The Warrior's Winter Bride

by Denise Lynn

  ‘You carried me?’

  ‘Would you rather I’d left you in the mud?’

  Snippets of their conversation at the cemetery flooded her mind until they filled in all the blank spaces. She rose up to stare down at him. ‘Oh, Richard, I am so sorry. How can you stand the sight of me? How can you not despise me?’

  ‘For what?’ He slid his hand up her arm, across her shoulder, to rest against her neck. ‘You have done nothing. You are most assuredly not responsible for Glenforde’s actions.’

  When she shook her head, he eased her down on to his chest, admonishing, ‘Don’t be foolish, Isabella.’

  ‘Make him die slowly. Cut him into tiny pieces, one slice at a time.’

  She felt his sigh before he said, ‘You have overheard far too many conversations between the men.’

  ‘It couldn’t be helped. You were the one who told me to listen to gossip and who gossips more than the men?’

  ‘I can’t argue with that.’ He rolled her over on to her back and propped up on his elbow to look at her. ‘How are you feeling?’

  ‘Like a fool for swooning like a spineless maiden.’

  He curled his finger around a wayward wave resting over her shoulder. ‘Other than that.’

  She shrugged. ‘Fine. I simply fainted. Which is odd considering I never faint.’

  ‘You are certain?’

  ‘Yes. Why?’

  ‘I gave Conal the night to spend with his lady. Matthew needs to be relieved so he can check things at the wharf. So I need to take his place.’

  ‘Can you not guard me just as well from here?’

  He laughed. ‘No. It would be too...distracting.’

  She reached up to stroke his cheek. ‘Richard, please.’

  He grasped her hand and kissed her palm. ‘No. It is best if we wait.’

  Frowning in confusion, she asked, ‘Wait? For what?’

  ‘Until all of this is over.’

  ‘What on earth for?’

  ‘If anything goes wrong, Isabella, I wish not to leave you with a babe in your belly.’

  She tore her hand from his and grabbed the front of his shirt. ‘If you have any doubts about your victory, I suggest you wipe them from your mind right now. Otherwise you are just asking for something to go wrong.’ She pulled him closer. ‘Do you hear me?’

  He blinked. Twice. Then peeled her fingers from his shirt. ‘I am fairly certain I don’t need you telling me how to fight.’

  ‘Obviously someone needs to.’

  He shoved himself off the bed. ‘Are you seeking to anger me for any particular reason?’

  ‘Anger you? No. I’m angry enough right now for the both of us. I am seeking to force you into getting your mind straight.’

  He swiped his sword from the floor. ‘I know how to use this.’

  ‘I would hope so.’

  He headed for the door. ‘Fear not, I do.’

  ‘Good! I am glad!’

  He swung the door open and shouted back at her. ‘Good!’

  Isabella sat up and threw a goblet hard enough to bounce it off the closed door. Only to hear a fist pound on it twice from the other side.

  She threw herself back down on the bed, closed her eyes and in the quiet chamber counted out loud, ‘One. Two.’

  The door slammed against the wall of the chamber. ‘And another thing.’ He stormed across the room and fell on to the bed atop of her.

  She circled her arms around him, asking, ‘Which other thing?’

  ‘How did you know I wasn’t angry?’

  ‘By the look in your eyes and your shouting. You never shout when you’re enraged. But, I could ask you the same thing.’

  ‘And I would give you the same answer.’ He trailed his tongue along her lips.

  Isabella sighed. ‘Do you truly have to go sit in the corridor all by yourself in the cold?’

  ‘No. I could get the serving maid to come sit with me.’

  She tugged a lock of his hair. ‘Go ahead and try.’

  He slipped his tongue between her parted lips, stroking and teasing until she moaned. With a lighter kiss, he said, ‘Yes, I do have to go. And I fear I should do it now. Matthew is beside himself with worry over our shouting.’

  ‘Ah, Matthew needs to stop being so serious all the time.’

  ‘I’ll be certain to tell him that.’

  Isabella released him. ‘Go.’

  ‘If you need me, you know where to find me.’

  ‘Goodnight, Richard.’

  * * *

  The sound of Hattie whistling as she moved about the chamber brought Isabella’s eyes open. She squinted against the sunlight streaming in.

  Hattie placed a gown across the foot of the bed. ‘Oh, you are awake.’

  Isabella didn’t answer since that had been Hattie’s reason for whistling in the first place.

  ‘Lord Richard sent up a trunk from the warehouse. I had the men set it just inside the door.’

  She swung her legs from beneath the covers and sat up on the edge of the bed. An odd aroma wafted across her nose, making her stomach gurgle suspiciously. ‘What is that smell?’

  ‘What smell?’ Hattie came closer.

  Isabella’s stomach rolled and she slapped a hand over her mouth. She couldn’t possibly have been poisoned again, she hadn’t eaten or drunk anything. The chamber wasn’t spinning like a top and her mouth didn’t feel as if something furry had crawled around inside of it. She looked around the room and spied food on the small table in the alcove. ‘What is that?’

  It hit her a second before the woman answered. Moody as a fussy old woman, then fainting yesterday. Now sick to her stomach? No. Impossible. Well, perhaps not impossible since they did make love, but unlikely since they’d only done so a few times—three to be exact—once the night she’d been poisoned, Christmas Eve and Christmas night. Surely it took more times than that? She couldn’t be pregnant.

  Hattie rattled off the list of items on the table. ‘It’s just bread, cheese, some porridge and...’ She paused to stare at Isabella and then smiled. ‘Oh, goodness. Are you going to lose that wager? Will there be a babe before summer arrives?’

  Keeping her hand over her mouth, Isabella shook her head, hoping to disabuse the woman of such a notion. If she was correct, the child wouldn’t arrive until the end of summer, meaning she would prove those holding the wagers wrong—Richard hadn’t taken any liberties before they were wed.

  Hattie rushed into the alcove and came back with the crust from the bread and a cup of water. ‘Eat this. Slowly. Then lie back down for a few minutes. I’ll have Mistress Marguerite get you some ginger root.’

  Isabella nibbled on the bread. ‘This can’t be happening now.’

  As Hattie went to the door, Isabella called out, ‘Wait. Who is out there on guard duty?’

  ‘Sir Conal.’

  ‘No. No. Don’t say anything to him.’

  Hattie walked back towards the bed. ‘My lady?’

  ‘I want to be the one to tell Richard, later. After...’ She trailed off, uncertain how many of the details Hattie knew about Richard’s intentions.

  ‘After he deals with Glenforde?’

  ‘Yes.’ She sighed with relief at not having to come up with some story that she’d not be able to remember a day from now.

  Hattie frowned, making Isabella worry the woman wouldn’t see her point, but then the frown disappeared. ‘I won’t say that I like it, but I do understand your reasoning.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Well, Lady Isabella, you best hope it happens soon, because you won’t be able to keep this a secret very long.’

  If she truly was with child, and this wasn’t some sort of joke nature was playing on her, the last thing she
wanted to do was keep it a secret. She wanted to shout it from the battlements.

  Time would tell.

  She eyed the domed trunk near the door and quickly dressed, shoving her feet into her stockings and shoes, while Hattie tried to braid her hair at the same time.

  Once dressed, Isabella walked over to the trunk. She ran a hand over the travel chest, admiring the workmanship. Domed so any water would run off and wrapped in waxed leather to protect the goods inside.

  Unbuckling the leather straps, she lifted the lid, letting it fall backwards as she gasped at her first glance of the contents. She dropped to her knees to slowly pull out one item at a time.

  Finely woven linens and wool fabrics were folded inside. Some lengths were sun-bleached, some left natural and a few were dyed the most wonderful shades of blues and greens. There was enough fabric to make clothing for at least five people.

  When she’d considered asking to borrow money for cloth, she’d never dreamed of purchasing this much. She brushed the soft linen against her cheek—nor had she dreamed of anything this fine.

  Beneath the linen and wool was a separately wrapped package. Isabella laid it on her lap to unfold the soft leather—the wrapper alone was fine enough to use for clothing items. She peeled back the last fold and blinked at the brilliant green, almost emerald, cloth.

  ‘Hattie.’ She called the woman over. ‘Is this what I think it is?’

  Almost afraid to touch the fabric, for fear of ruining it, she wiped her hands on her gown and then ran the tip of one finger along the edge.

  Hattie touched the length. Picking up a corner she inspected it, then declared, ‘Silk.’

  ‘What am I supposed to do with silk?’

  ‘Make a gown, I’d imagine.’

  ‘With silk?’ And then for what event would she wear the gown? She’d never had a garment made of silk before, there’d never been a need. She wasn’t certain her parents owned anything made of silk and they’d attended court more than once in her lifetime.

  She rose to stretch the length of silk carefully across the bed. It hung over the far side and had she dropped her end, it would have fallen on to the floor. There appeared to be enough fabric for two gowns—or a gown for her and a formal tunic for Richard.

  Since the fabric was unadorned, she could embellish it in any manner she desired. Isabella picked at a corner with a fingernail. She was certain the tightly woven threads would ensure whatever she decided to make would last a long time.

  ‘Lady Isabella, look.’ Hattie pulled strips of embroidery work from the chest.

  Isabella ran her fingers through the embellished strips. As if the silk wasn’t enough of a luxury, these pre-embroidered pieces would save immeasurable time.

  She looked at the bottom of the chest to find everything she would need—from pins and needles to shears for cutting the cloth, smaller scissors for snipping threads and an array of flaxen threads dyed to match every colour of fabric she’d received.

  He’d lavished far too much on her. If his warehouses were anything like those on Warehaven, they were full of costly, precious goods. Goods meant to be sold or bartered at other ports. The value of the silk alone would feed the people in the keep for over a season. She shouldn’t accept this, she should make him put it back in his inventory.

  Isabella lovingly ran her hand over the silk and brought the soft linen to her cheek once again. Perhaps, if she used everything carefully, making certain to put each inch to proper use, she could make both of them clothes that would last for years, ensuring his inventory hadn’t been squandered.

  She needed a place to sew. Looking around, she decided that with a chamber the size of this one, it shouldn’t be too hard to make space for a workroom.

  ‘Hattie, have a couple of the men bring up a table and bench.’ She walked around the chamber, until sunlight fell across her face. ‘We’ll set it up here, beneath the window opening.’

  ‘That is not necessary.’

  Isabella disagreed. ‘There is no better place.’

  Hattie walked to the door, beckoning. ‘Follow me.’

  Intrigued and a bit confused, Isabella trailed behind the woman. Instead of turning left outside of the chamber door, Hattie went to the right. She walked past the first door, but swung open the door to the chamber at the end of the hall.

  Isabella stopped outside the chamber. ‘Richard gave orders not to open these two chambers. What have you done?’

  From behind her, Conal said, ‘He changed his mind last night. A couple of the women and some of the men worked all night to remove the bed and clean the chamber as best they could. I am surprised their attempt didn’t waken you.’

  She took a few tentative steps into the room. With an additional window, even more sunlight streamed into the chamber. Between the two far windows there were two padded armchairs with matching footrests, a small round table sat between.

  Curtains draped the entrance to the alcove. A long cushioned bench lined the back wall inside.

  While the walls of the chamber lacked a fresh wash of paint, they were clean. The floor shined as if it were newly polished.

  ‘Will it suffice?’ Conal asked.

  ‘Oh, yes. It is perfect.’

  ‘Good, because that clatter coming from the stairwell is the men bringing up a table and benches.’

  It didn’t take long for the men to set up a trestle table and to drag the domed chest from her bedchamber into this one. To Isabella’s delight, two of the kitchen maids came up to ask if she’d mind letting them help in their spare time. They loved to sew, but rarely got the chance any more.

  She welcomed the offer of assistance, knowing that if she was left to do it alone she’d quickly run out of excitement for the task and would still be sewing garments come next winter.

  * * *

  The light had faded before she realised the morning that had given way to afternoon was now turning to night. She’d spent the entire day measuring, cutting, piecing, pinning and sewing.

  Pushing away from the table and up from the chair, she stretched before leaving the sewing chamber to head to the Great Hall and help set up the evening meal.

  She stopped in the corridor outside the door to speak to Conal. ‘I never said thank you.’

  He slowly brought his lumbering frame up from the floor and shook his head, sending the wildly curled mass of red hair flying. ‘For what?’

  ‘For helping with this.’ She waved towards the door. ‘And for seeing to my safety. I do appreciate it.’

  ‘You’re Richard’s wife, of course I would see to your safety.’

  ‘Even so, I still thank you. It’s almost time to eat, so I’ll see you below.’

  She nearly skipped down the stairs. For the first time in what seemed ages, she felt...happy.

  ‘Lady Isabella?’

  Surprised to see Father Paul in the keep, she paused at the bottom of the stairs. He hadn’t shown his face here since the Christmas feast, so she found it odd. ‘Father Paul, can I help you with something? Would you care to join us for the meal?’

  ‘No, no. I just wanted to ask you if you had a chance to look over your marriage contract?’

  ‘Oh, yes I have.’ He’d probably been as shocked by it as she had. ‘And I assure you, it will be changing soon.’

  ‘I assumed that would be the case. But there were a few things I wanted to go over with you, it won’t take but a minute.’

  She waved towards the high table where the chairs were already in place. ‘Certainly, why don’t we have a seat?’

  He looked around and then wrinkled his brow. ‘I would prefer somewhere more private. It is a lovely night. Can we not just step outside away from this throng of curious ears?’

  Isabella glanced over her shoulder and didn’t see Conal behind her. Richard ha
d told her to trust no one other than Conal and Matthew. He hadn’t mentioned Father Paul in that short list, so she wasn’t certain leaving the keep with him was a wise idea.

  ‘I’m not sure.’ She motioned behind her. ‘I’m not supposed to leave without Sir Conal and I don’t know how Richard would feel about this.’

  ‘I completely understand. But I am certain your guard only stopped to use the privy. Fear not, Lady Isabella. I can put you at ease.’ Father Paul called over one of Dunstan’s men. ‘My good sir. When he comes down, could you tell Sir Conal that I have taken Lady Dunstan just outside into the bailey for a word. We’ll be right outside the doors.’ He turned back to her. ‘Will that ease your worries?’

  Something prompted her to say no. But he looked so sincere and with one of Dunstan’s men standing by to let Conal know where she was, what would be the harm? Isabella motioned towards the double doors. ‘Lead the way.’

  She followed him outside, glad that he’d been correct about the mildness of the weather. While there was a slight nip in the air, it wasn’t frigid. And while the breeze in the bailey might make it feel colder, here in one of Dunstan’s countless small courtyards, they were protected from the ocean wind.

  Father Paul didn’t slow his stride. Instead of stopping just outside the door as he’d suggested, he kept walking.

  ‘Father Paul, isn’t this private enough?’

  He stopped and came back to her side. With a pointed nod, he tipped his head towards a small gathering of women. ‘I wish them not to overhear business meant for the Lady of Dunstan.’

  She rolled her eyes. Now he was worried about how things looked or sounded? ‘Fine, let us go.’

  She glanced back at the women to see if they’d taken offence at the priest’s words and spotted Matthew standing off to the side. He held a finger to his lips, silently telling her not to alert anyone to his presence.

  Isabella stumbled, but quickly regained her footing. Dear Lord, not the priest. Father Paul was the man seeking to kill her? A man of God? No. It couldn’t be.

  ‘Are you coming?’ He’d paused in front of the postern gate. The portcullis was raised.

  ‘Yes. Yes. I stumbled over my feet, a clumsy habit I have.’