Isabel turned to face him. “What are you saying?”
“Maybe…he is not all bad. He has not harmed us.”
“Yet,” she added. Her voice rose. “William, heenjoyedforcing me! This is what he does! Do you not realize that thishasharmed me, to be made to do something against my will, something so vile?”
Liar, she told herself.
William’s eyes widened. “Do you think he’ll…continue?”
“Only if he wants to see my blade part his ribs.”
~oOo~
James wasn’t about to trust himself near Isabel Atherstone. He sent good food, a basin of water, and a change of garments into the dungeon and left her and her partner alone. He would discover the boy’s identity eventually. He reasoned that the Angel must have someplace to sleep nearby, so he sent out soldiers to search for anything unusual, like recent cooking fires, or shelters.
Within three days they discovered a hut not quite deserted, with a large hidden supply of black ribbons. James arrived just as they’d begun to dig up the floor. The dowry money was there, complete and untouched. He promptly sent a missive to King Henry, asking him to take his captive off his hands.
Two evenings later, James was whistling as he came down for supper. He wore his finest garments to let all his people know that his world had righted itself, that he was once again the very eligible Earl of Bolton. But a muddy messenger waited tiredly beside one of the large fireplaces. James halted on the lowest step, feeling unease lance his stomach. He put on a false smile and went to greet him.
“Lord Bolton,” the man said, rubbing his red beard nervously. He held out a sealed letter. “His Majesty sent me with a message for you.”
James almost wanted to refuse it. Why did he have such a bad feeling about this? He was about to be rid of a thief.
He took the parchment. “Bring your men in to take supper with us.”
“I’ve no men, my lord.”
James’s mouth went dry. “But surely you need more than yourself to guard two captives.”
The messenger dropped his gaze. “I am traveling back to London alone, my lord. Perhaps you should read the message.”
James grimly opened the parchment and began to read.
And then his fine world fell apart.
King Henry was giving Isabel Atherstone to him in marriage, in gratitude for all James had done for him. She was the only heiress to a wealth of properties and castles and money. The king’s own priest would be arriving the next day to marry them. The banns had already been posted in London.
James stared in shock at the parchment, the words blurring together. Marry that savage, that harlot? All the respect he’d worked so hard for would come crashing down around him. He’d be the joke of London, and a pathetic wretch to his people. Isabel Atherstone obviously knew nothing about being a good mistress, a helpmate. God’s teeth, she wasn’t even easy to look at. What kind of life would he have, miserable in his own home, no longer welcome in society because of his outcast wife? And outcast her they would—especially knowing she was a sword-wielding thief. Who knew how many lovers she’d take behind his back?
He began to pace, ignoring the messenger who scurried away. He could barely control the rage that bubbled in his gut. Could he refuse in some polite way, perhaps on the grounds that she wanted him dead? Hell, King Henry already knew this, and it hadn’t mattered. He couldn’t afford to risk the king’s wrath.
The choice had been taken away from him. With a curse he threw the parchment into the fire.
He had to face the truth—who else would have him since Katherine broke their betrothal? Oh, he could find a minor noblewoman or two, but none with Isabel’s money and lands. True, since he had to marry her, he could always exile her to another of his manors, but who knew what havoc she could wreak if left alone.
Galway approached him. “Milord?” he said hesitantly. “Is something amiss?”
James stared into the fire, the flames threatening to consume him. “Tell the steward to prepare for a wedding tomorrow.”
The unflappable Galway was silent for a moment. “Who is to be married?”
“I am.”
Galway’s gaze was also directed at the fire. “And the bride?”
“Do you need to ask?” James said, glancing at him.
Galway’s eyes widened for a moment, then he was impassive once again. “A royal command?”
