Underneath The Mistletoe Collection. Marguerite Kaye

sat up on the bed and squinted at the older woman now bustling about the room while shaking her head and muttering in disapproval.

      ‘What was his lordship thinking?’ The woman tossed the linens from the makeshift pallet into a pile. ‘Bringing a lady here with the keep in this condition is unforgivable.’ She tossed some clothing atop the pile. ‘And to keep you in this tiny room—he needs his ears boxed.’

      Swooping up the pile, she stood alongside the bed. ‘Never you fear, I’ll see this set right. If you’re hungry, I’m sure the cook has put something together by now.’

      Isabella’s stomach growled, supplying the answer before her lips could form the words.

      ‘How thoughtless of me, of course you are hungry.’ The woman headed towards the door, promising, ‘I will return soon with some food.’

      Her senses still muddled, Isabella called out, ‘Wait. Who are you?’

      ‘Hattie, my lady.’ Still at the door, she added, ‘His lordship came to the village at sunrise, on his way to the docks. After seeing to some matter at the bakery, he ordered his servants back to the keep and asked if I would see to your needs for a time. Now, with your permission I’ll get you something to eat and then we can plan this day’s activities.’

      ‘Yes, thank you.’ Rising from the bed, Isabella wiped her sleep-tousled hair from her face, wondering just what activities would be in store for her. Obviously a cook had been found—or retrieved—and perhaps a few servants would be on hand to help clean.

      Actually, she hoped there were more than a few, because cleaning this keep would require an army just to make it presentable. She shook one of the bed curtains and coughed at the dust flying up into the air. Her mother would be horrified.

      To her relief, the items needed for her morning ablution were stacked on top of the chest at the end of the bed. Noticing the ribbons to braid through her hair, she knew these necessities hadn’t been provided by Dunstan.

      * * *

      Hattie returned with the promised food just as she finished adjusting her ornate girdle low around her waist.

      Two men carrying a small table and benches followed the woman into the chamber. The younger man—little more than a boy—dipped his head, put the benches beside the table and left.

      However, the older and much larger man wasn’t as quick to take his leave. She’d seen this man before on the ship. He sauntered towards the door, then turned to face her. His bulk dwarfed the small chamber and he raked Isabella with a look that reminded her of a hungry wolf and made her feel somehow dirty. ‘It’s a shame Dunstan saw fit to leave you...unattended.’

      Isabella guessed from his pointed hesitation that he meant defenceless, not unattended. She took a step away from him, noting the width of his shoulders, the size of his meaty arms and his two missing fingers with trepidation.

      ‘I would never leave my special woman wanting for my attention.’

      Special woman? What had Dunstan told his men? She moved towards the table, intent on arming herself with the knife sticking out of the round loaf of bread. The small weapon wouldn’t do much damage against this oversized oaf, but it was all she saw readily available.

      He came closer to tower over her. ‘Come now, sweeting,’ he drawled low and throaty as if that would tempt her to ignore his ale-laden breath and threatening manner. ‘Wouldn’t you rather have a real man keeping you safe and warm instead of a lad who uses you, then leaves you to fend for yourself?’

      She swallowed the sour taste in her mouth as she reached for the knife. Hattie caught her attention and shook her head. For half a heartbeat Isabella feared the woman was working with the man and was silently warning her not to fight what would be a lost cause.

      But a heavy thud and the man’s gasp right before he dropped to the floor like a boulder at her feet dissolved that fear.

      She drew her confused attention from the floor up to Dunstan’s angry frown. ‘Are you uninjured?’

      After she nodded her reply, he shouted for Conal. When his man rushed into the chamber, he pointed at the moaning heap on the floor, ordering, ‘Get him out of here. Confine him so I can deal with him later.’

      Once Conal and his staggering charge left the chamber, Hattie turned on Dunstan. ‘Now will you listen to me instead of being so pig-headed?’

      Taken aback by the way the older woman spoke to the lord of this keep, Isabella remained silent.

      Dunstan sat down at the table, motioning for Isabella to join him before he answered Hattie, by asking, ‘Which chamber would you prefer?’

      ‘She is a lady.’

      Isabella sat across from him and watched the byplay between this master and servant with interest.

      ‘I am not opening either of those rooms.’

      ‘Then she will take yours.’

      ‘So be it.’ He turned his attention to the food and Isabella. Without preamble, he explained, ‘Hattie was my nursemaid and since then has become the island’s chief busybody.’

      The woman snatched the loaf of bread from his hands and tore it into two chunks—one for each of them. ‘It’s truly a sad thing that you still need a busybody to keep you from doing yourself harm.’

      Isabella swallowed some water in an effort not to choke.

      ‘It’s more of a sad thing that you seem to constantly forget your place.’

      Hattie’s short bark of laughter was punctuated by a deeper frown from Dunstan. To break the tension she feared would escalate, Isabella asked the woman, ‘Have you been on Dunstan Island long?’

      ‘From before this one here was born, yes.’

      Dunstan briefly pointed his eating knife towards Hattie. ‘She came here with my mother and stayed on after I was born.’

      ‘Someone needed to keep an eye on you.’

      ‘I am no longer in need of a wet nurse.’

      ‘And I am still waiting for you to prove that.’

      ‘Enough!’

      Isabella leaned back as Dunstan’s face reddened. His eyes blazed. She wished she could somehow slide beneath the table before he completely lost his temper.

      However, Hattie showed no signs of fear—or of relenting. Instead of making a quick escape, the woman patted Dunstan’s shoulder. ‘I tease you overmuch at times and for that I do apologise. It is hard to remember you no longer need or want a mother figure.’

      ‘Remember what you will, it makes no difference to me.’

      Isabella cringed. His surly tone made it quite clear that he truly didn’t care. However, Hattie’s pursed lips and frown made Isabella wonder if Dunstan’s current behaviour was out of the ordinary for him.

      The older woman shook her head. ‘Ack, I wonder how you’ve managed not to choke on your sour mood these last months.’

      Dunstan shrugged in response, but from the smoothing of his brow, it appeared that his ire was fading as quickly as it had first appeared.

      Dismayed by this odd exchange, and Dunstan’s easy manner with this woman, Isabella tried to focus on her food. Obviously Hattie’s relationship with his mother gave her added worth in Dunstan’s eyes. While she wasn’t quite family, neither did she appear to be a servant.

      The older woman made the bed, asking, ‘You will not be overwrought if I move Lady Isabella into your old chamber?’

      ‘Aye, it will wound me deeply to have her housed elsewhere. Especially since I so enjoy sleeping with one eye open all night.’

      ‘Warehaven would be a better place to house me,’ Isabella interrupted his obvious sarcasm.