Chapter 11
Three days.
It had been three days since Boyd had banished Bella to the east wing, and he should have been pleased. She'd done exactly as he'd demanded. She’d stayed out of his way, kept to herself, caused no trouble.
So why did it feel like someone had carved out a piece of his chest?
Boyd stood in his chamber, staring out the window at the grey morning, and tried to understand the restlessness that had plagued him since he last saw Bella.
Worse still, he missed sleeping beside her at nights. He had become so used to waking up with her in his arms he was tempted to do something stupid like sneak into her bed at night in the east wing.
To prevent him from doing that, he'd thrown himself into his duties with singular focus. Met with his steward about the harvest. Reviewed the guard rotations. Inspected the armory. Trained with his men until his muscles screamed and sweat poured down his back.
Anything to keep his mind occupied.
Anything to stop thinking about how good Bella had felt in his arms that night at the inn and the nights on the road.
My Bella.
He'd said that in his sleep. Called her his. And when he'd woken with her draped across him, warm and soft and perfectly fitted to his body, it had felt so achingly right.
No.
Boyd shook his head viciously, trying to banish the memory. She wasn't his. Not really. This marriage was about justice. About making her understand what she'd done to him.
But clearly that hadn't gone so well in their last meeting.
He then thought about how aroused he became when she talked back and challenged him in return.
Perhaps he was a boorish creature who needed to be boiled in a tub of hot oil and then stabbed in his bawsack.
He couldn't help but chuckle at the memory of her insults.
Then he sobered once more, realizing he had no idea how to proceed with his wife. He thought he wanted her out of his sight. Then why did he feel so lonely without her?
The restlessness wouldn't leave him. It gnawed at him like a physical ache.
Finally, Boyd could stand it no longer.
He needed to see Bella. Just to make sure she hadn't decided to run off and escape.
It was practical. Reasonable. The kind of thing any laird would do with a new wife.
Boyd strode from his chamber with grim determination, ignoring the way his heart had begun to race at the thought of seeing her again.
***
THE EAST WING WAS FARTHER than Boyd remembered.
He walked through familiar corridors of the main Keep, then through the covered passageway that connected to the older section of the castle. The farther he went, the colder the air became. The damper.
Boyd frowned, his steps slowing.
When was the last time anyone had occupied these chambers? Years, certainly. Possibly decades. The east wing had been largely abandoned in favor of the more comfortable quarters in the main Keep.
The corridor he entered was dark despite the morning hour. The few windows were narrow arrow slits that let in precious little light. The stone walls seemed to radiate cold, and Boyd could see his breath misting in the frigid air.
This couldn't be right.
Surely Mrs. Anders hadn't put Bella here.
But no. As Boyd continued down the corridor, he saw signs of recent occupation. Fresh rushes on the floor. A few candles in the wall sconces, though they were unlit now. The faint scent of lavender—Bella's scent—hanging in the cold air.
Boyd's frown deepened into a scowl.
He'd told Mrs. Anders to put Bella in the east wing. He'd wanted her far away from him, isolated, separated by as much distance as the Keep could provide.
But he hadn't meant this.
He hadn't realized how abandoned this section truly was. How cold. How unwelcoming.
Mrs. Anders had tried to tell him. He remembered now, the way her face had fallen when he'd given the order. The hesitation in her voice when she'd started to protest.
He'd cut her off. Insisted. Because he'd been so focused on keeping Bella away that he hadn't stopped to consider what he was condemning her to.
Boyd moved deeper into the wing, his unease growing with each step.
The walls here were damp. He could see dark patches of moisture in the corners where the ancient stone cracked. The floor was uneven, and despite the fresh rushes, he could feel the cold seeping up through his boots.
How much worse would it be for Bella, with only threadbare gowns?
He passed what must be a solar. The door was ajar, and Boyd glimpsed furniture covered in cloth, a cold fireplace, walls bare of any warmth or decoration.
Then there was a smaller chamber. Equally cold. Also abandoned.
At the end of the corridor, a single door. Closed.
Bella's bedchamber.
Boyd approached slowly, that gnawing unease in his chest growing into something sharper.
He raised his hand to knock, then paused.
There were no guards.
He'd put Bella in the most isolated, abandoned section of the castle, and he hadn't even thought to post guards. If something happened to her—if an intruder breached the east wing, if she fell ill, if she needed help—no one would know. No one would hear her.
She could scream herself hoarse and he'd never know.
The realization sent ice through Boyd's veins.
What kind of monster have I become? He wondered.
He knocked sharply on the door. "Bella?"
No answer.
Boyd knocked again, louder. "Bella, open the door."
Silence.
His heart began to race. Had something happened?
Boyd shoved the door open without waiting for permission.
The room was empty. It was freezing.
Boyd stood in the doorway, staring at the chamber he'd condemned his wife to, and felt something twist sickeningly in his gut.
The room was clean; he'd give Mrs. Anders credit for that.
But that was where any semblance of comfort ended.
The massive stone fireplace was dark and cold, filled with old ashes that looked like they hadn't been disturbed in years.
No wonder. Boyd could see chunks of fallen masonry and debris visible even from where he stood.
The chimney was clearly blocked, unusable.
The bed was large but barely dressed. It was just a thin mattress and three furs that looked older than Boyd himself. Nothing like the thick, warm bedding in his own chamber.
The windows—narrow slits designed more for defense than light—let in a grey, cheerless illumination that did nothing to warm the space. Boyd could see his breath misting in the frigid air.
There was no carpet on the stone floor. No tapestries on the walls to hold in warmth. No brazier for additional heat. And with the fireplace blocked, there was no way to warm the chamber at all.
The only furniture besides the bed was a rickety table, a single wooden chair, and a battered trunk that looked like it might collapse if you looked at it wrong.
On that chair sat Bella's two traveling bags.
Everything Bella owned in the world fit into two small bags.
Seeing how little she had, how neatly packed it remained. If she decided to leave him it would take her no time at all. That thought disturbed him.
His wife. The mistress of his Keep had less than most of his servants.
Boyd sank onto the edge of the bed, his eyes still on her belongings, and felt the weight of what he'd done settle over him like a shroud.
She'd been here three days.
Three days in this ice-cold chamber with barely enough blankets to keep warm and no fire at all. Three nights sleeping in a drafty room alone with her nightmares.
And she hadn't complained.
Not once.
Bella had simply... endured. Just as she'd endured the journey without complaint. Just as she'd endured his coldness and his explicit rejection.
Boyd stood abruptly, unable to bear the sight of that cheerless room any longer.
He realised then he was treating her worse than he'd treat a prisoner. Worse than he'd treat an enemy.
Why? Because she'd supposedly betrayed him with Philip Gregory ten years ago.
But Philip Gregory had married someone else. Had clearly moved on with little regard yet Bella had spent years in an abbey, living in poverty.
None of this made sense.
"I never played ye false," she'd told him. "I loved ye, Boyd. I waited for ye and ye did not come."
What if she was telling the truth? The thought was terrifying. Because if Bella was telling the truth, that meant he was solely responsible for destroying what they had.
Boyd strode from the chamber, his jaw set with grim determination. He couldn't think about that now. Couldn't face the possibility that he'd been wrong. Not yet.
But he could fix this. This, at least, he could fix.
***
BOYD STORMED THROUGH the Keep like an avenging angel, his face set in lines of barely controlled fury, most of it directed at himself.
Servants scattered at his approach. Guards straightened to attention.
"MRS. ANDERS!" His voice boomed through the corridors.
The housekeeper appeared within moments; her face creased with concern. "Laird? What's wrong?"
"Why is my wife sleeping in a frozen tomb?"
Mrs. Anders's face crumpled. "I tried to tell ye—"
"I dinnae want excuses!" Boyd roared. Then he stopped, forced himself to take a breath, and lowered his voice. This wasn't her fault. "No. No, forgive me, Mrs. Anders. Ye did try to tell me. I was too stubborn to listen."
Mrs. Anders nodded, her expression sympathetic. "No one has lived in the east wing for fifteen years, laird. The chimneys are blocked and the chambers are far too cold for anyone to live comfortably, let alone the mistress."
"So she's had no fire at all? For three days?"
"I'm afraid not." Mrs. Anders wrung her hands. "I tried to bring her extra blankets and furs, offered to move a brazier in, but Lady Bella insisted she did not need them. Said what she had was sufficient."
Of course she did. Because Bella's pride wouldn't let her admit to discomfort. Wouldn't let her complain or demand better treatment.
"Why haven't I dealt with this before?"
"Ye've been away fighting for the king, laird. Then when ye're home, ye dinnae go to that section of the Keep."
Boyd ran a hand through his hair, frustration and guilt warring in his chest. "How has my wife managed? Has she said anything?"
"Not a word of complaint." Mrs. Anders's voice was gentle.
"To be honest, laird, yer wife is too busy to complain.
She's not one to be idle or speak out of turn.
She simply asks what needs to be done and gets on with it.
Although now that ye mention it, she does seem to shiver at times with the cold, but she will not accept any warm garments.
She says 'tis best to keep the body moving to heat the blood. "
The image of Bella shivering alone in that frozen chamber while he slept in his comfortable bed with a roaring fire made Boyd feel physically ill.
"That ends now," he said firmly. "I want my wife moved to the chamber beside mine. Immediately."
Mrs. Anders's eyes widened then she smiled. "Aye, it shall be done!"
"Good. Have fires lit in both the bedchamber and the adjoining solar. I want thick carpets laid, warm tapestries hung, and enough furs and blankets on that bed to outfit an army. Understood?"
"Aye. What of her belongings?"
"Move everything." Boyd paused, his throat tight.
"And Mrs. Anders? I want ye to send for the cloth merchant and the tanner.
Buy warm fabrics in colors that will suit my wife.
Whatever ladies need for proper gowns. I also want the tanner to make her some sturdy shoes.
Then I want ye to find a seamstress. Several.
I want Bella properly clothed as soon as possible. "
"How much can I spend on materials?" Mrs. Anders asked.
"As much as ye need. I dinnae care if it costs me every coin in my coffers, my wife will not freeze. She will not go without. She will be dressed as befits her status. Is that clear?"
Mrs. Anders's grinned. "Very clear, laird. I'll see to it personally."
"Good." Boyd turned, then paused. "Where is Lady Bella now?"
"In the kitchens. She's helping Cook prepare the evening meal."
"Of course she is," Boyd muttered. Because Bella did not sit idle even when she was cold and miserable and alone. She found ways to be useful. To contribute.
The guilt twisted deeper.
"Thank ye, Mrs. Anders. Begin preparations for the move immediately."
Boyd strode toward the barracks, his mind already turning to the next problem. Bella needed protection. Proper protection. Not just during the day, but always.
He found his head guardsman, Donahue, in the practice yard overseeing the morning drills.
"Donahue, a word."
The man immediately broke away from the training, wiping sweat from his brow. "Aye, laird?"
"I need a guard rotation for my wife."
Donahue's eyebrows rose. "A guard rotation? Is there a specific threat—"
"The threat is that my wife has been unprotected for three days," Boyd replied bluntly. "She's being moved to the chamber beside mine, but I want at least two guards with her at all times."
Donahue nodded slowly, understanding dawning in his eyes. "I shall see to it straight away."
"I trust your judgment, Donahue. I want yer best men and instruct them to be discreet but vigilant. Lady Bella is not a prisoner, but neither is she to be left vulnerable."
"Understood." Donahue hesitated, then added carefully, "If I may say, laird, 'tis good to see ye taking such care with the mistress. The men have been... concerned."
Boyd's jaw tightened. "Concerned?"
"The east wing. 'Tis no secret it's unsuitable. Some of the men were worried about her being so far away..." Donahue trailed off.
Boyd felt ashamed. "That's being rectified. Today. Is there anything else I should ken?"
"Just that the mistress is very kind. Patient with the wee-ones, helpful around the Keep. I believe she's good for the clan and for ye."
"Thank ye, Donahue. See that the rotation begins as soon as possible."
"Aye, I’ll see to it now."
Boyd left the practice yard, his emotions in turmoil. Everyone could see what he'd been too blind—or too stubborn—to acknowledge. He'd been treating Bella abominably, and she'd responded with grace and dignity that shamed him.
***