Underneath The Mistletoe Collection. Marguerite Kaye

already lost a cherished daughter because he’d been so certain of her safety. That mistake would never be repeated.

      Someone on this island was a traitor, they’d helped Glenforde and Richard had no way of knowing if that person was still on Dunstan or not. Until Glenforde was dispatched to his maker, along with his minion, Richard would not foolishly risk Isabella’s life.

      He was not completely lacking in wits—he knew that if anything happened to her, her father would see to not just his death, but to Dunstan’s complete destruction.

      Once the guard was gone from his sight, Richard cracked the door open slowly. Faint light from the glowing brazier lit the far corner of the room. The sound of gentle, even breathing coming from the bed assured him that his timing was near perfect—Isabella was sound asleep.

      If he was quiet, perhaps he could slip into bed without her becoming aware of his presence. He opened the door as slowly as possible to ensure it didn’t creak, then stepped into the room, slamming his kneecap directly into a solid object.

      A blistering curse escaped his lips. His knee throbbed in sharp pain. Without thinking, he kicked a bench out of the way. Obviously she had little faith in her guards.

      Even though she said nothing, Richard knew she had to have heard his not-so-graceful entrance into the chamber.

      He limped over to the bed, unbuckled his sword belt and propped the weapon alongside the bed before sitting down on the edge to remove his boots.

      ‘What are you doing?’

      ‘Going to bed.’ Even to his ears the words sounded curt.

      ‘You might try your own chamber.’

      He tossed one boot on to the floor. Suddenly too tired to argue, he said simply, ‘I am.’ His other boot thudded next to the first.

      She rolled on to her side, facing him. ‘Oh, no you aren’t.’

      Richard pulled his tunic and shirt over his head in one swipe and dropped the clothing atop his boots. ‘Go to sleep.’

      The bed shifted as she sat up. ‘Not here I won’t.’

      ‘I am in no mood to argue with you tonight. Just go to sleep.’ He rose to finish undressing.

      She said nothing, but, grabbing a cover from the bed, Isabella carried it to a chair near the brazier.

      He stared at her. Unless he took charge of this situation he knew he’d get no sleep. Without giving warning, he crossed the room and pulled her up from the chair. ‘You aren’t sleeping here.’

      ‘I am certainly not sleeping with you.’ Her eyes widened as if she’d just realised his state of undress. ‘You’re...naked.’

      Richard grasped the skirt of her chemise and jerked the undergown over her head. ‘And now so are you.’ Before she could pull away, he picked her up and carried her over to the bed.

      ‘Put me down.’

      ‘Gladly.’ He dropped her on to the mattress and quickly climbed in behind her. Not giving her time to escape, he pulled her tight against his chest while drawing the covers over them.

      He wasn’t certain what he noticed first—the warmth of her body against his, or the softness of her skin. Either way the combination was as intoxicating as any fine wine.

      ‘Let me go, Dunstan.’

      Her voice was low, the tone laced with warning. A warning he chose to ignore. With his lips against her ear, he whispered, ‘Richard.’

      ‘Let me go, Richard.’

      Sadly for her, using his name didn’t make any difference, he still wasn’t going to release her. Instead, while keeping one arm slung around her, he propped up his head with the other and, to irritate her further, rested his chin on her shoulder.

      She tried pulling his arm away from her body. ‘Have you been drinking?’

      ‘No, why do you ask?’

      ‘You seem to have confused me with one of your whores.’

      Whores? Her statement drew a laugh from him. ‘I fear you are mistaken, wife. I don’t have any whores, so I suppose...’ He paused to trail his mouth along her shoulder before saying, ‘You’ll have to serve that purpose.’

      His attention to the side of her neck made Isabella shiver. She wished she could find the will to be revolted by his actions as much as she was by his words. ‘I am not serving as your whore.’

      He paused, his chin once again resting on her shoulder. ‘Nor would I want you to.’

      ‘So, you don’t desire me?’ Isabella clamped her mouth shut. What had she been thinking to ask such a question? The whole idea was to somehow get through this entire winter without him turning into a rutting stallion. Otherwise, she’d never be granted an annulment.

      ‘Desire you?’ His voice was so deep, so near, that it threatened to take her breath away. ‘Any man with half a brain would desire you.’

      She rolled her eyes at that statement. Glenforde obviously hadn’t.

      ‘I desire you more than you could possibly imagine.’

      Isabella tensed. Did that mean she was in imminent danger of losing her virtue?

      A soft laugh brushed against her shoulder, a warm rush of air that he chased with his lips. ‘Fear not, my dear, you are quite safe this night.’

      She relaxed slightly, but remained alert. Even when her eyes were impossibly heavy to hold open, she fought closing them, fearful he would change his mind. What would she do in that case? While she would fight him as hard as she could, she was no match against his strength, so in the end it wasn’t as if she could physically stop him. Besides, from the odd warmth building low in her belly, she wasn’t all that certain she possessed enough will to fight him for long.

      Why did his arm slung across her, resting against her chest, feel so...right? Why did his steady breaths, brushing against the nape of her neck, beckon her to relax and fall asleep? The last two nights in this bed had started out so cold, she’d shivered herself to sleep each night. But now, the warmth along her back and all the way to her toes was welcome.

      He shifted slightly in the bed and she was once again awake, tense and on guard. When he moved his arm to reach up and cup her chin, she held her breath.

      ‘Just a kiss goodnight, Isabella. That is all.’ His lips briefly met hers before he settled on his side in the bed. ‘Go to sleep.’

      Before she could determine why she found that kiss so lacking, the sound of gentle snoring drew her out of her bewilderment. Perhaps he had spoken the truth—she was in no danger this night of attention she did not want.

      However, as much as she longed to find sleep herself, she realised that she now shivered from the cold.

      The gown she’d been wearing to bed was on the floor on the other side of the chamber. He would most certainly wake up if she rose from the bed. And the blankets, which had been plentiful the last two nights, were now mostly wrapped around him, leaving her with barely enough to cover her body.

      A quick tug on the covers gained her nothing. They were tucked so tightly under his body that she wasn’t going to get them free without rolling him off the bed. And as much as she’d like to do just that, he’d looked and sounded tired.

      He probably was good and tired. Not because he’d spent the nights with some whore. She didn’t truly think that was the case. She’d only accused him of doing so to see if it would anger him enough to leave the chamber. Unfortunately for her, it seemed that he found ignoring her barbs far too easy.

      If he was anything like her father and brother, he’d likely spent so many long hours going over inventory and inspecting his ships that he hadn’t had any ambition left to come back to the keep. She couldn’t be certain, but