My Heart Belongs to You (Medieval Romance Trilogy Book 3) (6 page)

“By what?” She hated to appear interested, but felt compelled to ask.

“He has his demons. I would never want the difficult life Nicholas was forced to live.”

“Isn’t his life of his own choosing?”

“No, not at all. When we were young, my father was often gone to war. He hated Nicholas because another mon sired him. When our mother refused to name her lover, my father became furious, but chose not to shun her. After she died, he sent Nicholas away at the tender age of five. I remember the day, though I was no more than seven years myself.”

Her interest peaked. “Where did Nicholas go?”

“He was raised in the highlands of Scotland, by Angus McDonald, a vile mon if ever one lived. Though he was young, Nicholas was forced to sleep out in the open, eating what scraps he could scrounge for himself. There was no one to shelter him, no one to offer care. He was beaten and abused. Only in battle did he find acceptance. He learned to kill and by so doing, he won approval and it kept him alive.”

Ysabelle’s heart clenched at such cruel treatment of a small boy. She was amazed Nicholas wasn’t more brutish. “Why would your father send an innocent child to such a man?”

A poignant sadness filled Alex’s eyes as he stared into the fire. “I think he did it because he couldn’t claim Nicholas as his own. Nicholas was everything any mon would desire in a son. Fast, strong, and shrewd. In spite of the adversity, he became resilient. Soon, there was none that could best him in battle. Lord McDonald sought to create a monster out of the boy. On the battlefield, he succeeded. But he couldn’t destroy the goodness within my brother. It’s still there. I’ve seen it many times.”

“It’s a sad story, but why tell me?” she asked.

“So you might understand the mon you will wed. Perhaps knowing these things will make life easier for you.”

“The Ram’s life has nothing to do with me. I want no part of him.”

Shaking his head, Alex gave a sad smile. “You and Nicholas are betrothed. He will never give you up. When I sent for him six years ago, Lord McDonald tried to stop him from leaving, but it did no good.”

Shivering with revulsion, Ysabelle was bound to ask. “What did Nicholas do?”

Alex’s face paled. “He won’t speak of it, but his men have told me McDonald challenged him. Nicholas was forced to kill or be killed.”

Ysabelle recoiled. Was this why the gossips claimed Nicholas had murdered the man that had raised him? If what Alex said was true, Nicholas had done nothing more than defend his own life.

She shivered. “It’s a horrid tale.”

Alex looked into her eyes. “There is more you should know about Nicholas, but I fear it won’t please you either.”

“True. Nothing about the man pleases me. I’ve heard that he kills innocent children and violates women just for the pleasure of listening to their screams.”

“All lies!” He slashed the air with his hand.

She flinched, then gave a skeptical sigh. “I would expect you to defend him.”

“Your own father chose him for you.”

Ysabelle stilled, hating this reminder. Surely at the time, her father had not known what kind of man Nicholas was. “It was a dishonorable thing to steal me away and well you know it.”

“It was more dishonorable for your king to try and steal you from me.”

Ysabelle whirled around. Nicholas stood behind her, having approached with silent grace. She could only imagine how much of their conversation he’d overheard.

Wet tendrils of his dark hair curled against his forehead. He must have bathed in the stream. The dark hair dusting his forearms was damp. A drop of water winked at her from the hollow at the base of his throat. How could God create such a deliciously handsome, yet evil man?

Ysabelle stood and faced him, her bare toes clenched against the cold ground. She must not lose her courage now. “King William is my sovereign, and I owe him my allegiance.”

“I owe him no such loyalty,” Nicholas said.

No doubt he’d sworn an oath to his Scottish King. This was a thorny dilemma.

Nicholas threw a glare at Alex. “My brother talks too much. We’ll depart soon, and you must rest. Come.”

He held out a hand and she stared at his long fingers. She didn’t have the physical strength to fight him, but decided to bide her time. Neither could she bring herself to touch him. He lost patience and picked her up, carrying her off to a secluded spot where he set her atop soft blankets he’d laid upon the ground for her. Another folded blanket would serve as a pillow.

His kindness surprised her.

She stared up at him, wondering if she’d be forced to fight him off as she’d done with Malcolm.

The Ram made no overt movements to harm her and she eased a bit, puzzling over what Alex had told her. Curling into a tight ball, Ysabelle rolled onto her side to get warm. Her teeth chattered and she rubbed her bare toes to warm them. They felt cold as autumn frost.

Conscious of the Ram standing over her, she couldn’t close her eyes. He removed his sword and placed it beside the makeshift bed, close within reach.

When he sat beside her, she bolted into a sitting position. “What are you doing?”

He reached beneath the edge of her cloak and took one of her chilled feet in his hands. She tried to pull away, but he held her fast, his gaze locked with hers. “Be still.”

She stared open-mouthed as he proceeded to rub one foot, then the other with gentle strokes. The warmth of his hands felt heavenly.

His calloused palms massaged her ankles, his thumb stroking gently, his fingertips pressing softly against her lower calf. The tender service a loving husband might offer his lady.

Moments later, he tucked her cloak over her toes and settled himself beside her, lying on his back. Folding one arm beneath his head, he stared at the murky clouds scudding across the sky above.

“It was verra kind of you to help James,” he said.

Hmm. No doubt James had told him in lavish detail what she’d done for his blisters.

“Why did you help one of my men?” he asked without looking at her.

“Why wouldn’t I help him?”

“He’s one of your abductors.”

True! “I simply did what I could to ease his suffering.”

“Thank you.”

His gratitude dismayed her more than anything else he’d done. “What do you intend by lying here beside me?”

“Sleep.” Rolling to his side, he pulled her close.

Outraged, Ysabelle tried to move away, but he pushed her onto her side and cupped his body against hers. His heavy arm lay over her torso like a leaden weight. She tensed.

Lulled by his even breathing and the gentle weight of his arm, she began to relax. A secure feeling wrapped around her like a warm blanket. “This isn’t proper. Sleep somewhere else.”

“Cease struggling, Ysabelle,” he growled. “I won’t allow you to escape me again. Stop moving and go to sleep.”

She froze, her cheeks flaming. He settled himself. The heat of his body seemed to blister her skin. Though she had been cold earlier, she was now scorched where he touched her.

It was impossible to sleep this way and she lay frozen beside him, both fire and ice. He didn’t move and she gradually calmed. Exhausted, she closed her eyes and tried to rest. She couldn’t ignore the man beside her and she dosed restlessly.

*

Nicholas closed his eyes, thinking he’d get little rest lying so close to Ysabelle. She smelled of heather, her long hair tangled in a golden halo that blanketed them both. Ah, he had known her curls would feel like silk, fragrant and soft against his face.

As he held her against him, he realized her bones were delicate and fine. She was beauty and grace. Everything he’d ever wanted. A harsh man such as him didn’t deserve such a beautiful gift. Now, because her king had forced the issue, she might come to hate him if her people were thrust into war.

By the Holy Rood, he could not let her go. He could not walk away from all that should be his. He was compelled to marry her, wanting her more than anything else in life.

A family. A place of belonging. A home to call his own. Finally he’d be able to lay down his sword. To stop fighting. Everything he’d yearned for as a child was finally within his grasp. No longer would he be alone.

The night sounds filtered over them, the humm of crickets, the stamping of horses as they shifted their weight. It was cold and he snuggled Ysabelle closer. She no longer tensed against him. After some time, her breathing deepened as she slept, praise the saints. Though his presence troubled her, Nicholas wished for her to rest, so she could withstand the hard ride still ahead of them. Soon, he must awaken her and they would continue their journey to Sutcliffe.

His new home.

Lifting his head, he looked down upon her sleeping profile outlined with moonbeams. Her porcelain skin gleamed like alabaster, her soft lips parted. He remembered the taste of her and wanted more, craving that which he’d denied himself for so long. The thought that this was his woman was almost his undoing. All they needed were a few vows spoken before a priest and she would be his.

First, he must deal with her anger. He was smart enough to know he must court and woo her. But how did one seduce a lady into becoming his wife willingly? A brutal man of war such as him had never learned such things. Perhaps Alex might tell him what to do.

Certainly not without laughing.

With a deep sigh, Nicholas relaxed, snuggling the sleeping form closer, thinking how good she felt against him.

As he rested his body and mind, he silently cursed the English king for forcing him and Ysabelle to become enemies.

Chapter Four

The following morning, Ysabelle helped Nicholas shake out the blankets and fold them into neat piles for him to bundle in his saddle packs. The other men prepared their mounts as the night watchmen returned to camp. Stretching her aching body, Ysabelle yawned. They must have rested no more than an hour. Brushing off her cloak, she stepped toward the bushes and yelped when her heel came down on a sharp stone.

Without a word, Nicholas swept her into his arms and carried her back to the grassy hill. Her spine stiffened. She hated being at his whim but had little choice. When he placed her on her feet, she ducked into the bushes, breathing deeply of the damp, loamy soil.

Again, he waited while she washed in the stream, calling to her often. If she refused to answer, he would doubtless come charging after her. Without shoes, she could never outrun him. She’d always been active, racing against boys who lived on her father’s lands. But Nicholas Ramsay was no stripling lad. A man in his prime, he would undoubtedly overtake her. She would bide her time for now and discover another way to outwit him.

The Ram’s men watched her every move as she passed by them. No doubt Lord Ramsay had warned them to keep an eye on her. He never seemed to let down his guard.

When she returned to his side, his gaze rested on her like a dead weight. As he reached up and brushed several strands of hair away from her damp cheeks, she drew back, remembering his kisses. He seemed not to notice as he stepped nearer and pulled the cloak tighter about her throat. It was a territorial gesture that unnerved her. As though he owned her. But she would show him differently.

She jutted her chin. “Don’t touch me.”

In response, he lowered his head and grazed her lips with his own. It was a sudden kiss, startling in its softness. He smelled of grass and horse, the combination strangely male and exotic. “Are you not the least bit curious?”

“Of course not,” she lied.

His gleaming eyes mesmerized her. Stepping back, she stared up at him, beguiled by his handsome profile. He had gained an advantage, not by force, but by her own free will. She mustn’t forget the price if she should weaken her resolve to remain aloof. What Alex had told her must not sway her feelings for the Scots Ram.

“It’s a pity,” he said.

He smiled and she knew he was toying with her. She would not allow him to win her with kindness. “I wish to return to camp, now.”

Without a word, he lifted and carried her, setting her before the cold fire while he watered his horse. Two guards stayed near by.

Soon, he returned with more of the same fare she’d eaten the night before and also two short strands of leather. At her questioning look, he indicated her wayward curls.

“For your hair.”

His thoughtfulness pleased her and she stared at his retreating back as he went to saddle his stallion.

After braiding her hair and binding it off with the leather cords, Ysabelle munched on a piece of bread and looked about for signs of Ada.

In the crisp morning air, the men’s voices carried as clear as bell chimes. Ysabelle turned when she heard her handmaiden’s voice reaching from across the camp.

“Hurry up and fetch me water. And bring me food,” Ada’s shrill voice reached her.

Looking harried, three men rushed about to do her bidding. Ysabelle laughed to see the older woman giving them orders. Always efficient, Ada knew how to get things done and would not be denied. Praise the heavens for Ada’s comforting presence.

“Good morning, fair Ysabelle,” Alex greeted her with a courtly bow.

Turning, Ysabelle tried to frown, but it was difficult to be angry with such a charismatic man.

“Good morning,” came her stilted reply.

“Our lady looks beautiful this morning, does she not?” Alex asked Nicholas.

With the reins of his charger draped over one arm, Nicholas scowled at his brother.

Alex seemed not to notice. “How did you sleep, my lady?”

“Fine, thank you,” she answered in a curt tone.

“I hope your bed partner was not too boorish?”

Ysabelle’s lips twitched. Alex’s humor took her off guard and she did succumb, barely swallowing a laugh.

A low rumble came from Nicholas. Ysabelle wondered why Alex would purposefully goad his brother. Nicholas didn’t seem to realize Alex was playing a game with him. Or perhaps he knew, but didn’t like it.

“Yes, quite loutish indeed,” she conceded.

Nicholas glowered at them, his free hand clenched. Thinking she should not press the Ram, Ysabelle turned her head and ignored them both.