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Authors: Sue-Ellen Welfonder
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of Dunmuir?" he demanded, his words ringing hard in her ears. "To what purpose am I chained to your bed?"
Isolde expelled a deep sigh and met his furious gaze. "You are chained so you cannot escape."
For a very brief moment, something surprisingly akin to admiration flashed in his eyes, but a tiny muscle jerking in his neck betold the true depth of his anger. "Answer my question: why am I bound to your bed?" He leaned toward her. "Perchance to sleep there?"
Heat surged up Isolde's neck.
" With you ?" His two words screamed outraged incredulity.
Isolde squirmed, embarrassment swelling her tongue to ten times its normal size. Not that he needed verbal confirmation of his suspicions. The hot flush stinging her cheeks surely told him what he wanted to know.
As if to prove her logic, he laughed.
Gritting her teeth, she struggled not to display any further reaction to his rudeness. But then he let his gaze roam boldly over her breasts.
Her breasts, and any other part of her not hidden from view by the table.
Her cheeks fired anew.
"Gracious lady," he said, blessedly ending his brazen appraisal, "had you presented me with such an honor at any other time, rest assured a chain would not have been needed to keep me at your side."
With all the dignity she could gather, Isolde lifted her chin and hoped he could not hear the wild thundering of her heart. Nor would she humiliate herself further by admitting he'd indeed guessed her intentions.
The seduction was supposed to follow a natural course.
Instead, she found herself held hostage by his drawled comments and probing stares, ill prepared to counter the verbal barbs he kept shooting at her. With amazing ease, he'd rendered her unable to do aught but sit calmly by and wait for the next brilliantly scathing observation to leap from his tongue.
A wicked gleam lighting his eyes, he ran his fingers along the edge of the table. "Much as I regret disappointing you, I must decline your tempting offer. Matters of greater import demand my immediate attention."
His arrogance chased the fetters from her tongue. "My offer to you, sirrah, is one of peace. 'Tis well I know you may not have personally stranded my sister on the Lady Rock, but by association, you are guilty of condoning the deed. You bear the stain of an innocent's blood on your hands."
His face darkened, the roguish glimmer in his eyes extinguished. She'd expected a sharp retort, his denial. But rather than proclaim himself blameless, he clamped his lips into a tight line and leveled a cold, silent stare at her.
"No protestations?" Isolde bristled. "You do not deny it?"
"Deny blood on my hands? What warrior could make such a claim?" He paused, obviously striving to contain his fury. "I am a belted knight, lady. Much blood has sullied my hands, but ne'er without a fair fight and nary a drop of a woman's. "
“I said by association."
His eyes narrowed to slits. "May God the Father strike me dead if I lied to you."
"You are a master of words, e'er sidestepping the truth -" Isolde faltered, the accusations she meant to hurl at him sticking in her throat, trapped there by the utter futility of arguing with him. Each harsh word spat in anger lessened her chances of inducing him to crave her favor.
Not that she cared to begin testing her wiles this night.
The morrow would serve as well.
No doubt sensing her capitulation, the insufferable wretch arched a patronizing brow. "At the moment I am master of naught but my word," he said, his gaze lighting briefly on the heavy-linked chain binding him to her bed.
Isolde drew a deep breath. With but a few tersely spoken words and a single glance, he'd wrested control from her, imperiled her seduction plan by goading her into shrewish behavior, and unwittingly drawing her attention to the invisible chain binding her to the bed.
Her chain, one woven of all her sore troubles, condemned and confined her as soundly as his bound him.
Not that he'd spend her a smidgen of sympathy if
Isolde expelled a deep sigh and met his furious gaze. "You are chained so you cannot escape."
For a very brief moment, something surprisingly akin to admiration flashed in his eyes, but a tiny muscle jerking in his neck betold the true depth of his anger. "Answer my question: why am I bound to your bed?" He leaned toward her. "Perchance to sleep there?"
Heat surged up Isolde's neck.
" With you ?" His two words screamed outraged incredulity.
Isolde squirmed, embarrassment swelling her tongue to ten times its normal size. Not that he needed verbal confirmation of his suspicions. The hot flush stinging her cheeks surely told him what he wanted to know.
As if to prove her logic, he laughed.
Gritting her teeth, she struggled not to display any further reaction to his rudeness. But then he let his gaze roam boldly over her breasts.
Her breasts, and any other part of her not hidden from view by the table.
Her cheeks fired anew.
"Gracious lady," he said, blessedly ending his brazen appraisal, "had you presented me with such an honor at any other time, rest assured a chain would not have been needed to keep me at your side."
With all the dignity she could gather, Isolde lifted her chin and hoped he could not hear the wild thundering of her heart. Nor would she humiliate herself further by admitting he'd indeed guessed her intentions.
The seduction was supposed to follow a natural course.
Instead, she found herself held hostage by his drawled comments and probing stares, ill prepared to counter the verbal barbs he kept shooting at her. With amazing ease, he'd rendered her unable to do aught but sit calmly by and wait for the next brilliantly scathing observation to leap from his tongue.
A wicked gleam lighting his eyes, he ran his fingers along the edge of the table. "Much as I regret disappointing you, I must decline your tempting offer. Matters of greater import demand my immediate attention."
His arrogance chased the fetters from her tongue. "My offer to you, sirrah, is one of peace. 'Tis well I know you may not have personally stranded my sister on the Lady Rock, but by association, you are guilty of condoning the deed. You bear the stain of an innocent's blood on your hands."
His face darkened, the roguish glimmer in his eyes extinguished. She'd expected a sharp retort, his denial. But rather than proclaim himself blameless, he clamped his lips into a tight line and leveled a cold, silent stare at her.
"No protestations?" Isolde bristled. "You do not deny it?"
"Deny blood on my hands? What warrior could make such a claim?" He paused, obviously striving to contain his fury. "I am a belted knight, lady. Much blood has sullied my hands, but ne'er without a fair fight and nary a drop of a woman's. "
“I said by association."
His eyes narrowed to slits. "May God the Father strike me dead if I lied to you."
"You are a master of words, e'er sidestepping the truth -" Isolde faltered, the accusations she meant to hurl at him sticking in her throat, trapped there by the utter futility of arguing with him. Each harsh word spat in anger lessened her chances of inducing him to crave her favor.
Not that she cared to begin testing her wiles this night.
The morrow would serve as well.
No doubt sensing her capitulation, the insufferable wretch arched a patronizing brow. "At the moment I am master of naught but my word," he said, his gaze lighting briefly on the heavy-linked chain binding him to her bed.
Isolde drew a deep breath. With but a few tersely spoken words and a single glance, he'd wrested control from her, imperiled her seduction plan by goading her into shrewish behavior, and unwittingly drawing her attention to the invisible chain binding her to the bed.
Her chain, one woven of all her sore troubles, condemned and confined her as soundly as his bound him.
Not that he'd spend her a smidgen of sympathy if
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