tapped the quill beneath his signature on the document. ‘Either sign this yourself, or I’ll make your mark for you.’
‘No!’ She slapped both of her hands on the table. ‘I will not do this. There has to be another option. One less...distasteful.’
Dunstan swirled the nib of the pen across the document, making a rather elaborate mark below his name. ‘You will not do this?’ He made a show of staring hard at the vellum on the table, before shrugging. ‘It appears to me that you have already signed of your own free will.’
This could not be happening to her. In a hazy blur, Isabella saw Conal drop something into Dunstan’s outstretched palm. Before she could make any sense of his intention, he grasped her left hand and slid a gold band on to her ring finger.
Instead of releasing her hand, he engulfed it in his own. ‘With this ring, I, Richard of Dunstan, wed Isabella of Warehaven.’
Her throat ached with the need to scream. She jerked free of his hold, asking in a choked whisper, ‘What have you done?’
No answer was required, or forthcoming, as she knew exactly what he’d done. He’d planned this every step of the way.
He’d had some document drawn up that took Lord only knew what from her, placed his signature and hers on it with witnesses present who would swear she’d signed of her own free will. Then, he’d sealed the deed by placing his ring on her finger.
As far as anyone was concerned, she was wed to this knave. There was only one small...task...keeping them from being for ever joined in unholy matrimony.
While he might be able to forge her mark on a document, Dunstan would find bedding her much harder than he might think. Isabella clenched her hands into fists. Harder? No. She would make it impossible.
‘My part here seems to be done.’ Father Paul snatched the document from the table, rolled it up and tucked it back into his satchel. ‘I’ll take this. Should you have any desire to read it, you will find it safe in my care.’
He took a step back and paused. ‘Lord, Lady Dunstan, if you wish a blessing on your union, you know where to find me.’
After the priest left the chamber, Dunstan crossed the room and pulled the sheet from his bed.
Isabella frowned. What was he doing now?
In the blink of an eye, he slid a dagger across the tip of a finger, splattered the blood on to the sheet and then tossed it to Conal. ‘Lock this up somewhere safe.’
She stared in shock at Conal’s back as he hastily left the chamber. Everything about this farce of a marriage—from the creation of the document, her forged signature and now to the evidence of the bloodied bedding—had been seen to in advance.
‘You pig!’ She turned her full attention to Dunstan. ‘You dirty, filthy pig. I would like to see you gutted.’ She paused to give her tremors a moment to subside before continuing, ‘And your entrails slowly pulled from your body and fed to the dogs while you watched in dying agony.’
Dunstan unbuckled his belt and tossed it on to the narrow cot. ‘Could we save all that for tomorrow?’ He pulled his tunic over his head and dropped it atop his belt. ‘Right now I’d rather sleep.’
‘You do that.’ She pulled his ring from her finger and threw it at him as she moved from behind the desk to march to the door intent on leaving this chamber, this keep and, if at all possible, somehow this island.
He grabbed her arm as she reached for the latch. ‘And just where do you think you’re going?’
Isabella tried to pull free of his hold, but he only tightened his grasp. ‘Let me go.’
‘Oh, my dear wife, you seem a bit upset.’
‘Upset!’ His mocking manner nearly made her spit with rage. ‘I have never been so...so mistreated in my life.’ She pried at his fingers. ‘And do not call me wife.’
‘Nobody has mistreated you.’ He released his hold long enough to scoop her up in his arms. ‘But perhaps someone should have done so once or twice.’ He turned around and walked towards the far corner of the chamber.
‘Put me down.’ Isabella struggled against his overbearing hold.
As if she hadn’t said a word, he continued, ‘Had they done so, you might know how to deal with disappointment in a less strident manner.’
Disappointment? Is that what he considered these recent events? Nothing but a disappointment?
‘Finding water in your goblet instead of wine is a disappointment. This is far more than that.’
She kicked her legs and to her relief, he lowered his arm, letting her feet hit the floor.
‘I am certain you’ll eventually find a way to come to terms with your future. But for now, it is time for bed.’
She glanced behind them at the narrow cot. ‘I am not sleeping in that vermin-infested thing you call a bed.’
‘No, you aren’t.’ While keeping one arm wrapped about her waist, he shoved aside a dusty tapestry hiding a door, which he opened and then pushed her into the darkness beyond. ‘But neither am I.’
Richard nabbed a lit torch from the wall of the outer chamber before following Isabella into the room.
Standing with his back against the closed door, he held the torch high enough to illuminate the area around him before using it to light a brace of candles. He mounted the torch in a wall sconce, ignoring Isabella’s gasp of dismay.
While a layer of dust had settled from weeks of non-use, this small chamber was serviceable and, as far as he was concerned, that was all that should matter. He crossed the room to slightly open one of the shutters just enough to allow in a breeze of fresh air.
He expected her to make some comment, but to his amazement, she held her tongue and simply glared at him.
The bed jutting out from the far wall looked more inviting that he’d imagined it would and he longed for nothing more than to crawl beneath the covers, drop his head on to a pillow and then sink into the overstuffed mattress.
However, he couldn’t help but wonder if Isabella would plunge a knife into his heart while he slept.
Before he could formulate any plan to prevent such an undesirable occurrence, she asked, ‘Where do you plan to sleep?’
‘In my bed.’
Her brows winged over her hazel eyes. Light from the candles flickered in the speckled depths of her stare.
‘And where then will I sleep?’
Even though there was little doubt his answer would be acceptable, he forged ahead. ‘In my bed.’
‘When boars grow teats.’
Richard wanted to
