“Aye.”
“Then, if you wish to have time to know your husband better before you share his bed, you must be prepared to answer accordingly. This thing will be between the two of us only.”
Stepping back, he rolled up the long sleeve of his tunic, uncovering his muscular forearm, then strode to the bed and pulled the covers away to expose the stark whiteness of the sheets beneath.
He paused a moment and looked at Isabelle, who stared at him in incomprehension until he pulled a small dagger from a sheath at his belt.
“My lord…” she said, as if she would stop him.
“’Tis the only way,” he said. “Unless you wish to pursue the matter in the more usual manner?”
Without waiting for an answer, he drew the blade across his skin, on the inner arm, beneath his elbow. Red blood welled bright, and when he held his arm over the bed, a few drops fell. He smeared them with his fingers, then stood back and viewed the stain he’d made.
“I’ve no experience with virgins,” he admitted. “I pray that will be sufficient to satisfy your uncle, and any others who may challenge our marriage.”
Isabelle was searching the chamber for a cloth, and at last found a linen napkin. “Here,” she said, taking his bleeding arm. “Let me bind the wound. I pray it will heal readily.”
“It will,” he murmured, smiling as she bent over her work to tie the cloth tightly. “You are a good wife, already,” he said. “Taking care of me so. I like it very much. Isabelle?” She lifted her head, and he took her chin in his free hand. “If you will let me, I shall kiss you as a husband should properly do.” He didn’t wait for permission, but placed his mouth gently over hers and tenderly kissed her, meaning only to give her pleasure and affection. When he lifted his head, he saw, with delight, that she looked dazed.
“Did you like it?” he asked.
She nodded and closed her eyes, and he willingly accepted the offer, lowering his mouth to hers once more, kissing her as chastely as he could, until he felt his body begin to catch fire.
“If we do not stop,” he murmured against her lips, “we will be adding proof to the bedsheet.” With regret, he stepped away from her warmth and softness. “’Tis verily most promising.” He bent and pulled the bedcovers over the stained sheet. “You are full weary, I vow. Lie down and sleep, my lady, and in the morn, if your uncle has not arrived, we will leave for Siere.”
“For Siere?” Isabelle repeated, gratefully sinking down upon the bed.
“Aye.” He rolled the sleeve of his tunic over the binding she’d put on his wound. “I must present you to my brother, the earl, and make certain that my lands are safe.”
She sat up again. “Your brother…when he knows the truth about my father…”
“He will have naught to say on the matter,” Justin replied calmly. He sat on the bed and pushed her down on the pillows. “You are my wife now, Isabelle, and I will not give you up. No man will take you from me, be he your uncle or mine own brother or the duke of Gloucester. In time, you will learn to trust me. It is all that I ask of you.” With his fingertips, he stroked the hair from her brow. “You have been through much this night. Sleep, if you can. All will be well.”
“What of you, my lord? You must be very weary, also.”
“In truth, I am. I will sleep there, by the fire, for a time.”
“If my uncle comes, will you tell him about Senet?”
“Aye. Is there anything you want from your uncle’s home? Any possessions of your own that you value and would have?”
Sadness touched her features, and Justin’s hand, yet stroking the hair at her forehead, fell still.
“What is it?” he asked.
“He will never let me have them. And, in truth, all that once belonged to my parents was made forfeit by the crown. Baron Hersell has more right to them than I.”
His hand began stroking again. “We shall see.”
Weariness made her close her eyes. “I do not wish to cause you trouble.” She yawned. “It is enough to be away from him.”
“’Twill be no trouble. You should have all that is rightfully yours, and though it may be many months in coming, one day you shall.”
But she had already fallen asleep beneath the soothing rhythm of his hand, and didn’t hear his vow. Justin sat beside her for a long while, contemplating his new wife and stroking her silky black hair, which was, he thought, extraordinarily long and beautiful. Her blue eyes, which he also thought beautiful, ever stood out starkly against the frame of her hair. When they first met, he had found it difficult to pull his gaze away from her entrancing face. He was not a man to take anything for granted, and he did not do so now with Isabelle. He had done very well in choosing himself a wife, he thought with pleasure. Far better than his brother Hugh had done. Of a certainty, Hugh would be furious when he discovered the truth, as would Alexander, and Hugo would equally fall victim to their wrath for his part in lending his aid in the marriage. But, although he regretted bringing Hugo grief, Justin didn’t really care. He had the wife he wanted now—a good, fine wife, for whom other men would envy him— and they would make a life together whether his exalted family bade them well or no.
She was dreaming that her dreams were real. The man she loved was her husband, and they had the most beautiful children—two boys and a sweet tiny girl—and he loved her. They were walking beside a wide, slow-moving river, their children running before, playing and laughing, and he took her hand. She turned her head and smiled, and he, so handsome and fine, smiled back. She could read his love for her in his eyes. It was there, as clear and constant as the river. She knew the feel of his mouth on hers, the warm, sweet pressure. He loved her, and her heart was full of the knowledge.
“You’ll not keep me from searching the place! Get out of my way, holy man, else I’ll strike you down.”
The sound of her uncle’s voice seared through her dreams like a blistering heat, and Isabelle sat bolt upright.
“Justin!” she cried, and the next moment his hands found her in the darkness.
“I’m here. Whisper. Take off your clothes and get under the covers. Hurry.”
He began to tug at her lacings, and she pushed his hands away. “I’ll do it,” she insisted shakily and, with trembling fingers performed the task herself.
He stood and moved about the room; she could hear him throwing his boots off and putting on his sword.
“I wish I could remove my tunic,” he murmured distractedly in the darkness.
“Where is the slut?” Her uncle’s voice boomed louder. “Isabelle! Attend me!”
“Hurry,” Justin said, sitting beside her again. “Nay, remove everything, Isabelle. Do not be afraid.”
“But—”
Without warning, he took hold of her chemise and dragged it over her head, throwing the garment on the floor beside her other clothes.
“Now, under the covers. Nay, do not lie down yet. Help me, Isabelle.” The warmth of his hands fell on her bare shoulders. “Kiss me,” he murmured, already pressing hard, hot kisses rapidly against her face and neck. “We must look as if we’ve been loving. Put your arms around me, sweet. Your hands in my hair.”
His