And Isabel—he opened his eyes as she left the room. She had been appalled by his wounds; how much worse his mutilation? Would she cringe when he touched her? In his mind a vivid picture sprang to life, of his mother arraying herself in fine fabrics, hoping to offset her plain face. He remembered his father—and then stepfather—barely noticing she was in the hall, and the quiet devastation in her expression.
James had tried so hard his entire life to never let that happen to him. He’d been blessed with looks and charm, but even they weren’t enough for an earl. Now his competence, his protective presence, were gone. He’d never be the same man again. He felt weary, despairing, and he let sleep wash it all away.
~oOo~
Hours later, James smelled something utterly delicious. His stomach gave a low rumbling growl and he opened his eyes to find Isabel sitting beside him. She held a tray with a steaming wooden bowl on top.
“Are you hungry?” she asked.
He nodded and started to sit up, then winced as a burning pain shot through his hand. He saw Isabel recoil, and knew she tried to hide it. He felt sick inside. Using his left hand, he leveraged himself to a sitting position.
“You’re not going to feed me,” he said sternly.
“I never gave it a thought.”
She set the tray across his lap, placed the bowl of soup and spoon on top, then sat back. Watching, he supposed, to see if he was capable of a task he’d been doing since he was a babe. What a change in his life—instead of Isabel admiring him for his prowess and strength, she could now admire him for feeding himself.
James ate in silence, as it took all his effort to bring the spoon to his mouth. He was so weak. “How long have I been unconscious?” he finally asked.
“Only a few days,” she said.
“Has anything of importance happened that I should know about?”
“Someone in Rosenfield village had a baby and they wanted me to tell you.”
Was she being sarcastic? “Aah, Roddy’s new wife gave birth.”
She rolled her eyes. “You don’t know the girl’s name?”
“Edith.”
James continued to eat, knowing she wouldn’t leave until he’d finished. He was sick of wondering what she was thinking.
After she’d left, he lay looking at the ceiling. It finally came to him that he was drowning in self-pity before he’d eventriedto hold a sword. His own behavior would drive his people away. My God, had he sunk so low? Was he ready to give up without a fight?
That was something he could learn from his mother. She had never stopped trying. No matter how many times either of her foolish husbands disregarded her, she gamely tried again.
By the saints, he would learn to fight even if he had to use his left hand. He would not sit like a useless lump before the fire, watching Isabel’s disgust.
24
By the evening, James had begun to walk about his bedchamber, but Isabel could tell he did not feel ready to face the great hall. Annie brought up a tray and proceeded to set dinner on a small table before the fire. The maid laid out snowy white tablecloths, with beeswax candles in a silver candelabra. She used the finest silver plates and glass goblets, then made another trip to the kitchens for the food itself. By the time she bid them good-night, there was a full feast for two people.
Isabel had not meant her to go to such trouble, but she thought she understood the workings of Annie’s mind. Annie wanted Isabel to be happy at Bolton Castle, and she’d seen that good food helped.
She sat down in her chair and James took the chair opposite her. Spread out before her were fried fish, steaming white bread, soft cheese, and baked pears dripping with sauce.
She closed her eyes and just inhaled, then reached across the table to spear a piece of fish.
“No, not like that,” James said, pushing her hand aside. “Ask me to pass the platter.”
She frowned. “What results do you see in these pointless lectures of yours?”
“I see a wife who can eat in front of guests without them gaping at her.”
Isabel had once been happy when she had succeeded in embarrassing him. But now there was a constant ache in her chest when she was near him. She really didn’t know how to eat in front of people, and it made her feel inferior, worthless. She was only good at one thing.
“Let me join the knights in practice at the tiltyard,” she suddenly said.
