Underneath The Mistletoe Collection. Marguerite KayeЧитать онлайн книгу.

       Chapter Ten

      In the waning light of the day, Isabella stood beneath the archway of the alcove and surveyed the work they’d completed these last three days. This bedchamber on the upper floor was even larger than the master chamber at Warehaven. She didn’t need this much space, but if her choice was this or Dunstan’s current chamber, she’d stay here.

      A shiver trickled down her spine at the mere thought of him...Dunstan...Richard...her husband. She wondered where he was and what business had kept him from returning for two nights. Not that she was complaining, or pining for his company. Even though, to her shocked dismay, she’d actually enjoyed his kiss, but she also enjoyed dropping into bed, with fresh mattress stuffing and clean covers, then falling into blissful sleep, knowing that she’d not have to lay awake, alert to his movements while worrying about what he intended to do.

      Besides, with the lord absent it had been easier to step into being the lady of the keep. He had to have been blind not to realise how badly this place needed someone to take it firmly in hand. At least with him gone, the maids and women from the village didn’t need to second guess her orders. Thankfully, only one of the men had seen fit to question her and she’d easily glared him down.

      They might consider her young and possibly think her weak, but she’d been taught to command a keep by the best. As far as Isabella was concerned, no stronger woman existed than her mother. None would dare defy an order given by the Lady of Warehaven and come out of the confrontation unscathed. Isabella had no intention of being any less—to do so would only bring dishonour to her mother’s teachings.

      She shook off the idle thoughts chasing her to look around the bedchamber. Now that the cobwebs had been removed, the rushes replaced, everything scrubbed and the walls freshly whitewashed, this was the most liveable chamber in the entire keep—not counting the kitchens. Once the newly returned cook had taken charge of her kitchen and scullery maids, she’d set them cleaning with a vengeance. Isabella had never seen a fire pit so soot-and ash-free before—even the pots appeared clean enough to be new. The kitchens at Warehaven weren’t as spotless as these.

      One of the younger women that Hattie had coerced into helping them clean the chamber brushed an imaginary speck of dust from the freshly washed bed curtains. ‘There you be, my lady. Is there anything else you’ll be needing?’

      While she would love to request hot water for a bath, Isabella wasn’t about to risk being interrupted by Dunstan if he returned, or one of the guards. She would make do with the cold water and cloths she had on hand.

      Besides, she didn’t doubt that the woman was just as tired as she. They’d all worked non-stop to set this one chamber to rights. And they still had the rest of the keep to do. ‘No, I think we’ve all done enough today. You should be heading to your home before it gets too dark.’

      The woman nodded, then left the chamber. As she pushed open the door, Isabella briefly saw the man standing guard. It had been a different guard each day and night. For whatever reason, the lord of the keep wanted her under constant guard—or supervision, she wasn’t certain which—but she wasn’t going to question the men about their orders, she’d save that for the lord himself. She was just thankful that the guard on duty was never the man who’d tried to accost her.

      However, that little bit of relief didn’t stop her from wishing the door opened into the chamber and that there was a locking bar on her side. Whoever had installed the door must have been a drunken sot to have got it so backwards.

      Just as she’d done the last two nights, she dragged a heavy bench over and placed it across the doorway. It wouldn’t stop anyone from entering, but when they tripped over the bench, at least she’d know she was no longer alone.

      Certain her privacy wouldn’t be interrupted unexpectedly, Isabella moved the wash basin, bucket of water and cloths into the alcove off to the side of the chamber. She removed her gown, groaning at the damage done to the best piece of clothing she owned.

      Isabella laughed at her thought. ‘Best? More like only.’ She draped it across a small table, hoping that tomorrow she would find time to somehow, at the very least, save some of the embroidery work at the hem.

      Once they finished cleaning the keep, perhaps she’d be able to talk Dunstan into loaning her money to buy fabric for a gown or two. She’d see he was repaid when her family arrived in the spring, as they undoubtedly would once the weather cleared.

      After washing, she stirred the coals in the brazier, climbed into the oversized bed, blew out the flame on the oil lamp and snuggled down under the covers.

      * * *

      Richard paused at the bottom of the stairs. It would likely be easier to turn around and seek the bed in his small chamber at the rear of the Great Hall. He hadn’t slept above stairs in years—not since his first marriage had turned sour and he’d made avoiding Agnes his life’s mission.

      He heard the buzz of whispers behind him and felt the undercurrent of unease and curiosity ripple through those still gathered in the hall. If he turned away now all would assume this wife was no better than the last. And while he hadn’t decided if that were true or not, he’d no wish for others to make that decision.

      Besides, once the gossips on Dunstan Isle got started, there was no stopping them. Their tongues would wag until every last man, woman and child living here knew that Dunstan’s lord had little use for his wife.

      That was the last thing he wanted to happen. He’d had two long nights to think about it and had come to the conclusion that it was imperative everyone believe he cared for Isabella, and she for him, when Glenforde came to rescue her. He wanted that cur to suffer in every way imaginable and seeing that the man who’d kidnapped his betrothed was a good husband, and she a satisfied wife, would only be the beginning.

      He headed up the steps, knowing full well that a battle of words would ensue the moment he walked into the chamber. The one night he’d planned on staying in town had turned into two and he’d not bothered to send word. Then again, she’d probably not even noticed his absence.

      The guard at the top of the stairs nodded, then stepped aside, but the one outside the chamber was seated on the floor, his head resting against the wall, snoring. Is this how she’d been guarded?

      Clearing his throat, Richard startled the guard. ‘You’re dismissed.’

      The