My Heart Belongs to You (Medieval Romance Trilogy Book 3) by Leigh Bale Page B

of Nicholas’s arm wrapped around her waist, holding her against him as they rode. Once more, she was forced to brace her hands against his forearms for support. She was conscious of his hardened muscles, his strength, and the scent of leather and sandalwood clinging to him.
    “I must admit I was skeptical when Maston said you have a sweet temperament, yet speak your mind and race your horse like a heathen,” he remarked. “These traits do not go together well. It’s obvious he loved you and overlooked your flaws.”
    Flaws? She tensed with indignation, wondering if she should be pleased or offended by his remark. “What right do you have to question my faults when it’s widely known that you have so many of your own?”
    A low growl rumbled in his chest. If she didn’t know better, she would have said it was a laugh he cut short.
    “My faults are many, my lady,” he finally conceded. “I’m certain you’ll come to know every one of them as my wife.”
    Stiffening against him, she became uncomfortably warm. “You presume a lot.”
    His deep voice vibrated against her, filling her entire body with his strength. “Though you weren’t present at our betrothal, I saw your signature upon the proxy.”
    Ah, he had her, now. Having been taught to read and write by the castle priest, she’d indeed signed the proxy when they were betrothed a year earlier. But she’d only wanted to please her father. When Maston had explained that he wished her to wed Nicholas Ramsay, she’d trusted her father’s choice beyond reason.
    “Why would my father choose you for my husband when there were so many other wealthy lords that sought my hand?” she asked.
    He was silent for some time, the grunts of his horse filling the void. “You are mine, and that’s the end of it.”
    Not waiting for her reply, he spurred his stallion into a lope.
     
    *
     
    When they arrived at Sutcliffe, the sun glowed high above the rolling hills surrounding the valley. Ysabelle opened her eyes and stared with amazement at the crenellated walls of the castle. A bolt of joy shot through her.
    Home!
    “I thought you might take me to Dalhousie or Castle Ramsay,” she blurted.
    Nicholas tensed against her. “Those holdings belong to Alex, not me. They’ll never be my home.”
    She knew that Nicholas’s stepfather, the Laird of Clan Ramsay, lived at Dalhousie.
    “Didn’t Archibald Ramsay provide you with a home?” she asked.
    Nicholas snorted. “I claim no Ramsay dwelling as my own.”
    His contempt for Lord Ramsay was obvious. Alex had told her of Nicholas’s childhood, but surely the Ram had a crude hut somewhere in this vast world.
    “Where is your home, then?” she asked.
    Looking over her shoulder, she peered up at him. A brief flash of pain filled his eyes, then was gone. So quick that she thought she must have imagined it.
    He nodded at his horse and touched his sword and shield. “My steed and blade have always been my home. They are all I ever needed, until now.”
    “It’s sad to need only a horse and cold steel. Surely they give you little comfort.”
    “It’s a bastard’s lot in life, to make the best of a situation thrust upon you.”
    “If it’s of your choosing, then I pity you.”
    His brows quirked. “Who would choose to be born a bastard? It’s not a title I would foist on anyone, least of all my own child.”
    She shook her head and turned to face forward again. “I pity you if you’ve chosen to live alone, wandering the earth with a band of mercenaries, making war on the helpless.”
    His low voice raised the hair on her nape. “I seek no pity from you, lady. Never have I made war on the helpless, I assure you. But I am a warrior, and it’s true I have wandered the earth and seen much evil and death. Now, I choose to take a wife and settle my charger into a cozy barn where he’ll grow fat from inactivity. No longer do I seek to ride out into battle, but neither will I run from a fight.”
    His words pierced