Underneath The Mistletoe Collection. Marguerite Kaye

spirit me away.’

      He ignored her statement to warn, ‘You take off like that on your own again and I’ll make certain you rue the day you were born.’

      She gasped at his obvious threat. ‘You wouldn’t.’

      ‘Behave like a wayward child, my lady, and I’ll treat you like one.’

      She glared at him. ‘You wouldn’t dare.’

      ‘I wouldn’t dare what?’

      Isabella was almost certain that he wouldn’t lay a hand on her—damaging her wouldn’t be in his best interest. So, what would he do? She felt the heat of her flushed cheeks as she remembered his earlier warning that some injuries couldn’t be seen.

      He leaned over on his saddle, closer to her, and answered his own question. ‘I would lock you away in a tower chamber without much provocation.’

      Even though his deep, sensual tone gave her a moment’s pause, relief washed over her, making her response nothing more than a simple breathless, ‘Oh.’

      Dunstan sat upright and shook his head. ‘I can only hazard a guess about the direction your mind took, my lady. But let me assure you that I would never force myself on you uninvited.’

      Uninvited? ‘And you think for one minute that I would ever—’ The barely perceptible twitch of his lips told her that she’d once again fallen prey to his mindless prattle.

      Chagrined that she’d so easily let herself be led into this absurd conversation, she lifted her chin a notch, gave a good jerk on her horse’s reins to free them and urged the beast ahead of the men.

      ‘Stay on this road. You’ll end up at the keep.’

      Richard watched her ride ahead of them. With the ocean on one side and ever-thickening brush on the other, she had no choice but to stay on the road. Thankfully, since the ship had returned, his men and some of the men from the village saw to it that the path to the keep was lit with torches.

      ‘She is a high-born lady, my lord; you should not tease her so.’

      ‘She is Warehaven’s whelp through and through. Trust me, the lady is well able to take my jibes and hand out some of her own.’

      ‘That may be so, but you aren’t her father or brother.’ Conal’s bristling censure was evident in his words.

      Richard ignored his man’s attitude. Something had been bothering Conal before the ship had docked. ‘No. I am not her father or brother. But I am soon to be her husband.’

      Conal snorted before asking, ‘Were you able to discover how that accursed dog, Glenforde, came to be involved with Warehaven?’

      ‘No, I didn’t. I still have no idea why the Lord of Warehaven gave his daughter to Glenforde, but he did.’

      ‘Then it’s a good thing you came to her rescue by kidnapping her.’

      ‘She would never agree.’

      ‘No. And from the looks of it, she’ll agree with this marriage even less.’

      Richard shrugged. ‘Does it matter?’

      ‘No. But over time she might be persuaded to change her mind.’

      ‘You, my friend, are a hopeless sot when it comes to women.’

      ‘Perhaps.’ Conal nodded towards Isabella riding ahead. ‘So, what if Glenforde doesn’t come for her?’

      That was the second time he’d heard that opinion voiced. ‘He stands to lose too much if he doesn’t.’

      Conal’s snort startled the horses. Once the beasts calmed down, he said, ‘You’d better hope so. Otherwise you’ll end up with a wife for no good reason.’

      ‘I’m sure I can find some use for her.’

      Conal laughed softly before commenting, ‘Careful, you might find yourself wanting this wife.’

      ‘Perish the thought.’ Quickly changing the subject, Richard asked, ‘How did you fare while I was away?’

      The humour left Conal’s face in a rush. He turned a hard glare on Richard. ‘Next time, leave someone else in charge.’

      ‘What happened?’

      ‘The master of the inn is keeping company with the baker’s wife. So the baker refuses to supply the inn with breads or cakes. The baker’s wife tired of the bickering and has taken up residence with Marguerite.’

      ‘That must make your visits...interesting.’

      ‘My visits?’

      ‘Do you think nobody has noticed?’

      ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

      ‘Please, don’t seek to fool me. Everyone on the island is well aware that you and Marguerite have been enjoying each other’s company for at least three years now. I keep waiting for her to one day make an honest man of you. Although, I must admit, I am starting to give up hope.’

      Conal ignored the jibe about his lady friend. As if Richard hadn’t said a word, he added, ‘Now the innkeeper is declaring his lover a whore and the baker is seeking restitution for his loss.’

      ‘Ah.’ Richard sighed. ‘Well, good. Nothing has changed.’

       Chapter Seven

      Isabella paused before the gated entrance into Dunstan Keep. The men in the twin towers stared down at her a moment before shouting to their approaching lord, ‘She yours?’

      His? No, she was not his. If she belonged to anyone it was her father—her breath caught as she remembered her father’s body falling to the beach. No. She would not slip into grief until she was safely back in her family’s embrace. If she now belonged to anyone it was to her brother, Jared—or with hope and a trunk full of luck, eventually a husband of her choosing.

      But most definitely not Dunstan.

      However, on rare occasions, she did know when and how to hold her tongue. This seemed to be one of those times, so she waited for Dunstan and his man to join her.

      Once they were alongside of her, she unclenched her jaw to say, ‘I am not yours.’

      He ignored her and waved up at the men as he passed beneath the arched gate. ‘Yes, she’s mine.’

      It was all she could do not to scream. But his grin told her that he knew exactly what she felt and had goaded her on purpose. Instead of screaming, she forced a smile to her lips and followed him into the keep.

      Once they were in the courtyard, Dunstan dismounted, then came to her side to assist her from the horse. She accepted his help, making certain to curl her fingers tightly into his shoulders—more to bring him pain than for support.

      He rewarded her petty action by pulling her hard against his chest. She struggled to free herself from his hold.

      ‘Keep fighting me, Isabella. I love nothing more than a good battle.’

      She fell lax against him. ‘Let me go.’

      ‘Not until you apologise.’

      Snow would douse the fires of hell before she did so. ‘I did nothing that requires an apology.’

      While keeping one arm securely around her, he grasped her wrist and placed her hand against the wound on his shoulder. The thickness of the padding beneath her palm made her stomach tumble with guilt.

      She turned her face away and softly said, ‘I am sorry. I didn’t mean to irritate your wound.’

      ‘I beg your pardon? I didn’t hear you. What did you say?’

      Isabella