Читать книгу Underneath The Mistletoe Collection - Джанис Мейнард, Marguerite Kaye - Страница 37

Chapter Nine

‘My lady?’

Before Isabella could fully open her eyes the window shutters creaked open. Sunlight flooded the chamber, near blinding her and stripping away the last vestige of sleep.

She sat up on the bed and squinted at the older woman now bustling about the room while shaking her head and muttering in disapproval.

‘What was his lordship thinking?’ The woman tossed the linens from the makeshift pallet into a pile. ‘Bringing a lady here with the keep in this condition is unforgivable.’ She tossed some clothing atop the pile. ‘And to keep you in this tiny room—he needs his ears boxed.’

Swooping up the pile, she stood alongside the bed. ‘Never you fear, I’ll see this set right. If you’re hungry, I’m sure the cook has put something together by now.’

Isabella’s stomach growled, supplying the answer before her lips could form the words.

‘How thoughtless of me, of course you are hungry.’ The woman headed towards the door, promising, ‘I will return soon with some food.’

Her senses still muddled, Isabella called out, ‘Wait. Who are you?’

‘Hattie, my lady.’ Still at the door, she added, ‘His lordship came to the village at sunrise, on his way to the docks. After seeing to some matter at the bakery, he ordered his servants back to the keep and asked if I would see to your needs for a time. Now, with your permission I’ll get you something to eat and then we can plan this day’s activities.’

‘Yes, thank you.’ Rising from the bed, Isabella wiped her sleep-tousled hair from her face, wondering just what activities would be in store for her. Obviously a cook had been found—or retrieved—and perhaps a few servants would be on hand to help clean.

Actually, she hoped there were more than a few, because cleaning this keep would require an army just to make it presentable. She shook one of the bed curtains and coughed at the dust flying up into the air. Her mother would be horrified.

To her relief, the items needed for her morning ablution were stacked on top of the chest at the end of the bed. Noticing the ribbons to braid through her hair, she knew these necessities hadn’t been provided by Dunstan.

* * *

Hattie returned with the promised food just as she finished adjusting her ornate girdle low around her waist.

Two men carrying a small table and benches followed the woman into the chamber. The younger man—little more than a boy—dipped his head, put the benches beside the table and left.

However, the older and much larger man wasn’t as quick to take his leave. She’d seen this man before on the ship. He sauntered towards the door, then turned to face her. His bulk dwarfed the small chamber and he raked Isabella with a look that reminded her of a hungry wolf and made her feel somehow dirty. ‘It’s a shame Dunstan saw fit to leave you...unattended.’

Isabella guessed from his pointed hesitation that he meant defenceless, not unattended. She took a step away from him, noting the width of his shoulders, the size of his meaty arms and his two missing fingers with trepidation.

‘I would never leave my special woman wanting for my attention.’

Special woman? What had Dunstan told his men? She moved towards the table, intent on arming herself with the knife sticking out of the round loaf of bread. The small weapon wouldn’t do much damage against this oversized oaf, but it was all she saw readily available.

He came closer to tower over her. ‘Come now, sweeting,’ he drawled low and throaty as if that would tempt her to ignore his ale-laden breath and threatening manner. ‘Wouldn’t you rather have a real man keeping you safe and warm instead of a lad who uses you, then leaves you to fend for yourself?’

She swallowed the sour taste in her mouth as she reached for the knife. Hattie caught her attention and shook her head. For half a heartbeat Isabella feared the woman was working with the man and was silently warning her not to fight what would be a lost cause.

But a heavy thud and the man’s gasp right before he dropped to the floor like a boulder at her feet dissolved that fear.

She drew her confused attention from the floor up to Dunstan’s angry frown. ‘Are you uninjured?’

After she nodded her reply, he shouted for Conal. When his man rushed into the chamber, he pointed at the moaning heap on the floor, ordering, ‘Get him out of here. Confine him so I can deal with him later.’

Once Conal and his staggering charge left the chamber, Hattie turned on Dunstan. ‘Now will you listen to me instead of being so pig-headed?’

Taken aback by the way the older woman spoke to the lord of this keep, Isabella remained silent.

Dunstan sat down at the table, motioning for Isabella to join him before he answered Hattie, by asking, ‘Which chamber would you prefer?’

‘She is a lady.’

Isabella sat across from him and watched the byplay between this master and servant with interest.

‘I am not opening either of those rooms.’

‘Then she will take yours.’

‘So be it.’ He turned his attention to the food and Isabella. Without preamble, he explained, ‘Hattie was my nursemaid and since then has become the island’s chief busybody.’

The woman snatched the loaf of bread from his hands and tore it into two chunks—one for each of them. ‘It’s truly a sad thing that you still need a busybody to keep you from doing yourself harm.’

Isabella swallowed some water in an effort not to choke.

‘It’s more of a sad thing that you seem to constantly forget your place.’

Hattie’s short bark of laughter was punctuated by a deeper frown from Dunstan. To break the tension she feared would escalate, Isabella asked the woman, ‘Have you been on Dunstan Island long?’

‘From before this one here was born, yes.’

Dunstan briefly pointed his eating knife towards Hattie. ‘She came here with my mother and stayed on after I was born.’

‘Someone needed to keep an eye on you.’

‘I am no longer in need of a wet nurse.’

‘And I am still waiting for you to prove that.’

‘Enough!’

Isabella leaned back as Dunstan’s face reddened. His eyes blazed. She wished she could somehow slide beneath the table before he completely lost his temper.

However, Hattie showed no signs of fear—or of relenting. Instead of making a quick escape, the woman patted Dunstan’s shoulder. ‘I tease you overmuch at times and for that I do apologise. It is hard to remember you no longer need or want a mother figure.’

‘Remember what you will, it makes no difference to me.’

Isabella cringed. His surly tone made it quite clear that he truly didn’t care. However, Hattie’s pursed lips and frown made Isabella wonder if Dunstan’s current behaviour was out of the ordinary for him.

The older woman shook her head. ‘Ack, I wonder how you’ve managed not to choke on your sour mood these last months.’

Dunstan shrugged in response, but from the smoothing of his brow, it appeared that his ire was fading as quickly as it had first appeared.

Dismayed by this odd exchange, and Dunstan’s easy manner with this woman, Isabella tried to focus on her food. Obviously Hattie’s relationship with his mother gave her added worth in Dunstan’s eyes. While she wasn’t quite family, neither did she appear to be a servant.

The older woman made the bed, asking, ‘You will not be overwrought if I move Lady Isabella into your old chamber?’

‘Aye, it will wound me deeply to have her housed elsewhere. Especially since I so enjoy sleeping with one eye open all night.’

‘Warehaven would be a better place to house me,’ Isabella interrupted his obvious sarcasm.

Dunstan rolled his eyes, but otherwise ignored her. ‘I’m sure it will suit.’

‘I have no doubts on that.’ Hattie looked at Isabella, adding, ‘But perhaps the lady would like to have the final say.’

Isabella nearly jumped at the chance to escape this small room. ‘The lady would be happy to take a look.’

‘No.’ Dunstan shook his head. ‘The lady and I have other matters to attend.’

After Hattie left the chamber, Isabella curled her fingers around the handle of the eating knife. At Dunstan’s raised brow, she drew her hand away from the utensil. Not that the short blade could do much damage, but gripping it would have made her feel safer.

‘What matters have we to attend?’

Yawning, he stretched his arms out, over his head and then brought them back down. ‘There is still the matter of the bedding.’

‘No. We—’ Isabella pushed back from the table in a rush, knocking over the bench and choking on her reply.

Dunstan’s eyes glimmered. But it was that familiar twitch of his lips that let her know he had once again intentionally led her mind astray.

He rested his elbows on the table. ‘It is far too easy to unsettle you.’

She glared at him, wishing she could find words vile enough to describe what she thought of his amusement at her expense. While his action reminded her of Jared, this man was not her brother, he had no right to tease her in such a manner and she wanted to tell him so. But instead, she righted the bench and sat back down at the table. ‘After all that has happened to me—at your doing—why would I not be unsettled?’

To her horror, she heard her voice waver. Her hands shook, stomach knotted and her throat grew tight enough to make swallowing difficult. Isabella knew that now, since she was dry, warm, had gained a night’s worth of good sleep and had decent food in her belly, she was on the verge of losing the tight grip she’d kept on her grief thus far.

She could no more help it than she could stop the sun from rising. It was her way—she could forge through a crisis with her wits about her for the most part, but once all was calm and back to normal, she became inconsolable, weepy and unreasonable. It was a weakness, a fault her mother had brought to her attention more than once. Like a silly fool she’d actually thought she would be able to hold back the heavy sadness weighing on her heart until she returned to the arms of her family. She sniffed back the threatening tears.

Dunstan reached across the table and placed a hand over hers. ‘Isabella, look at me.’

The unusual gentleness of his touch and his voice was nearly her undoing. She drew her lower lip between her teeth to keep it from trembling and lifted her head to stare at him.

‘Do you remember when you thought I’d turned the ship around to take you home and you knew we were heading south?’

Unable to reply, she only nodded.

‘We did head south, just long enough for one of my men to depart the ship.’

‘Why?’ Her voice cracked and she wanted nothing more than to find a reason to grow angry and set her coming bout of sadness aside for a little while longer. Unfortunately, Dunstan’s calm, easygoing manner, while unfamiliar, wasn’t providing her an outlet for rage.

‘Everyone knows that Warehaven is Matilda’s half-brother and even though the empress is in Normandy, surely word of her brother’s condition would have reached her. So, I gave my man orders to quickly find news of your father and to return on the Lisette Reynolde.’ He stroked his thumb across her hand. ‘The ship docked early this morning.’

Oh, no, she didn’t want to hear this from his lips. No. It was not his place, not his right to tell her that her father had died at his hands and that she’d been forced to wed her sire’s murderer.

She gasped at the pain lancing through her heart and tried desperately to blink away the tears blurring her vision. The rage she’d been seeking should have sprung to life, but it hadn’t. Instead, fear—cold and empty—filled her with a dread she’d not known before this moment.

Dunstan’s hand tightened over hers, as if offering comfort, and he reached up with his other hand to brush at the tears on her cheeks before cupping the side of her face. ‘Isabella, he is not dead. Wounded, yes, and from what I hear, angry as a crazed boar, but your father is not dead.’

A roaring, like a gale-force wind, ripped through her ears, leaving her dizzy and muddling her mind. She shook her head, trying to clear the annoying howl. ‘He lives?’

‘Yes.’

She drew her hand from beneath his and rose. Quickly, before she lost the ability to speak, she said in a rush, ‘I thank you for telling me. But if we’re done here...’

As her words trailed off, Isabella felt his stare piercing her back, but she wasn’t about to turn around to face him. She stood in front of the narrow window, her hands pressed tightly into her stomach and stared through a gathering of tears out at the windswept sea.

The scrape of the wooden bench moving across the floor let her know that he’d risen from the table. She closed her eyes tightly, praying he would just leave the chamber.

‘Are you dismissing me?’

She nodded at his incredulous tone. Apparently it had been a long time since anyone had sent him away—verbally, or otherwise.

Thankfully, his heavy footsteps headed towards the door, which he slammed closed behind him.

Without waiting for more than half a heartbeat, she turned away from the window to throw herself across the bed, burying her face in her crossed arms. This ordeal was not yet over. So why was she suddenly falling into a such a muddled state now? Dear Lord, she’d not wanted this to happen, not now, not here, not until she was safely home, but she couldn’t stop the tears, or the gasping breaths from escaping.

A firm hand on the small of her back surprised her until she realised it belonged to Dunstan. His nearness tore a strangled plea from her. ‘Please, just leave me alone.’

Richard sighed and sat on the edge of the bed. ‘That’s not going to happen.’

Her odd behaviour moments ago had caught him off guard. It wasn’t until he’d left the chamber and taken three steps away from the door when he’d realised what she was doing.

He’d heard her gasping sobs before he had come back into the chamber. The twisting of his gut had nearly kept him from pushing the door open, but he managed to swallow his unnerving response to her tears.

What was he supposed to do? Agnes’s tears had fallen nearly every day, but he doubted that a single one of them had been anything other than a means of manipulation. However, it had taken him months to figure that out and in the meantime she’d made him suffer the pangs of misery.

For months he’d been left feeling confused, frustrated and consumed by guilt. It was hard to determine which gut-wrenching emotion unmanned him the most. Regardless, he had no intention of going through that again.

Richard drew his hand along Isabella’s spine, knowing that whatever he did now would set the stage for their future. He didn’t want more endless months of tears and guilt, but Isabella of Warehaven was not the type of woman who easily dissolved into tears for little reason. Quite the opposite, in truth. He’d seen her fight to hold them in more than once.

With a silent curse, and a fervent hope that she wasn’t toying with him on purpose, he eased further on to the bed and pulled her up against his chest.

She stiffened, then tried to shove him away. ‘What are you doing?’

Her broken words tore at his heart and he had no desire to determine why that should be so. The only thing he wished to determine right this minute was how to make her stop crying.

He held her tightly against him, not permitting her to escape. ‘Tell me what has upset you so. I thought word of your father’s well-being would make you happy, not sad.’

‘Of course I’m gladdened to know he is not dead,’ she mumbled.

He stroked her hair, the silken strands curling around his fingers as if they wanted to cling to him, unlike their owner, who was doing all she could to avoid his touch. ‘Then what reason have you to cry?’

Her sudden, loud intake of breath should have served as a warning. Instead, it was her shriek of rage that gave him his first clue to her anger.

‘What reason do I have to cry?’ She pummelled her fists against his chest, ordering, ‘Release me this instant!’

Richard hesitated a second too long. She jerked back unexpectedly, slamming her head against his chin.

He loosened his hold and she bolted from the bed, shouting, ‘What is wrong?’

Richard glared at her and swung his chin back and forth to make sure she hadn’t broken his jaw before saying, ‘Obviously something is.’

She returned his hard stare. ‘Need I recite the list of crimes committed against me?’

Again? He waved a hand at her. ‘Oh, please do.’

‘I was kidnapped from my home.’

‘Guilty.’ An act he was beginning to regret. He nodded. ‘Continue.’

‘Thrown on to your ship.’ She paced the length of his chamber and while her expression remained tight and cold, her emotions were evident by the motions of her hands.

‘I was then carried across the sea.’ A deaf person could have kept track of the conversation by the way she punctuated each statement with a flurry of hand gestures.

‘And I was forced to care for you.’ Even she paused long enough to glance at the finger she’d pointed at him before quickly crossing her arms against her chest.

Richard leaned back against the pile of pillows at the head of the bed. ‘Anything you forgot?’

She uncrossed her arms and stormed to the end of the bed with her fisted hands held tightly against her side. ‘I was forced to marry you.’ She took a breath before adding, ‘Against my will.’

Oh, she was building a fine fit of rage. At least she wasn’t crying any more, which was an improvement. Instead of stopping her, he nodded and agreed with the obvious, ‘Yes, well, forced usually does mean against one’s will.’

‘And then...then you made me sleep in your chamber.’

He shrugged. ‘It would be deemed odd if my wife slept anywhere else.’

‘Oh!’ She turned away from the bed, only to swing back around and again exclaim, ‘Oh!’

Apparently, she’d run out of crimes to list. ‘Are you finished?’

When she nodded, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and rose. Like a hunter stalking his prey, he followed her as she backed away until the far corner of the chamber stopped her retreat. With both hands against the wall, he trapped her.

‘We have had this conversation before, Isabella, and this will be the last time. Yes, I kidnapped you and forced your hand in marriage.’

In response to her mutinous glare, he took another step forward, pressing his thighs against hers. ‘Not one hair on your head has been harmed. You are sheltered and fed.’

‘Sheltered? In a pigsty.’

‘It serves its purpose and, like it or not, this is your home now.’ Agnes had hated Dunstan’s keep. It was too small, too plain, too far beneath her. He wasn’t going to listen to another woman’s complaints. ‘You’d better get used to it, because this is where you’ll live and this is where you’ll some day die.’

At her wide-eyed look of horror, he added, ‘You are a means to an end and I will do anything to see that Glenforde pays for what he has done.’

Instead of backing down, or cowering in submission like any rational person might, she stared up at him to ask, ‘And I am to suffer for his sins?’

‘Suffer?’ He marvelled at her brashness. ‘It does not appear to me that you are suffering. Oh, yes, you are angry that you did not get your way in this. But you are not suffering.’

‘Who are you to decide if I am suffering or not? I am away from my family, bereft of all I hold dear—’

‘Bereft?’ He cut her off with a snort. ‘Give over, Isabella. Had I not spirited you away from Warehaven, you would have soon wed Glenforde. It was unlikely that the two of you would reside in your father’s keep. You’d have gone to Glenforde’s home, alone, without your family to protect you. Trust me when I tell you that then you would have learned the meaning of the word suffer.’

‘Oh, so I should be thankful you kidnapped me?’

‘Yes, now that you mention it, perhaps you should be.’

‘Phhpptt. You are mightily full of yourself, Dunstan. Does your arrogance know any bounds?’

‘I may be full of myself. But you, my dear, are my wife and you are sorely trying my patience.’

‘I feel so sorry for you.’

Richard closed his eyes for a moment. The urge to rail back at her was strong, but he stopped himself. Many months would pass before Warehaven landed on Dunstan and he had no intention of living in hell until then. Even when her father did come it would change nothing, they would still be married. He needed to somehow come to understand this woman’s odd moods.

Why was she trying so hard to anger him? He peered down at her and noticed that her hands resting against his chest trembled slightly. Interesting. So, she did harbour some fear, some realisation of her current situation.

‘What is all of this about, Isabella? Why the tears and the rage?’

‘I’ve already told you.’

‘No. I think you’ve led me on a merry chase to avoid whatever is truly bothering you.’

She lowered her hands and looked away, the pink of her cheeks deepening. He bit back a smile at her flush. If nothing else, at least he hadn’t been wrong. Something was chafing at her and whatever it was had little to do with the words coming out of her mouth.

To move this along, he stated, ‘I have other matters to attend. I really don’t have all day to stand here trying to coax answers from you.’

‘Then go.’ She tried unsuccessfully to shoulder past him. ‘Just leave me alone.’

Richard sighed as he blocked her escape. And just like that, they were right back to where they’d started. ‘I am not going to leave you alone.’ He stroked her cheek. ‘It is true, we are never going to be happy newlyweds, but most married couples aren’t. Would it not be easier to at least try to find a way to get along?’

Her cheeks flushed again and he paused, frowning. What the...? Oh, dear Lord above, the woman was nervous in his presence. Her tears might have been from relief to discover her father lived. He could understand that. But her anger had flared far too quickly when he’d done nothing except seek to comfort her.

She wanted him to leave the chamber. She was intentionally trying to anger him enough so he’d storm out of here. Why? He studied her face. Her gaze darted everywhere but at him. And when he did finally catch her attention, his lips twitched at the liquid shimmer in her eyes.

‘What do you find so amusing now?’

‘You.’ He slid his hand to the back of her head. ‘I’m going to kiss you, Isabella. So don’t say you weren’t warned.’

She gasped. ‘Don’t you dare—’

He covered her mouth with his, cutting off her useless threat. When she tried to pull away, he tightened his hold, keeping her in place until she leaned against him, her lips softening, then parting beneath his. And when she hesitantly returned his kiss, he thought he would drown in the sweetness.

She reached up with one hand to caress his neck, while the other one twisted the fabric of his shirt, clinging to it as if she, too, were drowning.

His heart thudded heavy in his chest and he gathered her closer, resisting the urge to sweep her up in his arms and carry her to the bed.

This was nothing more than a stolen moment of discovery. He didn’t doubt for one minute that when the spell wore off, she would once again find her anger.

But until then, he would savour the taste of her kiss, the silky slide of her tongue against his. He could wait, because he was certain that one day his fiery bride would want more than just a kiss.

She froze against him, her eyelashes brushing across his as she opened her eyes. Richard sighed with regret. He’d hoped the stolen moment would have lasted a little longer, but knowing it was over, he released her.

Isabella lifted her arm and he grasped her wrist as her opened hand headed towards his cheek. ‘No.’ He shook his head at her. ‘That wouldn’t be wise.’

‘How dare you!’

‘One day soon I’ll dare much more.’

‘Why you...you...’ She stopped mid-sentence, seemingly speechless.

‘You enjoyed that kiss as much as I did.’ Richard dropped her wrist to place a finger beneath her chin, gently closing her mouth. ‘So, don’t play the offended maiden, Isabella.’

He stepped back, then turned to head towards the door. Without glancing back at her, he opened the door and said, ‘I’ll be at the wharf late and will probably remain in town tonight.’

He closed the door behind him and it was all he could do not to laugh when something bounced off the chamber door.