Читать книгу Underneath The Mistletoe Collection - Джанис Мейнард, Marguerite Kaye - Страница 38

Chapter Ten

In the waning light of the day, Isabella stood beneath the archway of the alcove and surveyed the work they’d completed these last three days. This bedchamber on the upper floor was even larger than the master chamber at Warehaven. She didn’t need this much space, but if her choice was this or Dunstan’s current chamber, she’d stay here.

A shiver trickled down her spine at the mere thought of him...Dunstan...Richard...her husband. She wondered where he was and what business had kept him from returning for two nights. Not that she was complaining, or pining for his company. Even though, to her shocked dismay, she’d actually enjoyed his kiss, but she also enjoyed dropping into bed, with fresh mattress stuffing and clean covers, then falling into blissful sleep, knowing that she’d not have to lay awake, alert to his movements while worrying about what he intended to do.

Besides, with the lord absent it had been easier to step into being the lady of the keep. He had to have been blind not to realise how badly this place needed someone to take it firmly in hand. At least with him gone, the maids and women from the village didn’t need to second guess her orders. Thankfully, only one of the men had seen fit to question her and she’d easily glared him down.

They might consider her young and possibly think her weak, but she’d been taught to command a keep by the best. As far as Isabella was concerned, no stronger woman existed than her mother. None would dare defy an order given by the Lady of Warehaven and come out of the confrontation unscathed. Isabella had no intention of being any less—to do so would only bring dishonour to her mother’s teachings.

She shook off the idle thoughts chasing her to look around the bedchamber. Now that the cobwebs had been removed, the rushes replaced, everything scrubbed and the walls freshly whitewashed, this was the most liveable chamber in the entire keep—not counting the kitchens. Once the newly returned cook had taken charge of her kitchen and scullery maids, she’d set them cleaning with a vengeance. Isabella had never seen a fire pit so soot-and ash-free before—even the pots appeared clean enough to be new. The kitchens at Warehaven weren’t as spotless as these.

One of the younger women that Hattie had coerced into helping them clean the chamber brushed an imaginary speck of dust from the freshly washed bed curtains. ‘There you be, my lady. Is there anything else you’ll be needing?’

While she would love to request hot water for a bath, Isabella wasn’t about to risk being interrupted by Dunstan if he returned, or one of the guards. She would make do with the cold water and cloths she had on hand.

Besides, she didn’t doubt that the woman was just as tired as she. They’d all worked non-stop to set this one chamber to rights. And they still had the rest of the keep to do. ‘No, I think we’ve all done enough today. You should be heading to your home before it gets too dark.’

The woman nodded, then left the chamber. As she pushed open the door, Isabella briefly saw the man standing guard. It had been a different guard each day and night. For whatever reason, the lord of the keep wanted her under constant guard—or supervision, she wasn’t certain which—but she wasn’t going to question the men about their orders, she’d save that for the lord himself. She was just thankful that the guard on duty was never the man who’d tried to accost her.

However, that little bit of relief didn’t stop her from wishing the door opened into the chamber and that there was a locking bar on her side. Whoever had installed the door must have been a drunken sot to have got it so backwards.

Just as she’d done the last two nights, she dragged a heavy bench over and placed it across the doorway. It wouldn’t stop anyone from entering, but when they tripped over the bench, at least she’d know she was no longer alone.

Certain her privacy wouldn’t be interrupted unexpectedly, Isabella moved the wash basin, bucket of water and cloths into the alcove off to the side of the chamber. She removed her gown, groaning at the damage done to the best piece of clothing she owned.

Isabella laughed at her thought. ‘Best? More like only.’ She draped it across a small table, hoping that tomorrow she would find time to somehow, at the very least, save some of the embroidery work at the hem.

Once they finished cleaning the keep, perhaps she’d be able to talk Dunstan into loaning her money to buy fabric for a gown or two. She’d see he was repaid when her family arrived in the spring, as they undoubtedly would once the weather cleared.

After washing, she stirred the coals in the brazier, climbed into the oversized bed, blew out the flame on the oil lamp and snuggled down under the covers.

* * *

Richard paused at the bottom of the stairs. It would likely be easier to turn around and seek the bed in his small chamber at the rear of the Great Hall. He hadn’t slept above stairs in years—not since his first marriage had turned sour and he’d made avoiding Agnes his life’s mission.

He heard the buzz of whispers behind him and felt the undercurrent of unease and curiosity ripple through those still gathered in the hall. If he turned away now all would assume this wife was no better than the last. And while he hadn’t decided if that were true or not, he’d no wish for others to make that decision.

Besides, once the gossips on Dunstan Isle got started, there was no stopping them. Their tongues would wag until every last man, woman and child living here knew that Dunstan’s lord had little use for his wife.

That was the last thing he wanted to happen. He’d had two long nights to think about it and had come to the conclusion that it was imperative everyone believe he cared for Isabella, and she for him, when Glenforde came to rescue her. He wanted that cur to suffer in every way imaginable and seeing that the man who’d kidnapped his betrothed was a good husband, and she a satisfied wife, would only be the beginning.

He headed up the steps, knowing full well that a battle of words would ensue the moment he walked into the chamber. The one night he’d planned on staying in town had turned into two and he’d not bothered to send word. Then again, she’d probably not even noticed his absence.

The guard at the top of the stairs nodded, then stepped aside, but the one outside the chamber was seated on the floor, his head resting against the wall, snoring. Is this how she’d been guarded?

Clearing his throat, Richard startled the guard. ‘You’re dismissed.’

The shame-faced man jumped to his feet, stuttering, ‘My...my lord, I—’

In no mood for excuses, Richard ordered, ‘Leave.’

He’d already lost a cherished daughter because he’d been so certain of her safety. That mistake would never be repeated.

Someone on this island was a traitor, they’d helped Glenforde and Richard had no way of knowing if that person was still on Dunstan or not. Until Glenforde was dispatched to his maker, along with his minion, Richard would not foolishly risk Isabella’s life.

He was not completely lacking in wits—he knew that if anything happened to her, her father would see to not just his death, but to Dunstan’s complete destruction.

Once the guard was gone from his sight, Richard cracked the door open slowly. Faint light from the glowing brazier lit the far corner of the room. The sound of gentle, even breathing coming from the bed assured him that his timing was near perfect—Isabella was sound asleep.

If he was quiet, perhaps he could slip into bed without her becoming aware of his presence. He opened the door as slowly as possible to ensure it didn’t creak, then stepped into the room, slamming his kneecap directly into a solid object.

A blistering curse escaped his lips. His knee throbbed in sharp pain. Without thinking, he kicked a bench out of the way. Obviously she had little faith in her guards.

Even though she said nothing, Richard knew she had to have heard his not-so-graceful entrance into the chamber.

He limped over to the bed, unbuckled his sword belt and propped the weapon alongside the bed before sitting down on the edge to remove his boots.

‘What are you doing?’

‘Going to bed.’ Even to his ears the words sounded curt.

‘You might try your own chamber.’

He tossed one boot on to the floor. Suddenly too tired to argue, he said simply, ‘I am.’ His other boot thudded next to the first.

She rolled on to her side, facing him. ‘Oh, no you aren’t.’

Richard pulled his tunic and shirt over his head in one swipe and dropped the clothing atop his boots. ‘Go to sleep.’

The bed shifted as she sat up. ‘Not here I won’t.’

‘I am in no mood to argue with you tonight. Just go to sleep.’ He rose to finish undressing.

She said nothing, but, grabbing a cover from the bed, Isabella carried it to a chair near the brazier.

He stared at her. Unless he took charge of this situation he knew he’d get no sleep. Without giving warning, he crossed the room and pulled her up from the chair. ‘You aren’t sleeping here.’

‘I am certainly not sleeping with you.’ Her eyes widened as if she’d just realised his state of undress. ‘You’re...naked.’

Richard grasped the skirt of her chemise and jerked the undergown over her head. ‘And now so are you.’ Before she could pull away, he picked her up and carried her over to the bed.

‘Put me down.’

‘Gladly.’ He dropped her on to the mattress and quickly climbed in behind her. Not giving her time to escape, he pulled her tight against his chest while drawing the covers over them.

He wasn’t certain what he noticed first—the warmth of her body against his, or the softness of her skin. Either way the combination was as intoxicating as any fine wine.

‘Let me go, Dunstan.’

Her voice was low, the tone laced with warning. A warning he chose to ignore. With his lips against her ear, he whispered, ‘Richard.’

‘Let me go, Richard.’

Sadly for her, using his name didn’t make any difference, he still wasn’t going to release her. Instead, while keeping one arm slung around her, he propped up his head with the other and, to irritate her further, rested his chin on her shoulder.

She tried pulling his arm away from her body. ‘Have you been drinking?’

‘No, why do you ask?’

‘You seem to have confused me with one of your whores.’

Whores? Her statement drew a laugh from him. ‘I fear you are mistaken, wife. I don’t have any whores, so I suppose...’ He paused to trail his mouth along her shoulder before saying, ‘You’ll have to serve that purpose.’

His attention to the side of her neck made Isabella shiver. She wished she could find the will to be revolted by his actions as much as she was by his words. ‘I am not serving as your whore.’

He paused, his chin once again resting on her shoulder. ‘Nor would I want you to.’

‘So, you don’t desire me?’ Isabella clamped her mouth shut. What had she been thinking to ask such a question? The whole idea was to somehow get through this entire winter without him turning into a rutting stallion. Otherwise, she’d never be granted an annulment.

‘Desire you?’ His voice was so deep, so near, that it threatened to take her breath away. ‘Any man with half a brain would desire you.’

She rolled her eyes at that statement. Glenforde obviously hadn’t.

‘I desire you more than you could possibly imagine.’

Isabella tensed. Did that mean she was in imminent danger of losing her virtue?

A soft laugh brushed against her shoulder, a warm rush of air that he chased with his lips. ‘Fear not, my dear, you are quite safe this night.’

She relaxed slightly, but remained alert. Even when her eyes were impossibly heavy to hold open, she fought closing them, fearful he would change his mind. What would she do in that case? While she would fight him as hard as she could, she was no match against his strength, so in the end it wasn’t as if she could physically stop him. Besides, from the odd warmth building low in her belly, she wasn’t all that certain she possessed enough will to fight him for long.

Why did his arm slung across her, resting against her chest, feel so...right? Why did his steady breaths, brushing against the nape of her neck, beckon her to relax and fall asleep? The last two nights in this bed had started out so cold, she’d shivered herself to sleep each night. But now, the warmth along her back and all the way to her toes was welcome.

He shifted slightly in the bed and she was once again awake, tense and on guard. When he moved his arm to reach up and cup her chin, she held her breath.

‘Just a kiss goodnight, Isabella. That is all.’ His lips briefly met hers before he settled on his side in the bed. ‘Go to sleep.’

Before she could determine why she found that kiss so lacking, the sound of gentle snoring drew her out of her bewilderment. Perhaps he had spoken the truth—she was in no danger this night of attention she did not want.

However, as much as she longed to find sleep herself, she realised that she now shivered from the cold.

The gown she’d been wearing to bed was on the floor on the other side of the chamber. He would most certainly wake up if she rose from the bed. And the blankets, which had been plentiful the last two nights, were now mostly wrapped around him, leaving her with barely enough to cover her body.

A quick tug on the covers gained her nothing. They were tucked so tightly under his body that she wasn’t going to get them free without rolling him off the bed. And as much as she’d like to do just that, he’d looked and sounded tired.

He probably was good and tired. Not because he’d spent the nights with some whore. She didn’t truly think that was the case. She’d only accused him of doing so to see if it would anger him enough to leave the chamber. Unfortunately for her, it seemed that he found ignoring her barbs far too easy.

If he was anything like her father and brother, he’d likely spent so many long hours going over inventory and inspecting his ships that he hadn’t had any ambition left to come back to the keep. She couldn’t be certain, but felt fairly safe guessing there was a makeshift pallet in one of the warehouses. So, he probably needed a good night’s sleep.

And since that meant she would be able to sleep without trying to keep one eye open, she was more than happy to leave him to his dreams. But she didn’t wish to freeze in the meantime.

Isabella frowned, staring at him in the semi-darkness, and poked his arm, hoping it would irritate him enough that he’d roll over and free some of the covers. She quickly drew her hand back, waiting to see if she’d disturbed his sleep. But he didn’t budge and, once again, the sound of his heavy breathing met her ears.

If he could sleep through the poking, then surely he’d not wake up if she moved closer to share the warmth of the covers. Easing closer, she snuggled against him and pulled the blankets over her shoulder.

Before she could made sense of what was happening, he’d rolled on to his back and she found herself resting halfway across his chest, encircled within his arm. Pushing against his chest gained her nothing except a tighter embrace.

‘Let me go.’

He groaned softly and draped his other arm across his body so his hand rested on her hip. ‘You poked and prodded, tried to jerk the covers from me before seeking warmth. I am tired and obviously you were cold.’ He patted her hip. ‘Now, you aren’t, but I am still tired.’

‘I thought you were asleep.’

‘I was.’

His voice was rough with sleep and his embrace was warm without being threatening. Yet her heart raced as if she’d been running in fear of losing her life. ‘If you were asleep, how do you know what I did?’ She was amazed at the breathlessness of her voice.

‘Hmmm?’

She parted her lips to repeat her question, but closed them before doing so. Why risk waking him up all the way? Right now she was warm and while her body tingled wherever it touched his and hummed with curiosity, and unexpected anticipation, she too could easily fall asleep.

She snuggled closer against him, until his hand tightened on her hip, making breathing harder still. ‘Please, stop.’

It sounded as if he’d spoken through clenched teeth and, unwilling to risk awakening him further, she closed her eyes.