She broke off and was silent. James held her until her breathing slowed, trying not to think about her breasts rising and lowering against his arm.
“Can you walk upstairs calmly or must I drag you?”
“Release me,” she said coldly.
When he did, she turned away from him and began to walk toward the wide stone staircase at the back of the hall. Everyone was silent, watching her. She was a proud, remote figure, wearing men’s black garments, her head high, one fist on her hip as if she rested it upon a sword hilt.
James sighed. Would every night be like this? He could imagine himself living at court for the rest of his life, just to escape this tumult. But for now, his bride waited—his filthy bride, fresh from the dungeon.
As he followed her, he caught the gaze of the little red-headed maid and motioned toward the stairs. She’d surely realize he’d be needing linens. Another nod to the soldiers, and two followed behind him to guard outside the door. Mustn’t have the bride escape.
The Angel obviously knew her way about from her last escapade in his bedchamber. She waited inside, arms folded across her chest, looking out one of the glass-paned windows into the darkness. He closed the door behind him. A fire warmed the room, and lit candles were scattered everywhere, dispelling the gloom he so hated. His bed was turned down, but he didn’t dwell on that. It would soon be too hard to pretend he didn’t care that his wife had known other men. He leaned back against the door and just watched her with narrowed eyes, feeling his simmering anger begin to bubble again.
Slowly she turned and looked at him, uncrossing her arms as if ready to defend herself. Neither of them moved. A soft knock sounded, and James opened the door to find Annie, with red hair escaping a demure cap, carrying plenty of linens. She folded back a screen in the corner of the room to reveal a padded tub. She released the valves on the pipes and allowed in water that steamed.
Isabel tried to appear disinterested, but James saw her eyes widen as she stared at the water. Finally, she walked over and put a hand in, then pulled back in alarm.
The maid smiled. “We heated water for you earlier, my lady.”
Isabel looked at the pipes again. “But where?”
“There are two cisterns on the roof. One is to heat the water, one is for cold. Is it not a wonderful idea? Lord Bolton brought such knowledge back from London.”
James watched Isabel stiffen and finally look at him.
“I thought you would be taking me out to the river.”
He shook his head, forcing away a smile. “I like a small luxury now and again.”
She snorted her response, then said, “I won’t use this. It will burn me.”
“Nonsense. We can add as much cold water as you need.”
She stepped back. “I prefer the river. I’ll be able to move more freely.”
“And escape,” he responded. Obviously, she had never bathed in a tub, only outdoors. What kind of father allowed his only child to be raised such a way? “No, you will bathe in our room from now on.”
“But this is your bedchamber.”
“And now yours, too. Do you think I’m going to wonder what you’re doing all hours of the night?”
He saw the little maid blush and lower her head.
“Annie, help her ladyship disrobe and bathe. I’ll be back in a short while.”
James closed the door before Isabel could protest. He strode past the guards and was about to go downstairs, when he halted. He suddenly imagined how everyone would look at him if he walked back into the great hall. Their expressions would run the gamut from lusty leers to pity. He suddenly didn’t want to see anyone else on this wretched day. He walked back toward his bedchamber and leaned against the wall, shrugging at the looks from his two men.
Isabel’s voice, strong like the rest of her, carried through the wooden door quite easily—a good thing to know. He motioned the guards to wait farther down the hall. Annie, the maidservant, was harder to make out. They were obviously in a disagreement about the Black Angel’s choice of clothing.
“I will remove it myself,” Isabel said.
“My lady, I just wish to have them…laundered for you.”
“Ha! I am sureheplans to have my garments burned. If you must clean them, do it here.”
“I don’t think his lordship wishes me to remain, my lady. After all, ’tis your wedding night.”
He only heard a grunt from Isabel. He wanted to respond in kind. Some wedding night, he thought morosely.
