Underneath The Mistletoe Collection. Marguerite Kaye

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      ‘As your husband, it is of great concern to me. I’ll not have you bandying coarse talk about the keep. You are well aware of the trouble it invites.’

      ‘Are you once again saying you have no control of your people?’

      She’d taken up that familiar arms-crossed-against-her-chest, rigid-spine, chin-up stance that he’d come to recognise as her ready-for-battle pose. He knew that she would refuse to see reason or agree with anything he said.

      His patience was in short supply at the moment and suddenly the idea of locking her in a cell seemed a good one.

      Richard sighed. Refusing her bait, he sat on the edge of the bed. ‘If you want everyone to think you are nothing more than a trollop I pulled from the dregs, so be it.’ He tugged at a boot. ‘But don’t come crying to me the first time one of the men decides to taste your wares.’

      He tossed the boot across the room, drowning out her gasp of outrage. She could feign shock all she wanted. Right now he just wanted sleep.

      ‘I do not have to stand here and listen to you.’ Isabella headed towards the door.

      Richard reached it first and hauled her over his shoulder. ‘You are partially correct. You don’t have to stand here.’ He crossed the room in three strides and dropped her on to the bed. ‘However, you will remain in this room, in this bed and listen to whatever I have to say.’

      When she tried to get off the bed, he pushed her back on to the mattress. Holding her shoulders to the bed, he leaned closer. ‘If you get up from here again, I will tie you to the bed.’ Richard waited for her wide-eyed glare to ease into a frowning scowl to ask, ‘Do you understand me?’

      Oddly, instead of fighting him, arguing or making demands, she nodded. Her easy acquiescence now, along with her silence when he’d first pushed her into this chamber, made him wary. His concern that she might stab him in his sleep grew stronger.

      Richard released her and backed off slowly, not certain she’d actually stay put. With one eye on her, he once again sat on the edge of the bed to remove his other boot and stockings, then turned to slide Isabella’s shoes off.

      ‘Don’t.’

      The tremor in her whispered command caught him unaware. Was she frightened, angry or tired like him? ‘I was simply going to—’

      ‘I know what you were going to do.’ She drew her legs away. ‘I can do it myself.’

      ‘Then do so.’

      Once she dropped her shoes and stockings to the floor alongside the bed, Richard stood and stared down at her. The look she returned was...timid...no, not quite timid, he doubted if there was a timid bone in her entire body—perhaps more worried or concerned than frightened. Her arrow-straight body, tense, poised for escape most likely, spoke louder than any words she might have said.

      He jerked the covers and sheet from beneath her and drew them over her body. Her gaze followed him, he felt it burning a hole into his back, as he walked around the bed to the other side.

      Sliding beneath the top cover, leaving the thinner blanket and sheet beneath him, he settled his head on to the pillow, unable to hold back a sigh.

      The leather braces supporting the mattress creaked as she sat up. He opened one eye. ‘What are you doing?’

      ‘I can’t sleep here.’

      ‘You might want to give it a try before crying defeat.’ He reached up, seeking to draw her back down. ‘Close your eyes.’

      She pushed his hold away. ‘I can’t sleep in this bed with you.’

      He didn’t need the candlelight to see the tenseness of her body—not when the tightness of her voice gave evidence to the anger roiling just beneath the surface.

      ‘There is no reason we cannot share this bed.’ Richard debated for a heartbeat, before reminding her, ‘We are married.’

      In a flurry of limbs and covers, she was up and out of the bed before he could stop her. From the other side of the chamber, she said, ‘In name only and I’d prefer to keep it that way.’

      ‘If you remember correctly, Conal left the chamber with proof that states this marriage is far more than name only.’

      ‘That proof is nothing but a ruse.’

      ‘Agreed. But who will attest to that in your defence?’

      ‘I know the truth and that is enough.’

      Richard knew any battle waged with words was lost, she would argue until the sun rose and beyond. ‘This has become tiresome.’ He sat up and dragged her side of the covers back, then patted the mattress. ‘Get back in the bed and go to sleep. You will awaken in the morning as much a virgin as you are now.’

      ‘What does that mean?’

      He sighed. Apparently she was in the mood to argue every little thing he said. ‘It means that if you do as I suggest, I will not touch a hair on your head...tonight.’

      ‘And if I don’t?’

      Was she begging him for an all-out battle? He stared at her. ‘What are you seeking to do, Isabella? Do you want me to force you?’

      Ah, and once again her ready-for-battle pose—she stiffened her spine and crossed her arms in front of her against her chest. Why would this woman want to enrage him?

      ‘You couldn’t force me.’

      ‘Haven’t we already established the fact that I can? And I will?’

      ‘You didn’t force me to wed you. You simply forged my name on a document. I meant I would rather die than have you force yourself upon me.’

      Force himself upon her? What the hell was she...? He frowned as her meaning dawned on him. They were talking about two different things. He’d only meant that he’d force her to sleep in the bed, nothing else. Yet she obviously thought he was talking about rape.

      Outside of battle, he’d never in his life intentionally harmed any man smaller or weaker. He certainly wasn’t about to start doing so with a woman now. He gritted his teeth at the ungodly thought, threw the covers off and rose from the bed. Without another word, he crossed the chamber.

      Isabella backed away, reaching behind her for the door. ‘Don’t touch me.’

      He again tossed her over his shoulder. ‘Too late.’

      This time, instead of arranging the covers to separate them, he dropped her on the bed and launched himself behind her. With one arm wrapped about her waist, he pulled her back tight against his chest, hooked a leg over hers and pulled the covers up.

      ‘Now, close your eyes and go to sleep.’

      When she struggled against his hold, he simply tightened his arm, hoping that eventually she’d wear herself out.

      Once her struggles lessened, Richard closed his own eyes, certain СКАЧАТЬ