Page 62 of The Knight Who Loved Me
~oOo~
At dawn, Isabel awoke and lay still, listening to the sound of her husband breathing. She thought of the conversation she had overheard, and inside she ached. Boltonpitiedher. She would have preferred his hatred. And as for Margery, Isabel should be thrilled she had upset even more of the Boltons. But the thought of ruining an innocent girl’s chance at marriage made her feel sick inside. Forced to retreat before hearing more, Isabel had almost been relieved.
What did they all want from her? She couldn’t be the woman they expected her to become. By the saints, Bolton only remembered shewasone when he saw her naked.
~oOo~
The sky was almost fully alight as James kissed his sister as they stood together in the inner ward.
“Wish me Godspeed, brother,” Margery said.
“Where are you off to?”
She smiled. “Reynold has invited me to visit.”
He frowned. “You could stay here longer, you know.”
“Thank you for the offer, but I don’t want to intrude on a newly wedded couple. Good luck!” She turned toward the castle, where Isabel stood in the distance. “Take care, Lady Isabel.”
For a moment, Isabel did nothing, and the tension in James’s stomach heated up. She finally nodded, and his sister gave a relieved smile.
Margery mounted her horse and fell in beside Sarah’s litter. Avery raised his arm in salute, and their small party of travelers started under the gatehouse. James wondered what tales would soon be spread through the countryside about his new wife.
He mounted up to lead the small party of knights to Mansfield Castle. As Isabel approached, he scowled down at her choice of his tunic.
“What about the dress that was left for you?”
“Bolton, you can’t imagine that I could travel in such a thing.”
He grunted.
Isabel looked over the column of men, then frowned and stepped near his horse. She stood close to his leg and stared up at him with dark, serious eyes.
“Is William journeying with us?” she asked.
“I decided that he should continue his duties here. I certainly don’t trust the two of you together yet.”
She shrugged, but made no comment. She mounted her gelding, swinging her long leg up and over. James found himself watching the way her thigh was encased tightly in dark hose.
The first day’s journey was uneventful but tiring. Rain fell steadily for much of the day, and the coldness seeped down his neck until he occasionally shivered. Isabel was stoic as usual, and never complained.
Night fell, and they made camp deep in the forest, where the rain dripped through the trees rather than poured. James had a very small, enclosed tent erected for Isabel and himself. The rest of the company built tree branch shelters, and everyone settled into sleep early, for no fires would stay lit. He ducked inside the tent and pulled the flap closed behind him. He found Isabel curled with her back to him, wrapped in a blanket. How unusual, he thought dryly. Damn, but she infuriated him—and intrigued him. He didn’t have the first idea what to do about it.
~oOo~
They approached Castle Mansfield late in the day, when the sun had already begun to set. Their horses clattered onto the drawbridge. As they entered the gatehouse, he looked up to see the portcullis hanging over his head—rusted, but still deadly. They passed through the outer ward, with still another curtain wall to go. He glanced at Isabel, who had an eager, excited look in her eyes. He’d only seen that expression when facing her across a sword.
The gatehouse leading to the inner ward was manned by grim-faced soldiers, who bowed respectfully—to Isabel, he was sure. James was the enemy. And then he forgot about his wife as he saw the condition of the inner ward. Animal dung was scattered everywhere. Pigs rooted through a nearby garden because of a broken fence. The dovecote looked abandoned.
The keep itself rose up massively before him, with many towers and levels. He would never know worry again, with such a fortress behind him. But there was so much work to be done.
Suddenly, the barracks seemed to empty of soldiers and knights as men streamed into the ward. Isabel gave a glad hail and dismounted to run into the center of the troop. She was caught up in giant bear hugs, and passed from man to man. James felt his gut tighten, and he didn’t know why.
Most of the soldiers wore beards or dark stubble, with long unkempt hair and stains on their brigantines. They looked like time had stopped for them hundreds of years ago. James wondered if one of these men had taken his wife’s virginity—had hurt her?
He dismounted and approached Isabel while she was deep in conversation with a gruff knight. When she saw him, her eyes narrowed.
“Bolton,” she said. “This is the captain of my father’s—myguard—Sir Hugo Naughton.”
