James found his wife rolled in a blanket before the fire, back turned towards him, breathing deeply as if asleep.
“Isabel?”
She didn’t stir.
He cursed the need for her, which grew daily. How much longer could he wait before he demanded what was his by marriage?
Yet, she had been misused by her father. He tried to imagine his sister, Margery, without the love and coddling she so took for granted. Isabel had never known even one moment of tenderness. She’d only been taught hate and revenge.
Yet when she embarrassed him, he felt a burning anger. When he was alone with her, his desire waged war on his body. Yet would she ever be more a woman than a soldier?
Suddenly James paused and sniffed the air. There was an unusual odor, and it wasn’t coming from the chamberpot. He moved slowly around the room, and then stopped next to his bed in dawning consternation. He leaned forward, inhaled again, and grimaced.
“God’s teeth,” he said, wondering what could have happened in his bed while he was gone. “I can’t believe Annie would let this—” He strode to the door and threw it open so that it crashed into the wall.
Just before he bellowed the maid’s name, he heard, “Stop!”
James turned around to see Isabel sitting up next to the hearth, her hair sleep-tossed, her shirt transparent in the firelight. Every thought fled his mind as he stared at her like he’d never seen a woman before.
“Do not call for Annie,” Isabel said. “I promised I would change the bed and I just—forgot. I was very tired.”
James tried to collect himself, to ignore his lower body’s desperation. “How in God’s name did my bed get wet?”
“Annie’s baby—and you can’t blame the baby. I think they all do this.”
“You think—” He wanted to gape at her. “Don’t you know a thing about babies?”
She stiffened, and he could suddenly see the defensiveness she tried to hide. He ignored it.
“Don’t you know that it has probably seeped through to the mattress by now?”
“I’ll sleep there.” She stood up and went to the bed, tossing the clean blankets to him.
“We’ll both sleep in front of the fire.”
“We will not,” she insisted.
She was being ridiculous, but he no longer cared. “Then enjoy your night.” He settled down before the fire.
She would give in and change her mind. He just had to be patient. As she threw soiled blankets onto the floor, the odor of urine wafted over him. Damn the woman.
She didn’t approach the fire, and at last he fell asleep.
As he dressed in the morning, James regarded his wife sleeping on the bare mattress. She lay spread-eagled, a peaceful expression on her face as if she’d slept well. He rolled his eyes, remembering his own restless movements of half the night.
It was all swept from his mind as he looked at the shadows between her bare thighs. If he stood at the end of the bed, and angled his head just right, he could probably see?—
A knock sounded at the door, and he found himself stepping back as if he didn’t have a right to look at his wife however he wanted to.
He opened the door for Annie, said a pleasant, “Good morning,” and walked out into the corridor.
~oOo~
After breaking her fast, Isabel stood on the battlements, high above the land. The wind blew hard, and a sudden gust made her grip the curtain wall to keep from being blown to the inner ward.
“Isabel!”
She turned and saw Bolton himself leaving the corner tower and coming toward her. He ducked his head against the wind, then braced his big body behind hers and held onto the wall on either side of her torso.
