James found himself more distracted than he cared to admit. Since he never knew what Isabel’s next move would be, he was in a constant state of readiness to toss out a quick amusing line, to laugh at her or ignore her. He was appalled that his carefully controlled image was under attack by a thief, a mere woman—his wife.
He tried to concentrate on the conversations of the villagers. He knew they discussed the recent harvest, someone’s new oxen, the planting of the winter wheat crop. It always amazed him how much he enjoyed their company. They had earthier cares than those at court, but he knew where he stood with them. There was no duplicity in their manner, no false faces hiding greed and ambition. Why had he stayed away so long?
But he knew why. He had needed to escape, to forget the upheaval in his life that had lost him a betrothed and two brothers. Perhaps his choice to back Henry Tudor for king had been a poor decision—his family certainly thought so. And too many people had been hurt. But he looked around at these simple happy faces, well fed since the recent harvest, and wondered what would have become of them if he’d backed King Richard, and been punished when Henry took the crown. Why couldn’t his family see that he had done what he thought best, that he had to protect his people and his lands?
But Katherine, his first betrothed, had been almost killed by a man in his employ, a man he had not known well enough. James had only meant to keep her safe at the monastery, because she knew secrets highly placed men would kill for. She had known who would turn against the king—but she hadn’t known about her own betrothed.
The twinge of guilt took him by surprise, as always. He had seen that King Richard was finished, that a new king would rule. His family’s survival hung in the balance. Though he had tried to keep Katherine safe from men who would kill her, she had been placed in grave danger, and if his own brother hadn’t rescued her, she would have died.
Yet, if one could believe the priests, everything was meant for a purpose, a plan by God. James glanced at his wife, who sat straight-backed, yet allowed her breast to touch his arm. She had given up the awkward fight to remain apart from him. He knew she had a plan to humiliate him, and that usually required the presence of other people. It was in the privacy of their bedchamber that he had trouble understanding her.
Isabel frustrated and angered him to no end. Yet…sometimes he could not stop looking at her. Why could he not control his own gaze? He thought about Isabel more than he’d ever thought about Katherine. Daily he struggled to suppress an intense fascination. What kind of woman could take up a sword for her father’s causes? The strength at the core of her amazed him. He needed answers from Galway, and then he wouldn’t have to think about his wife—except in bed.
They’d tasted the village’s best ale and ate fish pies dripping in butter and spices. Isabel ate too quickly, as if James would take away the meal before she was done. She didn’t use her napkin. Though he was appalled by her table manners, a dark side of him wanted to lick the butter from her lips. He looked away, fighting the need to adjust himself.
~oOo~
They stopped at another village later in the afternoon, then started for Bolton Castle as the sun was low in the red-streaked sky. Plowed fields pressed along on either side of the road. Isabel wrapped her cloak more securely around her, trying to forget that they would soon return to her prison.
“I think it late,” Bolton suddenly said, turning in the saddle to face his three men-at-arms. “What say you we make camp tonight?”
Isabel straightened in the saddle. Even one more hour of freedom was heaven to her ears.
Wiggins, the blond soldier with the impeccable manners, protested immediately. “But my lord, your lady wife might catch a chill. It is nigh on to winter.”
“My ‘lady wife’ has been a soldier most of her life.” He glanced at her, his face unreadable. “Let us put it to her. Lady Isabel, would you rather ride through most of the night to reach the castle?”
She hesitated. She should do the opposite of whatever he wanted, shouldn’t she? But he’d only feel superior at her stubbornness. And the air did smell so fresh.
“I can camp anywhere,” she said simply, and left Bolton to decide her meaning.
He threw back his head and laughed. “I think she means us to stay, men.”
“But my lord—” Wiggins began.
“Mort, Wiggins, be off to the castle and let them know we’ll return on the morrow. Riley will guard us well.”
Wiggins drew himself up, nodded briskly, and rode on ahead with Mort.
“Riley, find us a suitable spot to rest,” Bolton said. “We have more than enough time before full dark.”
16
They rode on for another hour, to a clearing just at the edge of the forest. Darkness crept over the sky, but there was still enough pale light to make camp. Isabel unsaddled her horse, rubbed him down and tethered him to the picket line Riley had prepared. Then she stood uselessly beneath the trees, watching the soldier do everything for her. Riley went into the forest, then reappeared, dragging two tree branches behind him. After building a fire, he spread blankets on the ground.
She couldn’t help but be impressed. Riley was a whole troop of soldiers all by himself.
Bolton sat atop his cloak near the growing fire. Apparently his clothing wasn’t so precious it couldn’t be sat upon. He gave her an assessing look, and she remembered all the ways she’d embarrassed him this day.
“Sit down, Isabel.”
She felt a sudden urge to flee, but that would be cowardly. Instead she spread her cloak on the ground, then lowered herself to sit across the fire from him.
Bolton’s eyes gleamed but he didn’t smile. “Allow Riley some privacy.”
She looked over her shoulder and saw Riley wrapping himself in a blanket. Her body blocked any heat from reaching him. She grudgingly stood, walked about the fire, and sat upon her cloak near her husband. She found herself nervous, uneasy, wondering when he would bring up her antics. But his dark silence went on and she couldn’t bear it.
“Why does Riley not speak?” she asked in a low voice.
