by Bale, Leigh
“Tell me what? Maston of Sutcliffe wasn’t my real father. What more hurt can you deal me?” Ysabelle asked in a croaking whisper.
Ada took a deep breath. “When he discovered that Lady Alys was carrying a child, Lord Maston was determined to raise you as his own. Because he didn’t wish to see you suffer the same fate his son had been forced to endure.”
Ysabelle shook her head. “My father had no son.”
“Yes, he did,” Ada spoke gently as she faced Ysabelle again. “Alys confided in me or I would never have known the truth.”
And suddenly, Ysabelle guessed the truth. She gasped, placing a hand over her mouth. Could it be true?
“Nicholas. He is Maston’s son,” she whispered.
Ada didn’t need to speak and Ysabelle could see the truth shimmering in the woman’s eyes. Ysabelle trembled, her heart aching. No wonder Nicholas was so adamant that he must remain here at Sutcliffe. It was his birthright. It was his home.
Now, she understood why her father had defied the king and betrothed her to a Scotsman. Now, it all made sense.
“Lord Maston was loyal and true, but he was still a man,” Ada told her. “Before he was betrothed to your mother, he had already created Nicholas with a married woman. The affair was fast and furious. After Mary Ramsay found that she was with child, she couldn’t keep it a secret from her husband. Archibald Ramsay was enraged. He’d been away at war and knew he hadn’t fathered the boy. But Mary was the mother of Archibald’s only son, Alexander. The Laird couldn’t put Mary aside. She was beautiful and almost as gentle as your own mother. Even though he hated what she’d done, Archibald loved her still. But he hated Nicholas, her bastard child.”
Ysabelle gave a shuddering sigh. Poor Nicholas. “But father never told me he had a son. Why didn’t he bring Nicholas here, to live at Sutcliffe with us?”
Ada clenched her eyes shut and she took a deep breath before letting out slowly. “That was Mary’s doing. Archibald and Maston had once been great friends and they fought together in numerous battles. Mary made Lord Maston promise never to disclose that he was Nicholas’s true father. Mary feared Archibald might murder Lord Maston if he knew.”
Ysabelle remembered Alex telling her that Mary had died unexpectedly and Nicholas had been sent away to live a life of brutality. “How did my father find out what had happened to Nicholas?”
“On Lord Nicholas’s sixteenth birthday, Father Edward went into Scotland to seek word of the young man. But Lord Nicholas had already been sent away years earlier. Lord Maston went to find the Scots Ram, to bring him home to Sutcliffe, but Nicholas refused to leave his brother and so he stayed with Alex. Instead, Lord Maston visited his son regularly. The two became quite close, a true father and son.”
“But why did father betroth me to Nicholas?” Ysabelle asked with dismay.
Blinking her eyes, Ada sighed deeply. “Because Lord Maston knew you were not related by blood, he wanted to finally unite his family. He hoped to make amends to a son he could never acknowledge while also providing for you, whom he had reared as his own child. He loved you both very much and wished to ensure that you both would remain here at Sutcliffe.”
Ysabelle understood now. Her father had often traveled into Scotland. She’d never questioned his mission and was always delighted when he returned with a special trinket for her. Now, she realized he must have been visiting his son, Nicholas Ramsay.
Absorbing the shock, Ysabelle closed her eyes for several pounding moments. Why had Nicholas not told her all of this?
She knew without asking. Like her father, Nicholas had sought to protect her. But his efforts had been wasted. And the sadness of it clogged her throat with pain.
Her arms trembled. Laying her head next to Ada’s, Ysabelle buried her tears against the pillows. As she breathed deeply, she caught her husband’s spicy scent and remembered every kiss, every caress, every pleasure they’d shared together. A hoarse gasp tore from her throat.
Ada caressed Ysabelle’s hair. “Don’t cry, dearest. Your father only sought to do what was right. He sought to protect you.”
“How Nicholas must hate me,” Ysabelle whispered. “I was left to enjoy the privilege and happiness of growing up here at Sutcliffe, with a father who showered me with love, While Nicholas suffered unspeakable trials.”
“No,” Ada cried. “Lord Nicholas cannot blame you for what happened. You were as innocent as he was. Your father thought the betrothal would make everything right again.”
Oh, what should she believe? Ysabelle only knew she was sick of war, and sick of lies. How could she face Nicholas now, knowing he belonged here at Sutcliffe while she was the outsider? She didn’t belong anywhere. She should be the one to leave. But she couldn’t. She had her unborn child to think of now.
No wonder Nicholas was determined to wed her at all costs. He was Maston’s true son. It was his right to rule Sutcliffe. If he had so desired, he could have refused to wed her and sent her away. Instead, he’d offered her a choice and taught her how to love.
He had won her heart.
“I’ll get you something warm to drink,” Ysabelle spoke as she stood to her feet. Her legs wobbled and she reached for the wall to steady herself.
Ada’s eyes crinkled with sadness. “Nothing has changed, dear Ysabelle. You are still lady of Sutcliffe and your one true husband is Lord Nicholas. It’s fitting that you give him a legitimate heir and break the curse that has befallen all of you.”
Yes, how appropriate, unless the Pope decreed their child a bastard. A bitter laugh slipped from Ysabelle’s throat. How cruel. A bastard for two bastards. Would none of them be legitimate?
Genevieve entered the room and Ysabelle left her to watch over Ada. Stumbling down the dark passageway, her palm skimmed the wall as she found her footing. As she clutched the rough wood siding, something within her hardened. All her life, she’d believed the blood of her stubborn father pulsed in her own veins. Now, her love for him did not falter. He had kept the truth from her so that she wouldn’t be hurt. To shelter her from a life of misery. She couldn’t fault him for that kindness.
But to find out the truth this way, it was too harsh, too brutal. The pain clawed her heart. She had to tell someone. To confide in them. She longed to run to the one person she felt complete with.
Nicholas.
An insatiable urge to be near him filled her to overflowing. She longed to pour out her heart to him, to be held in his strong arms. She wanted to hear from his own lips that he was Lord Maston’s son and that it didn’t matter that she was a bastard because he loved her, not for what she could bring to him, but because of who she was inside.
She needed to see Nicholas’s face, hear his voice, and smell his warm skin. She longed to feel him holding her close as he placed soft kisses against her temple. Nothing else mattered.
Hurrying, she ran to the lord’s chamber, where she went to the basin of water and washed the tears from her face. Darkness had fallen and she lit a candle so she could brush her long hair, tying it back before covering it with a veil.
She pulled a shawl over her shoulders and left the room. Down in the great hall, she saw the servants had already sought their beds, huddled together beneath warm furs along the wooden benches. The glowing coals in the fireplace winked at her as she padded across the floor. Opening the door, she stepped outside into the bailey. Torches flickered along the castle walls, lighting her way. Crossing the yard, she stepped over rubble left there by the catapults, and paused when she saw Alex leading his saddled horse out of the stable.
“Where are you going?” she asked.
He peered at her through the dark. His brows lowered in a scowl, his gaze angry as it raked her. Then, his expression softened and he pointed at her, then himself. “He is sending us away, you and me. It won’t be long before he must surrender the keep. Now that we know your handmaiden willna die, he has ordered me to depart with you in tow.”
Ysabelle’s breath stilled. “But we have more tha
n enough water.”
“Yes, but we must soon eat our horses. Nicholas willna hesitate to do so, but he wants you gone from this place before it comes to that. He doesn’t want you to see his death. He wants you safe.”
Ysabelle shook her head. “He believes all is lost?”
“Yes, it’s only a matter of time.”
Nicholas would die just as he had lived. Alone.
She jutted her chin. “Was he going to tell me this or just send me away without an explanation? Without saying goodbye?”
“I think it’s too painful for him to say goodbye.”
It couldn’t be true. To never see Nicholas again, she couldn’t contemplate it. “I won’t leave Sutcliffe, even if my father isn’t…”
Realizing what she’d almost blurted, Ysabelle swallowed her words. Her hand went to her abdomen, where her babe rested. She must be careful and not speak her mind so freely. There was too much at stake. She must think of her unborn child.
“You know the truth?” Alex whispered, his face shadowed by the dark.
Ysabelle blinked. “What do you mean?”
“You know who Nicholas’s father is?”
Feeling the burn of fresh tears, Ysabelle nodded her head. She clutched her shawl tighter about her throat. “How did you find out the truth?”
Alex breathed a weary sigh. “Come with me. We must speak in private.” He reached to take her arm and guide her into the privacy of the stable.
Chapter Eighteen
Standing in the bailey, Nicholas stared at Sutcliffe keep. In the early morning shadows, the fortress rose overhead like a brutish fiend. The gray stones reminded him of the coldness of his life. Harsh and remote.
The pungent scent of wood smoke filled the air from the cooking fires. Each corner of the bailey had groups of his people sleeping together to keep warm. Inside the hall, more people slept on the benches or the floor, wherever they could find room. Piles of rocks lay about the yard, stacked neatly by his men after the catapults had fired missiles that had broken down part of the wall. Though the castle and walls had withstood all that the English had thrown at them, the repairs would be extensive. It would take years to repair the damage. The people of Sutcliffe had endured the brutality without complaint. Emotion clogged his throat when he considered what they all had gone through and he felt pride for their loyalty and valor.
His eyes felt gritty with fatigue and he clenched them shut. In his mind, he saw a vision of Sutcliffe’s walls buckling beneath a battering ram. The people fled in chaos only to be rounded up by English soldiers and beheaded or thrown into the dungeons. As Lord Marshal bound his hands, Ysabelle was dragged from the keep and brutalized. Her fearful cries clawed at his heart. While she watched, he was forced to the chopping block. The executioner raised the blade high and down came the ax. Nicholas’s head rolled on the ground, his body falling limp.
In the English king’s dungeon, Ysabelle screamed in agony as she lost their child. Blood was all around, filling the castle walls, mingling with the river until it covered all the land. Their people tried to fight, losing their lives one by one, until there was nothing left but desolation.
With a gasp, Nicholas opened his eyes. He coughed and wiped the sweat from his brow. His hands trembled. He could barely breathe from the heavy weight on his chest.
He had failed them all.
Alex must have taken Ysabelle away from the castle by now. Nicholas had wanted to go to her, to bid her farewell, to kiss her one last time. To explain why he must send her to safety.
He couldn’t do it. He didn’t trust himself. If he saw her again, he might weaken and beg her to stay with him until the end. Ah, he was a coward after all. It would be hard to face the English king’s executioner alone. Yet, he must. To shield Ysabelle from the horror of his death. To keep her and their child safe.
Almost begrudgingly, he made his way to the great hall. Without Ysabelle there to warm his heart, the castle would be a cold and empty place.
There was no fire burning inside. Hannah was kneeling beside the wide hearth, cleaning ashes from the fire pit and he drew near.
“How is Ada?” he asked.
Looking up, Hannah wiped her face with the back of her hand, leaving a streak of black across her chin. “She is quite ill, my lord. But Lady Ysabelle has tended her well and says she will recover.”
Though he didn’t like Ada, Nicholas was relieved to spare Ysabelle the grief of losing someone else she loved. His wife’s happiness meant everything to him.
Nodding his head, he moved away and climbed the stairs. He found his chambers empty but had expected no less. Ysabelle and Alex were gone.
The room felt dark and cold. The covers on the bed had been smoothed. Even as he thought of holding Ysabelle close, his body tensed with a deep and abiding desire to be near her once more. To hold her next to his heart and cherish her for all time.
In the shadows, he moved to the table where one of her blue hair ribbons lay. Picking it up, he pressed a kiss to the silken twine. As he did so, he caught the faint scent of heather.
Ysabelle’s scent.
A tear slid down the back of his throat and he brushed the sleeve of his chainse against his nose. He swore softly beneath his breath. He was acting like a lovesick boy. Alex and his men would laugh if they saw him now. The fierce Scots Ram brought low by his deep love for a woman.
If he stayed here much longer, he would be consumed by self-pity. Better to die a warrior’s death than stay here and mewl like a forgotten child.
Tucking the ribbon inside his chainse, he left the room, stumbling down the narrow stairs as he made his way to the bailey. He was done with waiting. If Lord Marshal wanted his head, he would have to take it by force. He wouldn’t die easily.
Outside, lighted torches sat along the high battlements, their flames flickering in the wind. As Nicholas crossed the yard, the muted voices of his men as they spoke to each other reached his ears. Looking up, he saw them walking the parapet with their spears and arrows, peering down at the English campfires.
Nicholas crossed to the stable. He peered through the dark, looking for his stallion, but couldn’t see the beast.
A movement caught his eye and he snapped his head in that direction. In the shadows, he could make out Alex standing beside his warhorse, holding a saddle. A single tallow candle rested atop the railing, its faint flame flickering. Shadows flashed across the timbered walls. It appeared to Nicholas that Alex was removing the saddle rather than preparing his mount for riding.
“What are you doing here? I thought you had gone already,” Nicholas growled, his voice rough with emotion.
“I did leave. Of course, I had to bind Lady Ysabelle hand and foot to get her to go with me,” Alex said.
“Where is she? Is she safe?” Nicholas asked anxiously.
“Yes, she is safe. But half way to Dalhousie, something occurred to me.”
“What?” Nicholas ground out the word. His patience was at an end. Alex shouldn’t have left Ysabelle alone.
“I realized you didn’t really want us to go. That you were only testing us, to see if we would desert you like everyone else has deserted you throughout your life. But this time, you have never had so much at stake. Yet, even now, you would face the English and your death alone. That’s when we decided you need us, even if you’re too stubborn to admit it yourself. We won’t leave you, Nick. You cannot make us go.”
“Us? We? Of whom do you speak?” Nicholas’s brows quirked in confusion.
Ysabelle came out from behind one of the stalls, brushing straw from the front of her dress. Her pale hair glowed in the candlelight, her emerald eyes sparkled like gems, and her porcelain skin gleamed like alabaster. The sight of her beauty sent a throb of yearning through Nicholas’s chest.
“Ysabelle! You shouldn’t be here. I want you to go. Now,” he choked.
Her lips trembled. Surely his rejection cut deep into her heart. How he longed to take her into his arms and hold her close. Losing
her would be unbearable, but there were worse things than death.
“And what of us? What of our marriage?” she asked him. “Do you care only for the child I will give you? Am I merely a pawn in your game to take what rightfully belongs to you?”
“You know you mean more to me than that,” he answered.
“I know nothing. I’m surprised that you don’t hate me,” she whispered. “Knowing your father claimed me as his own child while you were forced to submit to Lord McDonald’s cruelties must have been a terrible burden to bear.”
He froze, unable to move. Unable to breathe deeply. “You know the truth?” He cast an accusing glare at Alex. “You ass! Why did you tell her?”
“It wasn’t me, brother. I didn’t tell her any of your secrets.”
“It was Ada that told me the truth,” Ysabelle supplied.
Nicholas’s brooding gaze swung back to hers and he growled. “I never did like that old witch.”
Ysabelle shook her head and smiled sadly. “Don’t you think it’s time I finally knew? How long did you plan to keep it from me? Did you never intend to tell me?”
“I swore an oath of secrecy. So did Ada, though it appears she hasn’t kept her vow.” He spoke in an aching whisper. Shifting his feet, he crushed straw beneath his heel.
Ysabelle took a step closer. “You’re so loyal to your word, but my father should never have asked you to promise such a thing.”
He released a pent up sigh. “By the time I was a man, there was no other choice. You were a grown woman and I didn’t want to hurt you. I could never hate you, Ysabelle. Your father, my father, none of it mattered anymore. It still doesn’t matter.”
Ysabelle bit her bottom lip, thinking this over. From the first, she’d been wrong about this man. He wasn’t cold or heartless. He was kind and giving.
And lonely.
She didn’t understand the miracle that had changed both of their hearts. She only knew that Nicholas needed her, just as she needed him. They had grown together, forged in the fires of conflict. Their roots were so entwined that it would destroy them both to uproot one or the other. They would live, or die, together.