Stefan was no longer looking at Isabelle but deep in concentration on MudFlanks. The coward.
“Stefan, quit pretending you didn't hear me and tell me what he meant. Did Luke offer for me?”
Stefan's muffled voice came out from behind the stall. He clearly was planning to keep the horse as a barrier between them. “Last Festival of Lights. Remember when Luke and your father disappeared for a few minutes while we were playing games?”
“Just for a moment. I knew he was upset after. I thought it was because you had to leave so soon.”
“No, the only reason we left as early as we did was because of the answer your father gave. Luke couldn't bear to be near you, knowing that your father rejected his suit. We made an excuse.”
“You told her?” Coming from behind Isabelle, Luke had heard the whole of the conversation. He was a tall man with golden eyes and skin that looked tan in winter. Isabelle's heart beat faster at the sight of him. It had been so long.
“We've got to stop holding private conversations in the stables.” Stefan joked, his eyes merry with laughter. “You are both here. It's cause for celebration. Don't waste it.”
“You would have left me ignorant?” Isabelle felt several disjointed emotions. Anger, love, frustration. She'd not seen Luke in months. He'd stopped writing. She wouldn't have even known the men would be in town for the tournament had Stefan not written a long letter with that last bit about how much Luke looked forward to seeing her. Now she knew why. He thought she was claimed by another.
“Your father said I wouldn't be able to care for you.” Luke's voice was low and thrumming with pain.
Stefan slid around his horse, “I'm going to the baker for a treat. Why don't you two find a private place to have this conversation.”
“You're still a gossip.” Luke muttered.
“He didn't tell me. Thindle did.” Isabelle sighed, wanting very badly to lean against the thick wood of the stable wall. If she were dressed for riding, she could. Seemed a waste to get all dressed up, only to go unnoticed.
“Your betrothed?” He spit the word out like it was poison.
Isabelle smiled then, for Luke's eyes flashed rage. “No, I am not betrothed to that little toad. So you do still like me. I'd wondered. You haven’t written yourself and apparently did not break your hand?”
“My hand?” Luke stared at Isabelle, confused for a moment, then he thought of all of the letters Stefan had been posting. Stefan wasn't normally a letter writer. “Oh―no, my hand is fine.”
She took his hand shyly, a smile on her lips while she looked into his eyes, and ran her fingers along his thumb and to his wrist.
“And you didn’t even know Stefan was writing to me. You would have left me alone without a word.” Isabelle let go of his wrist. She wanted to storm out of the stables, but she couldn’t very well make a dramatic exit if the fool wouldn’t follow her. How would that feel, never to see him again after an argument like this?
Looking over his shoulder to make sure Stefan was well and truly gone, Luke stepped closer, “I've told you plenty of times how I feel, but your father clearly has different plans for you.
Luke's hands touched her arms. With an anguished look, he shook his head. Isabelle knew he was going to pull away. She felt shy and uncertain, afraid that this was the moment when she would lose him. Before he could move, she stepped into his embrace and pulled him closer. Wrapping her arms around him, she lifted her head, “I'm glad you're here.”
They kissed, gently at first. She felt astonished at how sensitive her lips felt as they pressed against his. He tasted of cinnamon and honey, his lips warm and gentle. Isabelle's heart sped while she pressed closer to him, her hand wrapped around the back of his neck while she eagerly kissed back. Her first kiss. She never wanted it to end. She couldn't believe how much feeling seemed to soar in her heart, how warm and safe she felt in his arms, the excitement rushing through her body.
He couldn't get enough of her. She welcomed his hands, trailing down her neck and pausing at her bosom.
Then he stopped and pulled away. “I'm so sorry, Isabelle.”
“Sorry?” It came out more like a squeak than she intended. She'd been so engrossed in touching him that the sudden absence of his body left her feeling unbalanced.
“Your first kiss shouldn't come to you in a stable. It was ungallant of me, knowing that we will never be married.” The desire in his eyes raged, an inferno that threatened to burn her where she stood.
She had thought the kiss would seal the deal. Maybe she’d made an error in judgment. “I will not marry another. My father will see reason. And then we'll kiss in the stables, and on the porch, and at our breakfast table.” She took a step toward him and lifted her hand to his shoulder, kissed him lightly again and whispered, “in the gardens. I had no idea how much I liked kissing.”
Desire raged. Isabelle could feel the tremor in Luke's arms when he pulled her into his embrace. “Isabelle, I love you. If you'll wait for me, I'll build you a house. You'll have a garden and a closet full of the finest clothes.”
“I don’t need closets. I just need you. Come, we'll speak to my father together.” Isabelle's request was a challenge. Luke accepted the challenge with a nod. Pressing close to her he leaned down for another kiss.
“What is this?” Thindle blustered into the stables, removing his velvet hat in a clenched fist. His boots were somewhat high heeled to give him a few more inches, and what he lacked in height, he made up for in clothing.
Luke stepped between Isabelle and Thindle, ever the protector, not that she needed protection from the likes of Thindle Perkins. “My apologies. We will go elsewhere.”
Isabelle took Luke's hand and stood on tiptoe to whisper in his ear. “This is Thindle Perkins”