Page 59 of The Knight Who Loved Me
“Are you finished?” Isabel hissed.
“I can’t see what I’m doing. Be still.”
After a moment, he stepped back. The garment sagged dangerously, and he saw a glimmer of her collarbone. “Do not make any elaborate movements.”
Isabel pushed him aside and picked up her sword, keeping her other hand at her neckline.
“I don’t think that sword is yours,” he said, looking warily up toward at least ten people on the stairs, all craning their necks to see what was going on.
She glanced over her shoulder as he followed her. “I had every intention of replacing the sword in the great hall. Perhaps if you gave me back my own?—”
“Not now, Isabel,” he said.
James followed his wife up the stairs. His guests stumbled back into the great hall as a group, their expressions ranging from shock to amusement. He couldn’t blame them. Isabel was disheveled but proud as she placed the sword on a table. She swept the murmuring crowd with a cool, haughty gaze. James winced as a seam gave at her shoulder and he caught a glimpse of skin. Then she marched upstairs and disappeared into the darkness of the corridor.
Every face turned to stare at him, and James grinned. “Is there a problem?”
Avery blew out a breath and shook his head. “I think Sarah and I will retire for the night. I’ve had more…entertainment than I can take. By the way, your tunic is ripped in a revealing place.”
James glanced down his body and remembered Isabel’s sword slashing through his garment just above his thighs. Good God. But except for a bit of leg, little of him was showing. He gave a mocking half-bow. Sarah’s face was blotched with color, and she was fanning herself weakly as she was led away, trailed by her flock of ladies.
Curious servants began to clean up the evening’s festivities. James ignored them and sat down before the fire, wincing from an ache in his side. He hoped Margery would go, but he wasn’t that lucky.
“James, would you escort me to my bedchamber?”
He sighed. “Did you forget the way?”
“I would like to speak with you in private.”
“Margery—”
“James!”
He stood up and bowed as he presented his arm.
“Oh stop that!” she said crossly, heading for the stairs.
~oOo~
Isabel hid in the shadows of a corridor outside Margery’s bedchamber. She pressed her back against the stone wall and prayed no one would come her way. She knew she shouldn’t care what her husband and his sister said to each other, but she had to know where she stood in the game she and Bolton played. Tonight he had been angry, but unable to stop himself from—touching her. She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to force from her mind the sensations of his tongue licking her breast.
If she barely breathed, she could just hear the murmur of their voices through the door. Thank goodness her husband wasn’t a quiet man.
~oOo~
James slouched in a chair before the hearth and stretched out his legs. He heard his sister sit down beside him.
“James?” Margery said tentatively.
“Hmm?” He didn’t take his eyes off the fire.
“For someone just fighting his wife with a sword, you didn’t seem to hate it. In fact, you looked as if you were taking her garments off one piece at a time.”
James faked a shocked look. “Margery!”
Her cheeks blushed red, but she still gazed grimly at him.
He finally shrugged. “She may look like a man in those clothes, and inspire me to great heights of anger, but once I see what’s underneath, I can’t help but remember she’s a woman.”
