A Knight's Vow (7 page)

Everyone in the hall was seated and enjoying their meal, laughing and talking with their neighbors. Isabel felt humiliated to be standing in their midst, welcome nowhere. Thoughts of revenge returned to her heart and her trepidation eased. Steeling herself against everyone's hatred, she sauntered to the dais and approached her new husband. She leaned over the table deliberately, until his gaze lifted to hers. Even the priest stopped eating.

Without a word, Isabel ripped a leg off the pheasant displayed so prettily on a tray. She saw Bolton's eyes widen, then narrow in anger he could barely keep hidden. She tore a piece of meat off with her teeth and chewed it, trying not to let the ecstasy of the taste show on her face. She had never imagined anyone could cook meat like this.

When her new husband didn't invite her to sit, the priest anxiously said, "Lady Bolton, why have you not joined us?"

She barely spared him a look. She took James's tankard of ale and her pheasant leg, and sauntered to the nearest hearth. She sat down on the ground and proceeded to eat.

The meal lasted too long, and some of Isabel's purpose was taken away when one of the maids timidly began to bring her a sample of each dish. The girl had flaming red hair the color of fire, and soft brown eyes that actually seemed to look on in sympathy.

Isabel turned away. She didn't want to care what anyone thought of her. It would only make it harder in the end when she had to repeatedly go against their lord.

What seemed like hours later, the servants began to clear away the tables and dismantle them. Isabel kept her back turned, legs pulled up to her chest with her head resting on her knees. She drowsed in the fire's warmth, trying not to think what the rest of the evening would bring. Was it actually fright she felt, this hard ache that made her meal sit like a rock in her stomach? She didn't think she'd ever experienced true fear before and she didn't like it now. But soon she would have Bolton's hands on her, and she guessed he could easily take his revenge on her body.

His kiss flamed to life in her mind, and though she tried to will it away, the memory brought a flare of heat into her stomach, and lower. What wicked evil had he worked on her senses to make that kiss seem so darkly exciting? Why couldn't she forget the hot feel of his open mouth on hers, the thrust of his tongue that had made her shiver? His body had not been gentle as he held her against the wall, but she hadn't wanted him to be. She'd wanted to know what it was like to be as other women, to feel surrounded and dominated by a hard, powerful man.

And now she'd married him. She must slow her beating heart, must make him think his touch merely bored her. He was arrogant enough to feel humiliated when his prowess produced no response.

Isabel heard the strumming of a lute, and a sudden burst of merry laughter. Slowly she turned and looked about her. Most people were gathered about the hearth at the opposite end of the hall, listening and talking as her new husband played the instrument. Servants moved about in the smoky torchlight. No one was even looking her way.

Freedom called to Isabel from beyond the large double doors. She had no illusions that she could escape the inner ward itself without anyone seeing her, not as she had before. But to smell the air, to see the stars once more, she would give anything for that.

She rose to her feet and began to walk softly along the tapestried wall. No eyes turned towards her. Bolton's head was bent over his instrument, and he did not look up. She had almost reached the door.

"It appears my wife is ready for her wedding- night bath." Bolton's voice was raised in authority, laced with cold mocking arrogance.

Isabel stiffened and slowly turned to face him. He stood up, the lute forgotten at his side. He was an imposing man, expensively attired, and he seemed to know he drew people's eyes to him. A few titters were heard scattered through the crowd, but most of his people seemed too tense to laugh. Over their heads, Bolton's gaze burned into her, through her.

And then it all hit her in a painful rush—that she was his property now, that he could take everything that was hers, beat her, and no one would stop him. Although it was senseless, this new feeling of fear welled up inside her and she ran.

For James, the sight of his bride bolting from him seemed to tear loose everything civilized inside him. He didn't even remember the lute falling from his fingers. He was suddenly vaulting over a wench who sat adoring at his feet, and crossed the great hall in a few seconds. Before the first guard at the door could halt Isabel's progress, James caught her from behind. She flailed against him, kicking, but not screaming like a hysterical woman. He wrapped both arms around her and squeezed, pinning her hands at her sides.

"Be still," he hissed into her ear.

He heard the ragged gasp of her breathing, felt her squirm. A shudder moved through her as she stilled. For a moment, James wondered what it must feel like to be her, with enemies all about and nowhere left to go. A reluctant sense of compassion moved through him.

"Angel, this will not help," he said softly, keeping his back to the room to shield her. "You cannot escape."

"I was not trying to escape," she whispered hoarsely. "I just wanted—"

She broke off and was silent. James held her until her breathing slowed, trying not to think about her breasts rising and lowering against his arm.

"Can you walk upstairs calmly or must I drag you?"

"Release me," she said coldly.

When he did, she turned away from him and began to walk towards the wide stone staircase at the back of the hall. Everyone was silent, watching her. She was a proud, remote figure, wearing men's black garments, her head high, one fist on her hip as if she rested it upon a sword hilt.

James sighed. Would every night be like this? He could imagine himself living at court for the rest of his life, just to escape this tumult. But for now, his bride waited—his filthy bride, fresh from the dungeon.

As James followed her, he caught the gaze of Annie, the little red-headed maid, and motioned towards the kitchens. She'd surely realize he'd be needing linens. Another nod to the soldiers, and two

followed behind him to guard outside the door. Mustn't have the bride escape.

The Angel obviously knew her way about from her last escapade in his bedchamber. She waited inside, arms folded across her chest, looking out one of the glass-paned windows into the darkness. James closed the door behind him. A fire warmed the room, and lit candles were scattered everywhere, dispelling the gloom he so hated. His bed was turned down, but he didn't dwell on that. It would soon be too hard to pretend he didn't care that his wife had known other men. He leaned back against the door and just watched her with narrowed eyes, feeling his simmering anger begin to bubble again.

Slowly she turned and looked at him, uncrossing her arms as if ready to defend herself. Neither of them moved. A soft knock sounded, and James opened the door to find Annie, with red hair escaping a demure cap, carrying plenty of linens. She folded back a screen in the corner of the room to reveal a padded tub. She released the valves on the pipes and allowed in water that steamed.

Isabel tried to appear disinterested, but James saw her eyes widen as she stared at the water. Finally, she walked over and put a hand in, then pulled back in alarm.

The maid smiled. "We heated water for you earlier, my lady."

Isabel looked at the pipes again. "But where?"

"There are two cisterns on the roof. One is to heat the water, one is for cold. Is it not a wonderful idea? Lord Bolton brought such knowledge back from London."

James watched Isabel stiffen and finally look at him.

"I thought you would be taking me out to the river."

He shook his head, forcing away a smile. "I like a small luxury now and again."

She snorted her response, then said, "I won't use this. It will burn me."

"Nonsense. We can add as much cold water as you need."

She stepped back. "I prefer the river. I'll be able to move more freely."

"And escape," he responded. Obviously, she had never bathed in a tub, only outdoors. What kind of father allowed his only child to be raised such a way? "No, you will bathe in our room from now on."

"But this is your bedchamber."

"And now yours, too. Do you think I'm going to wonder what you're doing all hours of the night?"

He saw the little maid blush and lower her head.

"Annie, help her ladyship disrobe and bathe. I'll be back in a short while."

James closed the door before Isabel could protest. He strode past the guards and was about to go downstairs, when he halted. He suddenly imagined how everyone would look at him if he walked back into the great hall. Their expressions would run the gamut from lusty leers to pity. He suddenly didn't want to see anyone else on this wretched day. He walked back towards his bedchamber and leaned against the wall, shrugging at the looks from his two men.

Isabel's voice, strong like the rest of her, carried through the wooden door quite easily—a good thing to know. He motioned the guards to wait farther down the hall. Annie, the maid-servant, was harder to make out. They were obviously in a disagreement about the Black Angel's choice of clothing.

"I will remove it myself," Isabel said.

"My lady, I just wish to have them.. .laundered for you."

"Ha! I am sure he plans to have my garments burned. If you must clean them, do it here."

"I don't think his lordship wishes me to remain, my lady. After all, 'tis your wedding night."

He only heard a grunt from Isabel. He wanted to respond in kind. Some wedding night, he thought morosely.

There was more general conversation as Isabel removed her clothes. James was partially successful in keeping a nude Black Angel from his thoughts. He was still tiying to nurse his bitterness at being manipulated.

"Leave!" he suddenly heard Isabel command. He recognized the tone of her voice. She was probably looking for her sword hilt again.

"But, my lady, I swear to you—"

"I will not allow this torture!"

James gritted his teeth and threw the door wide. He came to a halt, feeling as if someone punched him in the stomach. Isabel stood beside the tub, wearing nothing but a thin linen cloth wrapped around her body. Where the towel met, a slit revealed the side of her from thigh to waist. Her hair was a wild mass about her shoulders. She looked part savage, part woman—and she was trying to dunk the maid.

Chapter 8

Annie's backside was already soaked as she dangled over the edge of the tub, holding onto Isabel's arms. She looked like a mouse being shook by a very large cat, but surprisingly, she didn't seem afraid.

"My lady!" she said, her voice still firm.

James slid to a halt.

"I assure you that this water is a pleasant temperature, and will not burn you. Please release me and I will gladly put my bare arm in to the shoulder."

Stunned, James watched Isabel bodily lift the slight girl away from the tub and put her back on her feet. He expected Annie to run screaming from the room, but she merely looked over her shoulder at her wet rump, and calmly proceeded to unlace her sleeve. She pulled it off and immersed her arm.

"See, my lady?" she said, smiling sweetly.

James was appalled that a mere girl—a servant— had to tutor his wife about the merits of hot water. He felt his control splintering into a thousand pieces.

"Enough!" he cried, trying to disguise the anguish ripping through his soul. "Annie, bring me ale—plenty of it—and then see that we are not disturbed."

The girl bobbed a quick curtsy and left, closing the door behind her. James glared at his new wife, who stared back at him coolly. The meager covering hung from her body, as if she dared it to fall to the floor. He clenched his fists, and tried not to think of how badly his life had fallen apart, but how could he not, when the result stood before him?

Annie brought the ale, but James barely managed a curt nod as she left. Without taking his eyes off his wife, he drained the first tankard, then refilled it from the pitcher. He wanted it to work its magic on his senses, to make him forget.

"Get in that tub and wash the filth of the dungeon from your body," he said in a low voice.

Isabel stiffened, remaining defiant and mute.

He stepped towards her, and though she barely moved, he saw the imperceptible shrinking away. His warrior wife was afraid of him. It should make

him feel powerful. It only made him angry. He gulped down another mouthful of ale, scowling. He had expected to clean up his wife, begat his first heir and go to sleep, but nothing was working out the way he had thought. The foolish woman was frightened of him, not in battle, where he could do her serious harm, but in their bedchamber, where she stood naked and vulnerable to him.

"Angel, if you are not in that tub and scrubbing by the time I reach you, I will do it myself."

Her chin came up and the wild look flashed through her dark eyes. How had he ever thought her a man, or even built like a man? Though she was tall and strong-shouldered, her waist was surprisingly narrow, her hips round and voluptuous. Her legs were long and smoothly muscled, and he could almost see clear to the juncture of her thighs. He was hard in a moment, but even that infuriated him. He didn't want to desire her, didn't want her to have this power over him. He drank half the tankard.

God, what had he done in his life to deserve such torture? All he had wanted was a sweet, pleasant- looking, rich virgin to take to wife, to watch her unfurl before his eyes alone. But what had he received? A nasty-tempered, sword-wielding, rich strumpet.

James slammed the tankard on the nearest table, where it rocked unsteadily for a moment. His wife actually flinched, setting his teeth on edge. He grabbed the cloth between her breasts and yanked. She was obviously caught off-guard, because she reeled forward as the garment fell away, then gasped and pulled back. Naked, she was even more stunning than he'd imagined, every curve lush, breasts heavy and dark-tipped. Between them a chain glittered in the candlelight, holding a ring suspended.