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

by Bale, Leigh

  It was a restrained group, but the people chatted happily as they adjourned to the great hall to enjoy a subdued feast.

  “Have faith and don’t fear, my child. All will be well,” Father Edward promised kindly.

  Ysabelle showed a stiff smile, but said nothing.

  “Congratulations, sister. I know you’ll be good for my brother.” Alex grinned as he embraced her.

  “I’m more concerned with what is best for Sutcliffe,” she replied.

  He shrugged, her words having no impact on his wide smile. “I believe that’s also Nicholas’s concern. I believe you’ll both do what is right for your people. I wish you joy in your marriage and a long life.”

  “Thank you.” She spoke in a reserved tone, hoping his wish would come true.

  “I’d offer to escort you to the table, but I’m sure my brother will want that privilege for himself.”

  Turning, Alex faced Nicholas and reached out to clasp his brother’s hand. “You’re invincible, Nick. You’ve finally gained what should have been yours. It’s right that you find joy in this day.”

  Ysabelle tensed. “Have you considered the possibility that the king may petition the Pope for an annulment?”

  Nicholas leaned near so that only she could hear his words. “With no care that he offends and commits sacrilege, your king leaves Sees vacant and pockets Church rents. Once we have consummated our marriage and you grow big with my child, I doubt the Pope will grant an annulment.”

  A child? With all the chaos around her, she hadn’t considered that possibility. A wondrous feeling swept her as she thought of a little boy or girl with dark hair and brown eyes.

  Impossible. The vision was replaced by one of her, big with child, starving in the king’s dungeon. She could only guess what her king might do with her babe.

  “No doubt I’ll become a widow before I quicken with your child.”

  A slow smile curved his mouth, more startling because it was such a rarity with this man. It lit his entire face, changing his countenance from fierce warrior to charming groom. Ah, she longed to enjoy him and their wedding day. Yet, fear of the future kept her guarded.

  “I willna die, Ysabelle. Fear not.”

  He seemed so confident. Her hope warred with despair. Looking at him remotely, she picked up her skirts and walked away.

  Ysabelle groaned softly as she took her seat upon the high dais in the great hall. Nicholas was no bumbling lad. She had little doubt she would conceive his babe posthaste. If the king defeated them, she’d be cast from her home with no way to care for her child. Her uncle might not dare offer her a haven if the king exiled her or tossed her into his dungeon for killing an English soldier.

  Without waiting for Nicholas to join her, Ysabelle lifted her goblet with trembling hands and drained the heady wine in several swallows.

  *

  The wedding feast lasted into the wee hours of the morning. Ysabelle sat in her chair, exhausted from the ends of her hair down to her limp fingers. Eating little, she barely tasted the numbing wine she imbibed freely. Though there was plenty of food, she had wits enough to notice Nicholas rationed the meat, bread, wine and ale. With an impending siege, they were limited on their resources. Also, he wouldn’t allow his men to become drunk with the enemy camped just outside.

  The gathering was sparse, for Nicholas had stationed numerous guards upon the battlements, watching closely in case Lord Marshal decided to attack in the night. Nicholas’s men ate in shifts, delighted by the prospect of beating the English and establishing a home here at Sutcliffe.

  Nicholas seemed distracted, frequently glancing at the outer door. As the evening progressed, his men reported to him often and Ysabelle knew her husband remained by her side only in deference to their wedding and the consummation that would surely follow.

  “My lord, my lady.” Thomas, the captain of the guards, nodded respectfully as he approached the table. Dressed in a hauberk, he held his helmet beneath his left arm. Beads of perspiration dotted his high forehead, the ends of his tawny hair damp with sweat.

  “What news do you bring?” Nicholas asked, handing the man a cup of ale.

  Thomas sat in the chair Nicholas pointed at and removed one of his gauntlets before he drained the cup thirstily. “The English are building a catapult, my lord. I suspect they’ll have it completed by morning. The air smells of rain, so I don’t think they’ll make much progress should they decide to tunnel beneath our walls. It’ll be too damp and they’ll suffer cave-ins if they try.”

  Nicholas showed a grim smile. “Good. Warn the people that they must be careful if they walk outside. I don’t want them hit by flying rocks or balls of fire from the catapult.”

  “Yes, my lord.” Thomas came to his feet and gave Ysabelle a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry, my lady. They’ll be gone soon enough.”

  She returned his smile. “I’ll pray for their quick departure.”

  With a nod, the man swiveled on his heel and left the hall.

  Nicholas turned to consider Ysabelle. His brooding gaze rested on her for the longest time. Unable to read his expression, she looked away. She jerked when he leaned close against her side and whispered for her ears alone. “Perhaps you would care for another slice of roast duckling? It’s quite tender and verra tasty.”

  His smooth tone made her shiver. Ysabelle stared at the piece of untouched fowl and various other tempting morsels he’d previously placed upon her trencher. “No thank you.”

  His brows rose. “You aren’t hungry?”

  “No.”

  “I perceive you’re not happy, my lady. What can I do to make you smile?”

  Looking up at him, she realized he wasn’t jesting. His eyes crinkled with concern and he appeared quite earnest. He really wanted to see her smile. And for several moments, she actually wanted to accommodate him, just to make him happy. “I’m afraid this isn’t a day of rejoicing for me. It’s a day to prepare for battle, which I don’t want.”

  Nicholas nodded. “No doubt you’re afraid.”

  She didn’t like him knowing so much about her. “Actually, I’m annoyed.”

  His frown deepened, his eyes blazing. “Are you annoyed because you’re now married to me, or annoyed to have so many strange Scotsmen in your hall? Perhaps you’re annoyed that you’re not still wed to that rolling piglet, Sir Malcolm, hmm?”

  She stiffened and answered him in a politely cool tone. “I’m annoyed by the inconvenience you and King William have forced upon Sutcliffe.”

  He snorted and turned away. An hour later, her people swore fealty to the Scots Ram on bended knee. Tears quivered on Ysabelle’s lashes, falling unheeded to her chest. Nicholas had truly taken her father’s place as Lord of Sutcliffe. In spite of the danger they faced, she thought her father would have approved.

  When Thomas came to announce the English army had stationed men in the forest and on the other side of the river, Nicholas’s attention was momentarily drawn away from Ysabelle.

  “I wish you weren’t so troubled,” Alex told her.

  “Truly?” her eyes widened with her sarcasm.

  “Truly,” he confirmed. “I’m sorry we’ve brought you grief. I also sense remorse in Nicholas.”

  “Ha!” she scoffed. “That great oaf doesn’t know the meaning of the word.”

  Alex leaned nearer, his eyes crinkled with concern. “Though he doesn’t speak his thoughts, I’ve learned to read him well. Rest assured, he regrets that he was forced to steal you away and prepare for battle against your king.”

  Shaking her head doubtfully, Ysabelle could scarce believe any of this. “It does you ill to apologize on behalf of your brother.”

  “You’re right. As time passes, he’ll learn how to express himself.”

  Picking up her hand, Alex placed a quick kiss upon her knuckles. His earnest apology touched her heart, his eyes crinkled in a troubled frown. She lost all desire to scorch him further with her words.

  She tugged her hand free. “Never
mind. I don’t wish to discuss it now.”

  Looking up, she saw the dark glower on Nicholas’s face. She tried to detect whether it was a foreboding of things to come, irritation over the presence of the English army, or merely displeasure that Alex had kissed her hand.

  “Give him a chance, Lady Ysabelle,” Alex whispered. “His heart rests in your hands. You can crush him to the ground or raise him to the stars.”

  Ysabelle jerked toward her new brother-in-law and found his startling blue gaze quite serious. Gone was the teasing smile and boyish charm. He meant what he said.

  “How is it possible for a mere maiden to crush a violent warrior? I believe you have it reversed,” she said.

  “Nicholas only wants to take his rightful place as lord of Sutcliffe. You control his future happiness, of course. You have the power to free him from his nightmares,” Alex explained.

  “Nightmares? I don’t know what you mean.”

  “In time, you’ll come to understand. It’s my fondest hope his bad dreams soon fade and cease to haunt him.”

  “What bad dreams?”

  Seeming piqued that they were conversing without him, Nicholas shifted closer and came to his feet. Holding his hand out to her, his gaze pierced her. His curt tone brooked no denial. “Come, my lady. The hour grows late. Let us retire.”

  Their people began to leave, seeking their rest before they must face the English upon the morrow. Standing on wobbly legs, Ysabelle realized her doom had finally come.

  Chapter Eleven

  With shaking limbs, Ysabelle stood and stared at her husband’s outstretched hand. She couldn’t bring herself to clasp it, but merely stared at his long fingers.

  “My hand isn’t a serpent,” his soft voice sent shivers across her shoulders. “I’ll not bite you, Ysabelle. Take my hand and show our people that you support the vows you’ve made with me.”

  Ysabelle took his hand, almost flinching at the warmth as his calloused fingers tightened around her own. She’d vowed to be his wife. No longer could she deny him. But she prayed he wouldn’t abuse her as Sir Malcolm had done.

  Alex came to his feet. Taking a step toward her, he smiled mischievously as he signaled two other men to help him. When they reached for her, Ysabelle cringed, a low cry on her lips. The memory of her wedding to Sir Malcolm flashed through her mind. She’d been held down at the altar, her yells for justice muffled beneath a scrap of cloth they’d forced into her mouth. She’d fought them, almost suffocating against the gag. After the ceremony, she’d been dragged to the lord’s chamber, stripped naked by strangers, and dressed in a sheer gown that showed more than it covered of her body.

  “No!” She jerked free of Alex and moved behind Nicholas. Surely he wouldn’t allow them to shame her in such a way. She couldn’t stand much more. Already, she was dangerously close to screaming.

  Her trembling knees almost buckled with relief when Nicholas placed a solid arm across her shoulders and pulled her into the protective crook of his arm. “Don’t even try it, Alex.”

  The Ram glowered at his brother and the other two Scotsmen. With disappointed frowns, the men withdrew. For once, Ysabelle felt grateful they feared her husband too much for such antics. From the first, she’d feared Nicholas, yet she was drawn to him like the setting sun to the horizon. She didn’t understand the hold he had over her. His strength, his gentle gruffness, his vow to keep her safe. These were all traits she’d admired in her beloved father. With Nicholas, it was the same, yet different. Something about him, a mysterious attraction she couldn’t explain, kept her spellbound. She couldn’t understand the nameless fascination that drew her to him when her senses warned her to flee.

  Yet, in some ways, Nicholas was not at all like her father. He was too harsh and had seen too much of war. Truly he needed someone to teach him how to smile. Who better to do so than his new wife?

  Hesitating by the stairs, Ysabelle resisted Nicholas’s gentle tug as he ascended the first step. She longed to follow, yet feared the unknown.

  Nicholas paused, looking over his shoulder at her. His gaze consumed her, his voice soothing. “Don’t be afraid, my wee lass.”

  His tone lulled her into submissiveness but her mind warred with itself. She was no coward. She was a woman. Her father’s daughter.

  Taking a step, she followed. The warmth of his hand on hers, the sound of his breathing as they climbed up the narrow stairwell, the heat of his body so close to her own, filled her mind. Trepidation pooled in her abdomen, leaving her shaking and cold. She focused on taking one more step.

  At the doorway to the lord’s chamber, Nicholas stood back to let her enter. “This isn’t your doom.”

  She froze at the portal, wondering how he knew her thoughts so well.

  She went inside, the weight of his gaze followed her, like a millstone settling into its base. Heavy and oppressive. Closing the door, he stood before it as she stared blindly about the room. Expectancy tingled over her skin and she rubbed her arms.

  “Are you cold?” he asked.

  She shook her head and bit her lower lip to keep it from quivering. He stood watching her, silent, his presence filling the room like a blast of summer wind.

  *

  Nicholas waited, giving Ysabelle time to adjust to her new role. He held back, not wanting to frighten her. She gazed at her personal possessions, which he’d ordered be placed around the chamber. Her color heightened in surprise. A thick auburn carpet spread across the cold floor. Her trunk of clothes sat at the foot of the bed next to his. Her brush and comb rested upon a table beside several small pots of what he assumed were fragrant ointments. Such feminine bobbles were alien to him and he was curious to investigate.

  A servant had lit the fire in the brazier and cheery warmth filled the room. Tapestries showing Lord Maston’s golden lions hung from the walls. The shuttered window was closed against the chilling breeze. He was truly alone with his new bride.

  “I know this was Lord Maston’s room. I hope you don’t mind me taking over the accommodations.”

  She lifted her head and looked at him. “Under the circumstances, of course I mind. But you are now the lord of this keep, so it is only fitting.”

  He looked away, wishing there was a way for him to dispel her resentment. His presence in this room, and at Sutcliffe, meant he’d dominated the keep. His new bride wanted nothing to do with him. He couldn’t blame her and compassion coiled around his heart.

  She stared overly long at two tall-backed oak chairs resting before the fireplace. He’d asked that they be delivered to the room earlier that afternoon. Visions of him and Ysabelle sitting together in the evening, holding hands, discussing the events of their day, filled his mind.

  “You don’t like them?” he asked.

  She shivered. “They’re too large, too hard, too cold.”

  He stepped toward her, thinking she’d just described him. “Ysabelle. Bring softness into my life. That’s all I ask for now.”

  Turning to face him, her mouth dropped open in surprise. Nicholas cleared his throat, feeling nervous as a young lad. He didn’t know why he’d said such a thing. Seeing her here, knowing she belonged to him, it diminished every horror he’d ever suffered, every deprivation, every pain. Finally, he’d reached his goal. He had a home. A wife and family of his own.

  Elation swept him with such power, it left him euphoric. Ysabelle’s angelic face, her gentle grace, called to him. Nothing else existed right now, except her. He could sit and gaze at her for hours and never get enough. His hunger to feast his eyes upon her countenance seemed insatiable.

  Emotion clogged his throat. A desire to woo and appease her drove Nicholas to reach out and caress her bare arms.

  A troubled frown tugged at her forehead and her eyes rounded with uncertainty. As she turned her face away from him, his heart plummeted.

  “Do you fear I might kiss you?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  A lance of doubt speared his heart. She didn’t want him. Hi
s throat closed and he tensed. “Do I repulse you?”

  She shrugged a sensuous shoulder. “No, but Sir Malcolm wasn’t kind.”

  Nicholas breathed with relief. He’d feared she might find him abhorrent. In reality, Sir Malcolm had taught her to fear men. Nicholas had much to overcome, but he was determined to try. Even now, this woman held his heart and soul in the hollow of her palm. How he longed to tell her, but he’d long ago learned never to express his true emotions. It brought betrayal and pain. He couldn’t speak the words now. Perhaps never. Like her, he was also afraid.

  “Though you don’t realize it, you are in control, Ysabelle. Lord Maston told me you’d be loyal to me if I could win your trust.”

  “I can never trust you.”

  Her words tore at him, yet he refused to give up on his goal to win her. “I hope that’s not true.”

  A throaty scoff was her reply. She was beautiful in her doubt and Nicholas longed to prove her wrong. He was determined to do so, believing he could bring her pleasure. But could he win her love? If he hurt her, she would lose all confidence in him.

  Taking a step nearer, he smoothed his hands over her shoulders. Her skin gleamed like alabaster in the dim room. Shadowed firelight flickered across the walls and her face. He resisted the urge to bury his nose in her hair and inhale her sweet fragrance. Instead, he pulled her close as he lowered his head and stared into her eyes. They were deep pools of emerald green and he found himself lost within their depths. She tensed.

  “I’m not Malcolm de Litz,” he told her.

  She blinked. “You’re still a man.”

  Doubt filled his mind. “Though I know you’ve married me with misgivings, I wish to make a promise to you.”

  She shook her head. “You’ve already made vows to me before Father Edward. Surely that’s enough for one night.”

  “There’s one more pledge I would make, between you and I alone.”

  Her fine brows arched. He’d give almost anything right now to see her smile. “I vow to put your safety above all else. Never will I harm you intentionally.”