My Enemy, My Love by Julia Byrne

Author:Julia Byrne
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2013-02-15T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Seven

Isabel awoke slowly, reluctant to abandon the warmth and safety of her snug nest of blankets. She had felt like this once before, and recently, she thought with sleepy vagueness. Secure and warm. Protected. Safe—with fitzAlan.

FitzAlan!

Full awareness and memory returned in a blinding flash. She remembered everything. Everything! Oh, not the details of the dream, but that didn’t matter. The nightmare had once been real and the spectres visiting her in sleep were always the same. No, the picture tormenting her mind was of herself waking in fitzAlan’s arms and staying there. Worse, she had fallen asleep again, cradled to the warmth of his body, after asking him why he hadn’t rescued her!

Isabel almost groaned aloud. How was she ever going to face him again? He knew of her weakness. What was he going to do? What questions would he have this time?

She lay very still for a moment, trying to think. It was very quiet in the solar. Dared she hope that fitzAlan had already risen, giving her time to resume her protective mask? Holding her breath, Isabel slitted one eye open to encounter the crude, bare wall of the inn solar only inches away. She glanced down, to discover she was hugging the very edge of the mattress. Which meant that there was a lot of bed left to investigate before she knew if it was safe even to turn around. Listening carefully for any sound that might indicate fitzAlan’s presence, she stretched out a cautious foot, ready to withdraw it immediately if she encountered so much as a hint of him.

Nothing. Exploring further, Isabel decided she was alone. Both eyes opened and her breath rushed out in a small burst of relief as she rolled over on to her back—and her heart slammed to a stop.

FitzAlan was sitting on the stool by the bed, back propped against the wall, arms folded across his chest, long legs stretched out in front of him, his brilliant light eyes fixed on her from under half-lowered lashes. Isabel wondered how long he’d been sitting there—intent, watchful, waiting. For a fleeting instant she felt as though she had woken to find herself in the lair of a dangerous wild animal. The wolf’s lair, she thought. And he had her trapped.

Seeing that she was awake, fitzAlan sat forward, resting his forearms on his thighs, his eyes never leaving her face. “Did you sleep well?” Somehow he made the softly growled question sound incredibly intimate.

Isabel swallowed nervously, pondering her answer as if the fate of the kingdom rested on it. Could she pretend not to remember last night? Would he believe her? People did forget dreams. FitzAlan had done so himself, except that his had been caused by fever and…Oh, blessed Saint Elizabeth, help me.

Not trusting herself to speak, she nodded.

“Good. How do you feel today?”

“Why?” The suspicious query slipped out before she could stop it. Isabel could have bitten her tongue when she saw one corner of fitzAlan’s mouth kick up.

“You’ve endured a great deal, especially yesterday.

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