There was more general conversation as Isabel removed her clothes. James was partially successful in keeping a nude Black Angel from his thoughts. He was still trying to nurse his bitterness at being manipulated.
“Leave!” he suddenly heard Isabel command. He recognized the tone of her voice. She was probably looking for her sword hilt again.
“But, my lady, I swear to you?—”
“I will not allow this torture!”
He gritted his teeth and threw the door wide. He came to a halt, feeling as if someone punched him in the stomach. Isabel stood beside the tub, wearing nothing but a thin linen cloth wrapped around her body. Where the towel met, a slit revealed the side of her from thigh to waist. Her hair was a wild mass about her shoulders. She looked part savage, part woman—and she was trying to dunk the maid.
8
Annie’s backside was already soaked as she dangled over the edge of the tub, holding onto Isabel’s arms. She looked like a mouse being shaken by a very large cat, but surprisingly, she didn’t seem afraid.
“My lady!” she said, her voice still firm.
James slid to a halt.
“I assure you that this water is a pleasant temperature, and will not burn you. Please release me and I will gladly put my bare arm in to the shoulder.”
Stunned, he watched Isabel bodily lift the slight girl away from the tub and put her back on her feet. He expected Annie to run screaming from the room, but she merely looked over her shoulder at her wet rump, and calmly unlaced her sleeve. She pulled it off and immersed her arm.
“See, my lady?” she said, smiling sweetly.
James was appalled that a mere girl—a servant—had to tutor his wife about the merits of hot water. He felt his control splintering into a thousand pieces.
“Enough!” he said. “Annie, bring me ale—plenty of it—and then see that we are not disturbed.”
The girl bobbed a quick curtsy and left, closing the door behind her. He glared at his new wife, who stared back at him coolly. The meager covering hung from her body, as if she dared it to fall to the floor. He clenched his fists, and tried not to think of how badly his life had fallen apart, but how could he not, when the result stood before him?
Annie brought the ale, but James barely managed a curt nod as she left. Without taking his eyes off his wife, he drained the first tankard, then refilled it from the pitcher. He wanted it to work its magic on his senses, to make him forget.
“Get in that tub and wash the filth of the dungeon from your body,” he said in a low voice.
Isabel stiffened, remaining defiant and mute.
He stepped towards her, and though she barely moved, he saw the imperceptible shrinking away. His warrior wife was afraid of him. It should make him feel powerful. It only made him angry. He gulped down another mouthful of ale, scowling. He had expected to clean up his wife, begat his first heir and go to sleep, but nothing was working out the way he had thought. The foolish woman was frightened of him, not in battle, where he could do her serious harm, but in their bedchamber, where she stood naked and vulnerable to him.
“Angel, if you are not in that tub and scrubbing by the time I reach you, I will do it myself.”
Her chin came up and the wild look flashed through her dark eyes. How had he ever thought her a man, or even built like a man? Though she was tall and strong-shouldered, her waist was surprisingly narrow, her hips round and voluptuous. Her legs were long and smoothly muscled, and he could almost see clear to the juncture of her thighs. He was hard in a moment, but even that infuriated him. He didn’t want to desire her, didn’t want her to have this power over him. He drank half the tankard.
God, what had he done in his life to deserve such torture? All he had wanted was a sweet, pleasant-looking, rich virgin to take to wife, to watch her unfurl before his eyes alone. But what had he received? A nasty-tempered, sword-wielding, rich strumpet.
He slammed the tankard on the nearest table, where it rocked unsteadily for a moment. His wife actually flinched, setting his teeth on edge. He grabbed the cloth between her breasts and yanked. She was obviously caught off-guard, because she reeled forward as the garment fell away, then gasped and pulled back. Naked, she was even more stunning than he’d imagined, every curve lush, breasts heavy and dark-tipped. Between them a chain glittered in the candlelight, holding a ring suspended.
“A gift from a lover?” he demanded.
She straightened, still proud, and her hair fell in cascading curls over her body, hiding and revealing it. Her voice cold, she said, “ ’Tis my father’s.”
“Well, your father would want you to bathe for your husband.”
“Not for a Bolton,” she said.
Before she could protest, he picked her up and dropped her in the tub. Water sloshed all over the rug and wooden floor. She came up gasping and coughing.
“Doesn’t that feel better, my dear Angel? There’s a cloth on the table beside you. Now scrub.”
James turned his back before he could watch the water drip down her breasts. Just holding her for a brief moment had made his blood thicken and his pulse pound. What was wrong with him? Maybe if he drank enough, he could forget this whole night. He drained the last of the ale and poured another. When he felt under control, he turned and sprawled in a chair before the hearth, facing her. She sat stiffly in the tub, the cloth in her hand.
