My Heart Belongs to You (Medieval Romance Trilogy Book 3) Read Free Page A

floor, knocked unconscious.
    Ysabelle recoiled. She tried to help the man, but the Ram pulled her back. A foreboding gripped her. She couldn’t understand why her father had betrothed her to such a cruel man. Today’s events were a premonition of evil.
    The pinch-faced priest who had happily spoken the words binding Ysabelle to Sir Malcolm stood before the fire, wringing his hands. The silver cross hanging at his waist glimmered in the fireglow. “Heathen. Vile demon. It is a sin for you to take another man’s wife.”
    With barely a glance, Nicholas Ramsay brushed past. The priest tottered back on his heels, sputtering with outrage.
    All of the Scots warriors wore somber frowns, their weapons glittering in the shadows. How simple the task had been to take possession of her uncle’s manor house when all within were drunken. It was a terrifying sight for a mere woman wearing nothing more than her torn bridal clothes. As she stood in the firelight, they stared at her with lust. The cads! Her father would have taught them some manners with his sword.
    Clasping her arms in front of her, she glared her defiance.
    “Take the prisoners to the stable,” the Ram barked the order to his men.
    Their laughter ceased as they scurried to usher the manor guards outside.
    The man named Alex trotted down the stairs, carrying her woolen cloak over his arm. “This was all I could find.”
    With a disparaging frown, Nicholas Ramsay took the cloak, then whisked it over her shoulders, pulling it snug beneath her chin. Breathing a sigh of relief, she clutched the voluminous folds about her like a sanctuary, wondering at his territorial kindness.
    “Ysabelle!”
    She looked up. Uncle Ewen stood at the end of the hall next to Lord Marshal, the king’s emissary. Marshal’s face whitened with rage. His gaze darted to where spears and swords hung upon the wall over the vast fireplace. Surely he was not fool enough to test the Ram’s anger.
    Nicholas Ramsay’s hold loosened and she tried to run to her uncle.
    “No!” The Ram caught her, his left arm wrapping around her as he pulled her close against his side. Jerking at his solid grip, Ysabelle fought him. It did no good. His hold was as strong as steel.
    “There will be nowhere you can hide if you continue this outrage,” Marshal vowed. “Lady Ysabelle has been wed to Sir Malcolm de Litz. King William will send more men to destroy you and your clan of rabble.”
    The priest nodded his head in agreement. The Scots Ram raised his sword and Marshal’s eyes widened. Ysabelle stiffened, prepared to watch yet another man die.
    Tension pulsed from Nicholas Ramsay’s powerful body. She could feel it rushing at her, engulfing her in a tide of fury. Would he thrust Lord Marshal through? Angry fear glowed in Marshal’s eyes as he stared warily at the Ram’s sword.
    The Ramsay shot him a look of scorn. “The marriage was not consummated and I will have it annulled. Malcolm de Litz is dead. Lady Ysabelle is free to wed once more, so be warned. Her father betrothed her to me. She and Sutcliffe are mine.”
    Marshal snorted. “A Scotsman rule Sutcliffe? King William will never stand for it. You’ve come here without provocation and murdered Lady Ysabelle’s husband.”
    “No provocation? Be verra careful what you say. Your king is a thief and tried to steal what is mine.” Nicholas’s chilling tone raised the hair on her nape.
    Turning, he swept Ysabelle along as they left the hall and entered the bailey. A host of Scotsmen mounted on strong warhorses awaited them. They held torches to light their way through the darkness. In the shadows, their eyes appeared grotesque and cruel.
    The manor guards and the king’s knights lay upon the ground, groaning and nursing bloodied lips and heads. The Ram had spared them all, and Ysabelle wondered at his mercy. It was contrary to everything she’d been told about him.
    When he tried to place her on his black destrier, Ysabelle panicked. As she