Underneath The Mistletoe Collection. Marguerite Kaye
‘Perhaps.’ He released her wrist and then grazed her chin with his thumb. ‘But it would be wise for you to remember that I am your only protector here.’
He had a valid point. Had she done any serious harm, she would be at the mercy of his men. She had no way of knowing what manner of men inhabited this godforsaken isle.
She turned away from him and looked up at the keep atop the hill. Made of stone, with round towers at each corner, it was every bit as big as Warehaven.
He pushed past her. ‘Come. Father Paul should be here soon.’
Good. At least then she would have someone on her side. The priest couldn’t very well marry them once she voiced her objections to this union.
Following him up the steps cut into the earthen mound, she was more than a little surprised to find an entrance at the top of the hill. Confused, she asked, ‘Isn’t this dangerous?’
‘Dangerous? How so?’
‘A ground-level entrance?’ Had this man spent so little time on land that he didn’t know the first thing about defending his keep?
‘Until the enemy can learn to fly, we are secure.’
If someone wanted possession of Dunstan badly enough, they would find a way. But she wasn’t about to argue warfare with him.
He held the metal-studded door open and followed her inside. She’d expected to walk into a storage chamber at the ground level of the keep. Instead, she paused to discover they’d come through what she would consider a postern gate leading through a thick fortified wall that opened to a courtyard running the length of the keep and not directly into the building.
When she turned to ask why the gate was at the front of the keep, Dunstan hitched an eyebrow. ‘Rather deceiving at first isn’t it?’ He glanced up at the wall to order, ‘Drop it down.’
The men, who she hadn’t seen at first, lowered a portcullis into place behind the studded door, effectively cutting off the entrance from the bailey.
Dunstan stared down at her. ‘No one gets in.’ Before guiding her to the steps angling up against the wall, he added, ‘And no one gets out.’
Isabella took his comment as a veiled threat—a warning that she’d be unable to escape. What would he do, or say, when she proved him wrong?
Although, as she trailed behind him along narrow courtyards, and up even narrower stairs, only to cross over walkways that had surely seen better days, Isabella wondered if his warning had been necessary. Escaping was one thing—simply remembering the way to get back to the outer yard would prove a challenge.
Finally, they entered the keep through a larger, heavily studded door. Her thoughts and concerns of escape vanished as the stale, rancid air of the Great Hall slammed against her face.
Isabella quickly covered her nose and mouth with the sleeve of her gown, but it did little to veil the stench of the ill-kept hall. She blinked as tears welled from her stinging eyes and prayed there wasn’t some damp, musty tower cell awaiting her.
Dunstan shot her a dark frown that she couldn’t decipher, but she wasn’t going to uncover her face to question him.
It was all she could do not to gag when he led her across the filthy hall to a smaller chamber on the far side. While this room was in even worse condition than the Great Hall, at least it had two narrow window openings. Thankfully, he saw fit to open both shutters letting in fresh, albeit cold air.
‘Your servants are lax in their duties.’ She stated what she thought was obvious while gasping for breath.
‘Lax?’
Isabella ran a fingertip across the thick layer of dust on the top of a chest. ‘This didn’t accumulate overnight.’
He turned his head to glance in her direction, his dark expression even more stormy. ‘I’ve yet to see anyone perish of dust.’
She kicked at an obnoxious clump of mouldy strewing herbs, sending it rolling across the floor. ‘It takes more than a few days for this to grow.’
‘And is easily removed with a broom.’
‘The lady of this keep should be ashamed.’
‘Presently, there is no lady.’
‘Then the housekeeper should be severely reprimanded.’
‘There is no housekeeper. And before you ask, there are no chambermaids, scullery maids nor a cook.’
She’d assumed he had no wife, since he was so determined to give her that unwanted title. And he’d told her aboard the ship that his mother was deceased. But to do without any women in the keep was something she could barely imagine.
‘It is just you and your men?’
He nodded in reply.
‘What do you do for food?’
‘The same thing men have always done.’
She knew that meant one of the lower-ranked men did the cooking or some of the village women acted as camp followers did during a march to battle and performed the duty.
Isabella looked slowly around the chamber. Besides the dust and mould, there were cobwebs thick enough to suffocate someone should they have the misfortune to walk into them. Sheaths of papers that had tumbled from the small table in the corner on to the floor were half-covered in rotting rushes. She didn’t want to think about the vermin living undisturbed in the bedding.
This is what her father’s and brother’s chambers would have looked like without her mother’s oversight. Well, at the very least her father’s chambers would have looked the same, if not worse. Her brother Jared was a little more organised.
She doubted that Dunstan Keep had always been in this condition, not when the wharf and village appeared in order and inviting. So, how had this happened?
‘And none of you see anything wrong with...’ she waved an arm to encompass the chamber ‘...this?’
‘We have managed quite well.’
‘Yes, I can see that.’
‘Enough!’ He spun away from the window. ‘I have no desire to listen to your complaints.’
His sudden movement, deep threatening tone and fierce scowl forced her back a step. ‘Complaints?’ The shrillness in her voice made her take a breath. Regardless of how threatened she felt, showing any sign of fear would be a mistake. To regain a semblance of self-control, she glanced pointedly around the chamber, asking in what she hoped was a milder tone, ‘The sorry condition of your keep does not bother you?’
Dunstan stormed towards her, his hands clenched at his sides. ‘The condition of my keep is none of your concern.’
She fought the urge to bolt from the chamber—where would she go? But it was impossible to stand firm in the face of his anger and it would be foolish to remain within arm’s length of danger. Moving away quickly, she put the small table between them.
‘Where I lay my head at night is my concern.’
‘If this chamber isn’t good enough for you, there is an empty cell available.’
If he was intentionally seeking to frighten her more, he would have to do better than that. Besides, the cell might prove cleaner. Isabella squared her shoulders and stared at him. ‘That would suit me fine, my lord.’
‘I wonder.’ His eyebrows arched. ‘How would your bravado fare amongst the rats?’
Actually, if the closeness of the walls didn’t take her bravado away and leave her near senseless, she’d be frantic at the first scurry of tiny feet, but he didn’t need to know that. So, in an effort to retain her show of bravery, she shrugged in answer to his question.
‘Do