapping and marriage had happened, once her father found out she was married to Richard, he might very well make her stay.
A shiver prompted her to get up from the bed. As much as she hated to even think of that possibility, it did exist. After all, her parents were forced to wed and from listening to her aunt’s telling of the story, many months passed before her mother and father could be in the same room without wanting to strangle one another.
So, God forbid, if it happened, it would be easier to live with a husband who didn’t cringe at the sight of her.
Chapter Twelve
Richard took his seat at the head table and stared down the length of the Great Hall. The men had obviously spent most of the day drinking, they were sloppy, rowdy and loud. Yet they all sat before the table as if waiting for...what?
He leaned his head towards Conal on his left. ‘Are we waiting for something?’
‘I would guess Lady Isabella.’
Richard turned to look Conal in the eyes. ‘Excuse me?’
‘I’ve been with you in town.’ Conal shrugged. ‘So that’s the only thing that makes sense to me. They did the same thing earlier—waited until she was seated before eating.’
‘It is a welcome change, is it not, my lord?’ Hattie set a pitcher on the table between the two men.
Welcome change? No. This wasn’t supposed to be happening. Things were supposed to stay the same as they were. Richard silently cursed himself. He was supposed to discuss this with her, but seeing her with Lisette’s doll had unexpectedly overwhelmed him and any thought of setting her straight flew out of his mind.
He held up his goblet for Hattie to fill, then took a much needed swallow of—water? ‘What is this?’