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

by Bale, Leigh

  Ysabelle’s tinkling laughter filled the room and Nicholas stilled. Gazing intently at her face, he saw how her smile brightened her eyes, dazzling him with her beauty. Her full mouth curved in an expression of joy. The room became suddenly very warm and he found it difficult to breathe. She was absolutely winsome. A lovely creature more graceful, kind, and gentle than a gruff man of war such as him deserved.

  Without a word, she pulled him closer. His heart hammered with her nearness.

  “This will be difficult for me,” he murmured huskily.

  “Why?”

  “When I hold you close, I can think of nothing but kissing you.”

  Her face flooded with color. “Control yourself, my lord.”

  He sighed. “I will try.”

  As they gazed into each other’s eyes, Nicholas embraced her and she led him through several simple dance steps. Though he felt awkward and ungainly, she didn’t scold him when he made an error. And he made many mistakes.

  “Very good,” she praised. “Considering your size, you are quite light on your feet.”

  A lump of pride lodged in his throat. He didn’t understand why her encouragement meant so much to him, but it did. His heart took wings and flew up into his throat. He could spend eternity in her arms and never wish for more.

  “Yes, that’s right. Now, bow and circle around me,” she encouraged.

  He did so, grinning widely when he accomplished the movement perfectly. Not once when he danced with Alex had he been able to succeed in getting it right. He ended up tripping over Alex’s big feet. Ysabelle was so small, he had little trouble twirling her about.

  “Wonderful,” she exclaimed.

  Confidence swelled within him. At that moment, he felt as though he could triumph over the entire world. He could beat the English to a pulp. He could do anything. Never had he felt so warm, so abundant and happy.

  He stilled, pulling her close in his arms. Happy! Yes, that was the only word he could find to describe the incredible emotions he was experiencing.

  “Ysabelle.” He whispered her name, his lips but a fraction of an inch away from hers.

  Her arms came around him and then he kissed her. The fire raged between them, powerful and hungry. She returned his kiss with a fever that stirred his blood to a molten lava in his veins. And or a long time, nothing mattered but her.

  *

  She loved him. Walking through the bailey, Ysabelle could no longer deny the emotion she felt for Nicholas. She loved him and could no longer deny it to herself. And as she considered the ramifications, she felt somber and even more concerned for their welfare.

  A terrible pounding filled the air as the strength of the castle walls endured the punishment of siege weapons. Climbing to the battlements, she looked down to where the English had filled the fosse with bails of reeds tied together and built a roadway of split logs across the moat. Just now, they were approaching the main gate over the reeds, even though the drawbridge was raised.

  Nicholas’s archers rained arrows down upon their heads, but the English had constructed a shelter out of wood and thick hides to protect them as they worked. Torches flickered along the wallwalk. Nicholas’s men shot flaming arrows at the shelter, hoping to burn it down. Screams of pain filled the air as sharp tips met their target. Ysabelle cringed, not understanding why Lord Marshal continued to fight when he would lose so many men. The loss of life seemed to senseless to her.

  Drawing away from the horrific sight, she peered around a merlon and saw what caused the pounding sounds. English soldiers used a battering ram against the tall door to break it in. Nicholas stood on the wall of the gatehouse, directing his men to lower two enormous thick pads filled with sheep’s wool over the gate to muffle the blows. Ysabelle had seen her father do the same and had no doubt the oak and steel were sturdy enough to hold against the abuse.

  Dressed in chain mail, Nicholas turned in time to see her. His gaze stabbed her, his eyes crinkled with disapproval. After all, she was in harm’s way and he was not pleased. He took a step toward her and she bolted, not wishing to argue with him now.

  Scurrying down the stairs, she reached the bailey. A terrible screech filled the air and Ysabelle looked up in time to see a shower of boulders flying straight at her. She screamed and ducked, falling heavily to the ground. As she covered her head with her hands, she was pelted by gravel. The pummeling stung her flesh, leaving red welts along her arms and back. As she sat up, she realized nothing substantial had struck her and she breathed with relief.

  From his vantage point on the allure, Nicholas yelled with rage and swooped down the wall walk to her side. Without a word, he scooped her up in his arms and raced for the safety of the keep, using his back to shield her from harm. Another spray of heavy rocks scattered around them and Nicholas grunted as one grazed his side. A large boulder smashed through the thatched wall of the kennels. Hounds yelped and barked as they scurried out of the way. Ysabelle inhaled sharply and allowed Nicholas to push her inside the keep where they would be safe.

  Sitting her in a chair before the long tables in the hall, he lifted her chin, looking critically at her face before he also lifted her arms. He bent her elbows to ensure no bones were broken.

  “Where were you struck?” he demanded.

  “I am fine, my lord. But what of you? Are you injured?” She stared at his face, amazed by the fear in his eyes.

  “No, little fool,” he growled. “Don’t you understand we are under siege? The English will bombard us with their rocks, too stupid to realize they have almost killed the verra woman they wish us to hand over to them.”

  “I’m not harmed, Nicholas. I merely fell in my haste to dodge the rocks.”

  “It’s a good thing you’re light on your feet, else you would have been struck. I don’t want you up on the allure. You will remain inside the keep from this time forward, until I tell you it is safe.”

  Ysabelle gasped with outrage. “I won’t remain inside this stone prison. It’s bad enough that I can’t go riding or visit the woods to pick flowers and herbs. But I won’t be confined to this gloomy hall.”

  “You’ll stay inside or I’ll be forced to lock you in our room.”

  Standing to her feet, Ysabelle grit her teeth and faced him squarely, her head barely reaching his shoulder. “Then, I’ll climb out the window.”

  He quirked one brow. “Do you wish me to tie you to the bed?”

  “You wouldn’t dare.”

  His jaw tightened and he advanced.

  With a squeal, Ysabelle dodged him, now realizing he would indeed lock her in if she didn’t agree.

  “All right,” she acquiesced mournfully. “I’ll remain inside. But it’ll be quite difficult. To see naught of the sunshine saddens my heart.”

  Nicholas paused, his heart hammering in his chest. Her words brought a rush of emotion over him. A lump rose in his throat. He understood all too well how it felt to be locked away without sunshine. At one time, he’d spent several months locked inside a cell when an enemy of Lord McDonald had taken him hostage. The darkness of his prison had filled him with gloom and only his strong will to live had overridden the depression that descended upon him when he was deprived of sunlight to gaze upon.

  He’d been only twelve years old at the time and knew no ransom would be forthcoming. Who would send it? There was no one in the world that cared if he lived or died. No one to mourn his loss. Yet, he’d wanted to live, to breathe air, to find a way out. Watching and waiting, he had finally been able to escape.

  He couldn’t condemn Ysabelle to such a fate.

  “All right,” he relented. “I’ll take you outside each day, but only when my scouts had assured me that the English aren’t preparing to spray us with their missiles. I must be present to accompany you. Agreed?”

  Ysabelle nodded. “Agreed. Now, let me look at your wound.”

  “It’s nothing.” He brushed her off, not wanting her to look at the ugly scars on his back. They would only repulse her an
d drive her further away from him.

  “You either let me take a look at it or I will not keep our agreement. I’ll get my ointments and bandages.” She turned and headed for the stairs leading up to their chamber.

  With an impatient sigh, he accompanied her. It felt good to remove the heavy weight of his hauberk, if only for a short time. Drawing his linen chainse over his head, he sat on a stool and allowed her to spread a healing salve over his bruised side. Her touch was infinitely gentle and he soon forgot about siege and battering rams as the blood heated in his veins.

  He contemplated the morose frown upon her face. Seeking to coax a smile from her lips, he caught her hand in his own and cleared his voice, thinking what he should say. She looked at him as he leaned near and spoke stiffly. “I have a joke for you.”

  Ysabelle’s eyes widened with this news. “Dancing and jokes? Truly you are a man of many talents, my lord.”

  He frowned with concentration. “How many Englishmen does it take to saddle my charger?”

  She shrugged and replaced the lid on the pot of salve. “I don’t know. How many?”

  “One hundred and fifty-two,” he replied. “One foolish King William to give the order, one hundred and fifty English soldiers to catch Samson, and one Lord Marshal to saddle the horse.”

  Ysabelle stared. The tale was not funny. Not really. She tried to find some humor in his wit. She was English and didn’t like jokes at the expense of her people. But the look on Nicholas’s face was so expectant, so hopeful, that Ysabelle could not bear to hurt his feelings. For a moment, he looked quite vulnerable and she was entirely charmed. And for that reason alone, she couldn’t help laughing.

  He gave a slow smile, until it widened his full mouth and lit up his face. Ysabelle gasped at the beauty of him. A pulse of pleasure washed over her as his rich laughter merged with hers. For some reason, the sound made her deliriously happy. He laughed! What a victory. What a priceless gift.

  The fact that Nicholas had tried to entertain her with hilarity, and was even now laughing himself, told her he was a man who could change. He had softened so much since she’d first met him. Perhaps he wasn’t the ruthless warlord he’d previously appeared to be. And maybe Alex was right. Nicholas needed to learn to laugh. It could soften him. It could heal his soul.

  “How droll,” Alex spoke from the doorway. “I told you not to tell her that joke. Use the other ones I gave you. They’re much more amusing.”

  Nicholas frowned. “What do you want?”

  Alex shrugged and sauntered further into the room. “Nothing. I was just passing by and thought I’d say hello.”

  What was this? It was obvious to Ysabelle that Alex had come by to ensure she and Nicholas were all right. She didn’t understand why it was so hard for these two brothers to confess that they cared for each other.

  Men!

  “Now, I see I must save Ysabelle not from falling rocks but from your poor humor,” Alex said.

  Nicholas glowered at his brother. “She liked my joke, didn’t you?”

  He looked at her expectantly, his brows raised high, his eyes filled with urgency. Ysabelle didn’t have the heart to tell him the truth. She realized her approval meant a great deal to him and she couldn’t bear to hurt his feelings.

  “Yes, my lord. I liked it very much.” In this, she spoke the truth, simply because of his laughter. “Your joke was extremely…”

  “Dry and boring,” Alex supplied.

  Nicholas’s expression turned dark as he scowled at his brother. “I don’t recall inviting you into this conversation. Butt out.”

  Alex shrugged, not looking the least bit put off by Nicholas’s rebuttal. “I invited myself. I wished to see if Lady Ysabelle is well after nearly being knocked senseless by that load of rocks the English threw over the castle wall. Instead I find you torturing her with your bad jokes. Heaven help us all if you start to sing a song.”

  Alex waggled his brows at Ysabelle. “I can safely vouch that Nicholas’s singing voice is atrocious. Don’t let him sing you a tune, my lady. Please, I beg you, spare us all that horror.”

  Ysabelle bit her bottom lip to hide a smile. She didn’t want to like these two men. But she did. She loved them both. Very much.

  “She’s fine, as you can see,” Nicholas pointed out in an insulted tone. “Now, kindly remove your odious presence from our company.”

  “Oh, all right,” Alex agreed, nodding with good nature before he winked at Ysabelle and left the room.

  Ysabelle moved away from Nicholas, tidying the room, hoping he would put his shirt back on. The sight of his muscular back, chest, and arms, was more than she could ignore. Though marred by scars, he was a sensuous man and she was mightily affected. If he touched her, she would melt in his arms.

  He walked to her and she held her breath. If he kissed her, she wouldn’t be able to resist him. He lowered his head, his lips poised above hers. Before he could make contact, she quickly asked her own question. “Why did the jester laugh up his sleeve?”

  He blinked. “I know not.”

  “Because that is where his funny bone is.”

  The corners of Nicholas’s mouth curved ever so slightly in a smile. Again, his sculpted mouth brushed against hers. She could feel his warm breath against her lips and longed for his kiss.

  “Why do dragons sleep during the day?” she asked in a hurry, trying not to stare at his mouth.

  “I don’t care,” he growled and tried to kiss her.

  She moved her face away but couldn’t evade his strong hold around her. “So they can fight knights.”

  He smiled, but his eyes glinted with determination. He gazed into her eyes, holding her prisoner. He smelled of the sandalwood soap he’d used to wash earlier that morning. She longed to throw herself at him but hated for him to know how much she wanted him.

  “Did I tell you I am a wizard?” he asked in a silky tone.

  She shook her head. “No, I didn’t know.”

  His eyes gleamed and his voice lowered to a husky murmur. “Shall I make your clothes disappear?”

  He loosened the ties of her burgundy gown and Ysabelle gasped at his boldness.

  “My! But you are a beautiful damsel in dis-tress,” he whispered hoarsely. “Allow me to help you out of it.”

  He gave a tug and the bodice of her dress gaped away from her. Bending down, he kissed her and a blaze of desire tore through her. Her breath caught with delight.

  With a vague cry, Ysabelle stepped backward. If she did not stop him soon, they would end up spending the next hour sequestered in their room. “My lord, the sun is yet high and I have much work I must do. You must return to the siege.”

  “Later, my lady.”

  Stepping away, she held up a hand to ward him off. He stalked her, his hooded eyes looking determined. “That isn’t what I had in mind. Father Edward wouldn’t approve.”

  A sultry smile curved his mouth, lighting up his face, making his eyes gleam devilishly. He dazzled her.

  “I may not be a priest, my lady, but I can take you to heaven,” he told her as he advanced.

  With a squeal, Ysabelle made a break for the door. He caught her there, backing her up against the portal, his hands planted on the solid oak on either side of her as he moved closer.

  His amorous wit left her breathless. She refused to look at his face, for fear she would latch on to him and never let go. She wanted him. Now and forever. She stared at the gleaming flesh of his shoulder, entranced by the solid muscles flexing beneath his skin.

  He leaned into her and kissed her forehead, nuzzling her hair, breathing deeply of her. Every one of her senses were focused on him. His presence seemed overpowering and she realized she was lost.

  “You should be glad I’m not a Viking, my lady.”

  “Oh? And why is that?” Her voice squeaked.

  “You would have already been ravaged and plundered by now.”

  He captured her lips with his own and it was just as Ysabelle knew it would
be. Pure rapture.

  Wrapping her arms around him, she held on tight as he kissed her. Her breath caught in her throat and she felt faint for want of air. Lifting her, he carried her to their bed. And as promised, he did take her to heaven.

  *

  Time passed, the days flowing like the river to the sea. Ysabelle wondered if the English would ever give up and go home. She longed to venture outside the castle walls and walk along the river or across the flowered hills where the English hadn’t set fires. It was impossible until King William’s men gave up the siege and left.

  To keep busy, Ysabelle worked in the kitchen, helping extend their dwindling supply of food. Great haunches of meat roasted over the open fire pit. The heat from the baking ovens was immense and sweat beaded on her brow. Rolling up her sleeves, she wiped her neck with a damp cloth, then sprinkled thyme into a bubbling pot of soup.

  “Cook?” she called.

  Carrying a basket of potatoes, a matronly woman waddled over to her and set her burden on the trestle table. “Yes, my lady?”

  “I think we should add more water to this soup. We need to make the meat stretch further.”

  Cook’s brows lifted in question. “You think the siege will continue much longer, my lady?”

  Ysabelle sighed. “I hope not. In the meantime, we must eat. Do what you can to make what we have last as long as possible.”

  “That I will, my lady,” Cook agreed.

  Picking up a small bag of grain, Ysabelle walked to the roasting pit.

  “Myles,” she called to the young lad who was busy basting a side of pork.

  The boy turned to look at her, his face flushed from the heat of the fire. “Yes, my lady?”

  “Take this grain to the allure and entice doves and larks to land upon the battlements. If you catch fifty or more, I will see that you get the fattest one all to yourself at this evening’s meal.”

  “Truly, my lady?” the boy beamed, his large ears reddening with delight.

  She smiled and ruffled his hair. “I promise.”

  Whooping with delight, Myles ran out the door.