Crimson (Medieval Guardians #1)

A Steamy, Medieval Novella

Guardian Sir Julien de Beauchamp is charged with the care of Isabelle LeBlanc. When she puts herself directly in the path of danger, he is forced to reveal himself as her Guardian. Isabelle quickly discovers she likes neither him nor his methods of guardianship. But Sir Julien knows only one way, his way, and soon he demonstrates exactly how far he will go to be her champion.

From Chapter 6

His footsteps echoed through the hallway as he strode past servants and swept up the grand staircase. He approached her door and found it closed and a wave of anger washed over him. If she’d bolted it again he would tear the door from its hinges and the girl could sleep in a room without a door to close.

But the door opened freely and Julien found his bride sitting in front of an open window. She wore a pale green frock, a rustic, threadbare disaster. The cooks in his kitchen wore better.

He set the plate down on a table.

“Thank you.” Isabelle spoke without taking her gaze from the window.

Her voice sounded sad. Forlorn. He smirked. That tone was likely the very thing that had the servants scurrying to do her bidding. Poor Madame. She’s not happy. Monsieur has his terrible moods and obstinate ways. Forty wonders she never leaves her room…the poor girl.

He wondered if they too thought he’d ruined her. The rumors might well have traveled from town and established themselves firmly within the chateau walls. Beatrice knew they weren’t valid, but she was only one woman – a slightly muddled old woman. No one would believe her when tempted with such delicious and savory gossip.

The fire burned brightly in the hearth and a tub had been pulled before it. The water stood half-full. Toweling hung over a nearby chair. A small puddle sat on the floor beside the tub. She’d bathed already, and yet her hair was unchanged. Hanging loose, down her back, the tresses were as dark as pitch.

Julien sighed and turned back to the door, shut it and drew the bolt. He crossed the room to the fire and began adding logs. One by one he added the heavy chunks of oak and poplar. The fire spat, hissed and burst into a brighter blaze.

She watched him with wide eyes. Wary and silent, she gripped the armrest of her chair. “What are you doing?”

“Your maid has done a poor job helping you with your bath. I believe I’ll dismiss her.”

Isabelle nodded slowly. “That’s fine. There’s no need for that. I’m unaccustomed to help. I can do it myself anyway.”

Deliberately, Julien took the cufflinks from his cuffs and set them on the mantle, staring at her the whole time. He gave her a bland smile. “I’ll help you.”

Satisfaction engulfed him when her jaw dropped and then snapped closed.

With slow, drawn out movements, he began folding his shirt sleeves up the length of his forearm.

“I’ve already bathed this m-morning.”

He continued rolling his cuffs back, holding her eyes. “Not properly.”

She shook her head, rose from the chair and backed into the corner. “You’re mad.”

“Just now noticing, my sweet?” He crossed the room and closed the shutters with a definite snap. Grasping her hand, he led her back to the tub.