Page 88 of The Knight Who Loved Me
Margery suddenly stopped beside her, took up the same stance as Isabel, and looked out over the room. “What do you see from here?” she asked.
“Many people,” Isabel answered warily. She remembered again how worried Margery was about her own wedding, and Isabel realized she couldn’t blame the girl. Isabel knew first-hand what it was like to be forced into a loveless marriage.
“Do you know how to dance?” Margery asked.
Isabel wanted to laugh. “No.”
“My brother wants to dance with you.”
“He does not,” she quickly answered.
Margery smiled. “I am quite positive. I’ll tell him you would like to learn how to dance.”
“No!” Isabel whispered furiously, but Margery was already off. Isabel whirled and leaned against the mantel, breathing heavily.
Across the hall, James cupped his left hand about his ear. “Margery, what did you say?”
She rolled her eyes and repeated, “Isabel wants to dance with you.”
“She does not.”
“She wants you to teach her.”
James didn’t believe his sister’s ploy for a moment. He glanced at Isabel, who stood alone before the hearth, her back to him. Oh, she seemed ready to dance.
He looked down at Margery. “Why are you so eager tonight, sweetheart?”
“I am not eager. Your wife just looks…sad.”
James had a sudden memory of William using those exact words. They made him uneasy.
“Are you going to dance with her, or not?”
His smile faded and he lowered his voice. “Margery, look at my hand. I cannot dance.”
“Then the two of you are well-matched this evening.”
She gave him a push and James found himself ducking around circles of dancers holding hands. He couldn’t do this anymore. He should just have another tankard of ale. But Isabel leaned against the mantel and stared into the fire as if she were all alone in the room.
He stopped behind her. “Isabel?”
“I did not send your sister to you,” she said, not looking up.
“I know.”
She lifted her head. “Then why did you come?”
He looked down into her dark eyes, and the bravado was gone. She looked strangely vulnerable, uncertain—and very appealing.
“I thought you’d like to learn how to dance.”
She hesitated. “No.”
James put his hand on her waist and felt her stiffen. He leaned closer to her. “I don’t bite—much.” He said the last against the wisps of curls at her temple and felt her shiver. He smiled. He still had talents—even one-handed.
“Let me put my arms around you and we can move to the music. The rest of the dancing—well, I can’t hold hands.”
“When the bandages come off?—”
