“It would be difficult,” she admitted after a moment. Her voice seemed to soften. “Do you not think your knights would admire you even more for not giving up?”
He sighed. “You may be right.”
“Pardon me?”
“I said—” He stopped himself, lost again in the sweet possibilities of her laughter. “I think you like hearing me say that you’re right.”
Her gaze slid from his with all the natural ability of a born flirt. “Perhaps,” was her only concession.
~oOo~
After another frustrating night trying to keep away from Isabel in bed, James stood beside the tiltyard and watched her. He came to the conclusion that one of the reasons she failed so much at domesticity was that she was always thinking ahead to each hour of training. He had predicted wrongly about her effect on the men as she and William joined them.
At first the soldiers and knights had watched her warily, then they ignored her, then they became reluctantly impressed. Soon they were treating her like a little brother, teaching her drinking songs or challenging her to single combat—until James arrived, when they went back to their duties.
He couldn’t help but feel excluded. Of course the soldiers would turn to Isabel, a talented swordswoman, now that James could no longer lead them in combat. He was an outsider.
The self-pity of it all was making him sick. He went back to his bedchamber and spent an hour practicing his sword fighting maneuvers left-handed, away from pitying eyes. When he heard footsteps in the hall, he grabbed the scabbard and tried to ram the blade home, but ended up dropping everything in a clatter. Isabel opened the door and looked at him silently, no expression on her face.
He reddened. “I…accidentally kicked my sword over.”
She shut the door behind her and leaned back against it. Of course she didn’t respond. What was there to say? He was obviously lying.
“Shall we get to your letters, then?” he asked quickly.
They spent a tedious hour working on her reading. Soon he was torn between throwing the wax tablet across the room, or pulling her into his arms for a kiss. He longed to touch her, but he couldn’t bear to see disgust in her eyes.
James knew he was not the only one who was relieved when they were interrupted by news of a visitor. Together they went down to the great hall. James did not recognize the earnest young man standing before the hearth, twisting his felt cap. A small troop of the man’s guards were already eating hungrily at the tables.
Isabel came to a stop in the rushes, her face white. Obviously she knew their guest. Before either of them could say a word, the young man’s face brightened in a relieved smile.
“Lady Isabel! ’Tis so good to see you.”
He came forward, took her hand, and kissed it. James thought he was decent-looking, in a pale, blond sort of way.
“Have we met, sir?” James asked, trying to keep the irritation from his voice.
Before the stranger could say anything, Isabel said, “This is Sir Wallace Desmond, heir to his father’s barony. He is William’s older brother.”
Sir Wallace gave the correct, polite bow, but he smiled at Isabel. “It has been many years since I have seen you last, my lady. My sympathies on the death of your father, and my congratulations on your marriage.”
He gave James a quick glance, and James realized he knew everything, that the story of the Black Angel had spread the length of the land.
Isabel thanked him coolly, and James guessed that her father was still not a subject she wished to discuss.
“Forgive me for arriving without notice, my lord, but I am bound for the continent. I will not see my brother for some years. When I heard that he was continuing his fostering here, I thought I would say my farewells in person.”
“By all means,” James said, calling for a page to fetch William.
“Allow me.”
James knew it was his wife’s voice, but it didn’t sound normal. As he turned to face her, he saw why. She wassmilingat Desmond, something James had never seen unless she was bearing her teeth in a triumphant grin. And she had a dimple in one cheek.
He watched them walk off together, and an awful feeling invaded his stomach. He told himself that it was anger, but he suspected it was something more.
Isabel walked silently beside Wallace and allowed him to talk on about his approaching trip across the sea to France. But her mind traveled back to her childhood. Even when she was a young, awkward girl, more a boy than anything else, he had always been kind to her, and never tried to change her. When he had visited Mansfield Castle, she had followed him everywhere, trying to get his attention. She had daydreamed like a foolish girl, mooning over whether he might ask her father if he could marry her. After he had left, she immersed herself in her training, but never quite forgot him.
“Isabel?”
