Underneath The Mistletoe Collection. Marguerite Kaye

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СКАЧАТЬ get my hand in marriage only if you remove it from my dead body first.’

      Obviously she wasn’t going to give him a moment of peace. Her acceptance—or lack of—hadn’t been a consideration in his plans. He wasn’t about to let her thwart his quest for vengeance.

      ‘It is truly simple, Isabella of Warehaven, you’ll do as you’re told.’

      ‘I...I will do what?’ she sputtered, staring at him as if he’d gone mad. ‘Killing my father does not grant you his place in my life.’

      Richard paused at the bitterness of her voice. He frowned, thinking back to the day he’d taken Warehaven’s whelp from her home. Scattered scenes rushed in swiftly filling in some of the holes of his faulty memory. Her father had taken an arrow on the beach. Since he’d also taken an arrow, why would she assume her sire had died?

      ‘You don’t know if he died or not. Like me, he might only have been injured.’

      ‘I saw him fall to the beach with an arrow piercing his chest. He wore no armour for protection, so I...I can only believe he was killed.’

      The catch in her voice warned him that she was already emotional, as was to be expected, but the last thing he wanted was for her to become hysterical over some imagined happening.

      ‘Is believing the worst your attempt at logic?’

      Her eyes widened briefly before narrowing into a fierce glare. Obviously his insincere question had the intended effect—she’d set aside the need to grieve a father who might or might not be dead for anger directed towards him.

      ‘I guess we’ll find out how valid my logic is when he or my brother come to pay you a visit.’

      ‘That was the whole point of being seen. Otherwise they wouldn’t know where to find you.’

      She waved off his answer, to order, ‘Turn this ship around.’ Her eyes blazing, she informed him, ‘They’ll have no reason to find me as I am not marrying you, nor am I spending the winter on Dunstan.’

      Since he had no intention of turning this ship about and every intention of marrying her within a matter of days, she would be spending much longer than just the winter on his island.

      The crash of another wave sent the ship pitching dangerously. Without thinking, he quickly reached out and grasped Isabella’s shoulders to keep her from being tossed from her seat on a stool to the floor.

      She shrugged off his touch and leaned away. ‘I can see to myself.’

      He didn’t get a chance to respond before the ship danced wildly once again, sending Isabella flying from the stool. The thin metal band confining her hair slipped from her head to spin like a top before it then clattered to the floor. On her hands and knees she glared at him as if daring him to give voice to the comments teasing his tongue.

      To his relief, instead of trying to scramble back on to the stool, Isabella snatched her hair band from the floor, then crawled to a corner and wedged herself securely between the timbers.

      From the ire evident on her face, she would be grateful if he took it upon himself to fall overboard. How high would her anger flame when she realised the depth of her predicament?

      Isabella leaned forward and warned, ‘You had better hope my family comes for me soon. Because I swear I will not be forced to marry you.’

      ‘What makes you think you have a choice in this matter?’

      ‘My family—’

      ‘Is not here. The deed will be done long before they arrive.’

      The blood appeared to drain from her face, leaving her pale and, from her trembling, more than a little shaken.

      When she finally found her voice, she asked, ‘Why would you wish to wed me?’

      ‘Wish to wed you?’ Richard shook his head. ‘You misunderstand. I have no wish to wed anyone. You are merely a means to an end. One that our marriage will help ensure.’

      One finely arched eyebrow winged higher. ‘It matters not what petty grievance you seek to avenge. With my family’s wealth, they will assume marriage was the reason for this madness of yours.’

      Petty grievance? The murder of a small, defenceless child was far more than a simple grievance. Richard studied her carefully. The hazel eyes staring back at him appeared clear. Still, to be certain, he asked, ‘Did you hit your head?’

      ‘Are you asking if I have my wits about me?’

      ‘Do you?’

      ‘Of course I do.’

      ‘That is up for debate if you think murder is nothing more than a petty grievance. I couldn’t care less what your family thinks. They can rant and demand all they want, it will avail them not at all. My concerns are with Glenforde. I long for the day he comes to your rescue.’

      Isabella frowned. ‘You kidnapped me for some crime Glenforde committed?’

      ‘What better way to get him to come to me on Dunstan than to kidnap and wed his bride-to-be on nearly the eve of his marriage?’

      ‘You assume much since you can’t be certain he will come.’

      Richard slowly trailed his gaze from her wildly disordered, burnished gold hair, across the purely feminine features of her heart-shaped face, over the gentle swell of her breasts, past her bent legs, to the toes of her mud-stained shoes.

      He dragged his gaze up to stare into her speckled hazel eyes. She quickly turned her head away, but not before he caught a glimpse of her flushed cheeks. ‘Oh, rest assured, Isabella of Warehaven, he will come.’ And when he did, Richard would be waiting.

      ‘Brides are easily bought.’ She leaned forward to wrap her arms round her knees. ‘I am certain Wade of Glenforde will find another with little difficulty.’

      Her pensive tone and response surprised him. Richard wondered what Glenforde had done, or said, to cause Isabella such doubt of her worth as a bride, or as a woman.

      ‘Perhaps, but you forget what else he stands to gain in this union. Glenforde is greedy. He will not throw away the opportunity to secure his relationship with royal blood.’

      Isabella shook her head. ‘Now you forget, my father was never recognised. King Henry might have been his sire, but his mother was little more than a whore.’

      ‘That’s a fine way to speak of a blood relative.’

      ‘Relative? She was a servant who sold herself for nothing more than a warm bed and a meal. Once my father was weaned she was never seen or heard from again. What would you call her if not a whore?’

      She stared at his naked chest and then turned her flushed face away.

      Richard retrieved a shirt from the clothes peg near his bed. ‘A woman who sells herself for a warm bed and food isn’t necessarily a whore.’ He knew exactly what a whore was—a bed-hopping liar with not a trace of honour.

      Something СКАЧАТЬ