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His Lady of Castlemora. Joanna Fulford
Читать онлайн.Название His Lady of Castlemora
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Автор произведения Joanna Fulford
Издательство HarperCollins
‘Delighted, my lord.’
Isabelle bit her lip. The knave was clearly amusing himself at her expense. She could guess what he thought of her. Was he already envisaging another tryst in some remote spot? The thought turned her hot all over but he should not have the satisfaction of seeing her discomfiture.
‘I should be glad to accompany you both,’ put in Hugh. ‘If you have no objections.’
With a feeling akin to gratitude Isabelle threw him a warm smile. ‘None at all. Come by all means.’
‘I shall, with pleasure.’
‘In the meantime I look forward to hearing news of my friends at Glengarron,’ said Graham. ‘You shall tell me as we dine, my lord.’
Ban bowed in acquiescence.
‘Excellent.’ Graham paused to look at his daughter. ‘It will be good to have company. We tend to live a quiet life here and with little excitement, eh, Isabelle?’
‘I have no complaint to make, my lord.’ The tone was even enough though a tinge of warm colour appeared in her face.
‘Excitement can be a double-edged sword, can it not?’ said Ban. ‘Fun, but dangerous at times.’
Her colour deepened but she turned and met his eye, now gleaming with sardonic humour. ‘It may be as you say, my lord. I have always found it to be transient and thus quite easily forgotten.’
A widening grin acknowledged the hit. ‘Now I have always been of the opposite opinion, my lady. Some forms of excitement leave an indelible impression on the mind.’
The hazel eyes widened in feigned surprise but he did not miss the flash of anger there. ‘With such an appetite for excitement you must have had many such experiences.’
Ban fought the temptation to laugh. If they’d been alone, he’d have taught her the folly of impertinence. For a moment or two he indulged that pleasurable notion. Unfortunately, they weren’t alone—yet.
‘They add a certain spice to life,’ he replied, ‘and thus my appetite remains undiminished.’
‘I can well believe it, my lord.’
His eyes gleamed. He had thought he’d known what to expect from his visit to Castlemora, but he’d been wrong on every count. It was far from being predictable or dull. Instead he found himself intrigued. Feistiness in a woman did not displease him: after all, his sister possessed the quality in abundance. It didn’t displease Iain either apparently. Furthermore, his brother-in-law handled it supremely well: while he had never attempted to break her spirit he knew exactly how to bend Ashlynn to his will and have her enjoy the mastery too. Knowing his sister’s fiery temper Ban could only marvel at how that had been achieved. His gaze rested speculatively on Isabelle. Could he bend her thus to his will? The thought was unexpectedly titillating.
The meal that evening provided Isabelle with new insights where their guest was concerned. Much to her relief he made no further reference to what had passed between them earlier and, because of her father’s desire for news, the conversation was mostly about Glengarron. Required to say little she listened with close attention. Like everyone else at Castlemora she had long known of Lord Iain’s marriage to the Lady Ashlynn, but the circumstances were intriguing. Rumour had it that he’d carried her off and married her by force which, knowing the man’s reputation, was not at all beyond the bounds of possibility. However, that didn’t tally with the stories of a mutually happy union. Moreover, Ban would surely not be on such friendly terms with a man who mistreated a beloved sister. Hearing him speak of his two young nephews she could detect real pride and affection in his expression. It was a side to him that she would not have suspected. Her curiosity increased.
‘Have you no family besides your sister, my lord?’ she asked.
There followed a fractional hesitation and his face was shadowed as though by some unwelcome memory, but when he spoke his tone was courteous. ‘No, my lady. She and I are the last surviving members. The rest were slain by King William’s mercenaries.’
‘I am truly sorry to hear it.’ The hazel eyes met and held his steady gaze. ‘And your home?’
‘Burned, my lady.’
‘A bad business,’ said Graham, shaking his head. ‘I think King William has much to answer for.’
‘But who will make him answer it?’ asked Isabelle. ‘Surely his grip on England is too strong to be challenged.’
‘You are in the right of it, my lady,’ replied Ban. ‘And Northumbria has paid for its defiance.’
For a moment there was silence and then the conversation turned to other topics, but Isabelle pondered what she had learned. Their guest had not gone into details but her imagination was good and she had heard many tales about the brutality of the king’s soldiers in Northumbria. They had cut a sixty-mile swathe through the land and reduced a once-great kingdom to ashes. No mercy had been shown to the population: men, women and children alike slaughtered in the wake of William’s wrath. It had been some years ago, when she was little more than a child, but hearing it mentioned now brought back the shadow of that fear. Those who could flee did, heading for the border, seeking safety with kin if they had any or selling themselves into slavery if they did not. Even that was preferable to facing William’s anger. How had Ban and his sister escaped? Had they been pursued or had they been lucky? How had they met Lord Iain? Suddenly she wanted to know. However, from his obvious reticence she guessed the subject was a painful one, and in any case it would have been discourteous to probe.
Now that he was engaged once more in conversation with her father she had leisure to observe. Even reclined at his ease there was something almost feline about the lithe power of the man. She knew his strength all too well. The recollection of that humiliating scene was sharp. She had been completely at his mercy and yet he had not taken advantage of it, or not as much as he might have anyway. It was plain though that he had believed her to be a whore, or as good as. His whole behaviour pronounced it. For that she was to blame and the knowledge aroused a feeling much akin to regret. That in turn led to other, more troubling thoughts: after what had passed between them he might not wish to offer for her hand. No man wanted a wife of suspect virtue. Double standards operated with regard to what constituted acceptable behaviour for men and women, and she was not naïve enough to think herself exempt. If only she had not been so reckless.
She darted a swift look at their guest. What must he now be thinking? The very fact that he had come here at all suggested a willingness to marry if what he found pleased him. Isabelle felt suddenly sick realising then that, had things been different, she would not have looked with aversion on Lord Ban. As it was she had likely destroyed her chances this day with one ill-judged act. She had been so intent on outwitting Murdo that she had effectively played straight into his hands.
Having been so intent on their guest she had temporarily forgotten about the master-at-arms. He had taken no part in the conversation this evening, apparently content just to listen. She glanced across the table. For a moment Murdo’s gaze met hers but his expression was unreadable. All the same it made her uneasy and she looked away again. If nothing else, this projected alliance with Glengarron would have removed her from his sphere. Her folly today was like to cost her dear.
After a decent interval she rose from the table and excused herself from the company, bidding them a courteous goodnight. Ban, who had risen with her, replied in kind. Then he smiled.
‘I hope our arrangement to ride tomorrow still stands, my lady.’
His gaze met and held hers. In it she read both speculation and challenge. He was playing with her. Isabelle bit back the refusal that sprang so readily to her lips. It would be impossible to get out of this without causing her father’s displeasure, for he would take it much amiss that she snubbed one who was both guest and prospective suitor.