“Then they have not been married,” he said coldly. He quickly ran a hand through his hair. “I’m not angry at you, Galway. Isabel is not making patience easy. I don’t know how to treat the girl. I know nothing about her, which is why I’m sending you to Castle Mansfield. Find out anything you can about her and this feud. Tell her steward that I am now in control of her lands.”
Galway rose to his feet. “I’ll leave now, milord, and reach the castle by late tomorrow.”
“Spend a number of days. I need a full report.” James lifted a hand before his captain could go. “One more thing. Have her partner released from the dungeon and brought to me.”
“What about Lady Bolton?”
It was still so difficult to think of the Black Angel with his family name. She might as well have stolen that, too. “Leave her alone. I don’t think she’ll jump—she’s already set her newest plan in motion, and she won’t want to miss it.”
Galway bowed and left. James stared at his food, no longer hungry. Oh, she’d chosen well, his Angel had. Nothing like his entire estate thinking he couldn’t bed his own wife. His chivalry was looking more and more like foolishness.
The Black Angel’s partner was soon brought in, ragged, dirty, and wild-eyed. He stared frantically about the hall.
“What have you done with her?” he demanded.
James sighed. “Sit down and eat. I’ll explain.”
“Have you sent her to prison?” the boy demanded gruffly as a soldier guided him to the head table.
“She thinks so.” James waved over a maidservant, who brought a basin of steaming water. “Wash your face and hands and allow me to give you the good news.”
“Where—”
“Do you know how to wash, or must I have someone help you?”
The boy drew himself up to his full height, which wasn’t as tall as the Angel. But he’d probably still grow a few more inches. He already had a man’s breadth of chest muscle, and loyalty that James found appealing.
The boy shrugged off the soldier’s grasp. “I will wash and sit if you promise to explain what has happened to Lady Isabel.”
“I give you my oath.”
A few minutes later, the boy sat opposite James, as clean as possible with only one small basin of water, and the guards retreated to either side of the massive doors. Steaming porridge was placed before him, and although he looked longingly at it, he raised his grim gaze to James.
“Where has my lady been?”
“Here, with me.” He took a deep breath and met the boy’s gaze directly. “By the king’s decree, we were married yesterday.”
The boy slammed his hands on the table and vaulted to his feet. “What lies do you tell? Where is Isabel?” His gaze searched the hall.
“Sit down and give me the courtesy of listening. After all, I’ve done nothing to you, and you’ve committed crimes against me.”
He sat reluctantly. “If you’re telling the truth, you’ve committed far greater crimes than mine.”
“Do you think I wanted to marry her? Do you think we suit?”
The boy’s face turned ashen. “She must have been…”
“Angry?” James suggested mildly.
“What did she do?”
“You mean after she agreed to give me back my knife?”
The boy’s eyes widened.
“She married me, of course. What else could she do except rot in the king’s prison.”
His shoulders sagged. “So everything of hers?—”
