My Heart Belongs to You (Medieval Romance Trilogy Book 3)
Page 6
“It’s a bastard’s lot in life, to make the best of a situation thrust upon you.”
“If it’s of your choosing, then I pity you.”
His brows quirked. “Who would choose to be born a bastard? It’s not a title I would foist on anyone, least of all my own child.”
She shook her head and turned to face forward again. “I pity you if you’ve chosen to live alone, wandering the earth with a band of mercenaries, making war on the helpless.”
His low voice raised the hair on her nape. “I seek no pity from you, lady. Never have I made war on the helpless, I assure you. But I am a warrior, and it’s true I have wandered the earth and seen much evil and death. Now, I choose to take a wife and settle my charger into a cozy barn where he’ll grow fat from inactivity. No longer do I seek to ride out into battle, but neither will I run from a fight.”
His words pierced her heart. “Your actions have brought war to my doorstep.”
“I regret that, though I was compelled in my actions. I don’t wish to bring your people any bloodshed, but neither will I give up what is rightfully mine.”
She clenched her teeth, determined not to soften her will toward him. She must not forfeit Sutcliffe’s safety for her own desires. “But you seem to enjoy war.”
At first, he didn’t respond. Looking down, she saw his gauntleted hands tighten upon the reins in front of her. “Did my meddlesome brother tell you that?”
“No. My father spoke of your prowess with a sword and spear. He said you’re relentless in killing, even when your enemy has surrendered.”
She remembered her father’s pleased tone and gleaming eyes when he’d related the Scots Ram’s accomplishments. Her father had spoken as if he were solely responsible for Nicholas Ramsay’s prowess in battle. Even then, Ysabelle had wondered why her father admired Nicholas Ramsay so much.
Nicholas scoffed. “Don’t believe everything you hear.”
“My father was the only man I ever trusted. He would never lie to me about you or anything else, for that matter,” she said.
She felt Nicholas shift in the saddle, his chest rubbing against her shoulder blades. “Is that so? You believe Maston would tell you the truth in all things?”
She got the impression he was silently laughing at her, and she didn’t like that he questioned her father’s honor.
“Of course. Father and I were very close. He would never lie to me.”
Nicholas leaned his head down and rested his chin on her shoulder, pressing his cheek against hers. The bristle of his beard rasped against her skin as the timbre of his deep voice blended with his Scottish burr. “You are right. Maston could not lie about something he knew nothing about. I don’t deny I have fought in many wars, but I have never killed for pleasure. Now, I seek a home and family.”
His words pulled at her heartstrings. Such a declaration amazed her, but she wasn’t sure she believed him. “With me?”
“Yes, with you.”
Ysabelle felt a tightening in her chest. She’d walked into this verbal ambush, finding herself lost in his words. She didn’t know how to be angry with him when he confided such things. But somehow, she wanted more from the man she wed.
She jerked her face away and sat forward, trying to put some distance between them. “I won’t sacrifice my people’s wellbeing to satisfy your greed.”
The destrier waved its massive head and the jingling of harness chimed around them. Nicholas didn’t answer, but he tensed and she felt his anger. Tapping his heels against his horse’s flanks, he urged the steed forward.
“What do you plan to do?” she asked as their party halted beyond the palisade gates of the town.
His dark head lowered and his breath whispered past her ear. Shivers rose along her spine.
“We will be wed and Sutcliffe will be our home, just as Maston promised,” he said. “You will give me heirs and we will raise our children within these walls. I will defend this legacy to the death.”
Ah, just as she’d thought. He would use her, as Malcolm and her king had planned to do. “Do you think only of riches?”
“No, I think of honor, duty, and loyalty. I think of planting and harvesting fields. I think of home and family, none of which I’ve ever had, until now.”
His candor startled her. A pang of sympathy filled her. How lonely he must be. Never fully accepted. Never able to call any place home. Deprived of any birthright.
Though he’d been quite gentle with her, memories of his brutal behavior filled her mind. “Don’t speak to me of honor and loyalty. You’ve spent most of your life earning coin for killing others when there were many professions you could have chosen instead.”
He looked sideways at her. The breeze lifted his long hair, feathering it across his gruff cheeks. “The men I killed were not innocent, but warriors armed and dressed in full battle gear. Never have I harmed a woman or child.”
She wanted to believe him. She truly did. It would make his abduction easier to bear.
Opening her mouth, she sought to ask him more questions but he kicked his horse and they rode forward until they faced the castle. It was a formidable site sitting along the River Tweed. A great fosse had been dug around the keep, filled with sparkling water that rippled with the wind. Only the gatehouse was exposed to possible attack and even that could not be breached without the drawbridge being lowered. Six towers linked the crenellated battlements. Except for the forest blocking the view to the south, the lookouts could see everything from miles around.
Lord Maston had planned well and reinforced the castle as the years had passed. The fertile lands surrounding the keep provided their people with rich crops and flocks to feed them through the cold winters.
They skirted the river, approaching the gatehouse. When they could go no farther, Ysabelle waited, wondering what Nicholas would do.
“Open!” At the sudden roar of his voice, the stallion jerked against its tethers. Ysabelle flinched, her fingers tightening on his arms.
Muted grumbling came from high atop the battlements. Thomas, the captain of the guard, looked down at them. The familiar sight of his weathered face and tawny hair brought Ysabelle cheer. She needed an ally.
“Who are you and what do you want?” Thomas yelled.
“Lower the drawbridge, mon,” Nicholas ordered. “The Lady Ysabelle has returned and seeks entrance.”
Thomas peered at them, his eyes rounding with amazement when he recognized Ysabelle. More guards joined him on the battlements, clutching crossbows and spears.
“You have no right to speak for me,” she bit out the words in an angry whisper. “Nor do you have a right to enter Sutcliffe uninvited.”
Looking askance at him, she saw Nicholas’s face harden. When he spoke, his hot breath grazed against her ear. “Then, invite me, Ysabelle. Why would you refuse your betrothed?”
Hah! Her betrothed.
“My lady?” Thomas called. “What is your will?”
Nicholas pulled on his metal helm as he clutched the hilt of his sword. A wedge of dread weighted her chest when she thought of him attacking her home. She could make out his piercing eyes and grim mouth beneath the gray helm. The cruel Scots Ram had returned. “How can you expect me to believe you don’t cherish battle when even now you plan to force your way inside Sutcliffe?”
“I fight only to keep what is mine.”
She clasped her hands together to keep them from shaking. “You are audacious and arrogant.”
“Yes, my lady, and I’m also cold and hungry. I’m weary of sitting here, so make a decision.”
She’d never been so angry in all her life, but she had no other choice. Her father had chosen this man for her and she’d agreed. Right now, she wanted nothing more than to crawl into her own bed and sleep. Then, she’d like a hot meal in her father’s clean hall. She would council with Father Edward, the castle priest, and enjoy a hot bath, a cup of wine, and sit beside the fire to warm her toes and think of what she must do.
I
f Nicholas gained entrance to Sutcliffe, it would be impossible to dislodge him.
Anger boiled within her and her voice trembled with fury. “I am sick of unruly men trying to force me to do their bidding. You all need to be taught some manners.”
“I am eager to learn much from you, my lady,” he said.
She would love to teach him the feel of her fist against his jaw, but common sense prevailed. How she wished she had the strength of a man.
Looking at the vast company of warriors Nicholas had brought with, she saw Alex sitting rigidly on his horse. Gone was his carefree smile, his blue eyes hard and narrowed. Her father’s guards were also fierce men hardened to battle, but guilt nibbled at her mind. This was her betrothed. By her father’s word, Nicholas had a right to be here.
They all waited upon her. What she decided now would impact each of their lives. The weight of responsibility was like a boulder pressing on her heart. She didn’t want to cause their doom.
The horse beneath her shifted and pawed the ground. Ysabelle’s gaze skittered across the gray stone of the battlements. Starlings winged overhead, their happy chatter filling the air.
How she envied them their freedom.
“And if I refuse to let you inside Sutcliffe?” she said.
He shrugged behind her. “You will still be my wife before the sun sets, and I will be forced to besiege my own castle. I don’t wish to kill any of our people.”
“Our people?” She gave a short laugh.
“Yes, our people.”
His words tore at her. “Lord Marshal’s army must be only a short ways behind us. You’ll find it difficult to besiege Sutcliffe with King William’s men to fight outside the walls.”
“I will do what I must,” he said.
Though she was filled with doubt, his confidence inspired trust. She’d always longed to wed a man who would protect her home at all costs. It appeared Nicholas was just such a man and she could understand a part of why her father had chosen him to rule Sutcliffe.
“Even if it means your death?” she asked.
“Is that what you wish?”
She sighed with impatience. “Of course not, but neither do I like my choices. I see no way for my people to win.”
In the stillness that followed, the Ram patted her hands, his gauntlets scraping against her skin. An awkward gesture, as if he didn’t quite know how to soothe her. No doubt he wasn’t used to consoling a distraught woman. Yet, he tried, and that alone softened her heart.
“I know you’ve been through much since Maston died.” He whispered for her ears alone, the words seeming difficult for him to speak. “I regret you had to see Sir Malcolm cut down, but rest assured I’ll not let your king destroy us.”
And how could he stop it? His army wouldn’t be strong enough if her king laid siege to Sutcliffe and starved them out. But what choice did she have? None! Not really. Not unless she wished to defy her father as well as her king.
She sighed deeply. They couldn’t sit here all day. Her father would have invited the Ram in with open arms. Even in death, she hated to deny her father anything.
“Lower the drawbridge and raise the portcullis, Thomas,” she called to the guard.
“A wise choice, my lady.” Nicholas’s warm breath brushed her ear.
“Don’t think this gives you other rights,” she said. “I simply need time to decide what to do.”
His noncommittal grunt preceded the grating of the portcullis as it lifted. Minutes passed and her pulse pounded along with the grinding of chains. Nicholas clicked his spurs against his mount and they moved forward, their horses clattering over the drawbridge as they rode into the bailey.
Thomas and the castle guards awaited them. When they came to a halt, Ysabelle didn’t hesitate before she bolted from Samson’s back. She wanted nothing more than to reach the safety of her room, but the edge of her cloak remained snug beneath Nicholas’s muscular thigh. Caught short, she rolled onto the ground and scurried to pull her torn gown close around her.
A burst of lewd laughter filled the air as the Scotsmen watched her with glittering eyes. Ysabelle’s guards scowled with outrage. Nicholas stepped down from his horse with his cloak in hand.
“Secure the keep,” he growled and the Scotsmen scurried to do his bidding.
In short movements, Nicholas lifted Ysabelle to her feet and pulled the cloak over her shoulders, covering her. A territorial movement, as though he were protecting his property.
“Are you injured?” he asked.
Ysabelle stared into his frosty eyes. Anger boiled beneath his calm exterior. He obviously didn’t like his men looking at her.
“You’re not as cruel as they say you are.” She spoke with some amazement.
A heavy glower crinkled his brow, but he didn’t respond.
“Why do you scowl so much?” she asked.
His eyes narrowed.
“Doesn’t it hurt your face?” she pressed.
He laughed. “Foolish woman.”
He brushed tangles of her long hair back from her cheeks and she jerked away. His touch wasn’t something she could allow. Already, she felt the attraction between them like heat from a smith’s forge. She must fight it. He was wild and unpredictable, a dangerous man.
Conscious of his dark eyes locking with hers, she felt swallowed by their intensity. His head lowered to hers and her gaze was drawn to his sculpted mouth so close to her own. He smelled of leather and horses, completely male and desirable. It was several moments before he stepped away.
“The English will be here soon,” he said. “We cannot wait much longer before we wed. It will be my greatest bargaining tool to use in peace talks with your king.”
She shook her head. “Are you daft? King William will settle for peace only when you are dead.”
“He can try to kill me, but he won’t succeed.”
She shuddered, his words tearing at her soul. So arrogant. So confident. Though she found him more physically desirable than Sir Malcolm, she didn’t want to be forced into marriage ever again.
When she pulled away from him, he let her go, and she was conscious of him watching as she fled inside the hall.
Chapter Five
Nicholas stood within the bailey of Sutcliffe Castle and stared after Lady Ysabelle. The breeze blew dust around him, but he didn’t move as she scurried up the stone steps leading to the great hall. He briefly considered following her, but resisted the urge. Perhaps it would be best to give her time to adjust to all that had occurred while he planned his strategy against the English.
For most of the night, he’d ridden with the scent of her fragrant hair surrounding him. As she dozed in his arms, he’d felt the brush of her soft curls against his face, her body small and delicate in his arms. It had been no trouble to hold her secure. Slight of build, she was fragile and lovely. It would take little effort to hurt her. For this reason, he was even gentler with her. Never would he harm her the way his step father had hurt his mother.
He shook his head, thinking himself a fool. He mustn’t become enamored by this woman. No illusions disturbed him. Loving Ysabelle when she didn’t want him would only bring him pain.
Still, he enjoyed the fact that his betrothed was remarkably beautiful. Maston had spoken of her loveliness and also her caring nature. So far, Nicholas had seen ample proof of her stunning looks. But mild mannered?
Perhaps when she slept.
He resisted the urge to smile. He had long ago learned not to show pleasure or to disclose his inner thoughts. Emotion was a weakness that could cost him his life.
Pausing on the steps, she turned to look back at him, her eyes wide, her smooth cheeks flushed with color. Her long braid whipped about her and he longed to undo it and blanket himself in her curls, to press his face against her and inhale her woman’s scent. He stared at her. A vision of loveliness with her bare feet, slim ankles, and porcelain face.
Turning, she entered the hall, leaving him feeling suddenly bereft.
Nicholas didn’t look at his brother. “It would have done some good if you had retrieved her something to wear besides the cloak.”
“What more did she need?”
“A gown and some shoes would have been wise.”
Alex grinned, his brows curved in mock insult. “Be grateful I gave her the cloak and no shoes. Otherwise, you might yet be chasing her across the moors.”
Nicholas grunted. “No doubt you were thinking with your crotch.”
Shrugging, Alex looked unperturbed. “I think as other men do, including you. You’re lucky to be blessed with a stunning bride.”
Nicholas patted his stallion’s shiny neck. “It would have been lucky for me had I been blessed with a brother who doesn’t talk so much.”
He led his horse to the watering trough, wanting to be alone. Alex followed, and a bristle of irritation swept Nicholas’s spine. He waited as his horse drank in slow gulps. Samson lifted his head and trickles of water drizzled from the destrier’s muzzle.
Alex chuckled. “Once the priest speaks the vows, I wager Lady Ysabelle will give birth exactly nine months from today.”
Nicholas hoped so. She was so small, he feared childbirth might kill her.
He frowned.
Thomas, the captain of the castle guard, removed his helm and approached. Nicholas was relieved when Alex stepped away with a soft chuckle.
“You are Nicholas Ramsay,” Thomas said. “I recognize you from when I accompanied Lord Maston to Dalhousie to arrange your betrothal to Lady Ysabelle.”
“I remember you also. How is your wife?”
A wary light flickered in Thomas’s eyes. “She has recovered from the ague that plagued her.”
“Good. Can I depend upon your support now?” Nicholas asked.
Though he held perfectly still, brutal energy pulsed in Nicholas’s veins. He feared Thomas might reject his claim to Ysabelle and Sutcliffe. It would be futile to fight the inhabitants of the castle. Nicholas wanted them to swear fealty to him and be his oath-men, not his enemies.