The Warrior's Winter Bride

by Denise Lynn

  ‘We are married.’

  He brushed wayward strands of hair from her face. ‘And you know as well as I that your family can see that corrected.’ He cupped her cheek. ‘One day, this will all be nothing more than a dream, a nightmare better left forgotten.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘No. I’ll hear no more.’ He released her and walked away, to pause at the door. ‘Go. Your father will dock soon.’

  She reached a hand towards him. ‘Richard, wait, I—’

  He had to stay to hear what she had to say. Instead, he walked through the door, out of the chamber and out of her life.

  Chapter Twenty

  ‘Lady Isabella, your parents wish a word.’

  Isabella turned away from the servant sent to summon her to yet another discussion with her parents. That’s all they’d done of late—discuss her future.

  She had no future, why couldn’t they understand that? She was married to a man who no longer wanted her. She was pregnant with no possibility of being granted a divorce. So, without Richard, there was simply no future.

  ‘Are you coming, my lady?’

  Isabella sighed. ‘Tell them I’ll be down in a few moments.’

  None of these discussions did anything to lift the pall that had surrounded her from the moment she’d left Dunstan just over a month ago.

  ‘Isabella!’

  She groaned as her mother’s shout sped up the stairwell. She took a deep breath and headed for the Great Hall. There was no choice—if she didn’t go down there right now, her parents would only come up here.

  One of the lookout-tower guards nodded as he walked past her on his way to the doors. Normally the lookout guards only came to the keep when something dangerous, like being under the threat of attack, was about to happen. Otherwise any needed information was shared via riders whose only task was to deliver any messages from, or to, the lookouts. She frowned and joined her parents at the table. ‘What was he doing here? Is something wrong?’

  ‘No.’ Her father waved off her questions. ‘Everything is fine. He was anxious because one of the riders became a little sidetracked this morning and didn’t show up at his post on time.’

  ‘Oh.’ She took a seat. ‘You wanted to see me?’

  ‘Yes.’ Her mother tapped a missive that was on the table before her. ‘We have heard from Matilda.’

  ‘And what does she say this time, Mother?’

  ‘It seems no divorce or annulment is required. That Father Paul was not a priest. He’d not yet been ordained and had no right to marry you in the first place.’

  Isabella wanted to laugh, but knew if she did that she’d only start crying—again. There was no humour in this situation, but it seemed to her that everything had fallen Richard’s way, even down to having a false priest marry them. She was certain he didn’t know that was the case, she didn’t believe him that devious.

  She looked at her father. ‘Then I suppose you can stop going over that marriage contract.’

  ‘You need to think of the child.’ He leaned his forearms on the table. ‘I agree with your aunt in this. We feel that your marriage was valid and she intends on taking possession of Dunstan for the child, of course.’

  ‘No.’ Isabella jumped up from her chair. ‘She can’t do that.’

  ‘She can do just about anything she wants. But why would you care?’

  ‘He would have nothing.’

  ‘Who would have nothing?’ her father asked.

  Her mother explained, ‘The child will be set for life, Isabella.’

  ‘Richard. Richard would have nothing.’

  ‘After what he did to you, taking you from your home, getting you with child and then sending you back to us a disgraced woman? Nothing is exactly what he deserves. He should be grateful if he escapes with his life.’ Her father’s voice deepened to a menacing tone.

  She defended Richard. ‘He most certainly did not get me with child alone and we thought we were married, so how am I disgraced?’

  Her father slapped his palm on the table. ‘You defend that pig to me?’

  ‘That pig, as you call him, is the father of my child.’

  ‘Yes, well, thankfully Matilda and your father are seeing that situation is changed as quickly as possible.’ Her mother sought to calm the tempers flaring at the table.

  Isabella gasped. No, they couldn’t be thinking to wed her to someone else. ‘I am not going to marry someone else.’

  ‘You are carrying a child, you need to think of his or her future. You most certainly will marry and the quicker the better.’

  ‘Father!’

  ‘Don’t you use that tone with me. No, you will listen, Isabella. I know what it is to be a bastard, but at least I was the king’s bastard. The child you carry doesn’t even have that benefit. How do you think it will be treated if there isn’t a strong man around to claim responsibility for it?’

  ‘And who do you think is going to believe I got married and delivered a legitimate child a few months later?’

  ‘It won’t matter. As long as the man is powerful and rich enough to stare down the naysayers, all will be fine, you know this.’ Her mother reached out and clasped her hand. ‘Isabella, what does this man hold over you? Why can you not get him out of your mind? He was evil, a thief who stole my daughter away in the night and nothing more.’

  ‘Mother...’ Isabella paused, trying desperately to not sob as she’d done so many endless nights since returning home. She swallowed. ‘Mother, he... I...’

  Knowing she was losing this battle with her emotions, she slid to the hard floor on her knees before her mother and buried her face in her mother’s lap. ‘Mama, I love him.’

  Her mother combed her fingers through her hair and gently eased her up from her lap. ‘Child, why did you say nothing before now?’

  ‘Because it wouldn’t have mattered. Nothing would change. You could marry me to a dozen different men and my heart would still belong to the knave who stole me away.’

  She heard her father’s chair scrape across the floor and his approaching footsteps as he came over and placed a hand on her head. ‘Is this man your choice?’

  ‘Yes. Yes, he is. But I’m not his choice.’

  Her father and mother exchanged a look she couldn’t decipher before he said, ‘I need to think about this a little while.’

  She bowed her head. ‘Father, there’s nothing you can do.’

  ‘That might very well be true. Time will tell.’

  One of her father’s men entered the hall and requested a moment with the Lord of Warehaven.

  She couldn’t hear their whispered conversation, but knew by the brief exchange that it couldn’t have been too important. Her father returned and once again shared an odd look with her mother before whispering something in her ear.

  Isabella narrowed her eyes. They were up to something. It was useless to ask, because she knew from experience they would only deny her charge.

  Her mother patted her shoulder. ‘Come, give your father some time to think about this and we will talk again later. Right now, you can join me in the kitchen. You’ve sat in your chamber sulking far too long. It is time you show me what you’ve learned about running a keep.’

  She rose and followed her mother while her father disappeared into his private chamber.

  Once they reached the kitchen, her mother studied the herbs hanging over the work table. ‘Isabella, run out to the herb shed and bring back some rosemary and perhaps another bunch of lavender.’

  Reaching up to touch the rosemary already present, Isabella asked, ‘What are you making that will require so much?’

  The cook leaned in to say, ‘I’ve a couple of new recipes I wish to try.’

  She shook her head and headed for the rear door, only to be
stopped by her mother. ‘Change your shoes. It is still damp out there and you will only ruin those slippers.’

  Isabella spun around to go back up to her chamber to exchange her soft slippers for a pair of sturdier boots.

  * * *

  Isabella tromped through the bailey. It felt good to get out of the keep even if it was just for a few minutes. The air, while still just a little chilly, was fresh and felt good against her cheeks.

  She nodded at one of her father’s guards, and continued to the small shed alongside the stables.

  She wished her sister was here. But Beatrice had been sent north to stay with Jared and Lea right after the kidnapping. Her parents had had no way of knowing if their younger daughter was also in danger, so she’d been banished to safety.

  If Beatrice were here, she’d have someone to talk to, someone who would understand how lonely and confused she felt.

  Isabella reached to open the door to the shed, only to have a large work-worn hand slapped firmly over her mouth.

  She opened her eyes wide in shock as she swallowed the scream she’d been so eager to let fly.

  ‘My, my, what have we here?’ the man standing behind her asked softly over her shoulder.

  He ignored her struggles to free herself, to ask, ‘Why, I wonder, would Warehaven’s whelp travel this far from the safety of the keep?’

  He leaned closer, his chest hard against her back, his breath hot across her ear. ‘Unescorted and unprotected.’

  The deepening timbre of his voice acted like a drug-laced wine, soothing her brittle nerves and setting her blood afire.

  She went lax in his hold and, as soon as his vice-like grip loosened, she turned around to rest her cheek against his chest, savouring the feel of his arms around her, the familiar scent of his body and the steady drum of his heartbeat.

  Then she shoved against his chest, freeing herself from him and from all the things she’d never thought to feel again, demanding to know, ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘There were some things left unsaid.’

  ‘No. I think you made yourself perfectly clear. I’d served my purpose and you had no use for me.’ She turned to leave, before she humiliated herself by bursting into tears. She didn’t want him to know how badly he’d hurt her.

  He grasped her wrist to prevent her escape and tugged her back around. ‘We are going to talk, Isabella.’

  ‘Are you kidnapping me again?’

  ‘I can’t very well kidnap my own wife.’

  ‘We aren’t married, Dunstan. Your priest wasn’t ordained.’ She leaned closer to peer into his eyes. Even though she knew better, she couldn’t resist vexing him. ‘But you probably knew that didn’t you?’

  ‘What are you accusing me of now?’

  ‘Wouldn’t that have been the perfect ploy? Make me think we were wed so I’d come to your bed easier and then, when all was said and done, cast me aside because after all we never were truly married.’

  ‘You have a mighty high opinion of us both, don’t you?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘For one thing, Isabella—’ his warm breath against her ear as he rolled her name off his tongue made her shiver ‘—I doubt I would have had to wed you to coax you to my bed. And if coaxing had failed, you would have been powerless to stop me from taking you any time I so desired.’

  Horrified by the truth behind that statement, she stomped her foot. ‘Why you...you...low-life scum.’

  ‘And in the second place, I may be low-life scum and a black-hearted knave, but I’m not devious enough to have planned everything quite that thoroughly.’

  She curled her upper lip. ‘That much is true. You probably don’t possess the—’

  He placed a finger over her lips. ‘Careful. You don’t want to say something you’ll regret now, do you?’

  Isabella shook her head.

  He extended his arm and, to her surprise, Matthew handed him a cloak.

  She nodded. ‘Sir Matthew, ’tis good to see you.’

  ‘You, too, Lady Isabella. How are you?’

  ‘I was fine until a few moments ago.’

  Richard cleared his throat. ‘If the two of you are done?’

  After Matthew stepped back into the shadows, Richard slung the cloak about her shoulders, pinned a brooch in place, then pulled up the hood and tucked her hair inside.

  ‘So, once again you think to disguise me enough to walk through the gates?’

  ‘No. You will walk through the gates, disguised or not. The cloak is to ensure you and the baby stay warm.’

  She grabbed his arm. ‘You know.’

  ‘Of course I know.’

  ‘Who told you?’

  ‘Conal.’

  Ah, Conal had most likely received the news from Marguerite, who’d received it from Hattie, proving the grapevine on Dunstan was alive and well.

  ‘It is yours.’

  He jerked back as if her words had threatened to bodily attack him. ‘Why would you say such a thing?’

  ‘I didn’t want you to think I’d slept with another man.’

  ‘Don’t be foolish, Isabella, it doesn’t suit you.’

  She hadn’t been trying to be foolish. She’d been thinking about Agnes and Lisette. It was important to her that he know this child was his. Did that not matter to him?

  Richard placed his palm against her cheek and it was all she could do not to lean into his touch. She’d missed him—she’d missed the warmth of his caress so very much.

  ‘Isabella, if I know nothing else about you, I know without a doubt that you are honourable and faithful. I’ve no fears that you would have taken another to your bed.’

  When he dropped his touch, she nearly cried at the loss tightening in her throat. He took her hand. ‘Come, we have a great many things to discuss.’

  He headed towards the gates, Matthew leading the way. Isabella noticed the decided lack of guards in the gate tower. ‘Does my father know you are here?’

  ‘Let’s see, this is an island. I sailed around the south-west corner yesterday. Depending on the speed and diligence of his outlooks, I’m fairly certain he knew within hours I had arrived. Obviously, he gave safe passage, because I docked at his wharf unimpeded. So, yes, Isabella, I imagine he does.’

  ‘So this was planned?’

  ‘No. I’ve not spoken to him yet.’

  A terrible thought tripped across her mind. ‘He did not send for you, did he?’

  Richard’s bark of laughter drew the attention of people passing by. ‘Send for me? Like one of his paid men? Not hardly, Isabella.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘What were you thinking? That your parents sent me a missive telling me what to do? You know better than that. I’m here of my own accord, have no fears on that score.’

  Actually, even though she’d never admit it to her parents, just knowing he came here on his own did make her feel better. Although, with the guard from the outlook tower visiting the keep personally, and the obvious lack of gate guards, added to the guard who’d spoken to her father and the looks her parents had exchanged, she wondered if they’d sent her out here on purpose. She wouldn’t put it past them. Especially not after she’d so openly declared her love for her husband.

  ‘They have been planning my future.’

  ‘Good for them. I hope you and your new husband will be very happy together.’

  Her feet dragged of their own accord. She stared at him. If he wasn’t here to apologise and take her home, why was he here?

  Her stomach churned until she had to ask, ‘Why are you here?’

  ‘To talk, Isabella. Did I not already say that?’

  ‘You sent me away, there is nothing left to discuss.’ To her horror she burst into tears. God’s teeth, she
was tired of these tears, these sudden bouts of sadness so overwhelming that she wanted nothing more than to fall to her knees and sob.

  He swung her up into his arms and lowered his lips to her ear. ‘There is much to discuss. Now, hush.’

  She fell silent and rested her cheek against his shoulder, for now content to do nothing more.

  Once they reached the wharf, Richard boarded his ship, docked at the furthest end and carried her to the privacy and protection beneath the covered aft castle. He lowered his arm to permit her feet to land on the deck. ‘Stay here.’

  She heard him order the men to disembark and telling Matthew to stand guard on the quay, then he returned.

  A sudden bout of shyness swept over her. She didn’t know what to say, had no clue what to expect. She studied the cabin. Tableware and food were set out on a linen-covered table near the bed. Two high-backed armchairs flanked the table, near dwarfing it in size. Light from the many-armed candle stand in the corner flickered across the table and bed.

  Richard pulled a pillow from the bed, placed it on the back of one of the chairs and held out his hand. ‘Come. Sit.’

  ‘I’m not hungry.’

  He didn’t argue. Instead he stepped closer to pick her up and deposit her in the chair before taking the seat across from her. ‘I am.’

  Calmly, as if he hadn’t a care in the world, he snagged an apple from the plate of fruit and idly began to slice it with his small eating knife. He then did the same with a pear, slicing, placing a piece on his plate, slicing again to place a piece on hers. All the while watching her, his expression placid, giving nothing of his thoughts away.

  But she knew by his smooth, unlined, unsmiling face that he was angry.

  Unable to bear the uncomfortable silence, Isabella asked, ‘Are you ever going to tell me exactly what you are angry about now?’ Not that he had any reason to be outraged about anything.

  He paused to angle the tip of the knife towards her stomach. ‘Why wasn’t I told you carried my child?’

  That’s what had him in this mood? ‘I tried.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘The day you threw me off Dunstan.’