Page 89 of The Knight Who Loved Me
“No.”
“Stubborn?” she asked, a small smile on her face. “I don’t bite.”
He raised his eyebrows and leaned in closer, waiting.
Isabel rolled her eyes. “—much.”
“Thank you.”
James slid his arms around her waist, and began to drag her into the center of the rush-covered floor. They knocked people off-step right and left, split open circles of dancers, but James just laughed, and started spinning his wife about. She reeled almost drunkenly, and once nearly sent the two of them to the floor, but she grasped it eventually. Soon she was leading him about. It took James a moment to realize that she wasdeliberatelyaiming for knots of dancers and breaking them apart.
And then she laughed. Her voice became sweet and girlish with merriment, and it struck his heart painfully. He’d always thought her laugh would be gruff and masculine, but this was too hard to resist. He wanted to bury his face in her hair, to feel her body against his. She didn’t seem to be disgusted by his touch, and it made him more hopeful than he’d been in a long time.
~oOo~
In their bedchamber that night, James lounged in a chair before the fire and watched his wife. Isabel deliberately avoided looking at him as she removed all of her garments but her shirt. He thought for a moment that there was the slightest hesitation in her manner, that maybe her fingers had almost touched the laces on her shirt. James’s cock came to life with the painfulness of forced celibacy as he watched her climb into bed. She pulled the blankets up but didn’t turn away from him. She lay on her back, looking at the ceiling.
With a stunned feeling of shock, James realized his wife might accept his attentions this night. He didn’t bother examining the reasons closely, because he couldn’t touch her. He gripped the tankard of ale with his left hand and drained it. He glared at his right hand. In his mind, he tried to imagine touching her bare flesh with his mutilation. Even the image twisted his gut with nausea. Their only chance at a half-decent marriage had been destroyed. It was too late.
28
Isabel and James decided to leave at first light. She had fallen asleep last evening, almost hoping he would come to her, show her the same kindness and pleasure he had before. Instead he’d sat before the fire in a morose mood she couldn’t interpret. Had he hated dancing with her? Was he finally finished with their marriage, tired of a woman who didn’t know how tobea woman?
The three-day journey was cold and wet. Almost every evening, James lay down behind her to share his warmth, yet he never attempted to touch her intimately, and didn’t speak more than necessary during the day.
She missed his sarcastic banter, and his charming manner. She yearned for some kind of peace between them, but was unsure how to go about it.
When they arrived at Bolton Castle, it was like he visibly donned another facade for his people, and he behaved as he always did. But Isabel saw beneath the edges of the mask now. He hid his emotions from the world just as she did—only he used his garments, his title, and his handsome face to hide, whereas she had always used her weapons and her anger.
In their bedchamber early that first evening home, Isabel found Annie bouncing Mary on her knee. The servant beamed a smile of welcome, then promptly handed the baby to Isabel.
Why were women all of sudden making her hold babies? Isabel wanted to resent it, but Mary clutched fistfuls of Isabel’s tunic in her pudgy fists and grinned a toothless welcome. Isabel couldn’t help but soften.
Annie said, “My lady, I forgot something in the kitchens. I’ll return in but a moment.”
“Annie—”
But she was gone, and Isabel could have sworn she’d been skipping. She stared at Mary, who started playing with the laces on her shirt. With a sigh, Isabel sat down before the fire and held the baby in her lap. Time seemed to stretch on forever. The baby grew bored, then restless, and when the whimpering started, Isabel panicked. She tried to jostle the baby as she’d seen Annie do, but soon Mary was emitting angry screams. Isabel hadn’t thought something so little could be so loud.
The door opened and Isabel looked up in relief, but saw James instead of Annie.
Her spirits plummeted. “Did you see Annie in the hall?” she asked.
“No,” he said, a slow smile crossing his face.
She tried to pretend she was unaffected by his handsomeness, that she didn’t feel an ache of desolation at what she might never have.
But Mary chose that moment to empty the contents of her stomach all over Isabel, who gaped in horror.
James started to laugh, falling back against the door.
“This is your tunic!” Isabel said, picking up Mary before the baby could soil herself further. “Do something!”
Mary started to cry, and Isabel regretted her loud, angry words. It wasn’t the baby’s fault.
“Hush, Mary, your mama will be here soon.” She wanted to comfort her, but she was at a loss. “James!”
He came forward and took the baby, a smile still curving his lips. As Isabel began to undress, she watched James use a cloth from a pile by the tub to wipe Mary’s face. He spoke softly to her, comforting her, and soon the baby was all smiles. Isabel sighed, reminded once again how inadequate she was as a wife.
