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The humiliation she’d caused him all day came back, along with vivid anger. He knocked the dagger aside and let her retreat to pull her garments together.

“Riley, wake up,” he said, getting to his feet.

Isabel turned her back to keep dressing.

When the soldier rolled into a sitting position, James was already strapping on his sword. “I shall meet you at the castle tomorrow. See that Lady Bolton gets home safely.”

Riley stood up, his face etched with concern.

“I’m for Smithfield. Worry about my wife—although I’m sure she can take care of herself.” He saddled his horse and rode off into the forest without looking back.

James was cold and damp before he could even think rationally. A year ago, the thought of visiting Fiona had left him pleasantly warm with anticipation. Now he could barely picture her face. All he could see was Isabel, half-naked, holding a dagger as if she wanted to use it. Damn the woman, but she frustrated him, and not only in bed.

He had never in his life talked about his brothers to anyone but his sister, Margery, and even then never revealed his deepest feelings. All Isabel had done was ask him a simple question about his family, and he’d found himself spilling emotions from his gut as if she were his confessor. What the hell was happening to him?

He would chase Isabel from his thoughts for at least this night. Fiona had a sweetness and easy temper to make a man feel welcome. He didn’t even remember what that felt like.

But as he neared the village of Smithfield in the morning, his pace slowed, and he couldn’t understand why. He approached her home, a small croft on the outskirts of the village, secluded in a glen. He dismounted, but couldn’t bring himself to go to the door. Instead he remained hidden, leaning back against a tree trunk with his eyes closed.

Why wasn’t this choice easy? He had a marriage in name only and his wife had known other men. Isabel would be the first to deny they had any claim on each other. And yet…

And yet she stirred something deep inside him, something primitive and dangerous and possessive. Why did he ache to lay between the Angel’s thighs, when a sweet woman was nearby, one who would gladly welcome him?

James kicked back against the trunk, startling his horse. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t go in to Fiona when he desired another woman. How had he let his insides be torn up by Isabel?

Suddenly, he heard the faint sound of a baby crying. He stiffened, then slowly turned, keeping well hidden. Fiona stepped outside, and her red hair lit like fire under the sun. She had a tiny baby in the crook of her arm. James slumped in relief. It was too young to be his. But then whose was it?

A burly man, some years older, followed her outside, holding Fiona in a possessive embrace as he leaned down to smile at the baby. Fiona was married? Why hadn’t his steward told him?

James gritted his teeth, watching the man leave for his fields, and Fiona disappear back indoors. He led his horse to the other side of the glen, mounted, and rode away at a reckless speed. He was grateful that Fiona had found a man who deserved her, but by God, was absolutely everyone happy but himself?

17

When Isabel entered her bedchamber that night, she found Annie sitting in a chair before the fire, holding a small baby.

“Oh, my lady, please forgive me for bringing my little girl. My aunt is ill and my husband is helping his parents and?—”

Isabel remained by the door, looking cautiously at the baby’s flailing arms and legs. “I didn’t know you were married, Annie.”

“Oh yes, milady, for a few years now. My husband works with the hunting dogs. This is our little girl, Mary.”

Feeling foolish and awkward, Isabel nodded. Other women would probably ask to hold the baby, but all she could manage was a step nearer to look.

Mary’s little head was covered in dark hair, as wispy as feathers on a gosling. Isabel had never bothered to notice babies before. There weren’t that many in the tiltyard. They looked like such fragile little things. She knew she was too clumsy to ever hold one.

“You go on, Annie. I don’t need you this night.”

“Nonsense, my lady! You’ve been sleeping out of doors.”

“Not an unusual occurrence.”

“I’ve already filled the tub. And your hair needs a good brushing.”

Annie stood up and lay the baby on the bed. The little blanket covering its legs moved spasmodically, as if there were bugs crawling under there.

Isabel bathed, then submitted with gritted teeth as Annie tugged the brush through her snarls. The baby babbled to itself in a mysterious language. Isabel glanced at the bed frequently. Wouldn’t Mary roll off?

Finally Annie was finished. Isabel sighed with relief as Annie picked up her baby to leave.