She approached their small group and gave the Desmond brothers a smile, flashing the dimple in one of her cheeks. James’s stomach clenched with a surge of jealousy he no longer tried to deny. He looked from one brother to the other, and they practically stepped over each other—and in front of James—to bow before her. James cleared his throat. They each stumbled back a step and had the decency to look embarrassed.
“Lord Bolton,” Wallace began, his face reddening. “I did not mean to give offense.”
“None taken,” James said. “ ’Tis good of you to humor my wife.”
William and Wallace looked confused, but Isabel said, “Wallace, I’d like to meet your traveling companions.” She took his arm and walked away.
William remained at James’s side, obviously uncomfortable. “My lord…” he began, then trailed off.
James well understood the boy’s confusion. He smiled. “As I’ve said before, what a woman, eh, William?”
A half-hearted smile appeared on the boy’s face, then faded. “She’s not herself anymore, my lord. And I don’t understand.”
James turned a serious gaze on Isabel’s squire. “What do you mean?”
“All I know is, the look in her eyes has changed.” William shrugged. “Please don’t tell her I’ve said this, but she looks…sad.”
Margery had said the same thing. Frowning, James followed William to the dais and sat beside Isabel at the head table. He wanted to look into her eyes, but she was deep in conversation with Wallace about horses.
Through the meal, James tried to pay attention to the bantering of his guests, but it was very distracting to be able to eat with only one hand. He soon stopped eating altogether and merely drank. He kept remembering William’s comment that Isabel looked sad.
She seemed anything but sad. In fact, she was pleasant. James admitted to himself that it annoyed him no end that Wallace Desmond was the cause. He hated feeling jealous. He did the only thing he hoped might annoy her. He turned to the women.
Charm was difficult at first, but it was so second nature to him, that soon he found himself surrounded by the wives and ladies of Wallace’s party. Such concern expressed over his hand, such obvious worry over the wife he’d been forced to marry. James smiled and bowed and kissed hands.
And he remained unmoved by them, much to his surprise. He’d always adored women, all kinds. He touched, laughed, teased until they blushed prettily. Tonight it bored him, but he didn’t want to examine the cause. He was almost happy when the group enlarged to include their husbands. James found himself moving between clusters of guests, listening, yet not listening, his gaze lingering on his wife time and again.
He suddenly noticed that his was not the only gaze to wander. While the pretty wives blushed and fluttered their eyelashes, their husbands were glancing with interest—at Isabel.
Had it always been this way, that she seemed fascinating and different to other men? Was he actually envied because he had an unusual wife?
Isabel tried valiantly to pay attention to Wallace’s conversation, but every time James glanced at her, she felt it clear to her toes, a yearning for his attention. His eyes were bright, piercing, almost too intense. For a moment, she was afraid to hope, and then the thought came to her again. Could he be jealous? She turned her back, and wondered how she could put her conclusion to the test. Wallace smiled at her, and Isabel found herself saying, “I should like to see this horse you brag about.”
“Surely not this evening. ’Tis cold and your husband?—”
“Now—please.” She moved toward the double doors, not even turning to see if he followed.
A few early flakes of snow blew about the inner ward. Isabel led the way to the stables, her stomach tightening more and more with each step. James must have seen her slip outside with Wallace. What would he do?
They finally leaned over a stall, their breaths misting.
Wallace chuckled. “My horse doesn’t know he’s of interest. He’s asleep.”
Isabel shrugged. As if her thoughts had conjured James, he appeared out of the darkness into the dimly lit stable. He carried a tankard in his left hand. Still watching them, he drained it and tossed it aside.
Wallace grinned at him. “My lord, your wife seems to think my horse?—”
“Go back inside, Desmond.”
Wallace’s smile faded. “My lord, you don’t think that I—I intended to…”
“No, I believe you innocent. My wife on the other hand…” He let the sentence trail off, and the low menace in his voice excited Isabel. Was she right about him?
“Go back inside, Desmond.”
Wallace bowed. “Good evening, Lord and Lady Bolton.”
He disappeared into the darkness, leaving Isabel and her husband standing in the light of a small lantern. She couldn’t see James’s face very well.
