“Bolton—”
“Be quiet.” With one hand, he held the back of her head and kissed her, pressing open her mouth, invading with his tongue. It reminded Isabel of their shared kiss above the dungeons. Then he had made her feel like a woman for the first time in her life, and now that feeling blossomed in her chest.
He released her mouth, but not her body. He deliberately swayed his hips against hers and kissed her again.
“Women who go outside with a man usually end up with problems,” he said against her lips.
Isabel inhaled his breath. “Not with Wallace. He’s a gentleman.”
“I’m not.”
He started nibbling her mouth. She could hear the sucking sound of his lips, and it sent a shot of heat through her lower stomach.
And then James pushed her backward into the straw. She lay shocked at his feet, looking up at him.
“I’m wearing your best garments,” she reminded him, feeling the thrill of excitement he always aroused in her.
He came down on top of her, and before Isabel could even feel relieved, he inhaled on a sharp hiss, and rolled off her. She was puzzled until she saw him grasp his injured hand.
“Did you?—”
“Be quiet!” he said, his voice full of frustration and anger. He turned his back.
“Let me see,” she demanded, pulling at his arm. “You could have reopened the wound.”
He shook her off. “Go back inside, Isabel.”
“But your hand?—”
“In how many more possible ways can you remind me of what I’ve lost?”
Her mouth dropped open and she moved back. “But I never?—”
“You don’t think I know why you wore my garments, why you came out here with Wallace? Just go, Isabel.”
She got to her feet slowly, never taking her eyes off him. He wouldn’t look at her, wouldn’t stop holding his injured hand. She wanted to put her arms around him, absorb his pain, but he obviously didn’t want her kindness or her sympathy. She left him alone in the stables.
Avoiding the great hall, she went up to her bedchamber, climbed into bed, and dwelt miserably on the evening’s failures. What had he meant when he said she continually reminded him of everything he’d lost? He couldn’t possibly be referring to his hand. What were a few fingers when he could have lost his life? Did he mean the more suitable women he could have married?
She was still awake when James finally came in. He had obviously consumed even more ale—not that she’d know it by how he held himself, or the state of his clothing. His eyes were blood-shot and his voice was slower.
“Isabel, you missed all the fun. I beat your Wallace at Tables.”
“He is not mine,” she said evenly.
He shrugged. “You missed the messenger, too.” He laughed and leaned against the bedpost.
“What missive was so important as to arrive this late?”
“ ’Tis my sister, Margery. She is asking me to come to my brother’s manor in Lancashire. She says it is urgent, but reveals nothing else. How like the foolish girl.”
Isabel studied his face, saw his wariness. When had she learned to read his expressions so well? “But she just left us.”
“Which makes it all the more puzzling. Don’t you agree?”
She took a deep breath. “I will travel with you.”
A smile tilted one corner of his mouth. “You will?” he asked, making it very clear that it was up to him. “Curious?”
