Page 76 of The Knight Who Loved Me
He set down his spoon. “You are not a man. I won’t have my wife?—”
“I miss training, I miss being outside. I have nothing to do here!”
“You will learn.”
“Not if you don’t give me a reason to.”
James used his knife to awkwardly break a piece of bread from the loaf. He held it out and she shook her head. He lifted one eyebrow.
“My men have not forgotten that you robbed me,” he said, “that you made fools of them.”
“I made a fool ofyou—there’s a difference.”
He smiled. “You could be harmed.”
“You’ve fought me. Can they so easily vanquish me? I’ve been watching them all, and I could tell you each of their weaknesses. And if that isn’t good enough, I will only train with William. Let me do what I’m good at.”
“I will make a bargain with you,” he said.
Isabel gave him a skeptical look.
“For every hour you train in the tiltyard, you must spend an hour learning to behave like a woman.”
She knew deep in her heart that she would fail, that she was not the woman he thought he deserved. But perhaps she could carve out a place for herself in his household—and also wield her sword.
“Very well,” she said. “ ’Tis a bargain.”
He nodded solemnly, but she could tell he wasn’t happy. They both continued to eat in a silence full of awkwardness and misery.
James watched her face, knowing she was trying to distance herself from him. The thought of being in the same room with him, of his hands touching her, must repulse her now. Did she hate him so much that she deliberately reminded him that hecouldn’ttrain, might never hold a sword again?
Annie and Margaret returned to take away the remains of the meal, and to change the dressing on his hand. James didn’t have to worry that Isabel would see his deformity. She stayed on the far side of the room, her eyes averted in disgust. Hell, even he couldn’t look.
After the servants had gone, he lay back in bed and watched Isabel disrobe down to her shirt, but no further. When she actually walked to the fire with her blanket, something snapped inside him.
“What do you think you’re doing?” he demanded.
She took a deep breath before meeting his gaze. “I am going to sleep.”
“Not over there you’re not.”
“But I always?—”
“You became my wife body and soul a few days ago. I demand you sleep in my bed. And it’s freezing on the floor!”
“Very well,” she said, climbing into bed beside him. She faced away from him and pulled the blankets up to her neck.
Stunned and baffled at her acquiescence, James lay still. The temptation of her body was bittersweet. How he ached to run his hand down the curve of her waist, to slide his thigh between hers. But he could picture how she’d react when he touched her with this bandaged mutilation that was once a hand.
Isabel waited for James to touch her. It was a foolish hope, and one he quickly dashed by rolling away from her. He must certainly have been angry at her when she wouldn’t even care for his wounds. What kind of wife—no, what kind ofwomanwas she?
She cared for him too much, and he would never care for her. She was a thief, a savage. How could he care, with all that she’d done to him, how she’d spoken to him after they’d shared a bed?
~oOo~
Early in the morning, James dressed himself one-handedly in the simplest tunic and shirt he could find. He paused at the head of the stairs, trying to brace himself for everyone’s pity. But in the hall, he was met with cheery good wishes, and expressions of gladness that he was well. He looked hard, but caught no sadness—no pity at all.
William kept him company at the head table, chattering away about what James had missed while he was gone. But James had a hard time concentrating. He was waiting grimly for Isabel to appear and keep her part of their bargain.
