My Heart Belongs to You (Medieval Romance Trilogy Book 3) (4 page)

Nicholas frowned. “Of course. She’ll be my wife and give me heirs.”

“Surely you’re also delighted by the prospect of ending your self-enforced celibacy.”

Nicholas’s clenched his jaw. His brother spoke too much. “I haven’t given it much thought.”

“Oh? Not even while she stood before you wearing that frilly contrivance?”

Nicholas’s head whipped around and he glared at Alex through the darkness. A surge of resentment surprised him. He shouldn’t care that Alex had seen Ysabelle like that, but he did. She was only a woman, after all. But she was his woman. “It would be best for you not to remind me that you also saw her lovely charms.”

“Ha! You are jealous.” Alex gave a buoyant laugh, seeming enormously pleased.

“No, it’s merely that she is a lady and you owe her respect.”

Alex lifted his shoulders in a shrug. “If you say so.”

The bothersome cur. Sighing with exasperation, Nicholas bent to retrieve his saddle packs. A chill breeze ruffled through the birch trees. “Obviously there is something on your mind. Spit it out and be done with it.”

Alex showed a pensive frown. When he spoke, his voice carried a thoughtful tone, the humor gone. “I think you have feared creating babes out of wedlock. Because of what you suffered by being born a bastard, you wish not to create more of the same.”

Nicholas glowered at his elder half-brother, knowing Alex was right. Having been born out of wedlock, Nicholas had vowed at an early age that he would never father a babe until he wed the mother first. Neither would he reject any child of his making. Though his real father had known nothing of his cruel childhood, Nicholas warred with feelings of dejection and anger. As a young boy, he’d felt abandoned by his real father. Nicholas rode a double-edged sword. Because he did not dally with women as other warriors were wont to do, his men wondered if he preferred killing. He’d been accused of bloodlust. Only Alex knew the truth and Nicholas wished his brother wasn’t so astute. Now, he had a chance for a new life. A new beginning. And he would not lose it.

Alex placed a hand on Nicholas’s shoulder. “What will you do if she refuses to wed you?”

“She cannot refuse.”

“You could tell her the truth. That would sway her toward your cause.”

Nicholas gave a harsh laugh. “We willna speak of the truth.”

“She might already know. Perhaps Lord Maston told her before he died.”

Anger pulsed through Nicholas’s body. How he wished Alex would leave this topic alone. “Maston said he would take the secret to his grave. You’ll not breathe a word of it to her or anyone. It’s verra important, do you understand?”

Nodding, Alex showed an understanding smile. “I would never tell a soul. But surely Lady Ysabelle would cease to fight you if she knew the truth.”

“No, she would fight me even more. I don’t want to break her heart, or her spirit.”

“So, you care for her feelings.”

A low rumble was Nicholas’s reply. If Alex were not his brother, he would lay him low. Only two men dared speak to the fierce Scots Ram in such a way. His brother and his real father. It wasn’t that Nicholas feared either man. In fact, he loved them both dearly. For this reason alone, he allowed them leeway, though he would never confess as much.

Alex stepped closer, his eyes glowing in the dim shadows. “You are a fierce warrior. But you have never been faced with a small bit of fluff that smells like springtime and looks like an angel sent to tempt your verra bones. No doubt Lady Ysabelle still mourns her dead father. Now, she has been forced into wedlock by her king and widowed in the same day.”

Nicholas nodded with agreement. Too bad he’d been forced to steal her away, earning her distrust and anger in the process.

“She is obviously frightened of you,” Alex told him.

With a glare, Nicholas stowed the water skin away in his pack. “You know I’ll never allow Sutcliffe to fall to the English King.”

Alex snorted. “Yes, I know. You would take on the English army alone if your men weren’t so loyal to you. It must be quite comfortable not to need anyone’s help. Even my presence here was my idea. You would never ask. But I know what you need.”

“And what is that, brother?” Nicholas snapped.

“A woman who idolizes you.”

Nicholas gave a derisive laugh. “Such a woman doesn’t exist. I don’t fear the English King’s army. I have a secret weapon.”

Alex quirked an eyebrow. “And what is that?”

“You! If all else fails, I’ll simply let you talk them to death.”

A chuckle rose in Alex’s throat. “Truly I mean no offense, but do you know how to show affection to a woman?”

With a noncommittal shrug, Nicholas frowned. “I prefer not to lift the skirt of every female I meet, as you are so eager to do.”

“Then you have missed one of the treasures of life.”

Pausing to consider this, Nicholas was momentarily vexed. “I prefer to win my lady’s heart, but I am no stripling lad.”

Alex laughed. “That I know, but I think you…”

“You think too much.”

Whirling about, Nicholas walked toward the stand of spruce, conscious of Alex staring after him. Though Nicholas pretended otherwise, he ached for softness in his life. He would never admit it, but he held a deep desire to have a home of his own, and heirs to inherit what he fought so hard to gain. It was the only reason he’d ridden hotspur to England the moment word had reached him that the English king sought to wed Ysabelle to another man. To keep what was his and to secure whatever happiness it might bring.

Having seen Ysabelle, Nicholas counted his good fortune. The fact that she was more delicate and beautiful than any woman he’d ever looked upon was an added blessing. The thought of kissing her soft lips and holding her close made his heart pound. But love? Perhaps he wasn’t worthy of such emotion. If Ysabelle knew all the horrid things he’d done throughout his life, she would undoubtedly hate him.

Bah! He cared not at all about her feelings. She would be his wife and do her duty.

Yet, he wanted more. Surely the fates would not be so cruel to steal his one chance at happiness. To finally lay down his sword in peace.

Pushing his fears aside, he returned to his horse and offered the animal a drink of water from his supplies. His reverie was broken moments later when one of his men called a warning and raced toward him through the trees. Nicholas lifted his head and stared into the darkness.

“She’s gone, my lord. Lady Ysabelle has escaped,” the man gasped.

An angry screech came from the undergrowth as two guards pulled Ada back into camp. Glaring at Nicholas, the woman spat on the ground at his feet. “You’ll not abuse her, you vile Scotsman. Go back from where you came from and leave my lady alone. She’s too delicate to wed a horrid beast like you.”

In a glance, Nicholas noticed her bare feet and understood exactly what had occurred. And in that moment, he knew he’d underestimated his betrothed. But he would not do so again.

Without pause, he swept up onto his stallion’s back and spurred the animal into a run.

Chapter Three

Clouds squeezed the moon into a narrow point of light. The night air carried the fragrant scent of heather. In the darkness, Ysabelle picked her way over the hills, fretting she might become lost among the twisting turns.

The pounding of hooves sounded behind her. She glanced over her shoulder. A great black beast descended on her like a demon from the netherworld. She caught the glitter of harness as the horse and rider came nearer. Her eyes widened. The posture of the man on the charger’s back was unmistakable.

Nicholas Ramsay!

How had he followed her so quickly? She prayed he hadn’t harmed Ada.

With a cry of alarm, Ysabelle picked up the folds of her cloak and ran. Her heart thudded in her chest and her lungs burned as she tried to catch her breath.

A horrible cry ripped through the cold air, tingling down Ysabelle’s spine like the shiver of death. She dare not look back and prayed he didn’t kill her for defying him.

Visions of being battered and left to die alone on the moors filled her mind. Her pulse skittered and she ran faster. The large borrowed shoes flopped around on her feet and she stumbled over the shadowed ground. Twisting her ankle, she fell, bruising her hip on a stone. The shoes slipped off her feet.

Lying in the scratchy heather, Ysabelle pushed herself up. A breath of pain hissed past her lips. Nicholas hurled off his horse, lifted her, and gave her a quick shake. Her heart pounded, her long hair falling around them like silken twine.

“Let me go.” She pounded his chest with her fists.

“Little fool,” he rasped, holding her wrists with his gauntleted hands.

His eyes pierced the dark like twin points of steel. Still she fought him, feeling impaled by his angry gaze. Fearing he might knock her to the ground with a single blow, just as he’d done to her bridal wreath.

“What did you think to accomplish by running off?” His voice rumbled as he grappled with her flailing hands.

Her defiant gaze clashed with his. “I planned to secure Sutcliffe, of course.”

“Against me?” Furrows of amazement lined his high forehead.

“Of course, and also against Lord Marshal. Better that I close the gates and send all of you away. I will never wed.”

She tried to kick him, but her bare feet proved no hindrance. If her father still lived, this man wouldn’t dare attract his ire. Nicholas Ramsay would not find a powerful lord such easy prey as his defenseless daughter. But Ysabelle was alone now. And her king, Sir Malcolm, and the Ram all sought to take advantage of her.

If only she’d been born a man. How she hated her frailty. Long had she dreamed of wedding a man she could trust. A man like her father, filled with honor and truth. Now, she knew it was a false dream that would never come true. Heavy disappointment filled her to overflowing.

“Did you actually believe you could make it to Sutcliffe on foot? At night, and all alone?” he asked.

She jutted her chin. “It isn’t an amazing thing. I rode this way often with my father. I need no man to guide me.”

Again he shook her, his solid hands holding her arms like iron bands. His mouth was so close to hers that she could see the outline of the cleft in his chin.

“You are verra foolish. Don’t you realize all manner of thieves and cutthroats roam these hills, looking for a tempting morsel like you to gobble up?”

Ysabelle’s face stiffened. “Yes, I think one has found me even now.”

“I am no villain, Ysabelle, but your betrothed husband.”

“That was yesterday, before the king wed me to another.”

His jaw hardened. “Before you were widowed and free to wed me, as your father vowed.”

Opening her mouth, Ysabelle planned to argue the point, but it was useless. He’d won for now. Maston would indeed have wed her to Nicholas, regardless of what King William had to say about it. If the king had sent his army to force the issue, Maston would have prepared for war.

“I’m not my father.” She slid the shoes onto her feet.

His eyes dimmed. For an inkling moment, she saw the pain of betrayal in his eyes. Then it was gone.

“You won’t honor his word?” Nicholas asked.

Wedding Nicholas Ramsay terrified her. He cared only about securing her home and lining his pockets with the wealth of her fertile lands. If her king decided to fight, it would mean people she loved would die.

“I need more time,” she whispered.

“Time is the one thing I cannot give you.” His brows lowered in an ominous frown as he pulled her closer. She didn’t struggle, wishing to retain what dignity and modesty he would allow her.

Lowering his head to hers, he kissed her. Heavy, soul-filled kisses that rocked her world. His heat consumed her, enveloping her like a blazing fire that scalded her skin and stole her breath. The scent of him filled her mind, his mouth warm and firm, much different from Malcolm’s slobbery lips. Molten fire seeped through her veins, drugging her into submission.

Ysabelle’s knees buckled, but he held her to him without effort, his hands spanning the width of her back. The clouds gave way and moonlight glowed down upon them like a beacon from heaven. Ysabelle saw his eyes were closed, his lashes thick, long, and black as soot.

A shout came from behind them and the Ram released her. Looking up, a feeling of gratitude suffused her when the rest of their party rode over the hills. The warriors’ murky shapes appeared like ghoulish demons, but they provided an excuse to move away from the Ram.

Without his support, she staggered, holding one hand to her lips. She could still feel the pressure of his mouth against her own, his strength against her body, the brand of his taste on her tongue. His gaze followed her, hot and penetrating. Turning away, she swallowed hard.

Alex rode at the fore of the other men, his face intense as he skidded to a halt beside Nicholas. He showed a wide grin, peering at Ysabelle through the dark as his horse pranced about. “I see you found her.”

“There was never any doubt,” Nicholas growled.

Ignoring Alex’s chuckle, Nicholas lifted Ysabelle and set her back onto his saddle. Sitting across the saddlebow, she watched him slide the too-large shoes off of her feet. He tossed them to the ground and stepped up onto his horse, sitting behind her.

As he took the reins in a tight grasp, she looked at him from over her left shoulder. “Why do you throw the shoes away? Ada and I have need of them.”

Ada gave a frail whimper and Ysabelle noticed tears gleaming in the woman’s eyes. The handmaiden hunched her shoulders and wrung her hands as she glanced between Ysabelle and the Scots Ram. Ysabelle loved Ada like the mother she had never known and could not fault the woman for being protective of her.

“Be at ease, Ada. I’m all right,” Ysabelle reassured her.

Nicholas frowned. “You’ve lost the right to have shoes for now. It’s better to keep you barefoot so you cannot run off again.”

“How are we supposed to walk without them?” Ysabelle argued.

“I’ll carry you wherever you need to go. One of my men will see to your handmaiden’s needs.”

The thought of him packing her into the bushes so she could relieve herself caused hot welts of anger to tighten across her chest. “Absolutely not. Give them back.”