Her eyes narrowed. “Of course he has not. He is an honorable man. I am merely…guessing.”
He leaned toward her, speaking softly. “Most people do not hate living here, Angel. But then, most people were invited.” The moment the cruel words escaped his mouth, he found himself regretting them. He should hoard his anger, use it to punish her for her interference. Yet—when her shoulders stiffened at his words, when she slowly lowered her eating knife and sat up straighter, guilt lashed through him. And it only made him even angrier.
How dare she make him feel this way? He had most certainly not invited her, and had most definitely not wanted to marry her. She was a savage, a thief, and he shouldn’t let her tie his insides into knots this way.
When she carried her trencher to the fire, he allowed it. Hell, the farther apart they were the better.
She upset him, that was why he felt so miserable, why he could only stare at his food rather than eat it. It was almost a relief when Wiggins respectfully approached the dais.
“My lord, might I have a moment of your time?”
“Of course. Sit down,” James said, pulling out a chair to his left.
Wiggins’s eyes widened. “Heavens, no, my lord. It would not be proper.”
James folded his arms across his chest. “Then what do you wish of me?”
“Just that…forgive me, your lordship, but I overheard part of your conversation with your wife. I, of course, shall tell no one what I heard.”
“She has a loud enough voice to fill the hall, Wiggins,” James said bitterly. “Everyone already heard.”
“Oh, well then, might I say that your wife was a restless woman today, my lord, but she did not cause any problems.”
“And I needed to know this?”
“Well, yes, I thought you would like to know that she behaved herself quite admirably. It must have been terribly difficult to watch, you know.”
James found his gaze wandering repeatedly to his wife, who stood with her back to the hall, long legs spread wide. “Watch what?” he murmured, only half listening.
“She spent part of the morning at the tiltyard, Lord Bolton.”
That got James’s attention. “You don’t mean she took up a sword.”
“Heavens, no. She just…watched.”
He could only imagine how well his men had taken to their prisoner watching them like a hawk. Must he guard her every moment of the day? Was he, too, a prisoner? He should forbid Isabel from having anything to do with the soldiers. She should act like a woman, like a wife.
But he quickly realized that that would effectively keep her prisoner inside the castle—and who here would guard her? The soldiers didn’t want her, the servants didn’t want her. The women of the household would find her useless. He was the only one who wanted her for something, and even then it was only for the solace of her body. He doubted she would find it her mission in life to wait in bed for when he might want her. He was only now beginning to realize how truly she complicated everything.
And now she stood smug before the fire, humiliating him at every turn, with every gesture. This was not to be borne without a fight.
“Isabel!” he called loudly, getting to his feet.
The sounds of conversation in the hall died down. James tried not to see the anticipation on the face of everyone present, but how could he blame them? He was providing them with entertainment. Isabel slowly turned to face him, still chewing her meal.
“As everyone knows,” he said, “I was gone much of the day. Isabel, I’m sure you did not fail to mention that I had neglected to perform my husbandly duties today.”
He was well rewarded when her cheeks blazed with mortification. She threw her food into the rushes and used her dark eyes to blaze her fury at him.
“Isabel, let us retire to our bedchamber.”
And then she did the last thing James expected. He thought she’d scream her anger or stalk away, but she bolted fast for the door to freedom. The shocked guards on either side obviously feared to touch the master’s wife, for they let her throw open the doors and escape. James vaulted the table and landed on his feet in the rushes. He took off after her, dodging giggling serving maids. His knights cheered.
He knew he should feel in control, that he had his strong wife running in fear of him—but he’d seen the quick shot of terror in her eyes before she’d run. God help him, he didn’t want to see the Black Angel afraid of him.
He burst outside and breathed cold air into his lungs. The moon was hidden behind dark banks of clouds, but torches ringed the courtyard and battlements for the night watch.
A soldier on the walkways at the top of the curtain wall pointed and called, “That way, milord!”
