“Boy, there’s still time,” he said hoarsely. “Who is she?”
“No!” she shouted.
She heard William sob. “She’s Lady Isabel Atherstone, daughter of the late Earl of Mansfield. Please don’t kill her.”
6
When James reached his bedchamber, he sank into a chair before the fire and put his head in his hands. He had planned to coerce the Angel with food, to torment her about hurting her partner, all in a bluff to get her to reveal herself.
But then he had remembered the boy’s reaction in the forest, when he had desperately revealed the location of the ribbons so the Angel wouldn’t be hurt. All at once, James had found himself using that information, playing the woman against her partner. He should be exhilarated that his plan had succeeded without bloodshed.
Instead, he was torn apart by the most passionate kiss he had ever received. And he’d kissed so many women. But always there had been a part of his brain detached from the emotion of the act, analyzing every technique he used and what to change the next time he needed to calm a nervous woman with a kiss.
But with Isabel Atherstone, he’d lost himself. The woman had robbed him, humiliated him, and almost gotten away with it—but still he had continued to kiss her. Lost in the hot recesses of her mouth, he had forgotten the boy, forgotten his purpose. He still didn’t even know the boy’s name, because he couldn’t bear to be with Isabel for a moment more, and not kiss her.
Yet…it bothered him that he could not fathom her motives. She wanted revenge, but for what? Her name was familiar, yet he couldn’t think why.
He had to get control of himself, James thought, sweeping the hair out of his face and collapsing back in the chair. Yes, he’d been undone by her kiss, but nothing else could come of it. She was a barbaric, savage woman, who’d had many men before him. She had taken his money, humiliated him, and meant to kill him. It had to end. Because of her noble identity, he would have to send notice to the king of her crimes. Let His Majesty deal with her.
~oOo~
The guards allowed Isabel to descend into William’s dungeon. She felt numb, defeated, but one look at her squire’s face made her forget her own worries. She could tell from his dirty cheeks that he’d been wiping away tears.
As her feet touched the floor, he threw his arms around her and held on. She awkwardly patted his back. Finally, William stepped away, gripped her shoulders, and stared intently at her face.
“Do you have injuries I cannot see?” he demanded. “Does it hurt?”
“I am fine,” she said, trying to pull away.
“Isabel, do not lie to me! Let me help.”
“He did not harm me.” She turned away from him and went to the arrow loop. Leaning against the damp rock, she buried her head in her arms. She heard William approach.
“I don’t understand,” he said softly. “What happened? Why did you scream?”
“He kissed me,” she murmured wearily.
“What did you say?”
Isabel whirled and faced him, anger rising. “He kissed me.”
William’s mouth dropped open. “That’s it?”
“Do you not see? He did it deliberately, knowing you’d misinterpret.”
The blood drained from his face. “You mean I—I revealed your secret for no reason? I put you in harm’s way?”
“William, it was not your fault. He would have discovered eventually. And I—I was not much help. I reacted badly.”
“My lady, of course you reacted, having a man like that kiss you,” he said, and put his hand on her shoulder. “Forgive me.”
Still looking out the window, she patted his hand. She hoped he wouldn’t ask what had happened, because she could barely admit it to herself. She had allowed the kiss of her family’s worst enemy—and she had enjoyed it. She wanted to groan her mortification, but the boy was upset enough.
What was wrong with her, that she could find the kiss of a man she hated so wildly exciting? Her body still throbbed from the heat of him, and she felt achingly incomplete. He was a monster, he had raped his betrothed—and would she have allowed him to take her as well? Was she that weak-minded, to be swept away by a sexual desire she had never felt before?
No, she angrily thought,I would have killed him first.
“My lady,” William said hesitantly, “there might be something to be said about a man who does not wish to use physical violence unless necessary.”
