Isabel slammed the saddle back on the edge of the stall, but it didn’t help the anger that raged within her. She stalked past the bowing man, out to the inner ward. Chickens pecked before her and the dogs found her again, but she ignored everything. How dare Bolton restrict her? Wasn’t she the mistress of the hall? Her panic over her newest revenge subsided. He deserved worse.
She strode to the gatehouse. She’d walk if she had to. Anything to hear the silence of the forest all around her, to forget what had become of her life. Two guards stepped in her path, awkwardly shifting their feet and looking anywhere but at her.
“What is the meaning of this?” she asked in a low voice.
“His Lordship’s orders, miss—milady.” The man’s ears turned a bright red.
Her sight was swallowed in a haze of red rage as she whirled away from the gatehouse. The walls were pressing in on her. She was suffocating. She pushed through a group of chatting women, heard a scream but disregarded it. She found the entrance to one of the corner towers and went inside, surprising the two soldiers within. Before they could even stand, she started up the winding staircase built into the walls. She ignored the shouts behind her, taking the steps two at a time until she burst out onto the battlements. She went to the curtain wall, leaned her arms against the rough stone and just breathed deeply of the cold morning air, fighting the sense of utter desolation that gripped her. The countryside spread before her, forests and winding river, and farther away rolling hillside pastures.
Such freedom was beyond Isabel now. She was Bolton’s prisoner, and he could do whatever he liked and no one would gainsay him. Her breath came in gasps, and for the first time since her childhood, she felt the sting of tears. She buried her face in her hands.
~oOo~
When James came down to break his fast, he wore a merry grin to hide his aching tiredness. Isabel was nowhere in sight, but she couldn’t go far. He noticed his knights’ stilted calls of “good morning,” and wondered what his wife could already have been up to. He sat at the raised dais alone and stared at the porridge placed before him by a red-faced serving girl.
As he began to eat, Galway sat down opposite him.
“Milord,” the captain said with a nod of his head.
“Galway,” James replied. “Are you going to eat?”
“Already have, milord,” he said.
James ate silently, waiting for Galway’s news. Finally he said, “Is there something you need to say?”
“Your wife is on the battlements.”
James nodded, ripping a piece of bread off the loaf. “As long as she has no rope, we’ll be fine.”
“She tried to saddle a horse.”
He grinned. “I imagine she wasn’t happy when she discovered my orders.”
“No, milord. She tried to enter the gatehouse.”
“Ah, desperate was she?”
“Now she’s on the battlements, just staring.”
James took a sip of ale from his tankard. “What would you have me do, Galway? She’ll come to terms with her married state in her own time.”
“I don’t think she’s taking it all that meekly, milord.”
James slowly set down his knife, feeling the first taste of unease. “What are you saying?”
“I been hearing…rumors, milord, from the serving wenches, even from the younger, bolder knights.”
Tension stiffened his spine. “Go on.”
“Your lady said something to one o’ the girls, who repeated it to the next, and on and on. Milady said you…hadn’t finished your vows.” Galway, in his own serious way, was practically squirming.
“ ’Tis not a lie,” he said tiredly. “The girl was scared to death. I could hardly force her.”
Galway looked taken aback. “One such as her was afeared of you?”
James shrugged.
“I understand, milord, but some might not.”
