“Don’t be ridiculous.” He sank back on his heels, but made no other move. “Where did you get those scars?”
The heel of her hand caught him square in the mouth and he fell back on one hand. With a cry of rage she sat up. Whether she meant to fight or flee, he didn’t know, but he was taking no chances. He launched forward, knocking her onto her back and coming down on top of her.
“Hold still,” he said harshly, pinning her arms at her sides.
They fought a few minutes longer, but it was obvious who was going to win. She finally subsided, panting, into stillness. The shirt was barely a scrap across her waist and hanging from her arms. Her bare breasts were pressed flat beneath his chest, her naked hips pillowed his erection.
James caught her face between his hands. “Listen to me,” he said slowly.
Her eyes glared silent hatred.
“If I would have wanted to force myself on you, I could have done so last night.” He reached down and pulled one of her knees up to his waist. She took a frantic breath as he settled between her thighs. The moist heat of her was almost his undoing, but he held tight to his purpose. “All it would take is one thrust.”
For a moment, they remained frozen on the brink of consummation. He wanted to bury himself inside her, while his mind and heart shouted caution. Although it pained him greatly, he lifted himself off Isabel. She scrambled away, bumping hard into the bed, before he even got to his knees. She tried to clutch the shirt across her, but there wasn’t enough whole cloth left. He felt guilt sweep through him, and he hadn’t even done anything.
“I saw the scars on your chest and came closer to look,” he said.
“My body is none of your concern.”
Did her voice actually shake? He raised one eyebrow. “My lady, the vows we exchanged made your body my concern. Who did that to you?”
Her hands finally found the blanket she had slept with, and she yanked it up beneath her chin.
“Your father?” he asked softly.
“Never!”
Her outrage seemed honest, but he still needed the truth. “Isabel, answer my question. Who did this to you?”
“I did,” she said with great menace, and rose to her feet to tower above where he sat.
He almost hoped she’d try something just so he would have another excuse to grapple with her. But the scars stopped his baser instincts. Could it be true? Could she have cut herself deliberately? They didn’t look like the marks of a knife. And she didn’t strike him as a weak woman who needed to hurt herself.
She backed toward the tub, never taking her dark, glittering eyes off him. James stood up, feeling the cold a bit too much, now that he’d lost the warmth of her flesh. He leaned against the side of the bed and watched her find her garments.
“Those have yet to be washed,” he said mildly.
She ignored him. Lifting her chin, she dropped the blanket and let the torn shirt slide down her body. He felt the impact deep in his gut, and gripped the coverlet in his fists. She pulled on braies, tied on her hose and yanked the black doublet over her head.
“I can send Annie for a gown,” he offered.
She slung a belt around her waist. “I don’t wear gowns.”
“You will,” he said, smiling with an arrogance he wasn’t feeling at the moment.
She tied her hair back with a strip of leather and flung open the door. She strode down the hall with all the purpose of a soldier marching off to battle. He walked forward and leaned against the doorway, watching her. He had no doubt she was off to marshal her resources for a new assault. At least she wouldn’t get farther than the gatehouse.
But he would not wait to determine the outcome of this particular battle. No, it was time to go on the offensive. He would send Galway to Mansfield Castle and find out just exactly how his bride grew up.
~oOo~
Isabel descended the stone staircase and came to a halt. A few servants were laying cloths on the trestle tables. They eyed her coldly, uneasily, then continued their tasks. None of Bolton’s knights or soldiers were in evidence. Were not armed guards supposed to follow her? she thought bitterly. Would she actually be allowed to roam at will? She needed to get out of this hall, if only for a moment of necessary privacy.
Annie, the little red-headed maid, emerged from a corridor and smiled as she approached Isabel.
“My lady, I was just about to bring you a change of clothing.”
“Not necessary,” Isabel said shortly. “Where is everyone?”
