Sword for His Lady (4 page)

“The baron has an army with him to enforce his will upon us.” Mildred reached out and stroked Isabel's arm. “There is naught to do but bend to his demands. Better to bend than to be broken.”

Isabel scoffed at the woman who had raised her. “I detest marriage.”

Mildred made a low sound of warning. “Methinks you shall like being the man's leman even less, and with his men here, there is no one to force him to wed you, should he decide to take anything he desires.” There was a note of harsh reality in Mildred's tone.

But experience had left a bitter taste in Isabel's mouth.
Loathe
was too kind a word for how she felt about being beneath a man. “He shall not have my inheritance if he does not make me his wife.”

Mildred laughed but it was not a cheerful sound. “He occupies Thistle Hill, and with the king leaving for the Crusade, no one shall be here to force him to relinquish it, except perhaps invaders from Wales. I believe we will fare no better under their rule.” Mildred's expression turned solemn. “You are still young enough to conceive. He can breed a bastard on you and inherit through his child when he acknowledges it. You know it happens, just as I do. There is no king to run to for mercy, only the barons' council.”

“Which he sits on.” Her mouth went dry.

Isabel discovered her attention drifting toward the doorway. The double doors were open, to let the fresh spring air into the keep. She moved forward and scanned the activity filling the yard. The baron's men weren't wasting time. Wagons pulled up and were immediately emptied. Large canvas pavilions were being raised, and she could see the blacksmith setting up a makeshift shop.

All of it was done with an ease that spoke of numerous repetitions. She stared at the anvil the blacksmith was leveling on top of thick wooden blocks. Ramon de Segrave had come to stay, bringing everything his army needed to sustain it. A blacksmith was as essential as water to knights.

She spotted the baron and felt a shiver go down her back. A page removed Ramon's chest armor and he stood up, rotating his arms in large motions once he was free of the protective breast plate. He was a full head taller than most of his men, and his shoulders were packed with thick muscle.

She contemplated him, debating the sensation swirling through her belly. Did she find him pleasing?

“You cannot go your entire life dreading a man's touch simply because your husband was a harsh man,” Mildred said.

“He was a brutal man, Mildred, and speaking kindly of him only makes me distrust your words, for you knew it full well.” Mildred inhaled sharply. Isabel felt a stab of guilt for her harshness; life was difficult enough without bitter words. Still, she could not lie. “I am no longer a child who needs to be sheltered from life's unpleasant realities. Ramon de Segrave is a man of war. I have no reason to be happy to wed him. Besides, shunning men works very well for nuns. And every married man who has left for the king's Crusade has left a wife alone.”

Mildred made a low sound of disapproval that drew Isabel's gaze to her. “Forgive me, Mildred, I speak harshly today.” Or at least in a tone that wasn't respectful. That was shameful and stoked her temper. She didn't want any man to needle her so greatly that she forgot how to be kind to those she considered family.

“Your husband was a harsh man, but I've warned you time and again not to let that make you bitter.” Mildred shook her head. “Some men are mean-hearted, but you have been blessed by his passing, so do not dwell on it.”

“You speak wisely.” It was a polite, polished response. One that left her feeling hollow.

Mildred grunted. “Don't be thinking I am impressed by that meek response.”

Isabel couldn't resist the urge to smile. “Why? Because you were the one who taught me how to use such bland courtesies?”

“Precisely.”

Isabel's smile grew larger. Mildred shook her head.

“I warned your father that Bechard was a poor choice of groom for you and that you were too young for the marriage celebration. You fear the duties of a wife now, as I warned your father would happen.”

Isabel pressed her lips back into a hard line. Even the memory of her husband was enough to sour her disposition. “As you said, let us not dwell on him. My father wanted the alliance and it was a good one.” She looked at Mildred. “That is not the reason I will refuse to wed Lord de Segrave.”

“Then what is, Lady Isabel?” Ramon said.

Isabel gasped and jerked her attention toward the baron. He was still ten paces from her and yet his expression told her he had heard her very clearly. “For I am most curious to discover the root of your discontent.”

The gravel beneath his feet crunched with every step he took. He lifted one hand and pointed at Mildred. “Leave us.”

There was solid authority in his voice, and Mildred lowered herself immediately and left. Isabel had to fight the urge to offer the man the same courtesy because such manners had been drilled into her since childhood.

Indeed, her husband had enjoyed every meek and humble display she had offered him. Mean-hearted was not a harsh enough term for the man who had so often taken delight in humiliating her.

Ramon de Segrave stopped in front of her, his gaze sharp and seeking the answer to his question. Isabel raised her chin. Honesty was something men valued. She would be direct.

“I do not care for the marriage bed,” Isabel said.

Her words shocked him. She saw it in his eyes. She watched the dark orbs, feeling the weight lift from her shoulders until something new flickered in the dark depths of his eyes.

Something unmistakably sinful, yet strangely enticing.

“Your husband's failing. I promise to prove more attentive to your…desires.”

Her mouth dropped open. She snapped it shut and felt her cheeks burn. “Stop your boasting.”

No man had ever spoken so brazenly to her. She gave him a reprimanding glare but only received a soft smirk in response. Or was it a smirk? She peered more intently at his mouth, trying to decipher his expression.

Why had she never noticed how soft a man's lips seemed? Her own tingled with anticipation.

Enough!

“It would be best for you to take the feathers to the king and ask him for another bride. I am not a virgin.”

“Neither am I.” There was a hint of arrogance in his tone.

Her pride finally flared. “Obviously you are not, since you boast so brazenly about your skills in the bedchamber.” Her eyes widened when she realized what she was discussing so calmly, but Ramon de Segrave chuckled at her audacity. “Go and find your amusement elsewhere. I have no liking for your company.” She could never admit she found him enticing.

He lifted a hand to silence her. “But we have spent so little time in each other's company. Your judgment is rash.”

“It is sound.” She knew she was being impolite. She blushed at the thought, but if it sent the man away from the idea of wedding her, it was worth the guilt. Let him think her a shrew.

He lifted one foot and set it on the bottom step.

“What are you doing?”

One of his dark eyebrows, and his entire body, rose as he climbed another step. Something new was flickering in his eyes. Hard, male determination.

Her belly twisted.

“I am entering the keep.” His tone made it clear he knew he was invading her home.

“No.” She fought back her breathlessness. “You shall not.”

She backed up, but forced herself to stop in the doorway.

“Why not, my lady?”

He climbed another step and she felt her knees quiver. It was an insane reaction, one that shocked her with its intensity.

“You do not belong in the keep. This is my home.”

He frowned but climbed another step to stand on even ground with her. Isabel lifted her chin trying to maintain eye contact.

“I need to fully assess this structure, and I plan to begin doing it now. You may stand aside or I shall remove you from my path. The choice is yours. Yet lifting you might speed along our introduction, so perhaps it is best.”

“I said nay.” She stamped her foot because she didn't know what else to do. Her temper flared with a need to argue. She didn't want him to think she was impressed by his size.

She should have lowered herself and gracefully glided out of the doorway. It was the only response the code of chivalry afforded her, but she couldn't force herself to do it. She didn't feel in control of her emotions; they were scattering like autumn leaves. Her heart accelerated. He was pressing closer, watching her, gauging her reactions to him. She'd never felt so exposed. Never felt like any man took so much notice of her. He reached for her, his expression full of promise.

“No one enters this keep without bathing.” She spat the words out in a rush and had to pull in a deep breath because her lungs burned. Relief flowed through her, for she had found a valid argument to use.

The baron's expression didn't change, but he made a sound that betrayed his irritation. His face was a hard mask that didn't tell her what he was thinking. His hands were clenched around his wide leather belt, his knuckles turning white. She was trapped in the doorway. Retreating inside the keep was her only option.

“Take yourself off to the bathhouse, my lord baron.” She was brazen.

His eyes narrowed as her stern words hit him. He suddenly grunted, amusement returning to his eyes. “Very well, lady, since you wish to offer me your hospitality, I accept.”

She stared at him, uncertain of the flicker burning in his dark eyes. This wasn't a man who knew defeat, and the muscles in her neck tightened when his lips twitched into a smug grin once again.

An expression that was full of victory.

“I shall enjoy having you bathe me, Isabel. It is certainly a good place for us to begin to learn more about one another.” A gleam appeared in his eyes that sent a shiver down her body. “You will certainly learn more about my…ability to pleasure you once we are wed.”

“I did not offer to bathe you myself,” she said in a horrified whisper.

He stepped closer, capturing her wrist in a grip that surprised her with its gentleness. Instead, she felt their connection, so much that she couldn't form a single sensible thought. Logic had always offered her salvation in the past. Before Ramon de Segrave. But now it crumbled away, leaving her at his mercy.

And the mercy of her own traitorous flesh.

“You claim you are no maiden, so it is only customary for you to attend me since you are the lady of this keep.” His voice lowered. “Or perhaps you would prefer not to act as a lady. In such a case…I will be most pleased to dispense with ceremony.”

He tugged her forward. She put up her hands and pressed against his chest. His mail tunic was hard but she shivered as though her palms rested on his flesh.

His features changed, becoming more sensual. When his eyes met hers again, there was a spark in them that sent a twist of excitement through her belly.

“I admit, sweet Isabel, I find the idea of dispensing with the church's dictates on civilized behavior rather fitting when it comes to your argument against marriage. I will be most happy to prove my worth to you.”

Her eyes widened and her mouth went dry. For a moment, she was torn. Something inside her leaped toward the promise of sampling forbidden things. Those whispers she'd heard in the dark shadows where lovers met, the ones she'd always been too conscious of her duty to venture into.

The ones her marriage had proved so bitterly wrong…

He stroked her inner wrist, his fingertips sending ripples of delight up her arm.

A feeling of heat licked its way through her insides, urging her toward recklessly needling the baron further…so he would put his hands on her…and she'd reach for him…

“The bathhouse, then. I shall attend you there.”

A warm hand cupped her chin. She gasped, shivering as she felt the heat of his skin through his leather gauntlet.

How
long
had
it
been
since
a
man
had
touched
her?

Was that the reason her body was so full of impulses that she found it difficult to think?

“I find myself doubting your word, Isabel.” His fingers moved gently along the side of her jaw while his gaze cut into her. “You claim to be a woman of experience and yet you blush like a maid. Were you a wife or a bride?”

She stiffened, lifting her chin from his grasp. “A wife. Although I found the title of
possession
more appropriate. I had a place among my husband's playthings. To be used or toyed with at his leisure. You cannot expect me to resume such a position when I have a choice.”

For all her fascination with him, Ramon was like any other man. He would expect her to perform to his satisfaction or suffer his displeasure.

“What I expect, lady, is not to be judged guilty of another man's crimes.”

She drew in a deep breath and lifted her arms so that his grip on her wrist was clearly in sight. “Do you not even now make it clear your will shall become mine?”

He released her. For a moment, she was disappointed. But he reached out and stroked the surface of her scarlet cheek.

“Do you not blush, lady? Is that not the sign of inexperience?”

It was a sign of something she wasn't willing to admit.

“I never claimed to be experienced, Lord de Segrave. My marriage lasted less than a season. What I said was, I am no longer a virgin.”

He withdrew his hand and stepped back, his hands returning to his belt. There was a hard look on his face, but he offered her a single nod in agreement.

“Well then, lady, I shall await your hospitality at my bath.” His eyes narrowed. “I assure you, you will be more experienced when you finish tending to me.”