time, another place. Now, however, his caressing touch was an unwelcome reminder of what was to come. If they wed, and unless she could convince the priest on Dunstan to not perform the rites, it was becoming a certainty that they would, he would own her body and soul.
‘Rest assured, Isabella, that I expect little from you as a wife.’
Her breath caught in her chest. Did that mean they would not share a bed? Once his business with Glenforde was complete, would she be able to petition for an annulment?
‘We will wed. You will share my bedchamber.’
Isabella’s heart sank. Sharing his bed would dash her hopes for an annulment. What would she do, how could...? She bit her lower lip to keep from crying out in surprise at the sudden clarity of the devious vision springing to life in her mind. If all else failed, her family could make her a widow.
‘As long as you do not seek to lie to me, I will treat you well. Deal with me honestly and you will want for little.’
His statements gave her pause. He would not say such things unless someone, at some point in time, had deceived him. A woman most likely—a wife, or love interest, perhaps?
The irony of this moment was not lost on her. Now, as she plotted his imminent demise, he swore to treat her well if she did not lie to him.
A tiny pang of guilt grew deep in her belly, twisting its way towards her heart. Isabella swallowed a groan, refusing to let misgivings rule her future.
Dunstan stepped back. With his hands no longer on her, she was able to tamp down the guilt.
‘I am weary and need rest.’ He headed to the bed. ‘Come.’
She stared at him in shocked dismay. ‘I will not join you in that bed.’
‘You have done so these past nights.’
‘When you were incapable of doing anything more than sleep.’
‘That is all I intend to do now.’
His intentions didn’t matter, he was more than capable of doing whatever he wanted, should she agree or not. She shook her head. ‘No.’
Dunstan sat on the edge of the bed. ‘My bandages need to be changed.’
Isabella narrowed her eyes at his subterfuge. He was giving her that sad oh, woe is me look again. The same one her father had used on her mother when he wanted something he knew full well he didn’t need.
She wasn’t yet Dunstan’s wife and she didn’t care for him, his wants or his well-being in the least. ‘Your man Matthew is quite capable of changing the bindings.’
‘His touch isn’t as gentle as yours.’
She shrugged. ‘Then perhaps you need to speak nicer to him.’
‘I rest easier with you at my side.’
Again, she shook her head. ‘We are not wed yet. Until that day comes...’ Because she held tightly to a slim thread of hope that Dunstan’s priest would see reason, she silently added, if it comes. ‘I will not share a bed with you.’
‘Then where do you think you will sleep?’
She didn’t know. But she was certain of one thing—she was not sharing his bed.
He’d been correct—she had done so these last few nights, but she hadn’t felt threatened or in any danger. However, the situation had changed. Dunstan had already proven he was more than capable of forcing her to do his will.
Feeling his hard stare, she answered, ‘Since I am not tired, it doesn’t matter where I sleep.’ At his frown, Isabella rose from the stool and plopped down into the corner of the cabin, wedging herself tightly against the hull’s timbers. ‘This will do fine.’
Dunstan shook his head and rose from the bed. ‘It is cold. Permitting you to develop the chills and a fever will not suit my plans.’
His plans? What about the plans she’d had? ‘What do I care about your plans?’
He ignored her question and motioned towards the bed. ‘Join me of your own free will, like an adult, or I’ll carry you like a child. The choice is yours.’
She clenched her jaw at having a version of her own words tossed back at her, but refused to move.
He rubbed his forehead as if seeking to ease the throbbing of an aching head. Then he shouted, ‘Matthew!’ When his man hastened into the cabin, he held out his hand. ‘Give me your dagger.’
Matthew did so without question and, when waved away, left the cabin without a word.
Isabella gasped. He would kill her for not sharing his bed? She turned her face into the timber beam to avoid witnessing her own death.
‘Oh, for the love of—’ He broke off on a harshly snarled curse and grasped her wrist. ‘If my intent had been to kill you, I would have done so at Warehaven. Open your hand.’
She did as he ordered, but kept her face averted.
‘What is wrong with you? I thought a Warehaven would be braver than this.’ When she turned her head to stare up at him, he slapped the dagger’s handle on to her palm and tightly closed her fingers around it. ‘Now, get in the bed.’
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