by Mary Wine
Isabel sighed. “She is correct.”
Ramon softly growled next to her ear. “Do not deny me.”
She cupped his face and turned him so that their lips were only a breath apart. “I am not. Circumstances are.” He nuzzled her temple. “Never have I been so tempted to curse God and his direction for me.”
“Agreed.”
He grunted and his arms tightened around her for a long moment before he turned and deposited her back in the bed.
“As you say, good nurse.” His tone was tight as he nodded.
He strode through the doorway and across to the chamber Ambrose occupied. He laid his fist on the wooden panel of the door a single time before pushing it inward.
“I need a bed, since I have been turned out of my lady’s.”
There was a gasp and Ambrose lifted his tousled head from the bedding.
“You will have to find another bed, madam,” Ramon said before he pulled back the bedding for the woman.
“The hell you say,” Ambrose argued.
“The hell my wife’s nurse says,” Ramon said as he helped Ambrose’s bedmate out and took her place. “By all means, try your luck with the woman. It seems I have none.”
Mildred cleared her throat and wiggled against the pillows as Ambrose eyed her across the passageway.
“Why are we not on the Crusade again?”
The displaced maid stood for a long moment before she gathered up her clothing and exited the chamber. Her bare feet made soft sounds against the floor as she descended the stairs.
Isabel envied the girl, for at least she did not have everyone concerned about her. Being a lady was often more trouble than being a nun.
“I thought you wanted me to wed,” she groused quietly.
Mildred nodded and opened her eyes. “Are you regretting your heated emotions toward the baron now, my lamb?”
Isabel pouted but it gained her no more attention from Mildred than it had when she was young. “I cannot help that the man makes me forget all reason.”
Mildred cackled with amusement, her eyes disappearing into the folds of her face.
Isabel grumbled, “It is not like you to be so unkind, Mildred.”
“Only knowledgeable.” Mildred laid a kind hand on Isabel’s forearm. “When age steals away your years, you will understand why I told you not to reject your opportunity to be a wife again.”
“I have wed him. You are the one between us now.”
“And you will thank me when your belly rises and no one whispers when you pass by as to the origins of the child. Perhaps you think such rumors will die with the passing of years? They will not. When time comes for your offspring to wed, they will stalk you like specters, for there are always those who try to profit from the misfortunes of others.” Mildred’s voice held a firm resolve that Isabel recognized as unmovable. There was also a ring of truth too loud to ignore.
But she cared for it not at all.
Not at all.
* * *
Jacques snarled. His young squire didn’t flinch. He’d learned years ago to stand true in place or suffer worse for being a coward.
“Let Ramon have her. I will find another heiress.”
Jacques nodded and reached for a portion of meat, but his expression remained troubled as he chewed. Finally he cursed.
He sat back in his chair and considered the youth. “Return to Thistle Keep. I may yet need to know what is happening there.”
The youth lowered himself and left. Jacques toyed with his dagger, spinning it as its point dug into the tabletop.
Aye, he might need to know what was happening if his father did not agree with allowing Isabel to keep the land. It was Raeburn land, and a Raeburn never lost land.
He wouldn’t be the first son to break that tradition.
At least she was beginning to interest him with her cleverness. Of course, she’d be conquered if he wanted it so. She was merely a woman and made for a man’s use, but it was always more interesting when he encountered a female who made the chase entertaining. He grinned, his member stirring. He would draw out breaking her to savor the experience.
He called out for his scribe. The man carried a small desk with him as he lowered himself and entered the tent.
“A letter to my father.”
The man nodded silently, arranging a smooth sheet of paper in front of him and removing the fitted leather top from his clay ink well. He lifted his quill and sharpened it with a small knife before he dipped it and waited.
Seven
Mildred was right.
Isabel tried to clear her mind and let that single thought sink in. It slid right off and she huffed. Mildred was very knowledgeable.
She pressed her hands together and attempted to concentrate on her prayer. She ended up opening her eyes.
Mildred was driving her insane.
Isabel left when the service was finished but two women trailed her. Seven days had never felt so long. She went to the mews, seeking out Griffin.
“I thought your nurse agreed with your wedding.”
Isabel looked up to find Ambrose leaning against one of the walls in the mews. Griffin bristled but settled back down.
“She does.”
“Yet she stops the consummation?”
Isabel held out her gloved hand for Griffin. “Forgive me, sir, but I shall not discuss so personal a matter with you.”
Ambrose crossed his arms over his chest as he leaned back against the wall. His blond hair had a curl to it, giving him a boyish flair, but one look into his blue eyes and she knew he was no boy. There was hard muscle beneath the sleeves of his tunic and broad shoulders to attest to the hours of training he did with his sword. The man was a knight, and a proven one at that. Deep in his eyes was a knowledge of things she couldn’t possibly fathom that would make her shiver if she looked too closely.
“It is the talk of the manor, madam.”
“Of course it is.”
She gave him a withering look. He groaned and straightened. “I would have my bed back. Tell me what your nurse likes, the way to her heart.”
Isabel laughed. “Mildred is past the age of wooing, Sir Ambrose.”
He grinned, full of mischief. “No woman ever is. It is simply a matter of the right methods of persuasion.”
His tone was confident. It stirred a hint of mischief in her, which was a welcome improvement over the frustrations of the past week.
“You are a rogue.”
He spread his arms wide and bent slightly at his lean waist. But when he straightened he sighed. “Yet I will admit that your nurse has proven resistant to my charm. Which leaves me the option of stuffing her into an arrow sack as a means of achieving my goal.”
“Do not,” Isabel scolded, but found him looking at her with a teasing glint in his eyes. “She adores quail eggs.”
His face brightened, intent flashing through his eyes. “Excuse me, lady, I have my own hunt to embark on.”
He left the mews before Mildred emerged from the shadows.
“Selling my secrets, are you?”
Isabel carried Griffin toward the doorway. “Merely ensuring you enjoy the attentions being given to you.” She fluttered her eyelashes. “You shouldn’t waste opportunities. A wise person recently offered me the same advice.”
Mildred humphed, but there was a small smile decorating her lips, proving she was amused.
“You might have told him you have started to bleed.”
Isabel fluttered her eyelashes. “And deny you the pleasure of being the object of his attention?”
Mildred narrowed her eyes and shook a bony finger at Isabel. “Inside this time-ravaged body is the girl I was. Setting that man on me is unkind, for I know he has no true appetite for me, and he is a fine sight.”
“Hmmm…” Isabel of
fered her nurse an innocent look. “Since you have ensured his bed is not as…warm…as he would like it to be, perhaps he might—”
“Have done!” Mildred tossed her apron up to cover her face. “When did you become such a wicked child?”
When indeed.
“I believe it was about the time Ramon de Segrave marched his men up to my keep and you advised me to enjoy it.”
Mildred chuckled. “Agreed, although you did not admit it at the time.”
“Was it so great a sin to want to be courted?”
Mildred cackled and shook her head. “Not that any man would agree with me.”
Isabel stepped into the morning sun and scanned the yard. Ramon was overseeing the training of his men. He’d stripped down to only his under tunic. Sweat glistened on the sides of his face, wetting his hair as he demonstrated how to swing his sword: up high, and then in a sweeping motion designed to cut a man from his collarbone through his chest and out his side.
Brutal. Savage. But coupled with devotion to honor, it was a combination she could not resist.
When had she become wicked?
When Ramon de Segrave kissed her!
* * *
“The lady is bathing.”
Ramon growled. “Tormenting me now, Ambrose? A fine friend you are. Not only am I barred from my own wife, but you would let me know she is sitting in the bathhouse wearing naught but water.”
Ambrose chuckled. “I believe this is the first time I have heard you whine.”
Ramon popped his knuckles and sent his fist into his opposite palm. “I have a great deal of pent up frustration, Ambrose. Make a target of yourself and I will happily use you as a release.”
“Hoping your sweet lady will come to nurse you?”
Ramon growled but stopped, contemplating having Isabel tending to him. “It may well be worth allowing you to land a few blows for a change.”
Ambrose snorted. “Allow nothing.”
Ramon bared his teeth at his captain.
Ambrose chuckled. “You are woefully ignorant of women’s ways, my friend.”
“And you are overly knowledgeable,” Ramon answered. “Or so the priest keeps bending my ear with dire predictions for your soul if I do not curtail you. Why do you tell him all of your conquests?”
“Because I need to know what manner of amends I need to perform. Does not the man preach daily for sinners to come to him? I give him obedience and he goes to you,” Ambrose shot back. “Yet…” He lifted a single finger into the air between them. “That is not the subject I came to discuss. However, if you do not want to know that your lady is preparing herself for you, I will be silent and say not another word. Personally I would not like to consummate my vows with the salt of a hard day’s work on my brow, but perhaps—”
Ramon looked toward the bathhouse. There was no flurry of activity, just the last of the evening sun lighting up the thatch roofing. “How do you know she prepares?”
Ambrose’s expression became sensual. “The look in her eyes, my friend.”
Ramon glared at him suspiciously.
Ambrose shrugged. “And I heard from two of the maids that the lady began to bleed last week. You really should not underestimate the value of being in the confidence of scullery maids.”
“Father Gabriel warns against it,” Ramon offered dryly. “Quite passionately, for a man of the cloth.”
Ambrose chuckled. “The man is jealous.”
“He’s a monk.”
“A fact that does not prove me incorrect.”
Ramon groaned. “He’s going to make me build a pillory just so he can have you sentenced to it.”
Ambrose shrugged again and pointed at the platform standing off to the left of the church door. “I rather prefer being on display.”
“Exactly,” Ramon agreed. “As soon as the good priest learns how much you are in favor of his punishment, he’ll be hounding me to build a set of stocks.”
Mildred came into view, guiding two maids toward the bathhouse. She fussed at them, opening the door because their arms were full. One had new garments and the other Isabel’s silver comb. They caught him watching and erupted into giggles before disappearing inside.
“I am grateful.” Ramon wiped his brow on his sleeve.
Ambrose lifted his eyebrows. “Yet you sound so cross. Have I displeased you, my lord?”
Ramon growled but the sound lacked any true menace. He was too busy controlling the rush of heat flooding him. The final tasks he’d intended to accomplish before the sun set diminished in importance.
In fact, they became completely insignificant. Ambrose chuckled, drawing his attention. Ramon glared at his friend but Ambrose only laughed harder. For once, Ramon didn’t care. In fact, he didn’t care about anything except the fact that Isabel might be his now.
His…
* * *
“It’s too late in the day to wash your hair.” Isabel didn’t bother to reply as Mildred scolded her. “Well, if that’s the way it is, go stand by the fire and dry it before you take ill.”
She’d never felt more alive.
Isabel moved toward the fire, but she wasn’t cold. The water had been refreshing, cooling the heat that had been building inside her. She ran a comb through her hair, lifting a section of it so that it might be warmed by the fire.
She’d be a wife tonight.
And what of tomorrow?
She frowned, disliking the doubt surfacing to taint her joy. Could she not be simply happy?
Yet it was a valid question. Would Ramon remain devoted to her? Or would he consider her in her place and his plaything?
“Are you still troubled by the thought of being my wife?”
She turned slowly, thinking for a moment that she must have imagined Ramon’s voice. He was all she thought of anymore, her dreams as full of him as her waking hours were.
This time he was real. She trembled, her body tightening as she looked at him. His hair glistened with water, wetting the collar of the tunic he wore. She slowly shook her head but tightened her grip on her comb as she became uncertain. Perhaps timid was a better word. Her knees felt weak as she tried to decide how she should proceed.
His eyes narrowed. “Then what thoughts trouble you so much your brow is furrowed, my lady?”
His tone was soft and enticing. He moved closer and her belly tightened. It was a thrilling sensation that left her a little breathless. She shifted away from the fire without truly thinking about it. She was simply responding, her thoughts scattering.
“Answer me.” There was a hint of demand in his tone, but what drew her interest was the dash of need.
He was so formidable, so strong, her thoughts couldn’t be something that he needed.
And still, his gaze was beseeching. She struggled to form her thoughts into words. “I do not know…how to proceed.” She placed her comb down and took a deep, slow breath that did little to calm her racing heart. “It is too early to retire and yet…”
“I cannot wait either.”
He stood in front of her, a single space between them. He reached out and stroked her cheek. “You are my undoing, Isabel. A force I have never felt…”
His breath brushed her cheek. A ripple of sensation moved across her skin. It broke through the indecision holding her back. She reached for him, for what she craved, tracing his collarbone with her fingertips before flattening her hands against his chest.
He groaned and she withdrew. But he pressed toward her, until her hands rested on his chest again.
“More,” he rasped.
Her back hit the wall but he stood still, waiting for her to make the next move. An insane little twist of power went through her, stunning her with how intense it was to reach for the man she desired.
As Rauxana had…
Heat licked up her insides, s
etting off a throbbing at the top of her sex. She smoothed her hands over his chest, delighting in the feel of his body. He was hard in places where she was soft, and she realized that they were made to fit together. He groaned again, but this time she smiled, her eyelids feeling heavy as she leaned toward him.
“Touch me,” she barely whispered. She expected him to chastise her for such boldness. Wives did not demand. Yet she wanted more than to submit.
He settled his hands on her hips. She felt each red-hot fingertip, but instead of burning her, they made her shudder with more need. He smoothed his hands along her sides, and then down and over the flare of her hips before slipping down to squeeze the backs of her thighs.
“I have dreamed of doing nothing else for the last three weeks.”
He leaned down and buried his face in her hair. His breath teased her nape as he drew in a deep breath and slid his hands up her body to cup her breasts.
“I want to stroke you, Isabel…” He gathered each breast in his hands and held their weight, sending a jolt of pleasure through her. “Kiss every place that I’ve touched.”
He leaned down and fastened his mouth around one hard nipple. She gasped, a thin cry filling the bathhouse as he swirled his tongue around the puckered point. The barrier of the thin fabric of her under tunic frustrated her.
Ramon lifted his head and locked gazes with her. “And have you do the same to me.”
She stiffened, rolling her lower lip in and setting her teeth into it as she stared into his dark gaze. He was waiting for her, and the idea sparked a boldness she never expected.
“As you wish,” she said sweetly but huskily. She leaned toward him, pressing her body against his from knee to breast. His member was hard against her belly, fanning the flames of desire licking the inside of her passage. She wanted him inside her and felt her body growing moist for him.
He threaded his hands into her hair and rested his forehead against hers. “You have enchanted me.”
“It is only right, for you swept away my will with your kiss.”
He tilted his head and pressed his lips against hers, scattering her thoughts. It was a tender touch at first, a gentle tasting that sent ripples of delight through her. She opened her mouth, needing more contact between them. She reached for him, gripping handfuls of his hair as he traced her lower lip with the tip of his tongue.