Denise Lynn - The Warrior's Winter Bride

When they had Dunstan situated once again on his back, with the covers over him, she tipped his head up to give him some of the herb-and-wine decoction.

‘No more.’ He tried to push the cup away, but was too weak to do much more than try. However, he was strong enough to tightly clamp his lips together.

Sir Matthew stayed Dunstan’s hand. ‘My lord, you need to drink this.’

‘No more.’

She’d seen other scars, ones more gruesome than Warehaven’s arrow would leave behind, on his body. So it wasn’t as if he’d never been injured before. However, Isabella wondered if maybe this was the first time he’d been given poppy juice.

After her brother’s first time, he’d refused to take the brew. He’d rather pass out from the pain than ever swallow the liquid again. Perhaps Dunstan had come to the same decision.

‘It’s not the sleeping draught,’ Isabella explained. ‘This is for your fever.’

He turned his head way. ‘Stinks.’

‘You will either take it like a man, or we will force it on you like a child, the choice is yours.’

He shook his head at her threat. ‘No.’

‘Listen to me, Dunstan.’ She tightened her grasp on his head. ‘You will take this medicine. You are not going to die until I decide it’s time, do you hear me? And it’s not yet time.’

‘Very poor wife.’

His words might have been slightly slurred, but she clearly understood what he’d said. ‘I am not your wife.’

‘Will be soon.’

Isabella froze.

Cursing, Matthew grabbed Dunstan’s face, forcing his lips apart, and poured the liquid into his mouth.

Will be soon? She released her hold on the back of his head as if he were suddenly made of fire and scrambled from the bed. Isabella staggered backwards until she hit the side of the ship.

Shaking with fear, dismay and anger, she clasped her hands to her chest, as if that would offer some measure of protection, and asked Sir Matthew, ‘What does he mean?’

He remained silent, seemingly intent on settling his commander more firmly under the covers.

‘Answer me!’ Isabella shouted. ‘After all that has been done to me, I have still helped save his miserable, worthless life. I deserve an answer. What did that miscreant scoundrel mean?’

Sir Matthew lowered his head, his chin nearly resting on his chest, he turned away from the bed and said, ‘Dunstan’s priest awaits his lordship’s return—with his bride-to-be.’

Isabella’s choked gasp nearly stuck in her throat. ‘His bride-to-be?’ She feared she knew the answer, but hoping she was wrong, asked, ‘And who would that unlucky lady be?’

As he quickly headed for the door, Matthew answered, ‘You.’

Chapter Four

Richard groaned as the surface beneath him heaved to and fro as if being pitched by a windswept wave. The motion let him know that he was aboard a ship. Hopefully, his own.

Outside of a strange dream about Warehaven’s daughter leaning over him with a knife to his chest, the last thing he clearly remembered was vaulting into the small rowboat, grabbing a bow and turning to face Warehaven’s men just as a hand grasped his leg. Distracted, he’d glanced down and fire had sliced through him, sending him head first against a cross-brace.

He raised his arm and half-swallowed a gasp at the pain lacing across his shoulder.

‘Warehaven’s archers rarely miss. You took an arrow.’

He opened his eyes, squinting against the flicker of a lit lamp and stared up with relief at the crudely drawn map he’d nailed to the ceiling of his cabin.

‘What a shame they hadn’t taken aim at your heart.’

Richard raised a brow at the barely suppressed rage in her voice. If anyone should be angry, he should be. ‘Then perhaps, instead of being vexed, I should be grateful for your timely distraction.’

‘Distraction? I was kneeling on the hull.’

‘Which didn’t prevent you from grabbing my leg.’

‘Should I have done nothing while you took aim at my father and his men?’

‘They were aiming at me and my men.’

‘I owe no loyalty to the men of Dunstan and had little concern about the arrows aimed at them.’

Valid as it was, he wasn’t about to concede her point. ‘You should be grateful the men of Dunstan didn’t toss you overboard.’ She didn’t need to know that his men would never treat his bride-to-be so harshly.

She’d been pacing at the other side of the cabin, but changed direction and approached his bed. ‘They would have, but you fell atop me.’ With a toss of her head she turned to take a seat on a nearby stool, adding, ‘So I’ve nothing to be thankful for.’

‘I would think you might be thankful for your life.’

‘As should you.’

Richard knew that she would find a contrary response to anything he said. At another time, under different circumstances, this verbal sparring might provide an entertaining moment or two. Right now, however, she was his captive, not his guest, and her contrariness did nothing but make his head throb even more.

Unmindful of his shoulder, he sat upright, shouting, ‘Matthew!’

The man entered the quarters immediately. ‘You are awake.’

‘Could you find no other place for—?’ Try as he might, he couldn’t push through the fog still swirling about his mind to remember her given name. Richard settled his gaze on her long enough to say, ‘I can refer to you as she, or her, or that woman, but a name would be easier.’

‘Isabella.’ She ground out the answer between clenched teeth. ‘Isabella of Warehaven.’

Richard turned back to Matthew and asked, ‘Could you find no other place for her ?’ Her hiss of displeasure whipped through the small cabin.

Matthew shrugged. ‘Since she was caring for your injury, I thought it better she stayed in here, rather than on the deck with the men.’

‘ She cared for my injury?’

Her gasp and wide-eyed stare spoke of her surprise at his lack of memory. ‘You remember nothing?’ She looked at him, questioning, ‘Who do you think cared for you?’

He ignored her to ask his man, ‘What did you threaten her with?’

Matthew flashed him a crooked smile. ‘My tender loving care, with the men’s assistance, should you die.’

That she hadn’t thrown herself overboard at such a threat was interesting. Most women would have done so or fallen dead of fright when confronted in such a manner by any of his men. They were an imposing lot who hadn’t been selected for their good manners or refinement. Warehaven’s daughter was either braver than most, or possessed not one ounce of common sense.

He did owe her his gratitude. ‘I do thank you—’

‘No need,’ she interrupted him, but then frowned as if debating what to say next. Finally, after pursing and then unpursing her lips a time or two, announced, ‘I am not going to marry you.’

Richard swung his gaze back to his man. Why had that information been divulged? Matthew tripped while making a hasty exit. Over his shoulder, he said, ‘We’ll be home within a day or so.’

A day or so? Depending on the winds, it was a five or six days journey back to Dunstan. That meant—

‘Did you hear me?’

He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. If they were docking at the island in a day or two, that meant he’d been unconscious—

‘You’ll 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.’