Page 49 of The Knight Who Loved Me
Bolton glanced at her. “I don’t know. From what I can tell, his tongue is not damaged.”
“Are you not curious?”
“Of course. But Riley is not talking, is he? I find I don’t much care what his secrets are, as long as he does what I need.”
The fire kept Isabel warm, but she couldn’t relax. It was difficult, being so near Bolton.
Herhusband. The word still made her shiver. She would be near him forever, until he tired of her and sent her to another of his castles. She knew that husbands did such things often. She did not dread it. The ability to once again do whatever she pleased was a powerful lure.
And yet…she glanced at Bolton, now staring intently into the fire. Thwarting him and taunting him gave her great purpose. Mayhap her task had changed from killing him to humiliating him, but what would she do without it? How would she fill her days? And why didn’t he berate her?
There was still so much to learn about her quarry, but she didn’t know how to begin. How was she to show interest in a man she’d recently wanted dead?
They were almost alone in the forest, away from the battleground of their bedchamber. Maybe he would speak more freely.
“Do you have family?” Isabel asked. “Brothers or sisters?”
He leaned back on his hands and regarded her for a long, awkward minute. “Did not your father tell you everything about me? You hinted as much.”
“I heard in great detail of your ancestors,” she said. “And of you. But I just wanted to know…” She trailed off. Such knowledge was of little use to her revenge. She might be simply…curious. What kind of relationship could a man have with the brother who’d taken his betrothed?
“My mother remarried after my father died,” he said. “I have a half-sister, Margery, and I had two half-brothers.”
“Had?”
“Edmund is dead, killed by my brother, Reynold. I haven’t spoken to Reynold in over a year.”
So her father had been right about his family. Yet she was surprised that such a cruel man as Reynold could win Bolton’s betrothed. “Murdering one’s own brother is a foul crime. Was he imprisoned?”
He gave a tired sigh and rubbed a hand across his face. “It wasn’t truly murder.”
She frowned, waiting for him to struggle through his memories.
“They were training together, and my youngest brother was wounded. The fever came upon him and he died.” There was no emotion in his voice.
“Then your brother was hardly responsible.”
His expression grew hard. “Reynoldwasresponsible. Edmund was destined for the church, and was sickly as a child. He knew nothing of combat. Reynold was determined to teach him out of embarrassment.”
“Every man should be able to defend himself. Surely even you can see the logic of that.”
“Even me?” he echoed, studying her.
“A training accident happened, as they often do. I have watched many a man die in worse agony than sickness, all due to a friend’s clumsy hand. Surely you cannot find fault with your brother.”
“Reynold is not a clumsy man. He should have taken better care.”
“Is that why you don’t speak to him?”
Silence. The fire crackled and a log fell with a hiss into the embers. Riley was asleep. Still, Bolton didn’t answer.
Why was she pressing him—did she want to hear that they’d fought over a woman?
“Why are you interested in my past, Angel?”
Isabel felt herself blushing. “You are my husband now, much as it pains me. I thought I should know something about you.”
“You’ve mentioned so before. In fact, you mentioned my former betrothed. Do you recall the conversation?”
