One

London, July 1189

Ramon de Segrave ignored his growling belly. The dawn was just beginning to break, the horizon turning pink as fingers of light stretched across the land, chasing off the shadow of darkness. The mosaic glass window in the front of the sanctuary began to glow with the light stretching across the pews and himself, driving away the chill of night.

A firm hand landed on Ramon’s shoulder, gripping it with increasing strength until Ramon abandoned his focus and looked up.

“You’ve done your duty, my friend. Let us go tend to the more mundane chores of life. Such as breaking our fast.”

Because he was still on his knees, Ramon turned his head and ducked his chin to offer deference to his king. Richard the Lionheart chuckled and slapped him on the back.

“Come, Ramon, enough piety for one night,” the king insisted. “You and I are the only ones still here.”

There was a note of disappointment in Richard’s voice, but Ramon was more interested in the flicker of approval in his king’s eyes. It was hard enough to come by, which left no room for Ramon to pity those who didn’t earn it. Richard was not a man easily impressed—it was a quality Ramon admired about his king.

Ramon stood, his knees protesting with shooting pains because he’d been on them all night. It was a small discomfort compared with the surge of achievement moving through him.

Ramon looked at the window again. “It is just now dawn, Sire.”

“And you are ever a man to be just, even when those who wish to share the same honor I bestow upon you do only the minimum required of them.” The king nodded, dark circles ringing his eyes belying the fact that he had also spent the night in the sanctuary. The cross he wore over his robe was something the king held sacred. Richard had earned the right to wear it, just as any other knight under his command, by performing the required nights of devotion on his knees and lending his sword arm to the Crusade.

The king grinned as they walked through the doorway and left their duty completed behind them.

“So, my new baron, now that you have taken your noble title with humility, what is next?”

Ramon lifted one eyebrow in response. “One night of prayer is hardly something I would call humility. I did not expect you to bestow such an honor upon me, Sire.”

“Which is why I did it.” Richard made a slashing motion with his hand. “You have earned the honor. I wish half the men who serve me understood as well as you what nobility truly means. They plead with me for honors and station, yet cry their excuses when it is time to follow me into battle.”

“Aye, Sire…honor is earned.”

“That it is, my friend.”

Richard spoke loudly, his voice echoing off the stone that made up the hallways. Servants lowered themselves the moment they heard the king coming, most dropping their gazes in reverence. For this was the king. The man so often talked about but rarely seen inside his own realm. Ramon kept pace with his king, accustomed to the bold way Richard continued talking to him, without a care for who might be listening. Such was the nature of the king. He often led charges himself and was known for walking among his soldiers to hear what they had to say when they felt at ease. He was a man who craved being immersed in life.

And craved controlling it.

Richard clapped his hands, the sound echoing between the walls. “It is time to discuss what I need of you.”

Ramon held back a frown. They entered the main hall and several servants dropped their plates in surprise. The king strode determinedly toward the dais that held his table and chair while his personal servants hurried to attend him. There was always a crowd of men waiting for the king to notice them. The king’s scribe followed them on silent steps with his assistants holding rolled parchments.

Ramon waited until they seated the king. It wasn’t an easy task, controlling the urge to ask the question that was gnawing at him. The king glanced at his scribe, but summoned Ramon forward instead. Ramon took the seat next to the king.

“There is no question of what I am going to be doing, Sire. I shall accompany you on the Crusade.”

Richard was back in England only long enough to call up a new army, which he planned to march on Jerusalem.

“This Crusade is necessary to wipe my past sins away, but I must strip every resource out of this country to outfit my army.”

Servants began to place the first meal of the day in front of them. Bowls of steaming porridge were set down and, since it was the king’s table, there were also bowls of fresh summer fruit, a small pitcher of cream, and even costly lumps of sugar. The king frowned.

“Take the luxuries away.” He flattened his hand against the tabletop. “We have come from praying the night through and will greet the morning with a meal befitting the humility every Christian soul should observe while our holy city is held captive by the Moors.”

The servants hustled to obey, and Richard winked at Ramon. “We’ll need a reason now to celebrate, my friend. Tonight we shall feast in honor of your coming wedding.”

Ramon ground his teeth. Richard laughed, tilting his head back and roaring at the ceiling.

“You should see the look on your face, Segrave! I swear you look like a beardless lad facing a bride who is old enough to be his mother…yet still eager for the consummation.”

“The look on my face is born of a man’s experience with marriage.” Ramon didn’t flinch in the face of the hard glare Richard sent him. That steadfastness gained him a grunt of approval from his monarch. “Forgive me, but I would keep my own counsel when it comes to choosing a bride. On that matter, I suggest you confine your opinions to who is in your bed.”

A servant looked up, her eyes wide with shock. The king slapped the tabletop with mirth.

“You know something, Segrave? I am going to miss having your honesty by my side. Too many of these knights are greedy bastards at heart. They fear to tell me anything that might upset my delicate disposition.”

Ramon’s lips twitched. “You haven’t a delicate bone in your body, Sire.”

Richard took a fresh round of bread and tore it in two. The king bowed his head and offered up a prayer of thanks. The scent drifted on the morning breeze, making his mouth water, but Ramon remained focused. The king was in a controlling mood; his own empty belly could wait. Once Richard made a decision, it was set in stone. Even ones he made while breaking bread.

“I would accompany Your Majesty on the Crusade as I have done for the last decade. To serve you is my greatest honor, and the only life I know.”

Richard bit off a chunk of bread and chewed it before answering. “Aye…aye, and that is exactly why I need you to remain here in England.” Another section of bread disappeared into the king’s mouth, so Ramon had to wait to hear the king’s reasoning. He didn’t care for the tension that knotted his neck.

“The Welsh persist in their rebellion against me, while my own brother covets my throne in this miserable country.” He stopped and pointed at Ramon. “I need you to stabilize the government here, which is why I elevated you to the station of baron. My dear brother John will have a barons’ council here to keep him in his place. You will be one of those men, Ramon. One I can rely on to rule justly and keep the law. You will be a member of the highest council in this kingdom.”

The king nodded and wiped his lips with a cloth lying on the table.

Ramon frowned. “I am a knight. I belong beside you.”

“Now, you are a baron,” Richard declared firmly. “A new duty with an even greater challenge. You will rule according to the law, not by drawing your sword.”

Ramon was forced to hold his tongue. Richard didn’t miss the effort it took to not argue.

“Make no mistake, living in England will be a battle worthy of a knight such as you. You won’t be sitting by the hearth and warming your backside.” The king chuckled ominously. “But to secure this country, you will need a property that is positioned just right.” Richard lifted his hand and snapped his fingers. His scribe was well accustomed to waiting for the king’s command, and quickly brought forward a rolled parchment. Richard pushed aside the dishes in front of him and spread out the paper.

“Here, along the Welsh border, is Thistle Keep. It is owned by a young widow.” The king turned his head and grinned at Ramon. “But she has no way to defend her land because her garrison owes me service. I sent for them three days ago.”

Ramon wanted to argue, but there was a look in his king’s eyes that he recognized too well. Richard was set on his plan to leave Ramon behind in England. The country was riddled with unrest and Ramon’s loyalty was unquestionable. It was a compliment, even if it was one he did not covet.

“If it is your will that I remain here to keep order, I shall, Your Majesty, but I do not require a wife to do so.”

“Are you truly afraid of one lone woman, Ramon?”

Richard chuckled at the deadly look Ramon gave him in response. He tapped the parchment with his index finger.

“Look closer.”

Ramon peered at the map, his irritation growing. “The lady has a great deal of marshland. It is little wonder she is unwed. That land is useless.” Hence, the widow was poor.

“But her people are fat and her taxes paid.”

Ramon frowned and Richard nodded. “That widow is clever. She’s managed to turn her marshes into a breeding ground for geese. I need those feathers for my archers, and I need the keep held against the Welsh.”

“Two things that can be accomplished without marriage.”

The king flattened his hand on the parchment. “You are the bravest man I know, but I swear at this moment, you tempt me to call you a coward.”

Ramon stiffened, but the king waved his hand in the air between them. “Fine then, I am not ordering you to wed the widow, but I need that land secured. She has no knights, they are marching with me. Her land is coveted by her Welsh neighbor, so I am sending you to fortify Thistle Keep with your men. What you do with her personally is your choice. Yet if it were me, I would want to know more about a woman who can manage her estate so well on her own. She is no timid miss, you may be certain of that.” Richard looked at the map once more and stabbed a finger at a section of land bordering the widow’s. “This land belongs to the crown. It will be yours.”

The king’s tone told Ramon that the matter was decided.

“Thank you, Your Majesty.”

“I know you are not pleased. Give it time. Go and meet the widow, see if she raises your…interest.”

Richard chuckled. Ramon tilted his head and grinned at his king. “A pleasant enough task.”

The king nodded.

“The land I’ve bestowed on you is good crop land, but there is no keep and no timber or stone to build one. Yet it will farm well and be an excellent addition to Thistle Keep if you see the logic in wedding the widow.”

“A good suggestion.”

His words were given grudgingly, carrying a little too much relief for his own taste. Richard didn’t miss either emotion. The king sighed.

“Think ill of me if you like, Ramon de Segrave, but my own position would be more secure if I had sons. It is time for both of us to trust enough in a woman to beget a few heirs. There’s something for you to dwell upon on your march to the borderland. Besides, that widow has geese, and I need more feathers. Her flock is the only one for twenty miles. I don’t know how she managed to send me so many feathers and still keep her geese. See if you can discover her secret.”

Ramon stood up and bowed. “As you command.” He meant it sincerely. Serving his monarch had always been his primary goal. He turned and struggled to mask the distaste for his king’s order.

Women were not to be trusted.

He’d learned that lesson through bitter betrayal. He was not interested in wedding again so another wife might place the horns of a cuckold on his head. Being disgraced once was enough.

Yet such an opinion left him without a true direction for the first time in his life. He had always been a knight, always looked forward to riding for the Crusade. In truth, he had spent little time in his wife’s company. It was simply the way life was.

But not anymore. Which left him looking toward the future in wonder.

His captain raised an eyebrow when Ramon joined him at the edge of the high ground, where Ambrose had been forced to wait by the king’s personal guard. Together, they descended the steps of the high ground and left the king and his court behind.

“Pleased, are you?”

Ramon shrugged. “In truth, I am not certain.”

Ambrose St. Martin cut him a questioning glance.

“It appears we will be riding for the bordering land, to meet the widow residing at Thistle Keep. Richard is leaving me here to keep the peace and hold the border against the Welsh.”

“And wed.”

Ramon shrugged. “That part was not a command.”

Ambrose chuckled softly. “With Richard, suggestions are best minded.”

Ramon felt his temper strain. “Aye.”

It was a solid truth and he’d be wise to remember it. There was also truth in the fact that his land had no keep, which meant his men would be exposed.

Yet…a wife?

He might wed her and secure the land as his own. Such was the common practice for a knight such as himself, having spent so many years in the service of his king. There were plenty of knights who had pillaged their way through the same service, but he was not one of them. The Code of Chivalry forbade it, and his honor was the only thing that meant something to him.

Marriage was one thing he might consider to increase his holdings without tarnishing his honor. Richard was correct in saying it was time to consider having sons, and the widow, Isabel of Camoys, would be a good match. United, they would have an estate that might provide everything they needed, but only if he decided to risk marrying the woman. The men that were needed to secure her land might also be the means for her to shame him with when she took a lover from among his ranks. Everything he had earned over the last ten years would crumble because his men would see him as too weak to control his wife.

He ground his teeth and chided himself. It was unjust to think badly of the lady. There was dishonor in that.

His mood lightened. Actions always were the better means to judging a matter or a person. In fact, now he was intrigued. His first wife had been a woman who enjoyed court. Isabel was busy running her land. By the condition of her land, she was not lazy.

Yes, that was indeed intriguing.

“Why are you smirking?” Ambrose demanded.

“Richard told me to meet the lady and decide if she raised my…interest,” Ramon explained. “I am thinking I am going to enjoy this particular royal dictate.”

* * *

The ground shook.

Isabel looked up and found herself staring into the eyes of the three other women working at the stillroom table with her. Their eyes were wide and seeking, looking at her to assure them there was nothing to fear from the horses approaching.

Isabel wanted to soothe their concerns, but she could not. The times were uncertain and the sound of approaching riders was not welcome; she had no household knights to defend those looking to her for protection.

Inheriting her husband’s land had lifted the burden of being under the rule of another from her shoulders, but in its place was the responsibility of protecting everyone who lived on her land.

Truly, she had never thought freedom might come with such burdens.

“Likely knights on their way to join the king,” she offered to those watching her. “They will pass through.”

She dusted her hands across the apron she wore to protect her over robe and went toward the front of the keep. The hallways were dim, in spite of it being full daylight, because they were long and the sun’s rays didn’t penetrate beyond a few feet.

It was chilly too. The stone that the keep was constructed from hadn’t yet lost the bite of winter. It lingered in the center of the passageway, urging her forward to the inviting spring weather.

But the view from the keep’s steps was not pleasant. The rumbling sound grew without the thick walls to muffle it. Thistle Keep was placed on high ground, which gave her an unobstructed view of the road.

Isabel’s throat tightened.

Twin columns of mounted knights were riding toward her. The sunlight flashed off the surface of their armor; even their horses wore metal faceplates. They were clearly full knights, men who were seasoned by battle and hardened by rigorous training. She struggled to maintain her poise. The harvest had been poor the last two years, and King Richard was focused on gathering supplies for his Crusade. Behind the knights there were more mounted men and even more on foot. There were archers in their ranks as well, confirming that this was not some random group of pillaging raiders. They were an army. The columns stretched out too far into the distance to be anything that might be considered good. These men rode with a purpose, and what concerned her were the wagons with them. Wagons they would likely expect to fill with food.

She needed everything she had to provide for her people. There was nothing to spare.

The dust rose as they drew closer, and she could make out the crest on the flags the lead knights flew. A raptor with a baron’s coronet in blue against a white background.

A baron. That meant even more trouble. A baron was a noble and only answered to the king.

“What do they want?” Mildred asked from behind her.

“They will pass through,” Isabel said quickly, not caring for how much her words sounded like a prayer. A desperate one at that. She straightened her back, forbidding herself to be afraid.

There was no time for childish emotions. She was the lady of the keep and duty was calling her.

Mildred scoffed at her, but Isabel raised her chin and refused to lower it. Dust teased her nose as the knights pulled their stallions to a halt in front of her. The animals pawed at the ground and shook their heads while the armor their riders wore shifted, filling the air with the sound of metal clanking against metal.

“I seek the Lady Isabel of Camoys.”

A chill raced down her spine but Isabel maintained her position. The knight who had spoken lifted one gauntlet-covered hand to raise his visor. His hair was dark and his eyes the color of midnight. He peered at her, his gaze as hard as his breastplate.

“I am Isabel.” She fought the urge to twist her fingers in the fabric of her over robe. Thistle Hill did not even have men training to become knights because the king had summoned all of them for his Crusade. No boy over the age of twelve was left, unless she counted those wearing sackcloth in the church. That left only her courage to protect the people looking to her as their lady.

Maybe she should have ordered the keep barred instead of coming out to face the riders. Dread twisted through her belly. It was not just her fate that hung on her decisions, it was every soul who lived on her land. Barring the door would have left all their food unprotected. She stepped forward.

“I am Baron Ramon de Segrave.”

He raised one hand into the air, with his palm flat and his fingers pointed skyward. The men riding with him responded quickly, the air filling with the sounds of them dismounting.

Isabel gasped, feeling control slipping from her grasp. “How may I assist you, Lord de Segrave?”

Her hope that the man might have a simple request died as he swung his leg over the back of the horse and lowered himself to the ground. Her belly twisted as she noted just how imposing a man he was once he was braced on his feet. He gave the stallion a firm pat but his eyes remained on her. Piercing and sharp, his gaze cut into her in spite of the distance between them. He was a hardened man, one built for war.

“His majesty has sent me to discover why you withhold your geese from him.”

Isabel stiffened. “His Grace does not need my geese, only their feathers, which have been sent each season as is required of me.”

The baron closed the distance between them. Isabel fought the urge to retreat because even though she stood on the top step, the man looked her straight in the eye.

Something strange fluttered through her belly.

Something completely misplaced.

Yet surprising, nonetheless. She felt as though her heart skipped a beat.

Which was, of course, ridiculous.

“His majesty requires more feathers for the archers he is preparing to march to the Holy Land.”

Isabel’s temper stirred. “There is not a goose for twenty miles beyond the borders of my land because the king had them slaughtered. My flock must not have the same fate. I need my geese alive to nest or there shall be no feathers next season.”

The number of men behind the baron drove home the fact that she could do very little against them if she failed to convince the baron that her geese should live to procreate. She swallowed her anger. Logic was her only weapon and she needed her wits to wield it.

“I see you and your men are set to join the king. There are some feathers in my storerooms for this year’s taxes. I shall fetch them.”

She didn’t wait for the man to answer, but hurried off toward the long storage buildings that ran alongside the keep. Mildred kept pace with her, muttering beneath her breath as they opened the door to the storerooms and heard one of the merlin falcons flutter its wings when the sunlight disturbed it.

Isabel reached for one bird without thinking, her fingers trailing over the smooth back of the animal in a familiar motion.

“Be at peace, Griffin.”

Her hand was suddenly grasped, the baron’s fingers closing all the way around her wrist. He lifted her arm away from the hawk in one swift motion.

“Even hooded, a raptor is dangerous, lady.” His voice was thick with reprimand and his eyes flashed with his displeasure. “Your father should have taught you better than to touch one.”

Isabel lost the battle to rein in her temper. “My father is the one who instructed me upon the art of falconry. I am every bit as confident with Griffin as any man might be.”

She reached out and stroked the hawk once again, keeping her rebellious gaze on the baron’s. His eyes narrowed.

“Then it is a good thing your father is dead, for I would have words with him about teaching a woman the art of falconry. Such is a duty for a man.”

His voice held all the arrogance she expected from a baron—well, from a man. Perhaps it was a sin, but she did not miss having to answer to a husband.

“Since the king requires all my men, the duty of running this land is mine and I see it done well. There are the feathers. God’s peace be with you.”

Ramon de Segrave didn’t turn. Instead, one of his dark eyebrows rose. He clearly didn’t care for her tone, but she had more important things to do than court his favor. He studied her with his dark gaze, and something shifted in the air between them. A gust of heat that had nothing to do with the changing season and everything to do with how close Ramon was to her. She shifted back, losing the battle to remain poised.

“Do you argue against your place, lady? Is that the reason you wheedled your way into being taught to handle a hawk?”

She drew in a harsh breath. “There was no wheedling involved, my lord. You are presumptuous to assume women only use sniveling to gain what we need.”

“Need, madam? Admit you only sought the status the hawk would bring you when it was perched on your arm.” Determination edged his words. His opinion shouldn’t have mattered, but her pride flared up.

“There are many here who look to me in these hard times. I have learned the tasks necessary to make sure my land feeds my people.”

He frowned at her. Isabel wasn’t sure if it was her tone or her words that displeased him, most likely both. He was a knight and a baron. The church preached that it was her place to be humble in his presence, but she could not seem to recall that as she was forced to suffer his arrogance.

She pointed once again at the baskets the feathers were carefully stored in.

“Rats steal goose eggs. Hawks eat rats. My flock of geese is large because I fly Griffin over the marshes to hunt the rats. It keeps the vermin out of the stores as well.”

His eyes narrowed as he contemplated her. Her belly fluttered again, which was preposterous because there was no reason she should worry about pleasing him.

And yet…that sense of heat shifted between them again, and she noticed just how black his hair was. Like the deepest winter midnight.

Enough!

“Clever lady. You use reasoning well. Interesting.”

His lips twitched. Something flashed in his eyes that sent her back a step in spite of her resolve to remain unmoved by him. There was a sense of command in him that seemed woven into the very fiber of his soul. She could have sworn she felt it, like heat radiating off coals.

He turned his attention from her and looked at the baskets. Isabel was grateful for the moment of privacy because she was sure her face betrayed how unsettled she was.

She wanted him and his army gone. The sooner the better.

Maybe needed was a better word.

You shall not think in such a manner…

Her poise was crumbling, deserting her in a fashion that she had never experienced. It was so unsettling, she was nearly breathless.

“I hear the king leaves soon on his Crusade, and that he has even taken to wearing the cross on his robe.”

“He has.” Ramon de Segrave stared back at her. This time he lingered over her features, his gaze slipping down her body with a slow, sweeping motion that sent heat to her cheeks. It was unseemly for any knight to look at a lady in such a way, but it suited his nature.

Excitement twisted through her like too much wine during a winter feast.

“Enough.” Her mouth had gone dry. “Your gaze is overly bold for a knight embarking on the Crusade, my lord.”

His lips twitched. “When you greet me with your head uncovered, you should expect such.”

His chastisement stoked her temper. “The day is fine and warm. Whilst working inside, I had no need of a veil. This is not court, where efforts are devoted to vanity instead of the work necessary to begin planting. I dress to suit my duties.”

She raised her chin and refused to lower her head with shame. He pressed his lips into a firm line, but she could see him weighing her words. Judging her.

Wasn’t that the way of men?

“I bid you good travels.” She lowered herself in one swift motion that erased the amusement from his expression. The baron quickly moved into her path, almost too fast for how much armor he wore, blocking the doorway with his large body.

“His majesty has bestowed the title of baron upon me for service by his side, and given me the duty of making sure his kingdom is secure while he is away. Specifically, this borderland. I am also your neighbor now; the land to the south of your estate is mine.” His expression became impossible to read, drawing her closer as she sought some understanding of what he intended. There was something brewing in his eyes, something that twisted her insides with anticipation.

She stepped back from him and his eyes narrowed.

“That land has been deserted for two generations. There is not even a manor house still standing, for the Welsh burned it.”

“Which is why the king has seen fit to suggest I wed you. Together, our land will become an estate the Welsh will find they cannot raid.”

Her throat tightened until she couldn’t squeeze even a breath through it. Her temper flared up. She had held these lands countless days and toiled long hours to provide for their inhabitants. Everything was a credit to her own dedication. Yet to Ramon de Segrave, it might all so easily become part of the spoils.

“When hellfire rains down from heaven, and not one moment before, shall I stand at the church door to wed you.”

She hurried down the length of the store house and out another doorway, every muscle in her body quivering.

From her anger, no doubt.

You lie…

She ground her teeth together.

Perhaps, yet it was only a small dishonesty, for she was angry too.

Aye, a tiny dishonesty, for she would be damned to hellfire before admitting she quivered for Ramon de Segrave.

Or any man.

* * *

“She has spirit, that one. And pride,” Ambrose St. Martin remarked from beside him. Ramon reached up and pulled his helmet off his head before answering his second in command.

“Yet it is earned. So not completely misplaced.”

“Earned or not, she’ll not take easily to being bridled.”

Ramon offered his friend a shrug that sent his shoulder armor clanking against his breast and back plate. The sound echoed inside the storeroom, so he stepped outside.

“My first wife played the part of a submissive spouse very well. I discover myself wondering if I do not prefer Isabel’s honesty. However misplaced it may be. She does not veil her lies with flutters of her eyelashes.”

Which roused his curiosity. Her scent lingered, teasing him with thoughts he’d long banished. Or at least confined to the sort of woman he might make agreement with for her favors.

Ambrose took the helmet from his lord, but there was a dark frown lingering on his lips. “There are others you may wed for a better plot than this cursed marsh keep.”

“What is your quarrel with the match?” Ramon asked. In truth, he needed to be reminded why marriage was something he disliked, for the sight of Isabel had somehow clouded his thinking.

Ambrose looked him straight in the eye as he spoke. There was a confidence in the man Ramon admired, thus why they were friends and not just knights who shared only the bond of the chivalric code.

“Her nurse told me she survived the fever that claimed the lives of her father, brother, and husband. She appears set on running this estate. You may not last longer than her husband did.”

“I am more concerned over her ability to cloud my thinking when it comes to marriage.”

Ambrose stiffened. “Perhaps you are simply trying to serve Richard and his whims, as you ever have done.”

“Perhaps.”

Ambrose drew in a stiff breath. Ramon ground his teeth. “Yet I discover my interest stirring. She stood up to me. With clear purpose and spirit. It is my own failing that allows such traits to undermine my thinking on the matter of wedding.”

Ambrose raised an eyebrow, his lips curving knowingly. “Have you fallen at last to the sweet song of the gentle sex?”

“Spare me your taunting, Ambrose.” Ramon considered the number of bundles in the storeroom. It was nearly full and the harvest was not yet finished. “Richard was correct when he said her people were fat and that this land needs defending. There is much here worth stealing, including the lady herself. When the Welsh hear her garrison is gone, they will come for her, because she is an heiress and they will think to expand their territory while the king is away.”

Ambrose conceded the point with a nod. “Yet the lady herself is far from biddable.” His gaze strayed to the merlin. “She will argue against the place you mean to set her in.”

“Her marriage was very brief; there are rumors it was never consummated.”

Ambrose stiffened. “Then she is guilty of falsehood.”

“Not so, for she has yet to speak upon the matter. It was her father who took possession of her husband’s holdings by using the marriage documents. A daughter must be obedient to her sire.”

Ambrose nodded. “Yet I still believe you are more interested in pleasing Richard. Be careful, Richard will not be the one who must suffer that female in his bed.”

Ramon chuckled. “It is the thought of her in my bed that has changed my thinking. It makes wedding more enticing, I admit.”

Ambrose’s face lit with surprise before he burst out laughing. Ramon growled at him, but his fellow knight only bent over with his mirth.

“’Tis grateful I am for such understanding,” Ramon said.

Ambrose cleared his throat but didn’t quite erase the smirk from his lips. “Age has caught you at last. Before long, you’ll be casting out your wisdom to young squires as you recount your days of glory. That lady will put the bridle on you.”

He choked on the last word, a fresh round of amusement claiming him. Ramon shot him a glare that only made the knight choke a few more times as he tried to rein in his enjoyment.

“I’ve a fine memory, Ambrose,” Ramon warned before stepping back into the storeroom and looking around with a critical eye.

Isabel of Camoys had been passed over by many of Richard’s knights in favor of women who had land that wasn’t so close to the rebellious Welsh, who refused to accept Richard as their rightful king.

“One thing is for certain, we need to set the men to building structures that are large enough to defend this keep.” He scanned the open road in front of the store houses.

Ambrose didn’t look pleased. “Should you not decide upon the matter of wedding the lady before improving her land? The men will expect their pay from you, and your land stands vacant. You need to plant your own fields to provide for them.”

Ramon grinned and reached out to slap the man on the shoulder. His armor clanked as he did so.

“Richard wants this land secure. I cannot leave it in this condition and keep my word to the king.” Ramon drew in a deep breath. “It will not be long before the Welsh hear Richard has departed with all his knights.”

“And the lady?” Ambrose insisted. “What will she do to earn our men’s labor?”

Ramon heard his man grumble, but his squire ran forward and took the helmet away from Ambrose. The distraction gave Ramon the opportunity to consider the lady in question. She was slender, which indicated Isabel did not take more for herself than she gave to others. Her honey blond hair, a color that suited her blue eyes, was braided in a long plait that hung down her back, but several locks had worked their way loose around her face to confirm she had not been sitting idle while her people toiled.

Both were sound reasons to consider wedding her. He scanned the keep and storerooms, frowning at the way they stood wide open to attack. There weren’t even wooden walls to help fend off invaders by closing a gate. Only the keep and the outer buildings. Her father had clearly been a trusting fool, for the Welsh had a king who would happily take whatever he might while Richard was off on the Crusade. They were fortunate Richard was intent on crusading, or the Welsh would find themselves conquered in short order.

Much like Isabel of Camoys. It had taken only a ride up to the steps of her keep to secure her. She had looked back at him, her eyes narrowing. Something stirred in him, tightening inside him as he contemplated the stance she’d taken up on the steps of her keep. She’d taken the high ground, and the look on her face told him she intended to try and hold it.

He liked that trait. It spoke of courage.

Heat stirred in his loins.

A very unexpected reaction. She was no great beauty and wore no gown worthy of a poet’s quill. Yet there was fire in her gaze; in truth, he would have sworn he felt the heat radiating off those flames. No meekly lowered lashes for Isabel of Camoys. She fully intended to hold her ground.

Yet she had no hope of evicting his men without his agreement. She was defeated, yet stubbornly standing in the doorway to bar the way.

The facts should have put him in a better humor. But he found himself dissatisfied and on edge. The source of his discontent was simple to identify. Isabel of Camoys challenged him, and he found her a worthy opponent.

His fatal weakness…

* * *

London

Jacques Raeburn was irritated.

It wasn’t the fact that his king wouldn’t grant him a private audience that agitated him. It was the smirks on the lips of the other men surrounding Richard the Lionhearted, because they knew what Richard was doing.

Jacques took a drinking bowl from his squire and drew off a slow sip before handing it back.

Patience.

It would not be the first time he needed persistence to gain what he wanted. Jacques remained with the king, making sure his monarch noticed him watching, because there was one thing that Richard truly was at heart, and that was arrogant. Richard believed himself worthy of Divine approval and, therefore, the devotion of men. The truth was, he enjoyed power as much as the next man. Stroking his ego would win Jacques what he wanted in the end. Finally, Richard lifted his hand and waved him forward, past the other knights and nobles trying to gain the king’s attention.

“I wish to speak of Isabel of Camoys, Sire.”

“I did not expect you to be pleased by the elevation of Ramon de Segrave, but I will not placate you by giving you the same reward,” Richard informed him the moment they were closed behind thick oak doors.

“You mistake the cause of my reason for seeking you out, Your Majesty.”

Richard looked unsure. “Then tell me what put that frown on your face.”

Jacques hooked his hands into his belt. “Isabel of Camoys was wed to my kin.”

The king frowned. “I did not know such.”

“Her late husband was a bastard son of my father’s, but blood nonetheless.” Jacques watched the king absorb the implications of his statement. “My father has charged me with wedding her and recovering the land she gained through her marriage. I seek your permission to do such.”

Richard grunted. “You’ve explained your dark brooding, Raeburn, but I will not take back what I have given to Ramon.”

“Did you order the lady to wed him?”

The king took a long swallow from his drinking vessel before answering. “No, I did not. As a widow, she has the right to choose.”

Jacques felt his mood lightening. “May I offer Ramon competition for the lady?”

The king chuckled and sat back in his chair. “So long as it is fairly done and without bloodshed. I need Ramon to keep this country loyal while I am in the Holy Land.”

“I would need to be on equal footing to make it an even match.”

The king pressed his lips together. “An agreement could be reached.”

There was a glint in the king’s eyes Jacques recognized too well. Richard was focused on his Crusade and England was a poor country. The king was determined to wring every piece of gold out of its inhabitants. If Jacques wanted to please his father, he’d have to buy his noble title from his king, since Richard knew he wanted it now.

He resented that.

Jacques felt anger burn through him for the slight Richard was dealing him. Ramon wasn’t the only one who had ridden beside his king for years, yet Richard denied Jacques the same reward.

But did it truly matter? Jacques lowered himself in submission to his king, shifting his focus onto what mattered.

A knight owed his allegiance to his blood kin. He’d please his father, as a son was bound to do by God’s command. Isabel of Camoys, by the will of fate, had land that belonged to his family.

He vowed to gain it back.

* * *

“My lady, they are making camp.”

Alyse ran into the keep with her eyes wide. She pointed toward the doorway behind her. “Wagons have come, an entire line that is still arriving, and they are putting up tents.”

The other women gasped, several of them muttering prayers. But Isabel knew it was going to take more than heaven’s mercy to be rid of Ramon de Segrave. Men rarely changed their agendas to please a woman. But the tension in her shoulders was eased by the fact that the army in front of her keep would surely be a deterrent to any invaders eyeing her storerooms.

Marriage to the baron was too heavy a price to keep the security his men might provide. Let him stay. The Welsh wouldn’t need to know his reason, only see that his army was present.

There. She had found the blessing in the day at last. But she felt less than satisfied.

“The baron claims he is planning to remain.” There was no hiding her irritation and Alyse drew her hands up in front of her mouth.

Isabel pressed too hard on the herbs she was grinding and they scattered across the tabletop, some of them even rolling onto the floor. She made a soft sound beneath her breath that wasn’t very polite. The others stared at her and she felt guilt color her cheeks for her lack of discipline. Allowing her temper to ruin anything was unacceptable.

She drew in a stiff breath. “He claims the king has recommended me to him for marriage.”

Just saying the words enraged her further. With a huff, she left the table. That gained her more shocked looks from her maids, but she couldn’t seem to remain still. Her blood felt as though it were rushing through her body too quickly, and her heart was beating as though she had been running.

Such was all she needed. A man who unsettled her.

“You cannot refuse the king’s will, my lamb.”

Isabel turned on Mildred so quickly her robes flared away from her ankles. “The man wants to wed me because the king gave him the land on our southern border. He is only looking to increase the size of his holding and secure it with my keep,” she muttered with a wave of her hand. “He’ll soon tire of waiting on me to accept him. A baron will want a biddable wife.”

“Maybe you should be the one getting tired of being alone. You’re young enough yet to have children of your own.”

Isabel felt her eyes widen.

Children.

Fate had truly dealt her an unkind blow in making it so none of her husband’s efforts in their bed resulted in children. A babe would have made his callous touch far easier to bear.

“Aye, young enough…still,” Mildred tempted her.

“Shall I simply trust Ramon de Segrave’s word about what the king has said? It’s possible he is naught more than another rogue baron intent on pillaging us while the king is focused on his Crusade. I have only his word that he owns the estate south of us.” She would be wise to doubt the man. Many an heiress discovered herself wed to a man who wanted her property and had nothing of his own. “For all we know, his men have not been paid and he’ll be wanting my silver too.”

“The baron has an army with him to enforce his will upon us.” Mildred reached out and stroked Isabel’s arm. “There is naught to do but bend to his demands. Better to bend than to be broken.”

Isabel scoffed at the woman who had raised her. “I detest marriage.”

Mildred made a low sound of warning. “Methinks you shall like being the man’s leman even less, and with his men here, there is no one to force him to wed you, should he decide to take anything he desires.” There was a note of harsh reality in Mildred’s tone.

But experience had left a bitter taste in Isabel’s mouth. Loathe was too kind a word for how she felt about being beneath a man. “He shall not have my inheritance if he does not make me his wife.”

Mildred laughed but it was not a cheerful sound. “He occupies Thistle Hill, and with the king leaving for the Crusade, no one shall be here to force him to relinquish it, except perhaps invaders from Wales. I believe we will fare no better under their rule.” Mildred’s expression turned solemn. “You are still young enough to conceive. He can breed a bastard on you and inherit through his child when he acknowledges it. You know it happens, just as I do. There is no king to run to for mercy, only the barons’ council.”

“Which he sits on.” Her mouth went dry.

Isabel discovered her attention drifting toward the doorway. The double doors were open, to let the fresh spring air into the keep. She moved forward and scanned the activity filling the yard. The baron’s men weren’t wasting time. Wagons pulled up and were immediately emptied. Large canvas pavilions were being raised, and she could see the blacksmith setting up a makeshift shop.

All of it was done with an ease that spoke of numerous repetitions. She stared at the anvil the blacksmith was leveling on top of thick wooden blocks. Ramon de Segrave had come to stay, bringing everything his army needed to sustain it. A blacksmith was as essential as water to knights.

She spotted the baron and felt a shiver go down her back. A page removed Ramon’s chest armor and he stood up, rotating his arms in large motions once he was free of the protective breast plate. He was a full head taller than most of his men, and his shoulders were packed with thick muscle.

She contemplated him, debating the sensation swirling through her belly. Did she find him pleasing?

“You cannot go your entire life dreading a man’s touch simply because your husband was a harsh man,” Mildred said.

“He was a brutal man, Mildred, and speaking kindly of him only makes me distrust your words, for you knew it full well.” Mildred inhaled sharply. Isabel felt a stab of guilt for her harshness; life was difficult enough without bitter words. Still, she could not lie. “I am no longer a child who needs to be sheltered from life’s unpleasant realities. Ramon de Segrave is a man of war. I have no reason to be happy to wed him. Besides, shunning men works very well for nuns. And every married man who has left for the king’s Crusade has left a wife alone.”

Mildred made a low sound of disapproval that drew Isabel’s gaze to her. “Forgive me, Mildred, I speak harshly today.” Or at least in a tone that wasn’t respectful. That was shameful and stoked her temper. She didn’t want any man to needle her so greatly that she forgot how to be kind to those she considered family.

“Your husband was a harsh man, but I’ve warned you time and again not to let that make you bitter.” Mildred shook her head. “Some men are mean-hearted, but you have been blessed by his passing, so do not dwell on it.”

“You speak wisely.” It was a polite, polished response. One that left her feeling hollow.

Mildred grunted. “Don’t be thinking I am impressed by that meek response.”

Isabel couldn’t resist the urge to smile. “Why? Because you were the one who taught me how to use such bland courtesies?”

“Precisely.”

Isabel’s smile grew larger. Mildred shook her head.

“I warned your father that Bechard was a poor choice of groom for you and that you were too young for the marriage celebration. You fear the duties of a wife now, as I warned your father would happen.”

Isabel pressed her lips back into a hard line. Even the memory of her husband was enough to sour her disposition. “As you said, let us not dwell on him. My father wanted the alliance and it was a good one.” She looked at Mildred. “That is not the reason I will refuse to wed Lord de Segrave.”

“Then what is, Lady Isabel?” Ramon said.

Isabel gasped and jerked her attention toward the baron. He was still ten paces from her and yet his expression told her he had heard her very clearly. “For I am most curious to discover the root of your discontent.”

The gravel beneath his feet crunched with every step he took. He lifted one hand and pointed at Mildred. “Leave us.”

There was solid authority in his voice, and Mildred lowered herself immediately and left. Isabel had to fight the urge to offer the man the same courtesy because such manners had been drilled into her since childhood.

Indeed, her husband had enjoyed every meek and humble display she had offered him. Mean-hearted was not a harsh enough term for the man who had so often taken delight in humiliating her.

Ramon de Segrave stopped in front of her, his gaze sharp and seeking the answer to his question. Isabel raised her chin. Honesty was something men valued. She would be direct.

“I do not care for the marriage bed,” Isabel said.

Her words shocked him. She saw it in his eyes. She watched the dark orbs, feeling the weight lift from her shoulders until something new flickered in the dark depths of his eyes.

Something unmistakably sinful, yet strangely enticing.

“Your husband’s failing. I promise to prove more attentive to your…desires.”

Her mouth dropped open. She snapped it shut and felt her cheeks burn. “Stop your boasting.”

No man had ever spoken so brazenly to her. She gave him a reprimanding glare but only received a soft smirk in response. Or was it a smirk? She peered more intently at his mouth, trying to decipher his expression.

Why had she never noticed how soft a man’s lips seemed? Her own tingled with anticipation.

Enough!

“It would be best for you to take the feathers to the king and ask him for another bride. I am not a virgin.”

“Neither am I.” There was a hint of arrogance in his tone.

Her pride finally flared. “Obviously you are not, since you boast so brazenly about your skills in the bedchamber.” Her eyes widened when she realized what she was discussing so calmly, but Ramon de Segrave chuckled at her audacity. “Go and find your amusement elsewhere. I have no liking for your company.” She could never admit she found him enticing.

He lifted a hand to silence her. “But we have spent so little time in each other’s company. Your judgment is rash.”

“It is sound.” She knew she was being impolite. She blushed at the thought, but if it sent the man away from the idea of wedding her, it was worth the guilt. Let him think her a shrew.

He lifted one foot and set it on the bottom step.

“What are you doing?”

One of his dark eyebrows, and his entire body, rose as he climbed another step. Something new was flickering in his eyes. Hard, male determination.

Her belly twisted.

“I am entering the keep.” His tone made it clear he knew he was invading her home.

“No.” She fought back her breathlessness. “You shall not.”

She backed up, but forced herself to stop in the doorway.

“Why not, my lady?”

He climbed another step and she felt her knees quiver. It was an insane reaction, one that shocked her with its intensity.

“You do not belong in the keep. This is my home.”

He frowned but climbed another step to stand on even ground with her. Isabel lifted her chin trying to maintain eye contact.

“I need to fully assess this structure, and I plan to begin doing it now. You may stand aside or I shall remove you from my path. The choice is yours. Yet lifting you might speed along our introduction, so perhaps it is best.”

“I said nay.” She stamped her foot because she didn’t know what else to do. Her temper flared with a need to argue. She didn’t want him to think she was impressed by his size.

She should have lowered herself and gracefully glided out of the doorway. It was the only response the code of chivalry afforded her, but she couldn’t force herself to do it. She didn’t feel in control of her emotions; they were scattering like autumn leaves. Her heart accelerated. He was pressing closer, watching her, gauging her reactions to him. She’d never felt so exposed. Never felt like any man took so much notice of her. He reached for her, his expression full of promise.

“No one enters this keep without bathing.” She spat the words out in a rush and had to pull in a deep breath because her lungs burned. Relief flowed through her, for she had found a valid argument to use.

The baron’s expression didn’t change, but he made a sound that betrayed his irritation. His face was a hard mask that didn’t tell her what he was thinking. His hands were clenched around his wide leather belt, his knuckles turning white. She was trapped in the doorway. Retreating inside the keep was her only option.

“Take yourself off to the bathhouse, my lord baron.” She was brazen.

His eyes narrowed as her stern words hit him. He suddenly grunted, amusement returning to his eyes. “Very well, lady, since you wish to offer me your hospitality, I accept.”

She stared at him, uncertain of the flicker burning in his dark eyes. This wasn’t a man who knew defeat, and the muscles in her neck tightened when his lips twitched into a smug grin once again.

An expression that was full of victory.

“I shall enjoy having you bathe me, Isabel. It is certainly a good place for us to begin to learn more about one another.” A gleam appeared in his eyes that sent a shiver down her body. “You will certainly learn more about my…ability to pleasure you once we are wed.”

“I did not offer to bathe you myself,” she said in a horrified whisper.

He stepped closer, capturing her wrist in a grip that surprised her with its gentleness. Instead, she felt their connection, so much that she couldn’t form a single sensible thought. Logic had always offered her salvation in the past. Before Ramon de Segrave. But now it crumbled away, leaving her at his mercy.

And the mercy of her own traitorous flesh.

“You claim you are no maiden, so it is only customary for you to attend me since you are the lady of this keep.” His voice lowered. “Or perhaps you would prefer not to act as a lady. In such a case…I will be most pleased to dispense with ceremony.”

He tugged her forward. She put up her hands and pressed against his chest. His mail tunic was hard but she shivered as though her palms rested on his flesh.

His features changed, becoming more sensual. When his eyes met hers again, there was a spark in them that sent a twist of excitement through her belly.

“I admit, sweet Isabel, I find the idea of dispensing with the church’s dictates on civilized behavior rather fitting when it comes to your argument against marriage. I will be most happy to prove my worth to you.”

Her eyes widened and her mouth went dry. For a moment, she was torn. Something inside her leaped toward the promise of sampling forbidden things. Those whispers she’d heard in the dark shadows where lovers met, the ones she’d always been too conscious of her duty to venture into.

The ones her marriage had proved so bitterly wrong…

He stroked her inner wrist, his fingertips sending ripples of delight up her arm.

A feeling of heat licked its way through her insides, urging her toward recklessly needling the baron further…so he would put his hands on her…and she’d reach for him…

“The bathhouse, then. I shall attend you there.”

A warm hand cupped her chin. She gasped, shivering as she felt the heat of his skin through his leather gauntlet.

How long had it been since a man had touched her?

Was that the reason her body was so full of impulses that she found it difficult to think?

“I find myself doubting your word, Isabel.” His fingers moved gently along the side of her jaw while his gaze cut into her. “You claim to be a woman of experience and yet you blush like a maid. Were you a wife or a bride?”

She stiffened, lifting her chin from his grasp. “A wife. Although I found the title of possession more appropriate. I had a place among my husband’s playthings. To be used or toyed with at his leisure. You cannot expect me to resume such a position when I have a choice.”

For all her fascination with him, Ramon was like any other man. He would expect her to perform to his satisfaction or suffer his displeasure.

“What I expect, lady, is not to be judged guilty of another man’s crimes.”

She drew in a deep breath and lifted her arms so that his grip on her wrist was clearly in sight. “Do you not even now make it clear your will shall become mine?”

He released her. For a moment, she was disappointed. But he reached out and stroked the surface of her scarlet cheek.

“Do you not blush, lady? Is that not the sign of inexperience?”

It was a sign of something she wasn’t willing to admit.

“I never claimed to be experienced, Lord de Segrave. My marriage lasted less than a season. What I said was, I am no longer a virgin.”

He withdrew his hand and stepped back, his hands returning to his belt. There was a hard look on his face, but he offered her a single nod in agreement.

“Well then, lady, I shall await your hospitality at my bath.” His eyes narrowed. “I assure you, you will be more experienced when you finish tending to me.”

“And I assure you, my lord baron, you shall not be so pleased with your victory.”

* * *

“The brute,” Mildred said softly from her hiding place. She emerged from behind the door frame. “He enjoyed baiting you.”

Isabel snorted, not caring that the sound wasn’t genteel. “That is the nature of a man, to gain what they crave. A wagon full of barley or a wife, men seem to see little difference.”

Mildred frowned. “I’ll attend him with you.”

“Nay,” Isabel responded. “I am not afraid of him, nor shall I have him thinking I cannot find the courage to look upon him in naught but his skin. He has nothing I have not seen before. Best to settle this matter of whether or not I am interested in sharing a bed with him now.”

She refused to be intimidated. The brute wanted his back scrubbed? Well, she may not have much experience when it came to the marriage bed but she knew how to put a shine on a clod of dirt if need be. He’d not be so pleased with himself when she was finished. Her attention settled on Mildred’s covered head.

“Let me have your wimple.”

Mildred clicked her tongue but there was a glint of merriment in her eyes. “Careful now. Play games with that man and I fear he’ll not be satisfied until he has bested you. Knights who become barons often do not know how to admit defeat.”

“Neither do I.” Isabel spoke confidently. “We’d all have empty bellies if I were given to shying away from situations that appeared too difficult to manage. Or that the rest of the world felt only a man could manage.”

“Right you are about that, my lamb.”

Isabel unwrapped the cloth that shrouded Mildred’s head. Isabel fit the cap over her own hair, and Mildred helped tuck Isabel’s braids into the back of it as Isabel pulled the tie closed to keep her hair completely inside the cap. There was a second piece that was little more than a square of linen, folded in half and sewn to the top of the cap. Once flipped back from her face, it fluttered down to hide every inch of her neck.

“We cannot have the baron displeased with my lack of modesty.”

Mildred pressed her lips into a firm line to conceal her amusement. “Certainly not.”

Isabel lifted the front of her robes and walked down the steps before she lost her nerve. She embraced her temper, which had flared from having her duties interrupted by Ramon’s demands.

It was a bath, nothing else. A courtesy the lady of the manor performed for honored guests.

That was all.

If the man wanted to bare his body in her presence, fine. She wouldn’t be impressed, not a bit. Men so often considered their members to be something a woman enjoyed seeing, but Ramon de Segrave was bound to be disappointed if he thought the sight of his cock might sway her position on wedding him.

You certainly were interested in him.

Isabel muttered beneath her breath as she got closer to the bathhouse. She was a fool.

Her husband had delighted in showing off his erect member before demanding her submission. She was obviously quite correct in her conclusions about Ramon. The man was exactly like her late husband.

Yet, he was correct about her condemning him for crimes he hadn’t committed.

Guilt made her stop. She stood for a moment and listened to the sound of the baron’s men making camp.

It was welcome.

She could not deny it brought a sense of relief. Tonight, her people would sleep soundly, knowing there would be no raids.

Well, she still wasn’t interested in wedding the man. But she was willing to admit that there were some benefits to the baron being here. Such was logical thinking—something which had served her well.

Now all she needed to do was find logical reasons for rejecting the baron’s proposal.

The bathhouse was at the end of one of the long store buildings. With the warm spring weather, the window shutters were open. Isabel had to add wood to the hearth and push it into the ash to touch the coals, because no one needed a fire during the day at this time of year. The sound of the river rushing by filled the long room, and she could hear several women singing as they washed clothing. It was a short walk outside the bathhouse to the stone embankment her father had built to keep the water from changing its path by eroding the bank during the spring melting of snow.

The river rushed up to the edge of the stones, and there were long poles for lifting buckets of water. Women used the surface of the stone walkway for scrubbing clothing, and the strong scent of lye soap lingered in the air. The soap kept the mold from growing on the stones and making the surface slick. The stone wall allowed the river close but kept the rushing current from eroding the land that the bathhouse was built on.

Long troughs leaned up against the outside wall. Isabel lifted one and fit it into a standing trough that was near the edge of the wall. She would haul the water up from the river and dump it into the trough so that it would run into the bathhouse through the window. For bathing in the spring, it made the chore much easier. In winter, she would have to haul buckets of snow.

She walked back into the bathhouse and pushed the large kettle into the flames of the fire. It was always hanging off a large hook, ready to be heated. The flames licked at the drops of water on the exterior, making them sizzle.

“Lady?”

She turned to find two youths holding a bathing tub that was far larger than any Thistle Hill had.

“The baron’s tub, lady. Where would you like it?” one of the boys asked.

She lifted one hand and pointed toward the open window. “Put the foot beneath the end of the trough.”

The window cell was notched to keep the trough steady and the boys looked at it once they had set the large tub down.

“That’s a clever design,” one of the boys remarked.

“Must save wear on the hands for sure.” They continued talking to one another as they left. Isabel frowned at their backs, annoyed at the way they had left her to the task of bathing their lord. Her irritation doubled when she remembered that it was Ramon de Segrave who had decided she would be the one washing his back.

Along with several other intimate duties, if she wasn’t clever enough to outwit the man.

Isabel walked closer to the tub and looked at it. It was quite large, but she realized that Ramon de Segrave would have had to sit with his knees against his chest in the tubs that she had to offer. She frowned—the tub was confirmation that he had come to her land with the intention of staying.

If he had gained the king’s favor, she would have to wed him.

That thought sent a chill down her back and she didn’t care for the weakness that was seeping into her. She was already thinking of yielding and it simply wouldn’t do. Moving quickly, she tried to use the chore of filling the tub to dispel her dark mood. She’d learned to stay busy so as not to dwell on the fact that she hadn’t cared for her husband’s touch, because the more she thought about it, the worse she dreaded sunset.

A hiss came from the hearth and the water she had left to heat. It was boiling over the sides of the kettle. Reaching for a length of iron that had a hook on the end, she used it to pull forward the arm holding the kettle so she might grasp the handle. She poured it into the tub and set more water for heating.

“How curious to see you wearing a wimple now that we are in private.” A shiver crossed her back and rippled down her body. The man’s voice was like a sliver of a summer midnight, when the cool breeze was a welcome thing. Something you wanted to sink into and be wrapped in. Isabel bit her lip to contain her gasp. She resisted the urge to reach up and touch the veil that now covered her head.

“There was no reason to wrap my head when I was working in the keep with only my women about.” She gave him a stern look. “And I certainly cannot have a baron disappointed with my conduct.”

The baron pulled off one of his leather gauntlets, tugging on each fingertip until he removed the garment. Her gaze lingered on the bare skin of his hand for a moment that seemed far too long.

“You are already contradicting yourself, Lady Isabel.”

The baron’s dark eyes moved to the edge of the linen that she had wrapped around her hair. The bathhouse suddenly felt small with him here. He moved across the space between them and reached out to finger one lock of hair that was stubbornly curling outside the fabric. “For I find this moment quite pleasing.”

This time her gasp was quite loud. She jumped back, retreating from his touch.

“Your hair is quite comely, Isabel. You have set me the challenge of seeing it again. I enjoy a challenge.”

She sucked in a harsh breath, reality cutting through the weakness in her knees. “Of course. Such is the nature of a man. To conquer challenges.”

One of his dark eyebrows rose. “You believe me shallow. And yet, if I were a man who spent his days spinning tales of what he was going to do, while never accomplishing any of those things, would you not label me something worse?”

Isabel turned away from him, guilt needling her. She dipped one hand into the water to test its temperature. There was no point in arguing with him. “Your bath is prepared.”

“But I am not.”

She turned back to face him and frowned when she discovered him watching her with eyes that challenged her. He tossed his other gauntlet aside and flexed his fingers. The knuckles popped, sounding too loud, her senses overly aware of every detail. He curled one finger, beckoning her forward.

“Come here and offer me your hospitality.”

She was tempted to refuse him. The urge to disgrace her mother’s teachings was almost too strong to ignore.

God’s teeth! The man affected her intensely.

Which was all the more reason she had to face him with her shoulders squared.

He was naught but a man, and she knew what was hidden under his clothing.

“Since that is what you wish.”

He was watching her, the weight of his stare feeling too hot.

“Do you wish me to tell you that I shall enjoy having you touch me?” His voice was deep and coated with male satisfaction.

She jerked her attention away from the ties that closed his tunic. “Have done with teasing me. I cannot imagine why it amuses you so much. We are strangers.”

His fingers stroked across her cheek. It was a whisper of a touch, and yet she felt it as though it had been as loud as thunder cracking directly above her head.

“I intend for us to be much more intimate, very soon.”

“I have not agreed to wed you, Baron de Segrave.” Isabel propped her hands on her hips. “You seem to have been in the company of women who are easily impressed with a few smooth words; women who would allow you to touch them without seeking anything from you except compliments. I am not such a woman.”

He crossed his hands over his chest, which made his biceps look larger. “I know full well you have not agreed that a union between us would be best. Since you have failed to use logic to make the best decision, I am employing other methods of swaying your mind.”

There was a hard determination flickering in his eyes that horrified her.

“Then I owe you no hospitality, my lord, because you are not maintaining your knightly virtues.”

He laughed and his features transformed momentarily into something she found quite attractive. His eyes sparkled with his amusement, reminding her of her father and the days when there had been much merriment at Thistle Hill.

“You have a romantic view of the chivalric code. It reminds me of a new squire.” His smile faded. “One who has yet to endure the harsher side of being a knight in the service of the king.”

“Many things are better when spoken of, than during the time they must be endured. Just as the squire learns the harsh realities of war, the bride discovers the disappointments becoming a wife yields.”

“You did speak truly.” His tone had hardened. “You were a wife.” It gave her no solace to hear his agreement. She felt devastated. Ramon de Segrave would be far more accustomed to having his every instruction followed because the man was used to commanding an army. He was as solid as the armor he’d been wearing; even now his face was devoid of any hints to his true thoughts. She caught herself staring at him, trying to find any trace of the merriment that had been there so short a time ago.

There was none.

She looked back at the ties that laced his tunic closed, to avoid looking at him any longer. In the pit of her belly she felt a growing sense of vulnerability that sickened her. How simple it might be for him to take everything he wanted from her.

Well, she could choose whether she wanted to allow herself to be frightened of him.

She refused.

But still, the man unleashed a weakness in her. One she must never allow him to see.

The laces slid free easily, leaving his tunic gaping open. She focused on the task before her. Trying to imagine he was one of her father’s friends.

A very ancient one, with rotten teeth and stinking feet.

“You will have to sit on the stool so I may remove your tunic.”

He grunted and a moment later he pulled the garment over his head with one swift motion.

“You will learn that I am a man who enjoys doing some things himself.” He dropped his tunic over the stool he’d refused to sit on.

“Or one that cannot stomach doing anything a woman suggests he do.”

He snorted, but the corners of his lips rose into a grin. “You truly have been without a master.”

Her temper flared and her hands went back on her hips. This would have earned her a slap from her husband, but Ramon de Segrave only chuckled.

“Go on, lady, I dare you to argue with me while we have no one to witness where our passions might take us.”

“Temper has naught to do with passion.”

“I disagree.” His voice came out in a sultry tone that sent a ripple of emotion through her. “Dare you proceed and test which of us will prevail as the victor in this subject?”

He was trying to bait her once again. Isabel ordered herself to maintain her dignity and grant him no response. Reaching up, she leaned closer to him in order to reach the ties that closed the collar of his under robe. She caught a hint of his scent, and even before his bath it was clear he was not a man who allowed himself to stink.

“Why do you insist that every guest who comes to Thistle Hill bathe before entering your keep?”

“Such keeps the fleas out of our beds. I banned rushes on the floors for the same reason. The rats find the keep less comfortable than the marshes now.”

She reached for the cuff of one sleeve and untied the laces. Her eyes traced the calluses on his palms that proved he was a master of his sword.

“That must make lying in bed, in only your skin, a pleasant experience.”

She gasped and pulled too hard on the laces of the second cuff. They knotted and she had to pick at them while he chuckled at her.

In naught but skin? She’d never… Yet…

“You’re thinking about it, are you not?” he teased her.

She jumped and bit back a curse. The cuff came loose at last.

“I might accuse you of enjoying toying with me, but I believe you would consider it a compliment,” she said boldly.

She was surprised. A tingle went through her, and she enjoyed it. Bechard had never teased her. A claimed wife was nothing a man had to bother teasing.

“There, lady. Admit you are enjoying my company.”

“Perhaps.”

His chest rumbled with a chuckle that bounced off the walls of the bathhouse. His fingers touched her chin, raising her face so their eyes met again. It was a gentle touch, just a soft contact that wouldn’t have woken a baby, but her heart hammered inside her chest.

“The idea of you in naught but skin is a pleasant one.”

“A sinful one,” she corrected.

“Not so.” He slid his fingers beneath the tie that held the wimple closed. With a swift jerk, he snapped it.

She jumped back, but her braids were falling down her back, the wimple no longer secure. His lips curled up with victory.

“Since I have asked you to wed, it is not sinful to contemplate knowing you, Isabel.”

His dark eyes dared her to continue. She reached up and pulled the ruined wimple off her head. It would be wiser to refuse him her hospitality, but part of her could not stomach the idea of retreating.

In fact, it was intolerable.

She was not a mouse.

She reached up and dug her hands into the shoulders of his shirt. With a short jerk she pulled the under tunic off him, baring him from neck to waist.

He was nothing like her husband at all.