My Heart Belongs to You (Medieval Romance Trilogy Book 3)

by Bale, Leigh

  Thomas spoke in a thoughtful tone. “The king’s emissary was here looking for Lady Ysabelle four days ago. We explained that she’d gone to her uncle’s home, to mourn her father’s passing. Since you’ve brought her home, I take it you will be our new lord.”

  “Yes, I will be Lady Ysabelle’s husband, just as her father agreed.”

  Thomas smiled. “I know that is what Lord Maston wanted. Aye, we will support you, my lord.”

  Praise the heavens! Elation spiraled through Nicholas.

  Thomas clasped Nicholas’s hand, his ruddy face crinkled with a broad grin of approval.

  Within the next few minutes, Nicholas announced to the castle guards who he was and that there would be a wedding feast soon. Nicholas was conscious of Alex returning to stand beside him, withdrawing his gauntlets. A murmur of delight ruffled through the crowd and Nicholas was grateful Maston had prepared his people beforehand to accept him as their new lord. If only Ysabelle were so easily persuaded.

  With little fanfare, Nicholas gave instructions that cattle, sheep, and supplies were to be brought inside the keep. The people set to work without question, their horses and wagons rattling out of the gatehouse as they went to spread the word and collect provisions.

  “The English might besiege us before your marriage,” Alex told Nicholas when they were alone.

  “The ceremony will be done quickly.”

  “I can promise the strength of my men to help you fight the English,” Alex interjected. “If my father will lend his aid, we might call in allies of other Scottish clans. King William will soon learn not to meddle along the border where he isn’t wanted.”

  Alex’s offer touched Nicholas deeply and he couldn’t contain a look of amazement.

  “Don’t be surprised, Nick. You’ve always been there to fight for me in numerous battles. I willna abandon you now. I’ve already sent a runner to Dalhousie to request my father send our men to your aid. No doubt he’ll come posthaste.”

  Doubtful. Archibald Ramsay hated Nicholas, and he couldn’t keep from saying so. “Your father won’t be pleased to aid my cause.”

  Alex shrugged. “It would help his own cause and mine also. Our king will reward my father well if he succeeds in helping add Sutcliffe to the long list of Scotland’s lands.”

  Warmth suffused Nicholas when he thought of his new home. “I will see that Sutcliffe prospers. I will lay down my life defending these lands and also Lady Ysabelle. I will take her to wife this verra day.”

  Alex clasped his arm. “Yes, brother. You’re finally home.”

  Home!

  A thick knot of emotion clogged Nicholas’s throat. Stillness settled over him, like a summer morning when the air smelled of freshly cut hay and baking bread. This was what he had always wanted. A place of belonging and people who needed him. With God’s grace, he’d now have a wife and children of his own.

  Always before, the emptiness had haunted him. Until now. Now, he had found his place and would never leave.

  Except in death.

  *

  Ysabelle raced through the main hall and up the spiral stairs to her bedchamber. She didn’t pause even to take a breath until safely inside, the solid door closed against intrusion. Breathless and shaking, she leaned her head against the stone wall, ignoring the abrasive texture against her skin. She wrapped her arms about her as a hoarse croak shuddered from her throat.

  A prisoner in her own home! Now the Scots Ram was inside Sutcliffe, he would be almost impossible to dislodge. It was her own fault for allowing him entrance. Maybe she’d made an error. But what choice did she have?

  She could only guess how much time she had before he forced her to the altar. He’d made it clear they would wed this evening. And if she refused, she wondered what new threats he might use against her. How could she stand against him if her people welcomed him? Once King William’s army arrived, Ysabelle doubted they would support the Ram’s cause, unless she married him. If her people refused to fight for his cause, Nicholas would be taken and killed.

  The thought brought a sinking of despair to her heart. She didn’t want anyone’s death.

  Pushing away from the wall, she decided not to wait for Ada to attend her. Though her body thrummed with exhaustion and she longed for a bath, she tossed a simple gown of black linen across the bed. Tearing the cloak and ruined nightdress from her body, she dipped her hands into a bowl of tepid water and washed vigorously. After drying herself, she pulled the gown over her head. The dark color suited her mood.

  Kneeling down, she started a fire in the brazier and set a small cauldron of water over the flames to heat for tea. Sprinkling chamomile leaves into the boiling water, she left it to steep and sat before the looking glass. She undid the scraggly braid and brushed her hair, trying to soothe her disheveled nerves. Her reflection looked no different. Yet, inside, she seethed with turmoil. Sir Malcolm had all but stolen her innocence. If she let him, Nicholas Ramsay would complete the conquering.

  Ada rapped on the door and peeked inside. Ysabelle almost sent her away but knew the woman was concerned about her. Instead, she waved for the woman to attend her.

  Wringing her hands, Ada grimaced. “Why did you let them inside the castle, child? What were you thinking?”

  Ysabelle had no answer. She’d asked herself the same thing numerous times in the past few minutes.

  “The Ram will destroy you, just as your mother was destroyed,” Ada said.

  Ysabelle crinkled her brow with confusion and hurt. “My mother died giving me birth. It was I that destroyed her.”

  Blinking tears from her eyes, Ada’s face turned white as flax. “No, dear one. You know she was attacked by rogue knights on her journey here to wed your father. I was with her when it happened.”

  “Yes, and my father rescued her. It was quite romantic.” Ysabelle had heard her father speak of it often as he told of his love for Lady Alys and their joy when Ysabelle was born.

  Ada shook her head. “Alys never recovered from the ordeal. She was too delicate, too fragile. Just like you.”

  “Perhaps she would have lived if not for me. Many women die in childbirth.” Ysabelle shivered, regretting that her birth had cost her mother’s life.

  Ada shook her head, her gaze glancing off the door in agitation. “I don’t want you hurt, my dear. I am distraught to have these Scotsmen occupying Sutcliffe. Nicholas Ramsay will use you for his own gain. You mustn’t wed him. You mustn’t conceive a child. It would kill you, just like Alys.”

  To hear her own fears verbalized made Ysabelle flinch. “I won’t be used by any man.”

  “But you let him inside the castle.” Ada moaned to herself, as if she could hardly stand what Ysabelle had done.

  “I don’t believe he will kill us, Ada. Rest your fears.”

  “Oh, child. If only you knew.”

  Ysabelle frowned. “Knew what? I have never seen you like this before. Ada, what distresses you?”

  Ada’s shoulders slumped with defeat. She heaved a weary sigh and nodded her graying head. “It’s time you knew the truth. I know of no other way to protect you from the dangers you now face.”

  Ysabelle tilted her head to one side. “I don’t understand. You keep talking in riddles. Please, tell me what is troubling you.”

  Ada lifted her gaze to the timbered ceiling and she took a deep, settling breath. The air smelled of pungent herbs and wood smoke. “Your mother was so happy when she was betrothed to Lord Maston. Truly, it was a love match. I accompanied her on her journey to Sutcliffe, but we were set upon by rogue knights.”

  “I know this already.” Ysabelle fought to contain her irritation.

  “Alys was at death’s door when Lord Maston found us. Both of us had been badly beaten and abused.” Ada’s voice cracked.

  Ysabelle’s thoughts whirled and a dark premonition nipped at the back of her mind. She tensed, her hands clenched. “Father rescued my mother. That’s what he told me. He saved her after thieves killed her guards an
d stole your horses.”

  Ada’s eyes closed and tears hovered beneath her lashes. Her hands trembled. “He was too late, child. The damage had been done.”

  A lump rose in Ysabelle’s throat and she tried to swallow. “What damage?”

  “The wedding was postponed until Alys could heal from her wounds. She wasn’t as strong as me. Lord Maston waited two months. By that time, Alys found herself expecting a child. Of course, there was no way of knowing who the father was.”

  Ysabelle froze. Her mouth went dry and she reached to clasp Ada’s hands tightly in her own. A sickening, heavy weight settled in her chest. “Ada, what are you saying?”

  The woman met Ysabelle’s gaze. “My dear one, I don’t want to cause you more pain, but it’s time you knew the truth. So you can protect yourself against these heathen men who would use you for their own ends.”

  Ysabelle swallowed, preparing herself as best as she could. She knew what was coming, but didn’t want to hear the words.

  “Alys was terrified of what would happen once Lord Maston found out she carried someone else’s babe.” Ada showed a wistful smile. “Alys thought he would send her away and she’d be forced to raise her bastard child in shame.”

  No, it couldn’t be true. Ysabelle released Ada’s hands and stepped back. Pressing her fingers to her trembling lips, she felt the blood drain from her face.

  Her mind felt fogged and dizzy, her stomach churning. She clasped her hands over her ears. “Stop! I don’t want to hear any more.”

  Ada ignored her plea. “I encouraged Alys to wed Lord Maston quickly and claim the child was his, but your mother refused to lie. Though Lord Maston was a fierce man, he was always gentle with Alys and he loved her.”

  “Father was like that.” Ysabelle’s voice faltered as she lowered her arms. Her hands trembled.

  Nodding her head, Ada reached up and gave Ysabelle’s shoulder a gentle squeeze. “At your mother’s request, I went to Lord Maston and told him the truth. I must admit I was surprised when he sought out Lady Alys and begged her forgiveness. He blamed himself for failing to protect her. To make amends for his neglect, he swore to claim her child as his own. He wed Alys the next day. For a few months, they were so happy. But she never fully recovered. She was so fragile. The birth was difficult and she died giving you life.”

  Ysabelle blinked in amazement. Tears rolled down her cheeks. She couldn’t speak. Could barely breathe.

  “Lord Maston did as he’d promised. He took the babe and made her his own,” Ada said. “He loved the child more than I thought possible. Indulging her every whim. Seeking her out whenever possible. She flourished beneath his care and loved him in return. Truly they were father and daughter in every way, except by blood.”

  Closing her eyes, Ysabelle tried to take a breath. She coughed, fighting off a terrible pain that crushed her lungs. “It was me. I was that child”

  A long silence followed. “Yes.”

  Ysabelle flinched, as if Ada had struck her. After all she’d lost, to be told that the father she loved so dearly wasn’t really her father was almost more than Ysabelle could stand. It sliced her heart to shreds. For long, pounding moments, she didn’t move. She closed her eyes as pain washed over her like waves beating against a rocky cliff.

  Brushing the tears away, Ysabelle looked at the woman. “Why haven’t you told me this before now? Why didn’t Father tell me?”

  Her mind screamed in anguish.

  “He saw no purpose in it, child. I promised him I would keep his secret. But now, you must know the truth so you can fight against the Scots Ram. Oh, dear one, don’t let this man leave a bastard in your belly like they did to your dear mother. Fight Nicholas Ramsay, or he’ll destroy you.”

  Nicholas Ramsay. Ysabelle felt uncertain of him. He was ambitious, that was certain. She feared he might destroy them all to achieve his own goals.

  “Lord Maston was not my father.” She whispered the words with incredulity. Testing them on her tongue. Tasting the bitter disbelief.

  She felt cold inside. Hollow.

  “Oh, no, my darling.” Ada gripped Ysabelle’s hands. “He was your father, except by blood. But he loved you truly. Never forget that. He claimed you as his own and none would dispute his word. Except for Father Edward, no one but me ever knew the truth. And we will go to our graves denying you sprang from any loins but Lord Maston’s.”

  “Father Edward knows?”

  Betrayal was all around. She couldn’t fathom why the kindly priest had not told her. Ah, it was too cruel.

  “Yes, the priest knows. Lord Maston confessed his sins, including his guilt over not being able to protect Lady Alys.”

  Ysabelle stared at the stone wall. The people she’d trusted most in life had all betrayed her. And now, she didn’t know who she was or where she belonged.

  Her real father was a heathen. A cruel monster that had brutalized her mother.

  What did it matter now? She was the same person inside. Never could she consider any man but Maston of Sutcliffe as her father. All her life, she’d trusted and loved him with an adoration few understood. Now, to discover he wasn’t her real father was more than devastating. Had he truly loved her or merely suffered her presence out of guilt?

  She would never know for certain.

  And what about Sutcliffe? Now that Lord Maston was dead, Ysabelle was a wealthy heiress. And yet, she couldn’t help wondering if this was truly her home, and if she had a right to be here.

  What if her king knew the truth? What would be the fate of Sutcliffe?

  Oh, she could never, ever let King William find out the truth. He would take Sutcliffe and destroy her people. Right now, they had a chance. At least Nicholas Ramsay had no desire to harm her people.

  Or did he?

  She no longer knew what to believe.

  “Leave me.” Ysabelle’s spine stiffened as she sat on the bed, her eyes dry, her heart numb.

  “Please don’t be sad by what I’ve told you. Nothing has changed. You are your father’s legal heir. I told you the truth to help protect you, not hurt you.” Ada’s eyes crinkled with doubt.

  Ysabelle could not think with the woman clucking over her like a plucked hen. She needed to clear her thoughts. No matter what, she must protect Sutcliffe. Knowing she was a bastard didn’t change her duty to her people. She owed that much to her father’s memory. “I’m fine. Go, now. I wish to be alone.”

  With furrowed brow, Ada left her quietly. Ysabelle wished she could cry. But she felt nothing inside. Cold and empty.

  If she fell to pieces now, there’d be no one to stand and protect Sutcliffe from the tragedy that approached. She certainly had no faith in Nicholas Ramsay.

  “Oh!” She stood and paced the room. Men caused more problems than they fixed, and she wondered what to do.

  An hour later, Ysabelle determined she must seek someone else’s advice. Opening the door to her chamber, she peeked out into the dark corridor. Assured that no one stood on the landing, she climbed the stairs leading to the chapel. Father Edward would tell her the truth.

  Inside the chapel, the tall golden candelabrums sat on the altar. The flickering flames cast welcoming shadows across the stone walls, illuminating a small but cozy haven from her cares of the world. Having visited the chapel often, Ysabelle felt no fear here, only peace.

  Father Edward sat at a worktable in one corner. Relief engulfed her. She so needed a friend right now.

  His bony finger traced over a page of the large worn Bible. The furrows in his face seemed a little deeper, the sparse hair on his head a little grayer than when she’d traveled to her Uncle Ewen’s only a fortnight earlier.

  Memories of her childhood rushed through her mind. When her father had been away, Father Edward had sheltered her each time Ada had scolded her for not acting more like a lady. The priest’s calm reassurance and logic had always brought her serenity. But now, she wondered if he’d bring her peace, or more anguish.

  He looked up and saw he
r there. His face split into a welcoming smile and he rose to meet her with the youthful vigor of a younger man.

  “Lady Ysabelle, I have been waiting for you.” He held out a wrinkled hand.

  Clasping his fingers with her own, she knelt before him, her head bowed low. Tears of relief clogged her throat but she refused to let them fall. “Father Edward, I thought I would never see you again. How happy I am to be home.”

  “I’m glad you’ve returned. I’ve been worried ever since the king’s men came here looking for you. I offered many prayers on your behalf. But you have brought others home with you. Tell me, what do you plan to do?”

  He drew her to her feet and led her over to the wooden chairs beside the worktable. Sitting with her, he peered at her face. It was difficult to meet his eyes. She wasn’t sure where to begin.

  Having served at Sutcliffe since before Ysabelle’s birth, Father Edward had baptized her and heard her first communion. He’d also heard her first confession after she absconded with several loaves of sweet bread from the kitchen. Later on, she’d disobeyed her father and stolen outside the castle to ride alone across the rugged hills.

  The priest had never laughed when she confessed to wrestling with the stable boy because the lad insisted he could beat her. Father Edward had reminded her of her role as lady of the castle. Then, on parting ways, he’d winked and kindly suggested a better strategy if she ever found herself in a similar predicament.

  Now, she poured out the past events of her marriage to Sir Malcolm, and how Nicholas Ramsay’s brother had made her a new widow before they’d abducted her. Lastly, she told him what Ada had said about her parentage. The priest’s mouth tightened with disapproval but he waited for her to finish.

  “Is it true? Am I a bastard?” she asked in a thin voice.

  “No.” He shook his head vehemently. “You are Lord Maston’s daughter and lady of this keep. That is the only truth you need to know.”

  His response left more doubt in her mind. “Then, he is my sire?”

  “Lord Maston loved your mother deeply. After her death, he never wed another, even when the king demanded it. Your father’s refusal almost led him to war. You were Lord Maston’s shining star and brought him so much joy. You are the true Lady of Sutcliffe. That is all that matters.”