by Gayle Callen
"Bolton—"
"Be quiet," he said angrily. With one hand, he held the back of her head and kissed her, pressing open her mouth, invading with his tongue. It reminded Isabel of their shared kiss above the dungeons. Then he had made her feel like a woman for the first time in her life, and now that feeling blossomed in her chest.
James released her mouth, but not her body. He deliberately swayed his hips against hers and kissed her again.
"Little girls who go outside with a man usually end up with problems," he said against her lips.
Isabel inhaled his breath. "Not with Wallace. He's a gentleman."
"I'm not."
He started nibbling her mouth. She could hear the sucking sound of his lips, and it sent a shot of heat through her lower stomach.
And then James pushed her backwards into the straw. She lay shocked at his feet, looking up at him.
"I'm wearing your best garments," she reminded him, feeling the thrill of excitement he always aroused in her.
He came down on top of her, and before Isabel could even feel relieved, he inhaled on a sharp hiss, and rolled off her. She was puzzled until she saw him grasp his injured hand.
"Did you—"
"Be quiet!" he said, his voice full of frustration and anger. He turned his back, hunched over his hand.
"Let me see," she demanded, pulling at his arm. "You could have reopened the wound."
He shook her off. "Go back inside, Isabel."
"But your hand—"
"In how many more possible ways can you remind me of what I've lost?"
Her mouth dropped open and she moved back. "But I never—"
"You don't think I know why you wore my garments, why you came out here with Wallace? Get out of my sight, Isabel!"
She got to her feet slowly, never taking her eyes off him. He wouldn't look at her, wouldn't stop holding his injured hand. She wanted to put her arms around him, absorb his pain, but he obviously didn't want her kindness or her sympathy. She left him alone in the stables.
Avoiding the great hall, she went up to her bedchamber, climbed into bed, and dwelt miserably on the evening's failures. What had he meant when he said she continually reminded him of everything he'd lost? He couldn't possibly be referring to his hand. What were a few fingers when he could have lost his life? Did he mean the more suitable women he could have married?
She was still awake when James finally came in. He had obviously consumed even more ale—not that she'd know it by how he held himself, or the state of his clothing. His eyes were bloodshot and his voice was slower.
"Isabel, you missed all the fun. I beat your Wallace at tables."
"He is not mine," she said evenly.
James shrugged. "You missed the messenger, too." He laughed and leaned against the bedpost.
"What missive was so important as to arrive this late?"
" 'Tis my sister, Margery. She is asking me to come to my brother's manor in Lancashire. She says it is urgent, but reveals nothing else. How like the foolish girl."
Isabel studied his face, saw his wariness. When had she learned to read his expressions so well? "But she just left us."
"Which makes it all the more puzzling. Don't you agree?"
She took a deep breath. "I will travel with you."
A smile tilted one corner of his mouth. "You will?" he asked, making it very clear that it was up to him. "Curious?"
"Perhaps. I wish to meet your brother."
He chuckled. "Are you going to be the voice of restraint?"
"Probably not. You may beat each other senseless, if you wish."
Annie came up to help them pack late into the night, and afterwards, James fell into bed exhausted. Isabel watched him sleep for too long, wishing she knew what to do to help him.
She admitted to herself that she needed to meet this woman James had been betrothed to, who'd left him for his brother, even though she no longer believed the stories of him forcing himself on Katherine Berkeley.
There was an ache, a yearning deep inside her to acknowledge aloud what she felt for him. Why did she resist surrendering to this connection that bound her to him more than their wedding vows?
Because it would hurt if he didn't feel the same.
Chapter 26
The journey to Reynold's manor took three long, cold, rainy days, and James thought it would never end. They had to cross the flat, grassy summits of the southern Pennines, climbing or going around gritstone cliffs, traversing sloping dales covered in purple heather. Each night the small troop made wooden shelters with branches, or raised the tent when the weather permitted.
Isabel was the hardiest of all, never complaining. But she fell asleep the moment she hit the blankets each night, and James was left awake to watch her, rubbing his aching hand. He kept wondering if her farewell to Wallace had been as easy as it seemed.
On the third day, they descended into a wide, sloping valley in Lancashire, and in the distance they could see Reynold's manor. James had lived here for two years, just after his mother remarried,
but before he was old enough to be fostered. He had been very young, and remembered little but feeling out of place, unwanted by the people who looked on the new baby, Reynold, as their future lord. His mother had tried to make up for it in her own way, but she had been overwhelmed with keeping the attention of her new husband, who, like her first, had scant time for her.
James tried to look on the manor objectively. It was nestled in the foothills of the Pennines, and was never intended as a fortress of war. It was surrounded by a wall, more decorative than functional, with outbuildings and barns farther in the distance. The manor itself had dozens of new glazed windows to let in the sun.
He glanced at Isabel, who studied the manor with a critical eye. Finally, she said, "It would not withstand a siege."
He gave her a tired smile. "It was not meant to, Angel. Reynold's castle is less than a day's ride from here, should trouble come. Margery told me his wife preferred to live here."
She glanced at him, and now he was the object of her study. He knew she was curious to meet the woman he'd been betrothed to. He wanted to let the past rest, to forget that he had put Katherine's life in danger, and that she and his brother had betrayed
him. He would only stay long enough to see what Margery thought so important, and then he would leave.
As they approached the manor, the gates were swung open by guards. The small courtyard was lined with bare trees and shrubs, with no tiltyard or garrison in sight. As James dismounted, the double doors to the manor opened and Margery stepped out. The wind caught her hair, and droplets of rain began to fall.
"We'll be inside shortly!" James called.
She waved and withdrew. When the horses had been seen to, James and Isabel entered the manor. He had forgotten how small and intimate the hall was, with its white-washed walls and low, timbered ceiling. It had seemed so large when he was a child, somewhere a litde boy could easily lose himself in.
Trestle tables were just being cleared of supper, but the servants and people of the manor had not yet left the hall. They milled around almost nervously, and James felt himself tense. What was wrong?
And then he saw Margery standing before the hearth in a heated conversation with Reynold. Once again, he wished he had the size to tower over his younger brother, but it had always been Reynold with the imposing presence, and from now on, the superior fighting skills that James had lost.
James stood his ground and waited for Reynold's decision. Obviously, his brother hadn't known they were to be reunited as a family. He told himself it was for the best, that too much had happened for them to ever be brothers again. It was another part of his life that he had lost.
Reynold suddenly faced James. "You must know that you have come at the worst possible time," he said, his voice tense.
"I don't know any such thing. Margery only told me it was urgent that I come, so I did."
Reynold hesitated, and his gaze flickered to Is
abel for but a moment. "She did not tell you of Katherine's pregnancy? She is about to give birth to our child."
James schooled his features into an impassive mask, trying to sort his emotions. "Then I'll leave."
Reynold shook his head. "No, this is not right. Stay until after the babe is born. There are things to be said."
Before James could protest, Reynold turned and left the hall. There was an awkward silence, until Margery suddenly gasped, and James saw her horrified gaze fix on his bandaged hand. He wanted to hide it. Instead, he lifted it up and said, "I thought I'd try a new challenge—sword fighting with three fingers."
She gaped at him, tears in her eyes. "James, what happened?"
"I am fine, sweetheart. A horse got the better of me."
"But—your sword hand," she whispered, lifting up his arm.
Leave it to his sister to speak the obvious. He pulled away gently. "When it heals, I'll be sword fighting again."
One tear trickled down her cheek, but she turned away, calling for supper to be brought. Throughout the evening, news was brought down of Katherine's labor, and the household was abuzz with worries and hopes. Margery and Isabel sat side by side before the fire, awkward and silent, while James sat at a table and drank.
He wished to hell the evening was over, that he didn't have to be worried that Katherine could die. He knew he was emptying the pitcher of ale too quickly, that both Margery had Isabel were watching him. Let them watch. Margery knew damn well that he shouldn't be here. He and Reynold had said all they would ever say to each other on the day James had agreed to break the betrothal contract.
As midnight approached, people drowsed on their benches or spoke in low tones. Isabel had fallen
asleep at the table, her head pillowed in her arms, and Margery was dozing before the fire.
Reynold suddenly descended the staircase. Dozens of voices spoke at once, but he raised his arms for quiet, smiled, and said, "My wife has had a son."
The cheers went up and people slapped his back, or took his hand in congratulations. James sank lower in his chair as Margery flung herself into Reynold's arms.
As the servants went off to bed one by one, Reynold turned and looked directly at James, his smile fading.
James slowly rose to his feet as Reynold approached his table. Margery stood between them for a moment, then sighed and said, "I'll take my leave of you gentlemen and peek in on the baby before Katherine is asleep. Can I trust you both to behave yourselves?"
Reynold smiled and leaned to kiss her cheek. "We shall be fine. Katherine is waiting for you."
James saw Margery give him a warning frown before she departed. The hall, lit by candles and a dying fire, was now deserted except for the two brothers—and Isabel, still asleep at the table.
Reynold looked down on her, and James felt himself bristling with defensiveness. Then he saw
Reynold's gaze come back to him—and widen. "What happened to your hand?"
"In my clumsiness, I fell from a horse and was thoroughly stomped upon. You can now claim you're the best swordsman in the family—but you might have to fight my wife for the honor."
Reynold's eyes narrowed. "That was not even amusing, James. You are lucky to be alive."
"So I've been told."
There was an awkward silence until Reynold said, "When I heard about your wedding, and asked why I had not been invited, Margery would only say that the king's priest married you quickly."
James studied Reynold, trying to discern the truth. "You would have wanted to be invited to my wedding?"
"You are my brother. That will never change."
James poured him a tankard of ale, then refilled his own. "I thought everything had changed after the war."
Reynold sat down on one side of the table, had James took the bench opposite him.
Reynold sipped his ale for a moment before saying, "Some things cannot be the same, but perhaps we can move beyond. Could we do that?"
"So many things happened during that war. I'm not sure how to get beyond."
Reynold smiled. "I can start with one thing. My wife's family holdings, and mine, survived the war mosdy unscathed, and much of that has to do with you and your forethought."
Stunned, James cleared his throat. "That's not true. You both pledged your allegiance to King Henry—it was all he wanted."
"No, I do not think so. But I have come to understand that you chose your allegiances not for selfish reasons, but to benefit your family. And it worked—but I was too enraged by your betrayal to see that you made the hard decisions where you had to."
Relief spread through him. "I did not wish to betray you—and I certainly meant Katherine no harm."
"I know that now," Reynold said in a soft voice. "But I had been feeling great guilt in loving her, and it was overwhelming to discover that you were behind her capture, regardless of your intentions."
James remained silent, unsure what his brother wanted from him.
Reynold looked at Isabel's bowed head. "It would ease me gready to know that you were happy. But your wife seems unlike the woman I thought you'd marry."
"Why does everyone keep telling me this?" James asked, forcing a smile. "Our marriage did not begin well—surely you heard that Isabel robbed
me."
Reynold gave a rueful smile. "I did hear rumors."
"Her father raised her to kill me, and that has not been easy to overcome."
"But are you happy?"
"I'll let you know."
Reynold nodded, then seemed to hesitate. "I have one other thing I wish to discuss. Our brother, Edmund."
James clenched his jaw and waited.
"This is the last ghost hanging between us, and I do not think Edmund would want it thus."
"Reynold, what do you want from me?"
"Your understanding," he said quietly. "It took me a long time to accept that I had a hand in my brother's death, however accidental it may have been."
"And I'm sure my behavior at the time didn't help."
"No, it did not. You beat me, James, when I was already hating myself. Why did you treat me like that? Edmund was different than us, and you never paid him much heed."
"Of course I did," James shot back.
"I saw how you behaved around him, how you wanted him out of the hall when your guests were there."
James slammed to his feet, feeling again the helpless anger that overwhelmed him whenever his youngest brother was mentioned.
"Hold!" Reynold said. "I am not condemning you —I did the same thing. And for that, I bear the guilt of his death. He never would have made a knight, but he would have made a compassionate priest. And he certainly never would have wanted the two of us to carry this guilt throughout our lives."
James sat back down, feeling again the anguish of Edmund's death, and recognizing the guilt intertwined. "It was easy for me to blame you," he finally said in a hoarse voice, "maybe too easy to take out my anger on you, the anger I should have reserved for myself."
"Then let us put it behind us. We are only hurting ourselves and Margery, and even our wives."
Reynold held out his hand, and James clasped it gladly.
In the morning after mass, Isabel joined her husband and his brother and sister as they broke their fast. Reynold was a huge man, broadly
muscled, with bright, violet eyes beneath a heavy brow. He had a gentle smile at odds with his warrior's body. She tried to relax, seeing the two brothers at ease.
"Isabel," James said, "allow me to properly introduce my brother, Viscount Reynold Welles. Reynold, this is my wife, Isabel."
Reynold reached for her hand, and she let him bring it to his lips.
"I am pleased to have a new sister," he said.
Isabel realized that he did not look down at her garments in shock, or express any wariness.
Margery wore a relieved smile.
"Lord Welles, did your wife give birth?" Isabel asked.
"Please, call me Reynold. Yes, we have
a son, Nicholas."
"It is a strong name."
After they had begun to eat, Reynold said, "James, Katherine insists she would like to meet your wife this morning."
James's smile faded, and Isabel's curiosity grew. Would he want to see the woman who had broken their engagement? Would he refuse and begin another argument with his brother?
And did she herself really want to meet another of James's women, who would only remind her how little she could ever measure up?
James's smile returned, although this time he looked a bit pained. "Are you certain she wants to see me? I'd understand if not."
"She would like me to bring up both of you."
Isabel saw James glance at her. "Very well. My wife will only hold me at sword point if I refuse."
Reynold turned his bright eyes on her. "I understand you are quite good with a sword."
Isabel deliberately kept her gaze away from James. "I am good, yes, but not invincible."
"Thank God," James added. "Otherwise I'd not be here."
Reynold laughed. "It sounds like a tale worth hearing."
James rose to his feet. "Another time, brother. I wish to meet your son."
On the second floor, Reynold led them all to a spacious suite of apartments, where sun streamed through glazed windows. Isabel expected to find a bedridden woman, but instead Reynold's wife was bent over a cradle beside the hearth. She straightened slowly as the door opened. She was blond, well-curved and beautiful. Obviously James's ideal woman, Isabel thought.
"Katherine," Reynold said, "this is James's wife, Isabel."
Isabel felt like a clumsy giant as Katherine came forward. She noticed that the woman didn't quite meet her eyes.
"Isabel, I am pleased to meet you," she said. "Margery speaks of you with admiration."
Isabel was speechless. Surely they couldn't be talking about the same woman, the one who was worried Isabel's presence would hurt her chance at a good marriage. She cleared her throat and changed the subject. "Congratulations on the birth of your son."
"Thank you."
Then Katherine's gaze turned to James, and Isabel held her breath. She didn't believe James had ever physically harmed her, yet Katherine's smile disappeared and her cheeks reddened.