Sword for His Lady (10 page)

He turned and crossed to the door, leaving her feeling his departure far more deeply than she should have. Frustration gnawed on her, stunning her with just how much she enjoyed his touch.

She sank into her bed in confusion, her knees feeling weak as her lips tingled.

Tomorrow?

Her breasts felt swollen and eager for his touch.

Tomorrow was a very long time away.

She shook her head but the sensation persisted. Between her thighs, there was a throbbing that demanded surrender. Confusion swept through her in a thick cloud. How could she desire something she knew would bring her grief?

Was it Satan's trickery? As the church preached? She curled into a ball, trying to will the tide of cravings to subside, but his kiss replayed in her mind instead, her eyes slipping shut as another wave of need washed over her.

What she also thought of was the way she'd pulled him to her. As though he'd been too far away. She'd needed to be pressed against him, from shoulder to knees. It had been stronger than any urge she'd ever had.

She craved him.

Wanton
…
lust
…
sinful
…all the words she knew to shame herself weren't working. Instead of feeling guilty all she felt was a sense of being trapped. It wasn't the wedding vows that would make her his possession, it would be her own weakness for him.

Christ help her, for her defenses were already crumbling.

Whispers woke her.

Opening her eyes took more effort than it should have. Isabel allowed herself to linger for a moment, hoping whoever was near might leave her in peace. She felt in desperate need of privacy.

“Do you think he ravished her?”

“Is she dead, maybe?”

“He's so large a man, little wonder she's senseless. A member like that would force the breath from a woman…”

Her eyes flew open. “Naught of the sort happened.”

There were gasps, but what made her sit up was the soft
hmph
she heard. Mildred was looking at her with doubt, and the young maid standing beside her noticed it, her eyes widening with alarm.

“He did not have me,” Isabel defended herself as she got to her feet. Her words fell on deaf ears. The maid was already hurrying from the chamber, eager to tell her tale.

“Mildred,” Isabel beseeched. “Forbid them to gossip. Please.”

“It will be truth soon enough. That man has his mind set.” Mildred pegged her with a long, steady look before her lips rose into a smile of approval. “This will be a far better match for you, my lamb.”

She turned and made her way through the door. Isabel found herself battling a second urge to sink down into her bed.

But she squared her shoulders. She wasn't going to accept fate's odd sense of humor so easily. Ramon needed to be gone. If he wasn't near, she would forget him and his appeal.

She was just going to have to ensure that he had a reason to forget about her.

* * *

Supper was the last meal of the day. It was not the largest but it was the only time the inhabitants of Thistle Keep allowed themselves to linger at the trestle tables in the great hall. The sun had set, so work would have to wait until dawn. The scent of roasted meat filled the hall, along with bread and stewed vegetables. Once again, Isabel was sitting at the common tables. Ramon stared at her, enjoying the way the lady fought not to look at him.

“More rabbit, milord?” He paid the serving girl no attention at all. She leaned over in front of Ramon, holding a platter out and making sure he had a clear view down the front of her open robes—a generous amount of cleavage for his enjoyment. A long lock of her flaxen hair teased his cheek. She sent him a saucy look full of passion.

The collar of his tunic suddenly felt tighter.

Ramon locked gazes with her. “My captain will be more appreciative of your efforts, madam. I am to wed on the morrow.”

Ambrose choked but controlled himself when the maid gave him her full attention. She brushed right up against him as she served him, a soft, husky sound rising from her lips before she straightened and went on her way.

“Ale…
milord
?”

Ramon jerked as a second maid pressed up to his side. This one had dark hair and rolled her lips in when their gazes met. She traced the handle of the pitcher she held. Up…down…and up again.

His collar was definitely too tight.

His squire bumped into her, holding Ramon's goblet out in front of her. She tipped the pitcher up but shot Ramon an invitation when she was finished.

“Methinks your bride is less settled than you are when it comes to taking vows on the morrow.” Ambrose was trying to contain his mirth, leaving his face looking pinched while his eyes sparkled.

Ramon jerked his attention back to Isabel. He caught only a flash of her satisfied expression before she turned away and gave him nothing but the back of her wimple to look at.

He was going to have every wimple in the keep burned on the morrow.

“Then best I go and see to her contentment.”

Ramon pressed his hands flat on the tabletop to rise. Ambrose reached for his forearm. “Be considerate and sit a while longer. I have no plans to wed and would happily enjoy the efforts being put forth.”

Ambrose cast a long look toward the side of the hall where the passageway opened up, allowing food to be brought in from the kitchens. There were three more women lined up, waiting to serve the high table.

“So kind of Richard to take the men away for so long…” Ambrose muttered softly. “I admit, I have never seen this advantage to Holy Crusades. We should have retired years ago.”

The women were rosy-cheeked with excitement as he sent sly, hopeful smiles toward them. Each appeared freshly bathed, their hair brushed and hanging free, tempting him to feel it. They giggled as they mounted the stairs to climb to the raised platform the high table was placed on.

Ramon looked back at Isabel. She was ignoring him. But her companion was watching the high table, astonishment on her face. Her lips were moving as she sent a stern look at her young mistress. Isabel shook her head and squared her shoulders.

Ramon held out his hand for his goblet. His squire tripped as he tried to perform his duties, too busy watching the women serving the table.

“Vixen,” he growled softly. He took a long sip from his goblet and nodded.

Aye, vixen it was.

* * *

“You are playing a dangerous game,” Mildred warned.

“Ramon de Segrave needs to be on his way. I am simply helping him notice that I am nothing exceptional.”

Isabel laid her over robe aside and turned so Mildred could loosen the ties in the back of her under robe.

Mildred humphed as she tugged the knot loose. “He will demand what he wants from you, sure enough. Or did you not learn that when he tossed you over his saddle this morning?”

“What I learned was that I should not be changing my mind when it comes to wedding him. Such would be a distraction.”

“Oh aye. A man like that is surely a distraction, on that I agree.”

Mildred lifted the under robe away. Isabel released the tie on her wimple, sighing as she tugged the thing off her head.

“You detest that wimple,” Mildred scolded. “Yet you wear it now because of Ramon. Would it not be simpler to enjoy what you may from the man? You adore children. I recall how disappointed you were when you bled.”

“I shall not wed him.”

Mildred pressed her lips into a disapproving line. “Stubbornness is a form of pride and that is a sin. You were not unmoved by his touch. I saw the proof with my own eyes. He stirred your passions.”

“Passion is a form of lust and that is also a sin,” she argued.

Mildred surprised her by offering her nothing but a gentle smile. “I forget you are yet young.”

“What do you mean by that?” Mildred shook her head and headed toward the door. “Mildred? I do not understand.”

“I know you do not, my lamb. But 'tis for Ramon de Segrave to teach you in this matter.”

“I wish no lessons from him. Our life is good. There is no need to change.”

“Are you saying you'd rather not make improvements until you are desperate for them?” Mildred shook her head disapprovingly. “Careful. Fate has a cruel side to her nature.”

“Can I not simply be grateful for what I have, without longing for more?”

Mildred didn't hear her. Or if she did, she paid Isabel's argument no mind. The door closed, leaving Isabel with only a single candle for company.

The chamber was suddenly darker than she recalled. Larger maybe…colder…

Enough.

She chided herself. There was no reason to feel lonely. Her bed had always been a sanctuary, the one place Bechard was certain not to bother her. When he'd wanted to use her, he'd summoned her to his chamber.

She shuddered with disgust and climbed into the bed. The bedding was newly washed and smelled like sunshine. The candle was a beeswax one, gently lending the sweet scent of honey to the night air.

Perfect.

Yes, perfect, and she would make sure that she focused her thoughts on what was most important.

She was happy in her life. Content beyond measure. She reached for her comb and began to work the tangles from her hair.

But the door opened and the comb slipped from her fingers. Ramon de Segrave strode boldly into the chamber.

“Are you insane?” She'd meant to sound demanding, but her voice was too high.

Ramon lifted one eyebrow in a lazy manner, as if to convey that his appearance in her bedchamber wasn't alarming.

“Does your tone mean you doubt my honor, lady? You seemed quite willing to test me this evening. I am here to prove myself worthy.”

Her chemise suddenly felt nearly transparent as opposed to simply thin. She fought the urge to cross her hands over her breasts. The baron's squire walked across the chamber and placed his master's goblet on the table.

“Appearing in my bedchamber is not proving yourself, my lord.”

The baron sat down and his squire immediately set to work removing the spurs that were tied to each boot.

“How else will you know for certain that I did not partake of the generous feast you laid before me at supper?”

Her cheeks stung. “I trust my people to speak the truth.” She was stammering. Ramon's squire looked at her curiously.

“Mind your gaze, Alfred,” Ramon corrected the youth.

The youth turned his attention back to his master.

“As I told you this morning, Isabel, bring your needs to me, for I fully intend to bring mine to you.”

The spurs made a soft chink when they were set on the tabletop next to the goblet. The boy then began removing one boot. Isabel blinked rapidly, but the sight of the man sitting in her bedchamber remained.

“Very well. You have assured me that you are—”

He tilted his head to one side and fixed her with a stare that was unrelenting. “Willing to rise to any challenge you give me?”

Ramon let his gaze slide down her length. Behind the sheer, worn fabric of her chemise, her nipples drew tight.

“Be assured that when you challenge me, I will rise to the occasion.” His voice deepened, becoming sensuous. Her cheeks heated but she couldn't make herself look away. The promise glittering in his eyes stoked something inside her.

The squire removed the second boot and set them neatly next to one another near the chair. The baron stood and the boy unhooked his sword belt.

Isabel stood and shook off her fascination with him. “This is my chamber. Leave.”

He offered her only a soft grunt while his squire took his sword from him. Isabel nearly choked, for no knight went anywhere without his sword. The boy laid the weapon on the table within reach of the bed.

“There are chambers that my husband used on the north side of the tower,” she insisted.

The squire climbed up onto a stool and began to pull his master's over tunic off.

“Yes, Ambrose and my captains are making use of those chambers. The expansion of this fortification will include more chambers.”

“Since it seems you are intent, I shall sleep elsewhere.”

The baron suddenly sent his squire away with a flick of his fingers and stepped into her path. The boy was halfway to the door before Isabel realized she would soon be alone with Ramon.

“Wait—” Her hand flew up to cover her lips when the boy turned, a stunned look on his face. He didn't stop moving, and continued on through the doorway while she sucked in a gasp of horror.

“Do not ever countermand my orders to my squire. My training is what will keep them alive.”

She shook her head. “I know…I didn't think before I spoke.” She suddenly recalled exactly why she had been so brazen as to interfere between a knight and his squire. “Yet it is your own fault. You have no right to shock me in such a fashion.”

Determination glittered in his eyes, and she recalled the look very well from when he had stood up in the bathhouse. She should have combed her hair before the nightmare had arrived.

“What shocks you, lady?” He crossed his arms over his chest. “A knight of honor may share a bed with a widow so long as his sword is placed down the center of it.” He reached over and lifted his sword in one sure motion and placed it on the surface of the bed.

“That is acceptable within the chivalric code.” Triumph flickered in his eyes as his lips curled into a victory smile.

The man was attempting to outmaneuver her.

Isabel tried to resist admitting that Ramon de Segrave was very good at forming strategy.

Far too good.

“I will sleep elsewhere.” She kept her tone low, to hide the emotions that were roaring through her. She struggled to remain poised and calm so the beast wouldn't know how much he needled her.

“There is not a foot of space anywhere in this keep not being used by my knights.”

“But—”

He turned and picked his goblet back up. “I have spoken.”

Isabel lost her patience. “Indeed you have, Lord de Segrave, but that does not mean I shall meekly obey you. One of the reasons I have declined to wed you is that I have no desire to be submissive.”

“Ahh…” He chuckled. “I have noticed you play the game of meekness when it suits you and only when you have something to gain from doing so.”

She felt her breath lodged in her throat. “That is insulting of you to say,” she sputtered at last.

He watched her over the rim of his goblet, his eyes full of some emotion that looked very much like enjoyment. “I mean it as a compliment, Isabel. I enjoy the vixen in you.” He used her name deliberately, drawing it out in his deep voice. His gaze traveled over her hair. “You are too young for a widow's wimple.”

“Yet I am a widow, and your eyes are too bold by far.” Her hands settled on her hips. “A true knight does not leer at a lady.”

One of his dark eyebrows rose. “Ah…but a lady does not look at a man's form, even if he stands in front of her.” He set the goblet aside. “Yet you looked, and I daresay you were pleased at the sight.”

“You dare too much.” He was also too correct for her comfort. “It seems you have honor only when it suits your purpose.”

His eyes flashed with warning. Isabel stepped back, but it was too late.

“As I warned you, question my honor and I shall be happy to show you how I deal with a vixen.”