Warrior's Bride (11 page)

  Mistress Rowley frowned. "Whatever for?"

  Izzy released her grip on the cloth and reached behind her back in an attempt to loosen the ties. She had to get the dress off.

  "Nay, my dear." Mistress Rowley caught her hands, gently holding them between her own. "Your clothing needs to be washed and mended. Besides, the master asked that you change into something more befitting your station as mistress here. You don't want to disappoint him, do you?"

  Izzy pulled out of Mistress Rowley's grasp. A feeling of panic overwhelmed her. She lurched toward the bath and bent to retrieve her old clothing from the floor.

  Mistress Rowley scooped it away first and clutched the garment to her chest. "I cannot allow you to do that. My lord Wolf would blame me."

  Izzy cringed. She had no desire to get Mistress Rowley in trouble and yet she had to see to her own needs. "It is only a dress." Izzy took two steps toward the older woman. "He will understand."

  The woman twisted toward the fire and tossed Izzy's dress into the flames.

  "Nay." She lunged forward, but too late, as the hungry flames devoured the one item of clothing she had brought with her from the isle.

  Mistress Rowley turned toward Izzy. Tears pooled in her gray eyes. "Forgive me, my dear, but you left me no choice. My lord Wolf will have his orders obeyed one way or another. This is for the best."

  Tears sprang into her own eyes as she straightened and turned her back on the fire that consumed the last remnants of her dress. "How do you know what is best for me?" she asked through the tightness that suddenly invaded her throat.

  Mistress Rowley lowered her gaze. "Forgive me, milady. I shouldn't have done that. I beg that you be compassionate in your punishment."

  Izzy's tears ceased. "I shall not punish you." What right had she to punish anyone? As lady of the castle she would soon have every right to see to the discipline of her people. It was a daunting thought. "I am saddened by the loss of my dress. But you need not fear me." She released a soft sigh. "I can understand your reaction. My lord Wolf is more to blame for this situation than you are."

  Mistress Rowley's eyes widened. "Oh, no, milady. 'Tis my fault entirely."

  Izzy lifted her chin. Nothing the housekeeper could say would change her mind. Wolf was to blame. "Thank you for your care this eve, Mistress Rowley. All I wish to do now is rest. Alone."

  "The master bid you to come to dinner."

  "The master is done making demands on me this eve. Tell him I shall not be joining him now, or ever."

  Mistress Rowley shook her head, her expression grim. "He won't be pleased."

  Izzy smiled her first true smile in what felt like a good long time. "He might have forced me to come here. And I might have no choice about marrying him, but I am still in charge of when I eat and with whom I dine."

  The housekeeper hesitated. "He won't like your decision."

  Izzy shrugged and crossed the room to the windows. She tripped on the hem of the new gown, catching herself before she fell to the floor.

  "Goodness," Mistress Rowley exclaimed, rushing to her side. "The dress is too long. I shall have it altered for you."

  Izzy gathered herself, lifting the long skirt away from her feet and offered the older woman what she hoped was a grateful smile. "Nay, please, do not fuss on my behalf. If you have a needle and some thread I would like to fix it myself."

  "But—"

  "Please? Sewing relaxes me. I am quite capable of performing the task."

  Mistress Rowley frowned. "The master won't like his new bride doing such menial work."

  Izzy straightened. "The master's likes and dislikes do not concern me."

  Mistress Rowley released a heavy sigh. "All right, my dear, you win. I'll be back with a needle and thread."

  True to her word, the older woman returned a moment later with a small basket of sewing supplies. She handed them to Izzy. "Sew now, but be forewarned that my lord Wolf can be quite"—she paused, as if searching for the right word to describe the man. "He can be persuasive when he wants to be."

  "I need no persuasion. I simply want to be alone. The last few days have taken a toll on me. Would the master not want me refreshed in spirit as well as in body?"

  She frowned. "I suppose..."

  Before the woman could change her mind, Izzy ushered her to the door. At the portal, the housekeeper stopped and glanced out into the hallway before turning back into the room. "Rest now, for I have no doubt the master will come calling on you."

  Izzy bolted the door when the housekeeper left. What had Mistress Rowley meant? Izzy pressed the heel of her hand against her temple, trying to slow the wild thoughts and emotions racing through her head. So much had changed for her in the last few hours.

  Wolf had claimed her as his bride. He'd introduced her to his mistress, and now he had settled her in his bedchamber.

  She pushed away from the door and began to pace. It was her own fault this was happening. She should have found a more clever hiding spot on the ship, or taken the risk and launched the boat under the cover of darkness, despite her fears.

  Izzy groaned. No matter how hard she tried, she never would have survived the darkness. It was only wishful thinking to believe she could have done anything other than what she'd done.

  She stopped pacing. The real problem lay deep within herself. Somehow, at that first meeting on the

isle, the man had slipped through her guard. It was that look he had given her—the initial impression of a dark and vulnerable man.

  Wolf vulnerable? The idea seemed almost laughable. Yet she could not quite shake the feeling that she had seen through to the real man for just that one brief moment. It was that impression that refused to leave her brain.

  She released a heavy sigh. Wolf needed her pity even less than he needed her company below stairs. Let him dine with his mistress tonight. Izzy's gaze fell upon the table bearing the slices of fresh apple and the sewing basket.

  Hemming her gown was the very thing she needed to calm her thoughts. She pulled a chair from near the hearth over to the table, then sat. She selected a slice of apple; then, gathering the bulk of the dress in her hands, she settled back into the chair, ready to focus her attention on something more useful than her own worries.

  Even if only for a short while.

Chapter Ten

  Wolf paced the length of the great hall, clutching the missive from his father in his fist. Send me word by messenger when the deed is done. His father's bold handwriting stared back at him.

  The deed was not done. Wolf crumpled the parchment, then tossed it into the flames in the hearth. He had sent the messenger away.

  Wolf glanced at the table set with an intimate service for two. He had hoped to discuss the matter with Isobel tonight like two civilized beings. He did possess manners, and even a small measure of charm, his mother had often claimed. He had hoped to tap into those reserves tonight with his bride-to-be and perhaps ease her fears, as well as expose her secrets.

  He frowned at the empty stairwell. Where was she? How long did it take for one woman to bathe, then change her clothing and present herself for supper?

  "Wearing a trench in the flagstones?"

  Wolf stopped at the base of the stairs and turned to see Brahan sauntering toward him.

  "You look like a man in need of distraction." Brahan's hand moved to the pouch where he kept the Seer's Stone. "I could tell you how all this will play out." He tossed the Stone into the air and deftly caught it in his palm. "Will she or won't she come down to supper?"

  "Put that away," Wolf growled. "Where women are concerned, I'd rather not know the future."

  Brahan slipped the Stone back into its protective pouch. "Why? Because the Stone might reveal something you don't envision?"

  Wolf glared at his friend.

  Brahan returned a steady gaze, unaffected by the assault. "You are the only one who believes you deserve to be cursed and alone for the rest of your days because of your past deeds."

  The barb echoed his very thoughts. "It is a reality, Brahan, one I cannot escape."

  "You've already escaped. Why can't you see that? Walter's release from imprisonment has freed you both from your father's grasp."

  "Has it?" Wolf asked. "Who else could be threatening Isobel's life besides my father? He will stop at nothing to bend me to his will. He binds me with the blood of kin and of strangers."

  "I could tell you who is behind the attacks." Brahan reached for the Stone.

  Wolf stalled Brahan's hand with his own. "Regrettably, I must refuse. Your last prediction still haunts me. I need no further torment."

  Brahan shrugged. "As you wish. I only thought to—"

  "Beg pardon for interrupting, my lord Wolf." Mistress Rowley attempted a hurried curtsy as she came down the stairs.

  Wolf searched the woman's face. "Where is Lady Isobel?"

  The older woman stopped at the foot of the stairs and lowered her gaze to the floor. "She refuses to come down."

  "She what?" Wolf asked, his voice savage with frustration. He cast a sharp glance between Mistress Rowley and Brahan. The housekeeper paled and took a step back.

  "Did she tell you why?" Brahan asked, amusement lighting his eyes.

  "Lady Isobel wishes to be alone," Mistress Rowley explained in a faint voice. "She says she is tired from the journey."

  Anger stirred within Wolf. Anger at himself for caring whether she joined him or not. Anger at her for refusing him. In the privacy of his lair he had convinced himself that it was only her secrets he'd been after. Had he wanted more?

  He clenched his fists. The woman had seeped through his defenses. It wouldn't happen again. He strode toward the stairs. She would dine with him tonight. He would see to that. He took the stairs two at a time. His heartbeat thrummed in his ears as he pounded on the locked door of the solar. "Come to supper."

  A startled thump sounded from within the chamber. "Nay. I wish to be alone."

  "I asked you to join me for supper. Now open this door." He was surprised how calm his words sounded, belying the fury that rippled beneath.

  "Nay."

  "Damn you, woman, I'll not be disobeyed." His resolve snapped and he heaved himself against the door. The barrier remained unaffected by his assault.

  For a long moment there was absolute silence, until the sound of Brahan and Mistress Rowley's footsteps reached his ears. "My lord Wolf, please, have a care for her feelings."

  He heard the words, but they had no effect on him. He hit the door again with his shoulder. Pain radiated through his arm. He clenched his teeth against it.

  "My lord Wolf," Mistress Rowley pleaded.

  He hit the door again with the full force of his body, once, twice, three times. The wood quivered, then the bolt gave. The frame splintered and the door swung open, then slammed back against the wall. He lunged into the chamber, the heat of his blood pulsing through him. His gaze sought her out—a hunter seeking his prey.

  But his prey seemed unimpressed by his attack. She sat in a chair, her feet tucked up under her, with the hem of a leaf-green gown stretched across one hand. Her head was bowed in concentration as a needle dipped in and out of the fabric. She appeared as though she hadn't heard him break through the door. Then he noted the slight tremor of her hands as she pulled the thread through.

  Slowly, she raised her gaze to his. "Is there something you wanted?"

  He strode toward her. "Don't ever bolt a door against me in my own home. I shall not hesitate to show you how much that displeases me if you do." He clenched his fists at his sides.

  Fear drained the color from her face.

 
Sweet Mary!
She assumed he meant to strike her. He released an irritated growl and clutched his hands behind his back. "You have nothing to fear from me as long as you do as I say." His voice was still tight with anger.

  "I shall not dine with you."

  Wolf glared at her.

  Isobel's fear receded and hot color crept into her cheeks. She glared back, the gaze an unspoken challenge.

  Unsettled by her bold response, he glanced at the half-eaten plate of apples that rested on the table beside her before returning his gaze to her. "I shall spare you this eve, but tomorrow you will dine with me or I shall not be so patient."

  She stared past him to the shattered and beaten door.

  He frowned. All right, so he had not been all that patient this time either. "Do not test me again." He moved past Mistress Rowley and Brahan to the battered door. He turned back to Isobel. "On the morrow, you will attend me at supper."

  She gazed at him, back straight, cheeks flushed. Her eyes reflected a strength of purpose he had not witnessed before. "I heard you, my lord."