Dragon′s Dower
Dragon's Dower
Catherine Archer
Simon Warleigh and his brothers-in-arms had sworn to avenge the murder of their beloved foster father, the Dragon. But upon Simon's return from the Holy Land, the brave knight was falsely accused of treason and stripped of his lands.His only chance to recover his beloved Avington was to marry the daughter of the very man he had vowed to bring to justice!Simon was quickly wed to the beautiful Lady Isabelle, with her mesmerizing violet eyes and a demeanor as cold as the chapel statues. Yet there were glimpses of the fire burning beneath Isabelle's cool exterior. And soon thoughts of revenge turned to thoughts of love as Simon yearned to melt the ice maiden into a woman of flesh and blood.
“My lord Warleigh, I am not prepared to receive you at this time.”
“Not prepared to receive me? You can not have forgotten that we share this chamber.”
“I have not forgotten. You may come back after my maid has prepared your bed.”
Simon scowled, then shook his head. “Nay, ’twill not serve. This is my chamber and you are my wife. It is not improper for me to be alone with you.” He stepped before her, perusing her slowly. “To do anything I wish with you.”
She sucked in a deep breath, as a rush of something dark and unknown raced through her. Desperately she fought for control at her reaction to him.
“I would not say that you may do as you wish with me, my lord. Wed though we may be, it is not a real marriage.”
“Do I detect a note of disappointment, Isabelle?”
Praise for Catherine Archer’s previous works
Summer’s Bride
“A delightful read!”
—Romance Reviews Today
Winter’s Bride
“…a pleasurable medieval romance with conventional characters and a tried-and-true plot.”
—Romantic Times Magazine
Fire Song
“This finely crafted medieval romance…(is) a tale to savor.”
—Romantic Times Magazine
Lord Sin
“…deftly done and sure to please.”
—Romantic Times Magazine
#591 MY LADY’S TRUST
Julia Justiss
#592 CALL OF THE WHITE WOLF
Carol Finch
#594 GOLD RUSH BRIDE
Debra Lee Brown
Dragon’s Dower
Catherine Archer
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Available from Harlequin Historicals and
CATHERINE ARCHER
Rose Among Thorns #136
** (#litres_trial_promo)Velvet Bond #282
** (#litres_trial_promo)Velvet Touch #322
Lady Thorn #353
Lord Sin #379
Fire Song #426
* (#litres_trial_promo)Winter’s Bride #477
* (#litres_trial_promo)The Bride of Spring #514
* (#litres_trial_promo)Summer’s Bride #544
* (#litres_trial_promo)Autumn’s Bride #582
† (#litres_trial_promo)Dragon’s Dower #593
To my sisters-in-law, Edie, Iris, Lillian and Bev, for their continued interest and support of my writing for all these years. Thank you.
Contents
Prologue (#u46ba24f4-b601-5727-909f-069e1d207d47)
Chapter One (#u39f97629-81ac-51ac-b3c9-fe0879379e2f)
Chapter Two (#uc21d9b79-1434-5f3a-a8d4-faa047a6433e)
Chapter Three (#u0fba57b9-da13-554b-ac9a-c3595a549456)
Chapter Four (#uc302dc23-614d-5bba-a951-325f4d29f2cd)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Prologue
England, 1188
The three boys sat facing one another. The flames of the fire they had lit at the center of their circle burned no hotter than the anger in their eyes.
Simon, who was the oldest by three months, took up his knife and held it over the flames. “I, Simon Warleigh, swear my allegiance and friendship to you, my brothers in arms, for the rest of my life.”
He drew the blade across his palm, barely flinching as it left a long shallow cut that began to bleed immediately. He passed the blade to Jarrod on his right.
The dark boy took the blade, held it over the flames and said, “I, Jarrod Maxwell, swear my allegiance and friendship to you, my brothers in arms, for the rest of my life.” He made no sign as the knife slit his flesh, passing it to his right.
Christian was the youngest by nearly a year. His brown hair was glossy with golden streaks in the fire-light. He took the blade. He looked to his companions, then held the knife over the flames as they had done. His voice was as firm with conviction as theirs had been. “I, Christian Greatham, swear my allegiance and friendship to you, my brothers in arms, for the rest of my life.”
He flicked his tongue out to wet his lower lip, then dragged the knife over his palm with a frown of concentration. He looked up at the other two.
All three stood in unison and they held their dripping palms out over the flames.
Simon spoke with a maturity far beyond his thirteen years. “Brothers we are, bound by the blood we shed and by our love for each other and the man who brought us together. May we never forget The Dragon and the wrong done him.”
“The Dragon,” intoned the other two boys.
Jarrod reached out to clasp Christian’s wrist. Christian did the same to Simon, who closed his own palm around Jarrod’s wrist.
Simon called out to the star-studded sky overhead. “Does it take our whole lives, my lord, we will see the man who wronged you punished.” The pain and sadness in his voice was echoed in the others’ faces.
They stood like that, bound by their love for one another and for the man who had acted as foster father, mentor and teacher to the three of them. The man whom they had been forced to testify against.
Jarrod spoke in a harsh voice. “We should have lied.”
Christian shook his head, his blue eyes dark with misery. “He would not have had us do such a thing, even to save him.”
Simon nodded. “Aye.”
Their foster father had had no idea what would come when he’d told them to tell the truth. Yet Simon knew that none of them would ever rid themselves of the guilt of having given testimony that would incriminate him.
Though Simon had loved his own father deeply neither he nor anyone else who had ever known Wallace Kelsey, known by friends and foe alike as The Dragon, could deny the impact of his character and genuine care for all who came into contact with him. That was, no one but The Dragon’s own brother, Gerard Kelsey.
It was he who, due to his treachery, now bore the title of Earl of Kelsey. It was he who sat in the place of honor in the great hall at Dragonwick.
At that moment Jarrod spoke up, “I have something that I wish to give each of you before we leave here.” He went to his horse and took a velvet bag from his belongings.
He came back to the fire and removed three objects, holding them out to the light. Simon saw that they were brooches, each containing a circle and within the circle was a magnificent dragon, its wings unfurled.
Jarrod held one out to Simon, then to Christian. “These will keep us from forgetting each other or him.”
Simon’s voice was as husky as his friend’s as he pinned the brooch to his cape. “I will never forget.”
“Nor I,” said Christian as he pinned his own into place.
Swallowing hard, Jarrod did the same. Then, with no further words between them, the three mounted and headed back to the keep, which after the events of the previous day no longer felt like home. It was the day when their innocence had died, the day The Dragon’s brother had attacked the keep and killed him.
Chapter One
England, 1201
“There is one way, my lord, for you to keep your head.” King John’s keenly assessing gaze held him.
Simon Warleigh, Lord of Avington stiffened where he stood before the king. King John leaned forward, his elbows on the table before him, as Simon spoke with a tone of calm that surprised him no less than it did the king. “And that would be?”
John Lackland was so called because his father Henry had made no great provision for him as he had his brothers. He had ruled with an iron hand since inheriting from his brother, Richard Lionheart, after his death in 1199. The king smiled thinly, reaching down to run a slender hand over the head of the sleek-coated hound that sat beside his heavily carved chair. “Take Kelsey’s daughter to wife.”
Simon sucked in a breath of shock. He was aware of the quick glances of the two guards who stood back from the king’s chair, though neither man made any other outward sign that they were taking note of the proceedings. The guards were the small stone chamber’s only other occupants, but their presence was hardly necessary. Even if Simon was foolish enough to try to escape this private audience he could never hope to make it through the castle without being apprehended.
But that was not the greatest of his problems at the moment. “Why would I take my accuser’s daughter to my very bosom?” As soon as he said the words Simon realized he must go carefully. Though he was not guilty of plotting against the king John clearly believed that he was. The king’s harsh dealings with his nobles had certainly caused much unrest and gave him good reason to suspect insurrection amongst his subjects. Were Simon not so occupied with his own conflict with Kelsey, he might indeed have fallen in with those who had asked him to join their efforts to rein in this king. But he had little time to afford such activities.
The king shrugged, his shoulders narrow despite the heavy red velvet tunic he wore. “Because as I have just informed you, it is the only way to keep that head of yours attached to the shoulders the women at court seem to make so much of.”
Simon ignored the jibe. He had no care for the foolish tongues of women who had nothing of import to occupy them.
Simon had Avington to see to first and foremost. He had come back from the Holy Land to learn of the inheritance that had fallen to him with both a sense of responsibility and a deep sorrow. He would never have expected the death of both his father, who he learned had been dead these many months, and his elder brother only weeks prior to his return to England. Yet he’d had no time to grieve their loss, for he had immediately become embroiled in this conflict with the Earl of Kelsey. It galled him so to call the usurper by that name, the title that had graced his former foster father.
It was near beyond comprehension that the king would now make Kelsey Simon’s father-by-marriage. He shook his dark head, trying to fathom some way out of this untenable situation. Never for a moment had he, Jarrod or Christian foreseen such a complication to their budding plans to bring Kelsey to ruin. He spoke almost absently. “It makes no sense. Why would you ask this of me? What possible gain could there be from it?”
King John watched him for a moment, stroking his long narrow cheek. “In spite of your long absence from England you can not be ignorant of your father’s, and after him your brother’s, influence with the other nobles. Do I execute you I risk their enmity. Do I marry you to a man as loyal to me as Kelsey, the very man who alerted me to your perfidy, I prevent you from continuing to plot against me. And mark me well, Kelsey will prevent that.”
Simon spoke carefully, knowing that this man had the power to take Avington from him if he chose to do so. “Perhaps Kelsey will not have me for his daughter.” Kelsey knew very well that it had been himself Simon was referring to as the target in the intercepted letter that had been used as evidence against him.
“He will do as I say, even to the point of taking you into his home. His loyalty to me is unquestioned.”
“You mean for me to abide at Dragonwick?”
“You could not believe I would allow you to go home to Avington where you would be able to make whatever mischief you might conceive of. You will abide at Dragonwick and Kelsey will serve as guarantor of your conduct until such time as I am assured of your loyalty.”
“By controlling my every movement.” Simon could not quite keep the bitterness from his voice, for it was even worse than he could have imagined.
The king regarded him coldly. “Aye.”
Resentment rolled through him at the very thought of being in the bastard’s control. “And if I refuse?”
John smiled again. “In spite of any ire that might be garnered amongst the nobles by your death I would see it done in order to assure that you cause me no difficulty.”
Simon took a deep breath, knowing he had to try this one last time to convince the king of the truth. “I repeat, Sire, that I have done naught against you.”
The king raised dark brows and looked down at the letter before him. The letter that outlined much of Simon’s wish to destroy Kelsey, without actually naming the man. The letter had been on its way to Christian at Bransbury when it had been intercepted by Kelsey’s man, who had the messenger killed. Although he regretted the death of that good man, Simon knew that it had likely been the one thing to save Christian and Jarrod. If Kelsey had had an opportunity to question the messenger, he might very well have divulged his destination.
Simon said, “I have told you, Your Majesty, that letter has been taken out of turn. The man I spoke of was not you, but Kelsey himself.”
The king shook his head. “And as I have told you, my lord Warleigh, there would be no reason for Kelsey to lie to me in this. He says that he does know for a fact that it is me you plot against and not him because you approached him in that vein. Indeed, why would he lie if he knew that it was he who was the target of your machinations? Surely a loyal man such as he would simply seek my protection.”
Simon knew why. Kelsey had thought that by making it appear that Simon was plotting against the crown he would rid himself of an enemy with little effort on his part. Yet Simon knew it was pointless to reiterate this fact. John, knowing that many of the nobles were discontented with him, was ready to believe the worst.
The king seemed angered anew! “Well, Warleigh, what say you? Take Kelsey’s daughter, or…?” He arched dark brows high.
Simon reached up and ran a hand over the dragon brooch that held his heavy woolen cloak over his shoulder. He spoke deliberately. “I must think on this.”
John nodded sharply. “You have until morning.” The king’s gaze raked him. “Kelsey’s daughter has been summoned. ’Tis her or the axe.”
Simon raised his own dark brows, outraged at what was revealed by the king’s words. It was clear that Kelsey had agreed before Simon was even informed. “I begin to see that this marriage is a bid by Kelsey to gain my lands….”
John stopped him with a raised hand. “Your accusation is ridiculous, for my lord Kelsey was not eager for this union. Yet he—” the king’s scathing gaze raked Simon “—is loyal to me and will do as his sovereign desires. Even had I been inclined to heed your accusations against the earl, this new charge against him would convince me of your lack of honesty. You will say no more against him.”
Simon felt a stab of self-directed anger at his rashness in speaking without thinking. Of course Kelsey had not engineered the marriage. As Simon’s nearest neighbor and favorite of the king he would have some hope of gaining the lands without such a drastic step, or at least holding them if the king wanted them for himself.
Simon could see no choice but to agree to this marriage. He took a deep calming breath. “I understand.”
The two guards started toward him. He stopped them with a raised hand, his dark eyes proud as he looked to the king. “Their escort will not be necessary. I can find my own way back to the village.”
John eyed him, then shrugged when Simon’s gaze did not waver. “Very well. See that you do not leave the town and be warned, if you do, I have the power to take Avington. You would also forfeit your life, for my patience would be at an end and my offer of leniency revoked.”
Again Simon bowed, making no reply, though he would not have called what had been offered to him here leniency. Not marriage to Kelsey’s daughter.
The king then gestured toward the door. “Leave me.”
Simon swung around and strode from the chamber. He must indeed think on this matter, though what could come of thinking he did not know.
He went directly to the stables, heedless of the chill autumn breeze that cut through his light cloak. His very life was at stake here—and more importantly, Avington. With his father and brother dead he finally had an inkling of why his father had always put Avington first, even before his own well-being. ’Twas a great responsibility to care for not only the heritage of his family, but the lives of so many who depended upon him as their lord.
He now realized how mad he had been to embark upon this feud with Kelsey. Yet upon returning from the Holy Land, all his old outrage against the earl had been awakened when he learned that upon his brother’s death the earl had sought to gain control of Avington. The longtime steward had told Simon enough of the earl’s machinations to make his blood boil, including the fact that Kelsey had tried to gain access to the keep with his men a week before Simon returned home. The steward had only been able to put him off by declaring that he had no right to grant anyone permission to enter with his lord dead and the new lord not yet returned. That he would be happy to do so if the earl was to come with edict from the king.
Simon’s arrival at Avington had clearly only just prevented the earl’s obtaining that edict.
Newly come from the Holy Land with him, both Jarrod and Christian had been eager in their insistence on joining his quest to see Kelsey pay for his wrong-doings. When Simon had stated that this was his fight and that he would not have them risk their own skins, they had reminded him quite forcefully that Kelsey had wronged them as well. They had been mere boys when he murdered The Dragon and took his lands. Now they were men, hardened by hardship and battle. They would not have Simon cheat them of this chance to strike back at one who had done such wrong.
These thoughts reminded him that the only two men he fully trusted on earth awaited word of what had occurred in the king’s chambers. They appeared within hours of each other at the inn where he had been allowed to stay when he arrived at court two days before. Neither had admitted how they knew what was going on, but Simon suspected that it had been the steward who had sent them news of his summons to court. That good man had cautioned against retribution toward Kelsey, who he knew was an intimate of the king.
Simon had failed to heed that advice.
To his detriment. For he had not foreseen how devious Kelsey would prove.
Kelsey had already been at court with his stolen letter when Simon arrived. Nothing Simon had said in his own defense had been heeded and he would not have been allowed any other witnesses even if he had been inclined to let his friends stand for him.
Kelsey could not know their identities or they would have been accused, as well. Simon would keep it that way.
He pressed his horse to a faster speed.
So preoccupied was he that Simon was nearly upon the wagon blocking the center of the road before it gained his attention. Casting a puzzled gaze over the wagon he immediately realized that one of the rear wheels was lying beside it in the road. Several men, most of them garbed in mail and obviously soldiers, were working to raise it in order to get the wheel back on. Horses of decent breed, as well as a glossy black mare of exceptional quality, were tied to a tree just off to the right.
Two women, one in a long hooded cape of good wool and another in a hooded cape of heavy burgundy velvet stood looking on. A noblewoman and her entourage, he assessed quickly. Most likely they were on their way to court.
In spite of all that was going wrong in his own life, Simon found himself stopping. He greeted the two women. “Is there aught I might do to help you?”
The taller of the two, the one in the velvet cape raised her head….
Dear heaven, he thought as his eyes met hers, which were almond shaped and the most unusual color he had ever seen, for they were the exact shade of newly budded lilacs. Her alabaster skin molded features of perfect and pleasing symmetry like those he had seen on statues while travelling through Italy, the nose straight, the cheekbones high. Her lips were such a luscious wild berry hue that he wondered if she had been biting them. The dark ebony hair that rimmed the inside of her hood seemed to come afire with subtle streaks of deep red in the morning light.
She was beautiful, undeniably, incredibly, mesmerizingly beautiful.
It took Simon a moment to realize that those perfect lips were moving, answering the question he had forgotten he’d asked. Her voice, having a slight huskiness for a woman, was soft and evenly modulated, and it stirred his senses as greatly as her beauty. “I do not know what it might be, sir.” She did not fully meet his gaze for more than a brief moment as she gestured to the men who had not ceased in their efforts to raise the wagon. “There are hands enough to see it done.”
A firm rejection of his offer, but perhaps just what a gently bred young woman should tell a strange man.
Still he lingered, finding himself asking inanely, “Do you go on to court?”
She kept her gaze cast down and he noted the way her lashes lay very thick and dark over her ivory cheeks. “My lord, I do appreciate your concern but we really require no aid. And my father would not have me converse with a man unknown to me, lest there be some pressing need for it.”
Simon was not at all surprised. The man who counted himself this damsel’s father must certainly have a care with her.
Truth be told he was somewhat of a blackguard to linger about here staring like an untried lad. He might soon find himself wed, and though it was not of his choosing, his circumstances made his attentions to the young woman less than honorable.
Simon bowed, his tone softer than it might have been had he not felt somewhat doubtful of his own reasons for continuing to tarry. “Pray forgive me, my lady. I did not mean to cause you such discomfort by gawking as so many others must.”
She looked up at him then, seeming to really see him for the first time, her uncertain gaze moving over his face. He smiled reassuringly, feeling a deep desire to put her at her ease.
Her lashes fluttered down, then up as she cast him a shy look. For a moment her gaze seemed almost wishful.
One of the men spoke up. “Is there a difficulty, my lady?”
Immediately that expression of cool dismissal fell into place. “Nay, Sir Brian. This man was only asking if he might be of help. I have told him he may go on his way.”
Simon looked to the man, who met his gaze with disapproval. He had no right to the resentment he felt. The fellow was only doing his duty.
Yet Simon could not resist one more look at those haunting eyes, which now seemed to hold no expression at all. He felt unexplainably disappointed.
He bowed again and prodded his horse onward. Christian and Jarrod awaited him.
Yet he found himself looking back to see that the young woman was watching him. Then his horse took him around a bend in the road and she was gone.
Feeling oddly bereft Simon gave himself a mental shake. He had no time to allow himself to entertain romantic notions toward a young woman with whom he had exchanged no more than a handful of words at the side of the road.
No matter that she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Marriage to his enemy’s daughter would mean that he would no longer be a free man, in spite of the fact that the very notion was abhorrent to him.
Jarrod and Christian swung about as he approached them where they sat at a narrow wooden table in a window alcove within the dim interior of the inn. The low-beamed chamber’s other occupants paid more heed to their cups than to each other, which was one of the reasons for choosing this location. Both his friends’ expressions were grave.
As always, Jarrod spoke first, his black eyes piercing in their intensity. “What said the king?”
The question brought a new rush of shock and disbelief over what John had proposed. Yet Simon’s tone was amazingly matter-of-fact. “His majesty has proposed a solution in the form of a wedding.”
Christian shook his gold-streaked brown head in confusion. “A wedding?”
“Aye, between myself and Kelsey’s whelp.”
“What say you?” Jarrod rose from the well-worn bench, his hand going to the hilt of his sword.
Simon sat wearily on the other bench beside Christian, telling him, “Desist, my friend. Anger will gain us naught.” He felt Christian’s strong and comforting hand upon his shoulder. It was ever thus, Jarrod needing to be soothed, and Christian soothing. He knew these two men as well as he did himself. They were his brothers in all but flesh. Now that his true brother, Arthur was dead, his only brothers. He accepted each as he was, the aspects of his personality being all that Simon would ask for.
Jarrod sank back down, speaking more evenly, though there was still a gleam of outrage in those black eyes. “Pray tell us what you are talking about.”
Simon took a long drink from one of the two half-filled cups on the table before replying. “King John informs me that unless I agree to wed the daughter of the very man we have sworn vengeance upon, I will lose my head.”
Again Jarrod reached for his sword, though this time it was clearly a symbolic gesture for his other hand went to the brooch at his broad shoulder. His tone was filled with outrage. “You can not agree to such a demand. And if resistance means your death, then we go with you.”
Simon answered him calmly. “And what would our deaths solve? For that is what the outcome would be. The three of us can not hope to triumph against the crown. It would in no way cause Kelsey to suffer the consequences of his despicable acts.”
Even the more levelheaded Christian sounded angry and horrified. “But to pledge yourself to Kelsey’s daughter?”
Simon took a deep breath and another drink of the cool ale. “I know. ’Tis an untenable thought.”
Christian said. “What precisely did the king say? Perhaps you have not understood him aright and there is another way….”
Simon halted him with a raised hand. “I understood all too well for he put it baldly enough. ’Tis the axe or Kelsey’s get.”
“But why? What purpose does it serve?”
“Because, my friends, he wants me where he can be sure that I am being watched and by one whose loyalty to him is unquestioned.” Simon gave a rueful laugh. “The king informed me that he does not really wish to kill me lest he must. He feels that my death will bring about a certain amount of dissent amongst the nobles and he would avoid that if he is able. It is really a question of what will bring him the least amount of inconvenience.”
The scowl on Jarrod’s face was as black as his hair. “We should have stayed in Jerusalem. Life there was hard but the enemy was better known, more easily identified.”
Simon shook his dark head. “I had to return to Avington when I got word that Arthur was gravely ill.”
Christian spoke up. “Aye, and my own father is getting on as well and has been ill of late. His death would leave no one but my sister, Aislynn, to look after the lands. You are free to do as you will, Jarrod, we are not. Your brother will see to Kewstoke.”
Simon watched for the familiar darkness that hovered in the back of Jarrod’s black gaze whenever he thought of his family, for it was only his place as bastard that precluded his inheriting the lands and titles his younger brother now held. Jarrod turned away as he said, “King John is correct in one thing at least. There would be an outcry against him at your death.”
Into the weighty silence that fell Christian said, “You must agree to this marriage.”
Simon nodded. “As I had realized.”
Jarrod looked at them as if they had surely lost their minds, once again standing up from his place on the bench across from them. “What say you? Have you both gone mad?”
Casting a quick glance about the crowded chamber, Simon motioned for him to sit down. “Pray remember yourself, my friend. The king allowed me to go where I would, but there is no reason to believe he would not have me followed. You must have a care lest we be overheard.”
“But you can not marry Kelsey’s daughter.”
Christian shook his head. “What real choice has he, Jarrod? John is king. Even if Simon were to escape to the continent, he would not be free. He would know that he had forfeited his lands, left them to the mercy of whatever toady the crown finds favor with at the moment. As things stand, that could very well be Kelsey, lest the king be wise enough to see that granting any man more power than the earl already wields would be a mistake. Simon can not abandon Avington no matter that he must marry the daughter of the very devil himself.”
“But to marry himself to that family? What know you of her? I recall her but little, other than that our foster father seemed to dote on her as he did his own Rosalind whenever she was visiting.”
Simon was not unaware of the regret in Jarrod’s voice as he spoke Rosalind’s name, nor that the sad expression in Christian’s gaze matched his own. None of them could forget the sight of her crumpled body beneath that sheet.
He took a deep breath and forced himself back to the matter before him. He vaguely recalled Isabelle Kelsey from visits to Dragonwick with her father. He had seen little of her, though, as he and his friends had preferred to make themselves scarce when their foster father’s brother was about. He had a vague recollection of a solemn child with overlarge eyes and dark hair that had been arranged carefully at all times.
Simon shook his head. “I know nothing of her, but that she is the get of my enemy. Yet what matter if I did? I must fall in with King John’s wishes. I can only assume that he has already informed Kelsey of his intent in this because the girl has been sent for and will, I assume, be awaiting me on the morrow.”
“That was presumptuous.” Jarrod frowned.
Christian added, “The king must have been planning this all along. Listening to the evidence was a mere formality.”
“Aye, the letter condemned me from the beginning. It takes more than a day to travel here from Dragonwick. If the girl is to be here by morning…” Simon took a deep breath. “Christian has indeed come to the crux of it. Even if I could escape the king’s ‘justice’ I could not abandon my responsibilities.”
“But marriage?”
Simon leaned closer to them, pitching his voice so it could not possibly be overheard. “The king has offered only two alternatives of which I have told you, and marriage, though only slightly more so, is the most palatable of the two. Yet haps the marriage might not be such a drastic step. Haps there is a way to leave my options open.”
Christian leaned toward him, his blue eyes intent with new interest. “And what way might that be?”
Simon shrugged. “If the marriage is not consummated, an annulment might be obtained at some point in the future.”
Now Jarrod smiled coldly. “You mean at some point when we lay siege to Dragonwick and win her.”
Christian shook his head fiercely. “Nay, there is no hope of that now. Not with Simon already under punishment from the king. We could never convince him that our cause had been just.”
Simon nodded, his regret tingeing his voice. “Aye, it is too late to hope to win Dragonwick from the knave. What I must think on is getting free of his control.” He turned to Christian. “Your father was friend to mine.”
Christian nodded. “Of a certainty.”
“Then perhaps, for the sake of the lands he held so dear he would do me a service.”
Christian sat up straighter. “What have you in mind?”
“My father was friend to many. If your father was to write those who might be willing to come to my aid and enough of them did so, John might be forced to free me.”
Christian nodded. “Of course. John would be forced to release you if enough pressure was brought to bear. I am certain there will be no difficulty in finding those who are willing. Kelsey has made many enemies.”
Jarrod scowled. “I will not offer to approach my brother. He would not be likely to even grant me entrance to Kewstoke.”
Again Simon heard his pain, and knew he had no answer for it, but his own love. He faced him. “I would ask a different, but equally dear, boon of you, my friend. Could you make your way to Avington and watch over it in my absence?”
Jarrod bowed. “Of a certainty.” He then raised a tight fist. “Kelsey can not be allowed to roam free, to escape retribution for all he has done, including this new evil. He must meet his reward.”
“And he will,” Christian added. “Eventually we will find a way to get to Kelsey in spite of King John’s support.”
Simon shrugged, fighting his own frustration. “But for the moment I will be in no position to see it done, trapped as I will be beneath his very thumb.”
“But we shall not be.” Jarrod narrowed his black eyes.
“Nay, we shall not,” seconded Christian.
Simon cast them both a quelling glance. “You must do nothing to put your own lives in jeopardy. Kelsey has proven himself a more slippery eel than any of us has foreseen.”
Jarrod nodded. “When I strike it will be with care and none shall have reason to believe you involved. He will ride around a bond in the and….”
“Pray give this notion of garnering support amongst the nobles a chance. Haps Kelsey would find himself on the receiving end of the king’s wrath if enough information was brought to light.” Simon did not imagine that Jarrod could act against Kelsey without being found out.
With obvious reluctance, Jarrod nodded, as did Christian.
Feeling only somewhat relieved, Simon raked a hand through his heavy dark hair, addressing Jarrod, “You will go to Avington until I am able to get further word to you?”
Jarrod nodded. “Aye.”
Christian sighed. “I will go to my father. In the event I am needed, Jarrod will send word on to me at Greatham.”
Again Jarrod nodded his midnight-dark head.
“You have my thanks,” Simon told them earnestly. “I will tell my men that they are to accompany you, Jarrod. There is no need for them to come to Dragonwick. Does Kelsey mean me harm, they will not be able to prevent him.”
Christian frowned, his expression direct. “You will watch your back?”
Simon reached for the cup and took a long drink. “I will, for I have no doubts that I must do so if I am to come out of this alive. For we have seen how far Kelsey is willing to go for what he wants.” His free hand covered the dragon on his shoulder.
Jarrod and Christian did the same. “Aye, after murdering his own brother to gain an earldom, your death would not trouble him in the least.”
Chapter Two
Quietly, Isabelle waited in the crowded and poorly appointed chamber she was sharing with several other ladies of the court. She had seated herself on a narrow backless chair some distance from where the other women chattered whilst pretending to attend to their sewing.
She did not know why her father had summoned her here to Windsor, nor had she wanted to come. She had only been to court on one other occasion with her father, who seemed to like court life little better than she. He preferred to be on his own lands where he was the law.
Nay, she had not wished to come. The first time she had been to court, she had been gawked at and disdained by the other ladies, though she could not understand why they would behave so cruelly to a girl of no more than fourteen years. This visit had proved no different. If only she could return home to Dragonwick. But what choice had she in it? Her father was master of her fate as he had reminded her more times than she could ever begin to count in the twenty years of her existence.
She was infinitely aware of the fact that to anyone, including her father, viewing her from the outside she would appear completely unmoved. Yet her mind rolled with questions and fear of what he might be about.
Why had he sent for her? When he had left for court he had seemed agitated about some matter. Yet he had shared nothing with her.
It had crossed Isabelle’s mind that there might be a possible suitor involved. But her father had not told her to make herself amenable as he had each time he had dangled her before a hopeful at Dragonwick. And there had been more than a few. Possible alliance to an earl drew those who would further their own positions. Thus far none of the men had offered enough on their own part. The Earl of Kelsey would not give up his pawn, for keeping her unwed had made allies of those men who still sought to win her.
She had not even seen her father except at dinner the previous evening. He had done no more than cast a sweeping glance over her, saying that she was looking well enough and that she was to garb herself carefully. She had not wasted breath in asking him to tell her what he was about in bidding her to come to court. He would say nothing until he was prepared to do so. No amount of coaxing had ever changed that, as she’d learned from early childhood.
Again Isabelle wondered why her father had her summoned here. Dared she even hope? Surely he would choose the weakest, most malleable of men, the kind who fawned and cowered before him. And when he did, Isabelle herself might hope to exert some influence over such a man. Marriage would bring the possibility of freedom from the tight fist of her father’s control.
Unfortunately until that event occurred Isabelle must play the part of dutiful and obedient daughter. It was a part she had learned to play very well.
To cover her extreme agitation she focused her attention on her clothing, her jewels and her hair. She ran her hand over the deep-blue velvet of her skirt, concentrating on the roughness of the silver embroidery beneath her fingers. She knew that the silver slippers she wore and the sheer veil with its silver circlet were the perfect complement for the gown with its tight bodice and low square neck.
Unbidden, thoughts of the stranger who had stopped to ask if she required assistance the previous day came into her head. He had indeed been very handsome with his well-formed masculine features, dark hair and warm brown eyes. Those dark-lashed eyes had also looked on her with appreciation as he raked his thick straight hair back from a high, intelligent forehead.
Unlike other times when she had been viewed thusly, his appreciation had made something shift inside her, something feminine and vulnerable. For the stranger had been seeing her—Isabelle—and with gentle eyes. He had not known that she was the only offspring of the Earl of Kelsey.
Though many men had professed to find her attractive they knew her father had no other heir to his earldom but her. They sought power, as her father had done in attaining his earldom—from betraying his own brother. That man had been her uncle, the one other warriors had called The Dragon because of his skill and fierceness in battle, and because of his fierce sense of honor, duty and love. It was to her uncle that she owed thanks for the vast dower her suitors sought.
Isabelle’s heart ached afresh at the thought of the loss of him. For though she had been a small child when he died she had loved her uncle Wallace like no other human being. He had been kind and gentle and all that was good in the world and thus became the prey of one who would do what he must to gain power and position.
Her father. She hated her father more for that than for all his many cruelties to her. But he was all she had. Her mother had died when she was very small and the only thing she knew of her folk was that they lived in Normandy. Once, not long after her mother’s death, a woman had visited, saying she was Isabelle’s aunt, but her father had sent her away and she had never returned.
All Isabelle could do to try to make things right was to think of the dower that would someday be hers as her father’s only heir. In memory of The Dragon she would teach her child to be like his great uncle Wallace had been.
The knock that sounded at the door did not surprise her, nor did the presence of her father’s man, Sir Fredrick, standing there when one of the other women opened it. Father had sent word this morn that she was to be at the ready for his summons.
Without haste Isabelle stood, again smoothing her hand over the skirt of her kirtle.
She kept her head high beneath the gazes of the women of the court. She was grateful when the door closed behind her and she no longer had to endure their hurtful speculation.
Sir Fredrick paid her little heed other than to clear the hallway for her passage. She did not need to be told that his efforts were more in aid of hurrying to reach her father than any concern for her. He had been with her father for as long as she had memory and made his complete loyalty to the earl known at all times. Though Isabelle was amazed that her cold and distant father could have inspired such devotion in any man, she had come to accept it.
They moved on to a more sumptuously appointed portion of the castle, finally arriving at a door, which the knight opened without knocking. Still trying to remain impassive, Isabelle moved ahead of him when he stepped aside and motioned her forward.
What she saw on the other side of the door was a surprise to test the skills of self-possession that she had spent her lifetime perfecting.
The long narrow chamber bore four occupants. At the far end of the chamber, her father, King John and another man stood with their backs to her. With them was a priest.
Her gaze went to her father, even as she felt the eyes of the king come to rest upon her face. There was something familiar about the third man, who still stood with his back toward her, his wide shoulders encased in dark-green velvet. There was something about the thick, straight dark hair that brushed the velvet of his collar.
Her questioning gaze went back to her father. He cast an approving glance over her, assessing her to determine if she was properly representing him, as he always did, but not seeing her. He nodded and said, “Very well, then. Isabelle has arrived. We may begin.”
Isabelle met the king’s sharp gaze for a brief moment as she asked, “Begin what, Father?” She was pleased at the cool unconcern of her tone. It betrayed none of the agitation that made her heart pound painfully in her chest. Peripherally she became aware that the other man had finally turned around.
Isabelle’s gaze moved to his face. Her heart stopped, then thumped to life again as she saw, saints above, that it was the very man she had met upon the road the previous day. The very man who had been so much in her thoughts in spite of her wishes to the contrary.
If the shock on his handsome face was any indication, he was as surprised to see her here as she was him.
What indeed was he doing here in this chamber with her father, the king and a clergyman? Forcing herself to speak evenly, she asked again, “Begin what, Father?”
There was a long heavy silence. “Haven’t you even told her?” It was the stranger’s deep voice. His brown eyes met hers. In them she saw resentment.
Odd. Odder still was her reaction to his expression. The ripples of annoyance and unwanted regret that rolled through her made it difficult to retain her pose of calm. She was not sorry when he turned to glare at her father.
Her father scowled. “What I tell my daughter is none of your concern.”
“It is if she is to be my bride.”
“Bride.” The word was nothing more than a whisper of outgoing breath. She had hope, but…It was so sudden.
Her shock was lost to the others as her father replied, coldly, “You have me there, Warleigh. But recall as you consider yourself master to my daughter that I am master to you.”
The man who, if she was hearing aright, was to be her husband, answered with equal lack of warmth. “’Tis only through dastardly doing that it be so. Had you not falsely accused me—”
Her father blustered. “Dastardly? I’ll have you keep your accusations to—”
King John halted them with upraised hands. “No more.” He cast her father a warning glance. “You assured me that you could see to this matter. Keep this man in check.”
Her father bowed. “That I will, Sire.”
“And you, my lord, you will recall that it is only by my mercy that you have been granted this opportunity to live. You will create no trouble for your father-by-marriage. Is that clear, Warleigh?”
Warleigh. In all these years she had not forgotten the names of the three fosterlings who had given evidence against her uncle. Shock rolled through her anew. Not only was she to marry one of the ones who had done her such ill, the marriage had clearly been foisted on the angry and resentful Warleigh as a punishment.
Never had she expected love, or even affection. But she had not thought to be given in such a state of resentment, had even hoped the man she wed might be malleable to her own wishes. Warleigh’s outraged pride told of a strong and commanding will. Heaven help her, it would take every ounce of her self-control to see this through without breaking.
But that was precisely what she must do.
Never could she let anyone see how devastated this turn of events had left her. Especially not the man who, for a brief moment yesterday, had made her think about what it would be like to be young and free, to be looked on with favor by a handsome young man.
From his place beside the priest, Simon watched Isabelle’s impassive and beautiful face.
So this woman, the one he had met along the road the previous day, was Isabelle, daughter to the Earl of Kelsey. He would never have guessed that she was the one he had been ordered to wed, and had he done so not even a beauty as great as hers could have moved him.
His gaze raked her face. His faint recollections of the child he had seen a few times so many years ago would never have prepared him for the woman she had become.
He had much clearer memories of her younger cousin, the scarlet-haired Rosalind, who had died the day Gerard Kelsey attacked the keep. The very thought angered him anew.
Simon’s lips thinned as he focused on the woman before him again. There was no hint of reaction to her father’s declaration that she was to be married in those astonishing lilac eyes, nor was there any rise of color in the porcelain cheeks. Those perfectly formed pink lips did not thin, nor did they purse. Her slender white hands with their long delicate fingers rested lightly on the skirt of her lavish gown. Her dark head was held at a proud but relaxed angle, further betraying her lack of concern.
How could she possibly listen to the exchange that had just taken place without reacting in some way? Yet she had.
He now realized that she was beautiful indeed, but it was more in the way of a marble statue he had seen in Rome. Unbearably lovely but lacking the animation that would fully impassion a man.
She started toward them, her slender hips drawing his gaze as she moved forward with sensuous grace. In spite of his revelations his body reacted to her grace and beauty with a will of its own. Meanwhile his mind continued to view her lack of emotion with displeasure. He told himself ’twas unnatural for a young woman to be so cold. Even the most obedient of daughters might have hoped to hear of her marriage before the moment was upon her.
Alas, he reminded himself, he could not expect more from the earl’s daughter. Simon was infinitely conscious of the pale perfection of her face as she came to a halt beside him. And, heaven help him, her slender but enticing form. The gold belt about her slim hips drew his wayward gaze but when he forced it upward he was equally captivated by her long, narrow waist and high, proud breasts made all the more enticing by the deep blue of her gown, which clung lovingly to each curve.
Determinedly he pulled his gaze to his own hard fingers, which had curled into a fist at his side. He forced himself to recall his plan to remain apart from his wife. It was his only hope of being free of her and thus her father.
Unfortunately he had not at the time of making that decision realized that the very woman who had so occupied his thoughts since he left her at the side of the road yesterday was the one he must deny himself.
King John interrupted his tormented thoughts. “Shall we have it done, then? I do have other matters to attend.”
Kelsey spoke before Simon could. “Of course, my lord. It would greatly trouble my sleep to think that I had brought you any undue inconvenience.”
Simon felt his lips twist in derision. The man was a toad. As he had always been.
He must keep this in mind. Raised by one such as the earl the girl could not be but less than honorable of character. The longing he had thought he had seen in her eyes yesterday was nothing more than the wishful thinking of a man who had found himself in the company of a very lovely woman. A man who had just been told he must marry in order to save his head. He could not afford himself the luxury of allowing one such as she to become the lady of Avington.
No matter how beautiful she might be.
An indeterminable time later Simon left the chamber where the marriage had taken place, pausing in the hall outside as he realized that he had nowhere to go. There was no sign of his bride, who had exited just moments before him with no more hint of emotion than she had displayed on entering, hardly a word having been exchanged between them, nothing save their replies to the priest’s intonations.
Simon heaved a silent sigh, aware of the angry and watchful eyes of the man who stood as if guarding the door. He had been the same man to bring Isabelle to the chamber, which told Simon that he was Kelsey’s man even if his resentful blue gaze had not. He must guard himself even now with Kelsey still inside with the king, who had informed him that he was to await them in the hall. As parting words King John had again made it very clear that Simon would be accompanying his wife and her father to Dragonwick this very day. And that he would be remaining there indefinitely.
Dragonwick.
The very thought brought back so many memories. It had been his home for two years as squire to The Dragon. He had spent many a happy day there riding, sword playing, exploring the lands with Jarrod and Christian. Not that Wallace Kelsey had been an easy mentor. He had expected much from those under him, including Simon and Jarrod and Christian.
It had been a good life until The Dragon was accused of supporting those who plotted against King Henry. Through it all, The Dragon had declared his innocence and support of the king. He had been accused of meeting in secret with two of Henry’s son, Richard’s, most loyal allies. It had been to this that Simon, Jarrod and Christian had been forced to testify.
It had not gone well and The Dragon had decided he would not give up his lands without resistance. He was determined to stand by his principles. Never had Simon or his friends imagined what would happen next. Somehow they had believed that their foster father would triumph. No one had suspected that his brother Gerard would convince the king to provide him a force to lead against him.
They had not realized how very desperate King Henry was to rid himself of Wallace Kelsey when it appeared he had allied himself against the crown. Simon had not participated in the fighting the day The Dragon’s brother attacked the keep. Under protest he, Jarrod and Christian had been locked away in a shed to keep them out of the battle.
They had only been released in time to see the bodies of The Dragon and his three-year-old daughter, Rosalind, who had been brought down to lie beside her father in the bailey. Gerard Kelsey had loudly declared his regret that his niece was dead, claimed that she had inadvertently fallen from the top of the inner stairs trying to get to her father, who had been fighting in the hall.
Simon had been sickened by the blackguard’s false regret and the sight of that tiny crumpled body, glad the nurse had wrapped the child in linens to cover her broken form from the eyes of her enemies. These many years later he remembered the sweetness of the carrot-haired child who had followed them about the castle grounds and he felt his chest tighten. He’d wished that he could give vent to the tears that threatened even now.
Aye, Dragonwick would be filled with memories and not all of them good ones.
Surely, he would eventually find a way to extricate himself from this odious situation. King John had much to occupy him with his nobles’ anger and resentment against the crown, not to mention his own recent divorce and remarriage. John could not afford to divert his attention to a favorite such as Kelsey for very long.
From behind Simon came Kelsey’s voice. “We will be leaving court within the hour.”
Simon stiffened, as he faced him. “I must only retrieve my belongings from the inn where I have been staying.”
Kelsey scowled. “Do not attempt to escape, my lord. I take the charge to keep you under my eyes most seriously.”
Simon shrugged, casting a glance over to the dark knight with the resentful blue eyes, who had moved to stand at the earl’s right. “Send a guard, if you will. It will only delay me. I have no wish to try to escape you. I hold my own lands too dear to risk them over such foolishness.”
The older man’s expression remained disapproving, but he nodded. “Very well then, but know I shall send them after you if you do not return and the king will hear of it.”
“You will have nothing to report.” Simon could not quite hide the disgust in his tone, nor could he keep it from his eyes. Quickly he turned and left the man who was now his father-by-marriage. For the moment.
As he rode to the inn Simon realized that perhaps this circumstance could be used for good purpose. Perhaps he could discover something that would aid them in their quest to see Gerard Kelsey robbed of all he had stolen.
Isabelle moved quickly to her waiting mare. She was earlier than her father had commanded but she was eager to leave this place of intrigue and unhappiness.
The task of being ever on her guard, of never showing a hint of emotion was just too difficult to maintain. At least at Dragonwick she had those moments when she was alone in her chamber to let go of her rigid self-control.
Surreptitiously, her gaze swept the mounted men. There was no sign of her new husband.
Husband. The word seemed strange. The ceremony had been accomplished so quickly and with so little fanfare that it seemed completely unreal. At no point had the baron so much as touched her. Then her father had dismissed her, informing her that she was to make ready for the return to Dragonwick within the hour.
Even as she told herself she had no real interest in Simon Warleigh, he came galloping through the castle gate. She could not help noting that he rode his enormous chestnut stallion as if he were one with it. His straight thick hair was drawn back by the wind of his passage, leaving those well sculpted, masculine features bared to her lingering gaze. He looked handsome, strong and untamed.
Her heart thudded in her chest.
Quickly she busied herself with getting fully settled in the saddle. Isabelle was determined to set her attention on the ride ahead. She loved riding, lest it involved hunting. She cast a quick glance at her father.
Her father called out, “Where is my horse?” An expression of impatience had replaced the one that had told her he had been congratulating himself on his ability to control everything and everyone around him.
For a moment, watching him, she could almost feel sympathy toward her newly wedded husband. That emotion was quickly dismissed as her gaze went to Warleigh’s face. There was no mistaking the pride and arrogance she saw there, the confidence. Again she was reminded that her hope of eventually gaining the ear of a pliant husband would never come to pass. The man was nothing more than her father’s prisoner and yet he retained this prideful stance.
She could not help wondering from whence his self-confidence came. She had always admired strength.
It was a quality she knew her father lacked, for all his ability to control others. If he had not wrought such misery and pain by his actions she would have felt pity for him. She felt her lips twist wryly. God help her, she did pity him still. Yet she could not allow herself to display it in any way for he would simply use it against her. As he had always used the weakness of others against them.
That she was his own daughter had no bearing on his behavior. He had no loyalty greater than that toward his own power and greed.
Isabelle found her gaze going back to her husband. He seemed to have no fear of facing her father. Yet that was no good to her, for he clearly felt nothing but resentment toward her for her part in his imprisonment.
Then the sound of pounding hooves drew her gaze back to the gate as two more riders came galloping into the bailey. One was quite young, perhaps thirteen or fourteen years of age, with a thatch of unruly blond hair and strong features that were too large for his face. The other was an older man, wide shouldered, gray haired and steady of regard, his bearing and accoutrements marking him a knight. They rode directly to Simon Warleigh and halted.
The knight spoke to Simon Warleigh, “My lord, we are at your disposal.”
Warleigh scowled, his wide brow creasing. “I appreciate your sense of duty, Sir Edmund, but I do not require your service at the moment, else I would not have informed you that you were to return to Avington.”
The knight raised his head high as he held his overlord’s gaze. “Aye, my lord. But there were others who agreed that it would be best if we were to accompany you.”
Isabelle watched as her husband took a deep breath before replying. “I say again, I do not require your attendance.” His gaze flicked to the young rider, who, from the look of him must be a squire. “You must take Wylie home to Avington.”
The older man frowned, “But, my lord—”
Her father’s voice interrupted. “This will not serve.” He made a sweeping motion. “You may not accompany us.”
They ignored him, continuing to look to their overlord with genuine concern, even love. Isabelle was amazed by loyalty that seemed to have no basis in fear.
The boy, whom Warleigh had called Wylie, cried, “My lord, we can not go off and leave you to…” His angry gaze raked the assembled company.
His patience obviously at an end, Isabelle’s father motioned to his men. “Remove them from the bailey.” Two of them moved forward to take hold of the reins of the man and boy who voiced such concern for their master.
The lad resisted, making his horse dance away from the reaching hands.
Simon Warleigh again told his men, “Go in peace. Have no concern for me. I will be well.”
Her father laughed coldly. “Nicely said, Warleigh, but you really have no say in this. Take them.”
Seeing the way her father was enjoying this display of power Isabelle felt an unexpected sense of rebellion. She had no connection to Simon Warleigh, no reason to set aside her accustomed mask of disregard. Yet it was her own voice that said, “Pray let them come, Father. You are most equal to the task of keeping them at heel.”
Her father seemed surprised that she would concern herself with such a matter. But he nodded thoughtfully. “Aye, you advise me well, daughter.” His superior gaze then swept the men. “I would not wish for them to think I fear their ability to free their master from my guardianship.”
Simon Warleigh, her husband, cast her a glance that was at first surprised and then puzzled. But his puzzlement was quickly masked behind an unreadable expression.
Again she noted that Warleigh’s men had made no visible reaction to her and her father’s conversation. Their attention was all for Simon, who said, “You may accompany me but you—” he looked to the boy “—will remember yourself and do nothing but what you are instructed to do, lest I send you home.”
The boy nodded.
Her father said, “You must first consult me before giving any order, even that of sending your men away from Dragonwick. I must answer to the king for your actions.”
Simon eyed him closely. “As you will, my lord. I will certainly consult you before giving such orders. My instructing my squire against foolhardy behavior should certainly come under close scrutiny.”
Isabelle had to restrain a smile at the look of shocked displeasure in her father’s face. Once more she was surprised at her reaction to the man’s open defiance of her father. It was admirable, but completely mad. Gerard Kelsey always succeeded in getting what he wanted.
Had he not succeeded in seeing Simon Warleigh placed beneath his very thumb? Not that she doubted her husband deserved it. From what she had heard in the king’s chamber it appeared he had been caught plotting against the crown.
Whatever madness had prodded her to interfere between him and her father was now overcome. She had no interest in Warleigh. Her hope of attaining some influence with her husband was dead. Her hope to have a son whom she could love was not.
She chose not to dwell on accomplishing that deed. Somehow she would find the courage when the time came. Any hardship could be faced in order to see her goal of having a son realized.
But when would it happen? When would she and…
No one had even so much as alluded to the coming night.
Almost of its own accord her gaze went to her husband’s undeniably handsome face. What would it be like—to be taken into his arms, to feel his body against hers? She felt a strange rush of warmth that shocked her.
As if he sensed her attention, Simon Warleigh’s gaze met hers. His was assessing, raking the sheer silver veil, which was pinned atop her carefully arranged hair, and her face. It then passed over the length of her blue gown, which was visible through the opening of the scarlet cloak she wore. Isabelle knew the gown was overfine for a journey, but she had been so eager to leave that she had refused when her maid Helwys had suggested changing it.
His gaze did not in any way lead her to believe that he was interested in…
In point of fact, nothing he had done or said during that painfully tense marriage ceremony or afterward had made her think he had even considered the wedding night, let alone wished for it to happen. Isabelle tore her gaze away from his coolly assessing one as her father called out again, “My horse.”
At last his squire, Karl, came leading the wildly straining black stallion from the stable. The lad was disheveled as he tried to hold the horse steady and his uncertain gaze fixed itself on her father’s face.
Isabelle felt her whole body tense at the cold anger she saw there. He strode to the lad, reaching out for the reins with one hand, while back of the other snaked out to connect with Karl’s cheek.
The squire sprawled in the dust of the courtyard, his hand going to his cheek. There was utter stillness as her father mounted without a glance in the lad’s direction. Into the achingly heavy silence Simon cried, “Are you mad?”
Her father swung to face him. “You dare not question me concerning my treatment of my own folk, Warleigh. Lest you care to go back and tell King John that his will for you is not to your liking?”
Seeing the familiar icy fire in her father’s gaze, Isabelle knew how near they were to being taught one of his lessons. Not even Simon could stop him no matter how confident he might be. Desperately Isabelle cried out in a hoarse tone as her eyes met her husband’s, “You have no power here. Pray leave be.” She knew he would see the pleading in her gaze, but cared not. She would spare Karl, nay all of them, the harsh reality of her father’s enmity.
Her face flaming with emotions that she could not quite identify, Isabelle was filled with relief as her father flicked her an approving glance and gave the order to ride out. Guiding her horse out onto the road that would take them south to Dragonwick gave her something to do besides think about what would come next between her and Simon Warleigh.
Chapter Three
Kelsey ordered the men to stop and make camp before dark had fallen.
Simon did not question this. He was too occupied in considering the motivations of the woman he had married. And perhaps his own motives as well. For a brief moment, when she had faced him after her despicable father had knocked his squire to the ground for the crime of having difficulty with the horse, he had thought he’d seen fear and pleading in her gaze. It had been that which made him subside, that and his certainty that King John would only uphold the knave’s right to mistreat his folk if he so desired.
Yet as he had ridden on ahead of his captor, Simon had thought about the actual words she had spoken. Though he’d thought he sensed a hint of contempt along with those other more gentle emotions, Isabelle had surely meant nothing but to remind him her father held power here.
She had paid him not even cursory attention since leaving Windsor. She rode at the center of the entourage, looking neither right nor left, speaking to no one, obviously completely lost in her own concerns.
Her father’s acceptance of her words as confidence in his power seemed somewhat dull-witted and self-serving at the same time. Simon had sensed a sarcasm in her he would never have expected. Why would she address her father with contempt, however carefully veiled, on Simon’s account when she seemed disinterested in anything but herself?
Though Simon wished he could deny it he had been quite preoccupied with her. Each time he glanced up ahead of him he was reminded anew of her beauty. She was enough to take a man’s breath away with the sunlight glinting on hair that, though black, held a hint of dark flame in those glossy tresses. It framed a profile so delicately lovely that it drew his gaze again and again.
Only once had she glanced back for the briefest of moments. Those amazing lavender eyes had slid over him, her expression seeming strangely uncertain for a moment before her lids cast downward. But when he had watched her even more intently to attempt to understand this, he had realized he must have been mistaken. There was no hint of any emotion in those eyes as they skimmed over whatever passed before them.
Aye, lovely she was, breathtakingly so, but there was indeed a coldness to that beauty. He would not forget who and what Isabelle was. Even as he felt drawn to her, he suspected that any man who allowed himself to fall victim to her loveliness might have cause to rue such a weakness.
Deliberately Simon averted his gaze from both Isabelle and her patronizing father as they dismounted and began the evening’s preparations. He fixed his attention on several of Kelsey’s men as they erected two tents.
He looked away only as Isabelle and her woman entered the smaller of the two tents. Gerard Kelsey beckoned one of his men to his side and motioned to Simon with a sharply voiced command to prevent him from leaving. He then disappeared into the other tent with the watchful knight who never left his side, leaving Simon both relieved and irritated.
Neither his wife, nor her father had said so much as a word to him. What, then were his sleeping arrangements to be on his wedding night?
Simon shrugged even as he tried to deny that there was a certain stirring deep in his body at the very thought. In spite of all that he had told himself of her, he was less than certain as to his reactions should she be waiting for him.
Simon drew himself up. Better to bed down around the fire with the men than to go into the darkness of that tent with Isabelle. He was not concerned about sleeping out under the stars. He had done so many times, under countless skies from here to the Holy Land and back.
Yet what could he say, if he might be expected to share that tent with her?
How could he refuse? Simon did not wish to arouse suspicion as to his true intentions concerning the marriage. King John had made his feelings clear. He would not take any defiance lightly. There was no doubt in Simon’s mind that Kelsey would be more than pleased to inform the king that he was not being obeyed.
Frustrated with his thoughts, Simon turned to his own men, who stood nearby. “Wylie, groom our horses and ready our bedrolls for night.”
Wylie scowled and looked about at the other men, who were occupied with their own duties. It was clear that he felt uneasy at the notion of mixing with Kelsey’s men, but Simon was confident that no harm would come to the squire with Sir Edmund nearby. He cast the knight a meaningful glance over the squire’s head.
Sir Edmund nodded almost imperceptibly. “Come along lad, we’ve work to do.”
Wylie moved to obey. Simon knew it would do well for him to see to his accustomed duties. They must all attempt to find some ease with the situation. But having given over these tasks to his men, he had naught to occupy himself.
Simon swung around and strode to the edge of camp. He was surprised to feel a restraining hand upon his arm.
He swung around to meet the determined gaze of the same man whom Kelsey had ordered to watch him. “My lord has bid me keep you here.”
Simon shook off that hand. He could hear the strain in his own voice, the barely leashed anger. “I tire of proclaiming my honor at every turn. I will not try to escape, but neither will I beg permission to leave this camp for a few moments, no matter what your lord orders.”
The man frowned, looking toward Kelsey’s tent.
Simon rolled his eyes. “I am going for a swim. If you value your hand you will take it from me.”
The man looked at him for a long moment, then stepped back. “I have simply been told to do my duty.”
Simon nodded. “Aye, and you may say that you have done your best to do so.” With that he turned and stalked away. He had no wish to cause the man difficulty. He was, as he said, only doing as he had been instructed. But neither would Simon submit to Kelsey’s desire to see him completely subjugated. He had indeed been forced to proclaim his honor far too many times in the past two days.
And all in aid of a man who would not know what honor was did it rear up and bite him on his bony backside.
Isabelle chafed inside the small confines of her tent, ever conscious of the watchful and worried gaze of Helwys. She decided to occupy herself and the maid by rearranging her hair. But Helwys’s expression did not ease throughout this familiar activity and she finally broached the subject of the coming night. “Will he come to you, my lady?”
Isabelle was forced to inform her maid of the dismal truth with as much self-possession as she could muster. “I have no idea what is to happen.” It was true that her father had called a halt to their journey rather early in the evening but he had given no indication of why.
“Oh, my dear lady.”
Though Isabelle did love the older woman it was sometimes difficult to deal with her worry and sympathy. It was oftimes displayed when Isabelle could least afford any sign of weakness, any hint of self-pity. Such was the case now. She must retain her equilibrium. “My father will inform me of what he wishes for me to do when he wishes it. And not a moment before, as you well know.”
Helwys put her plump hands to her bosom. “’Tis unnatural, his treatment of you.”
Isabelle hushed her with a raised hand. “Do not say so.” She looked about them. “These walls are very poor protection indeed to guard against my father’s many ears and eyes. Were he to think you against him he would send you away…or…” Her voice broke as she recalled the beating Helwys had once received at her father’s command, and all because she had dared question one of Isabelle’s lessons. He did not feel that forcing five-year-old Isabelle to sit at table each evening for a fortnight without eating as a punishment for spilling her cup was cruel. She took a deep breath. “We can not risk angering him.” Though that had not been the last beating Helwys had suffered by his order there had been none in recent years and Isabelle would keep it so.
The older woman sent Isabelle a glance that told of just how much she understood. They two had been together since Isabelle was a child, but like everything else that had ever meant anything to her, Isabelle hid her love for the serving woman lest her father, who viewed such emotions as weakness, find some way to use it against her.
Weakness was not tolerated.
Even though Helwys desisted, the sadness and worry did not leave her brown gaze. Feeling as if she would surely explode with the tension of staying calm in the face of her maid’s anxiety Isabelle took up her scarlet cloak, saying, “I am going for a walk before it grows dark.”
Helwys frowned. “But, my lady…”
She took a quick breath through her nose, speaking with barely leashed strain. “If I do not do something, I shall go quite mad.”
The wide-eyed maid said no more in the face of this unaccustomed outburst and Isabelle slipped from the tent. She was afforded a measure of privacy as she hurried into the cover of the tall green pine and yew, as well as the rapidly turning ash and willow that grew close to the nearby stream.
Leaving the sounds of the camp behind, Isabelle took a deep breath, rubbing her hand over the base of her neck. Her cheeks felt hot and flushed. With a sigh she made her way to where the brush was thicker at the edge of the stream, moving forward carefully in order to make certain that the ground was firm beneath her.
It seemed soft and dense with moss but not unsafe. Isabelle knelt down and reached out to dip her hand in the cool water, meaning to bring it up to her heated cheeks.
In the very act of bending over, the sound of a splash came to her. Looking toward the noise, she stopped still. There, in the water just a bit farther downstream was a man. He was standing with his bare back to her in the shallows on the opposite bank as he splashed water over his upper body and over his thick, straight dark hair.
Isabelle jerked back, her hand going to her mouth as she realized that the man was Simon Warleigh. Her husband. The man who had already caused her so much unrest this day.
She knew that she should go away before he saw her. She could not imagine how she would ever live with his knowing that she had seen him this way. But another part of her, one that would not be denied, argued that he would never realize she was here.
And after all, was he not her own husband? It was not unusual that she would wonder about him, wonder about the body that must eventually be joined with hers if a child was to be made. She told herself that seeing him thus would surely help prepare her for the act that must come.
Isabelle had no wish to appear frightened or unsure of herself if he should come to her. And the more prepared she was, the more likely that she would be able to hide any anxiety she might feel from her husband.
Thus having convinced herself, she carefully leaned back out from behind the brush. Her gaze moved over those wide golden shoulders, down his back to his narrow waist and lean hips. When Warleigh raised his arms to scrub at his dark hair she saw the hardness of the muscles as they flexed in his forearms, his shoulders and down his back.
Isabelle frowned thoughtfully. She had not expected him to be so muscular. Simon was a slender man, as her father was, but from what she could see it was obvious that his body was far harder, more masculine.
He was strangely appealing, she realized as a faint tingle of awareness came to her belly. Her gaze grew wide. Now where had that thought come from?
However strong and attractive he might be, Warleigh did not appeal to her. If they came together it would be in the interest of producing a child. Nothing more.
Nonetheless she watched as he dove into the deeper portion of the river, then emerged far closer to her hiding spot than she would have expected. Again Isabelle ducked back behind the brush, while being careful to keep him in sight between the branches. She held her breath as Simon stood, his body glistening in the low-slanting, evening sunlight, his dark hair slicked back from his broad brow.
Her heart thumped in her chest, for he looked like some pagan god of old, risen from the very waters in which he stood. Again came that strange, pleasurable tingling. Quickly Isabelle called herself to task. Such fanciful thoughts were completely foreign to her.
Since early childhood Isabelle had been taught to control her feelings. No unwanted physical sensations or girlish daydreams had ever arisen in a mind that was completely fixed on doing what was expected of her and thus preventing any lessons. But now, with one glimpse of this man, she was entertaining notions that were quite unacceptable to her.
She drew herself up, pulling back as she closed her eyes. It would not serve, however fascinating the man might appear in the glory of his nakedness.
A flash of scarlet amongst the green drew Simon’s eyes. He stopped in the act of reaching for a handful of sand to rub in his wet hair, his gaze searching the bushes along that stretch of river.
Nothing.
Yet he had not imagined what he had seen. And the red was too vivid to be created by a trick of light on water.
Perhaps he told himself, it had been one of Kelsey’s men, sent to watch and make sure he did not try to escape. Yet he did not recall seeing any of the men wearing such a bright color. Then a vivid image of Isabelle entered his mind. She had been dressed in a scarlet cloak this day.
Shock jolted through him.
Why would Isabelle have come here to spy upon him? He could not credit that her father would send her to do so. Surely even Gerard Kelsey had more sensibility toward his own daughter.
Even more unbelievable was the notion that she might have come for her own purposes. The cold beauty had shown no sign of vague curiosity as far as he was concerned. The very thought of her having an interest in him made his body tighten although his will bade it do otherwise.
Isabelle Kelsey seemed to have little care for him.
Yet somehow he knew it had been her. An image of her looking back at him the first time he had seen her flashed through his mind. It made no sense in light of her behavior this day. Other than her defense of his keeping his men with him.
He dressed himself, then quickly made his way to the spot where he had seen the flash of scarlet. In the soft moss near the edge of the water he saw the imprint of two small shoes. It had to be a woman. Even the squires would have bigger feet. The only other woman on the journey besides Isabelle was the maid and she had been garbed in dark colors.
Far from clarifying anything, this further evidence that it had indeed been his wife left him even more at a loss. Again he wondered what possible reason she could have for such behavior.
Thoughtfully Simon made his way back to camp. Scanning the camp, he saw that Isabelle was not amongst those who had gathered around the fire in the growing gloom.
Disappointment made his lips tighten as he moved to sit on a log beside Sir Edmund just a bit apart from the others. Simon greeted him quietly. “All has gone well?”
The knight shrugged, “Well enough, my lord. It seems we will be tolerated for the most part.” Simon knew the knight would not complain lest things were particularly unpleasant. He had been one of his brother’s oldest knights and was much recommended by the steward at Avington.
“Wylie?” he asked, for he was not as certain of the squire’s behavior.
“Down by the stream watering the horses. I told him to have extra care with them.”
Simon nodded. “Well done.” Sir Edmund understood the importance of keeping the squire busy. He raked a hand through his hair, which was drying quickly in the heat of the fire. As he dropped his hand to his side, he caught a flash of red from the corner of his eye.
Isabelle. He swung around to look at her where she stood beside her tent.
That cool lavender gaze slid over him, away, then came back. For a brief moment their eyes locked before she turned away, her face as impassive as ever. Yet he was not blind to the deep rose coloring in her cheekbones.
Again he raked his hair straight back from his forehead. That flush seemed a sign of agitation for the cool beauty. Did it mean that beneath that icy demeanor there beat a passionate heart? Did she perhaps find him more appealing than she wished him to know? Was that why she had been at the stream?
His next thought, that he wished for this to be so, appalled Simon so completely he knew he must find something else to occupy his mind.
His gaze came to rest on Kelsey who now stood before his tent. The dark knight hovered, as ever, just behind him. The earl surveyed the activity of the camp with a disapproving expression. Seeing the degree of efficiency with which the men worked preparing for the coming night Simon was surprised. He knew his own men, many of them trained in haste by the necessity of the battlefield, could not have done better.
Noting Simon’s attention, Gerard Kelsey came toward him, his shadow following. “Well, Warleigh, I hope you are not finding our duty over you too chafing.” His tone said that his true hope was far different from that contained in his words.
Simon shrugged. “I am content, my lord. For the moment.” It did not seem that the knight who had attempted to detain him before he went to bathe had mentioned the matter of their confrontation. Simon felt no need to do so.
He watched as Kelsey smiled at him. “’Twould be best if you stayed content, my lord. I will not tolerate any disregard of the king’s wishes.”
Simon bowed. “Rest easy, sir. I have no wish to trouble the king.” He did not add that he had no such feelings as far as Kelsey himself was concerned.
“Very good.”
Then Kelsey was distracted by something behind Simon and shouted out, “Have you not been reprimanded enough this day? Have a care with that animal do you value your hide.”
Simon swung around to see the young lad who had been violently punished at Windsor, holding the reins of the magnificent black stallion once again. It pranced and fought at the bit, its hooves flashing at everything that came close to foot. Now it was clear the horse’s agitation was clearly caused by poor temperament, rather than improper handling, and that the stallion had been chosen for appearance rather than anything else. The lad had been harshly and unjustly punished.
He failed at keeping the disdain for his host from his voice as he said, “’Tis a beautiful horse.”
Kelsey raked him with an equally disdainful glance. “I would have no less in anything I possess.” He cast an oddly unreadable glance toward Isabelle’s tent.
Simon could not help realizing that he was speaking of Isabelle. He found himself asking, “Including your daughter?”
The older man raised gray brows high in challenge. “Including my daughter.”
How could the man speak of his own child so dispassionately, as if she were no more to him than any other possession and before his man, even though he be a knight? The thought was strangely disturbing and he found himself watching Kelsey’s face for any hint of fatherly affection. He saw none, only conceit.
He felt a tug of sympathy. Perhaps here was a clue to the veiled sarcasm he had heard in her voice when she spoke to her father before leaving Windsor.
Simon gave himself a mental shake. Isabelle would not welcome his pity. She seemed to be more than content with her lot in spite of her apparent sarcasm toward her father. He would do well to expend his energies in thinking how he would get out of this situation, away from this man, while still retaining his lands.
He was distracted from these thoughts by the sudden angry babble of his squire’s voice. Simon sighed, wondering what could have set the lad off this time. Had he known that his journey to court would end in his being in the custody of his most hated enemy, he would never have taken Wylie to Windsor. He had taken him to service under his longtime squire, Martin, who had served him in the Holy Land, because Martin would soon be receiving his spurs and Simon had been impressed with Wylie, who was the son of one of the other knights at Avington. He had noted a quickness of intellect in the lad that he had thought to hone with discipline and training.
Unfortunately the boy was also somewhat impulsive. Simon knew that the lad’s admiration and gratitude toward him was great. All of this complicated things and did not bode well for his hope that Wylie would be able to control himself enough to stay out of trouble until an opportunity to return to Avington presented itself.
Quickly Simon moved to where Wylie was standing with his arms folded over his chest in the midst of the other men who had quickly gathered at the edge of the camp where the horses were tied. Rage radiated from his squire in waves. “What goes on here?” Simon demanded.
Wylie turned from his angry contemplation of one of the other men, another boy really, Simon realized as he took a closer look at the object of Wylie’s displeasure.
His squire exploded. “He says I may not bring our blankets close to the fire, my lord. He says that the best places are for Kelsey’s own men.”
Simon sighed. “I am sure no insult was meant. Of course, as his lord’s squire he would be most concerned with making sure that his lord’s men be given their just due of honor. We are newly come and would not usurp anyone’s position. I am sure there will be comforts aplenty for all at Dragonwick.”
Wylie scowled at the other squire, who smiled slyly.
Simon felt a rush of irritation with Kelsey’s squire himself. At the same time he knew it was unrealistic to expect more from Kelsey’s retainers. A good example must be set in order to receive honorable behavior from underlings.
Kelsey interrupted his thoughts with a gruffly voiced order. “You must keep your men under control.”
Simon knew a tug of resentment, even though he had been thinking much the same thing. He kept it well hidden. “Of course, my lord.” He looked to his squire. “There will be no more problems, will there, Wylie?”
The lad bowed, keeping his head down.
Kelsey seemed to be somewhat mollified by Simon’s lack of resistance to his position of power. But he continued to keep his nose raised to a haughty angle. “I mean to finish attending some matters in my tent. Sir Fredrick, you are to see that there are no more disturbances.”
The shadow nodded, his narrowed eyes sliding over Simon. He slipped a caressing hand to the hilt of his sword as he leaned close to whisper in his master’s ear. The earl shook his head sharply as he whispered, “Not now, my friend. We must remember John’s wishes.”
The knight’s disappointment was obvious and it took no great amount of imagination to guess at the subject of their exchange. Simon realized he must watch his back with this one, though it seemed he would heed his master as far as an open attack was concerned. There was no doubt in Simon’s mind that he had naught to thank for his continued good health but Kelsey’s determination to hold him for the crown. From that whispered phrase it seemed he would not be averse to changing his mind.
Sir Fredrick continued to study Simon as he took up a rigid stance outside the ring of the fire. Simon dismissed him, focusing on the arrogant earl as he strode away with no concern whatsoever for the fact that the exchange might have been overheard. His back rigid, Simon balled his hands into fists at his sides. He would very much like to change the straight angle of that autocratic nose. He forced his hands to open, for he must remember Avington, and the folk who lived there, were what mattered here not some self-indulgent sense of injured dignity.
If they did mean him ill, they would not find him so very easy to kill.
Through his anger, he heard Wylie whisper, “’Tis a disgrace, my lord, you being held by that blackguard.”
Deliberately, Simon made a greater effort to gain mastery over his feelings. He was certain no one could have heard the exchange but himself, and he would keep it to himself. He put a soothing hand on the squire’s shoulder, a warning hand. “Pray hold your tongue, lad. I am not pleased by events but neither am I uneasy in my mind. All will right itself soon enough.”
The boy raised hopeful eyes to his face. “You are too easy with them, my lord. We should fight our way through this as Martin has told me you were forced to many times in the Holy Land.”
Simon leaned closer, his tone admonishing. “Heed me, boy. What happens here is not the same. There we fought the enemy. Here, the king himself has ordered that I be put under Kelsey’s rule. We would be committing not only a foolish act, but a suicidal one in defying Kelsey and through him the king.” He held that light-blue gaze. “Dost understand me, Wylie? ’Twould be treason. You must keep your head till I devise a way to make the king see that I have no desire to plot against him.” Which was a true enough statement. He did sympathize with the other nobles but he had no intention beyond that at this moment.
It was Kelsey he wished to see brought low. Yet that anticipated outcome must wait. Hate him though Simon did, he would not risk Avington.
Simon was not completely reassured when the boy said, “Aye, my lord,” for his lips were set in a stubborn line as his resentful gaze flicked over the earl’s men, lingering longest on the prideful countenance of the squire who had so offended him.
That grudgingly muttered acquiescence was all he would get and would have to do, in these circumstances. Simon need simply keep ahead of the willful boy.
Kelsey must be lulled into believing he posed no threat no matter how difficult that feat might prove, no matter how hotly his anger and resentment burned inside him. Simon only hoped that he would begin to ease his vigilant eyes ere long. He did not wish to resort to accepting Jarrod’s wild notion of laying in wait for the earl and killing him even though the situation had become dire enough to warrant casting chivalry aside. Not whilst he was the one most likely to be suspect.
If they could only garner the support of the other nobles to petition for his release he might still find a way out.
He must find a way.
And he must do this in the midst of trying to understand his own unwanted awareness of his enemy’s daughter. He could not afford himself the self-indulgence of giving in to his attraction for her, not if he meant to be free of her and her supercilious and reprehensible sire.
Chapter Four
Isabelle lingered far from the camp for as long as she dared to avoid meeting Simon. When she returned night had nearly fallen.
She made every effort to avoid looking for her husband amongst the men. Yet she found him near the blaze of the fire, his dark hair dry, his powerful body hidden by the fine garments he wore. That did not prevent a vision of how he had appeared in the stream from coming into her mind. Simon did not seem to notice her at all, let alone her discomfiture. She could not but be grateful though she knew theirs must be the oddest marriage ever entered into, even amongst arranged marriages. A deep flush heated her face and neck.
She ducked into her tent. The relief on Helwys’s face made her chest tighten with guilt. She opened her lips to apologize when a commotion from without made Helwys look at her with an unvoiced question that mirrored her own.
Isabelle, not wishing to come face-to-face with Simon, said, “Will you go to see what has occurred?”
The maid nodded and hurried out, clearly curious.
Isabelle continued to hear the deep rumble of men’s voices and a slightly higher one that was still distinctly male, but it was impossible to make out the words any of them spoke. Not until Helwys scurried back into the tent was she able to learn what had occurred.
The maid raised clear brown eyes to hers. “It was Lord Warleigh’s squire, my lady. He took issue with your father’s squire telling him that he could not put their blankets beside the fire.”
Isabelle moved to sit on the pile of furs that made up her bed. “Oh.”
The maid’s approving tone brought her gaze back to her. “Your husband acquitted himself most fairly, my lady. He smoothed all over by saying that my lord Kelsey’s men must have first choice as he had no wish to displace any man. He seems bent on trying to make peace betwixt the men. His manner in the incident was naught as your—” Helwys blanched and Isabelle knew she been about to refer to her father in a derogatory manner. She continued carefully, “Your lord husband behaved in a way that was quite admirable. ’Tis a good sign, for I do hope he will be kind to you.”
Isabelle was troubled by Helwys’s approval of Simon Warleigh. She had no wish to look for nobility in him. She had never known anything but disappointment in any man other than her uncle Wallace. Thinking of him made her recall that no matter how compelling the sight of Warleigh’s body might be, he had been one of those to condemn her uncle.
Quickly she interjected, “Haps my husband is simply weak.” Isabelle knew this was not true even as the words left her mouth.
Helwys frowned at her. “I would not say so, my lady. He speaks most confidently.”
Isabelle did not wish to discuss this, or to think about Simon, or the sight of his strong body. Yet this conversation had made her do just that.
A male voice intruded on her thoughts, “My lady.”
Isabelle would know that voice anywhere. She moved to the door of the tent and looked out. “Sir Fredrick.”
The knight did not face her as he said, “My lord Kelsey would speak with you in his tent.”
Isabelle nodded. “You may tell him I shall attend him in a moment.”
He bowed even as she ducked back inside. She looked to Helwys, who had begun to wring her hands. “I am going to speak with my father.”
Both of them knew the likely purpose of this summons.
The maid said nothing to this but continued to wring her hands as Isabelle left. At the door of her father’s tent, she faltered, her mouth opening but no sound issuing forth. She wanted nothing so much than to run away.
There was no telling what she might have done had Sir Fredrick, whom she had not noted hovering nearby, not spoken for her. “The lady Isabelle has come, my lord.”
Her sire answered from within, “You may enter, Isabelle.” There was no emotion in his voice from which to gage his intent.
Taking a deep breath Isabelle forced herself to don the mask of cool indifference that served her so well when dealing with her father. She entered the tent with squared shoulders and a deliberately unconcerned expression.
Candles lit the dim interior and she saw that her father was seated on a low stool. He was sipping sparingly from a silver cup, which he lowered as his gaze came to rest on her. Isabelle was rocked by a sense of loneliness in those eyes such as she had never imagined, but it was so fleeting that she told herself it could not have been anything but a trick of the flickering light. For when she looked more closely his eyes were, as she was accustomed to seeing them, without expression. “Isabelle.”
She refrained from sighing and the effort to retain her equilibrium was made doubly difficult by that fleeting impression, no matter how false. “You sent for me, Father?”
He smiled, though there was no warmth in that smile. “I would have you prepare yourself for Warleigh.”
Even though she had known this could be the case, shock rolled through her. She had just met the man this very morn and his resentment of the marriage was more than clear. Her tone was hoarse with surprise and uncertainty as she said, “You mean for me to bed with him?”
Her father watched her closely now. “Would you have me say that I do not, daughter?”
A chill rolled over her at his tone and assessing expression. She had made a terrible mistake in betraying so much. Self-preservation required an immediate recovery of her accustomed pose of indifference. When she was twelve her father had seen her turn away from the sight of him slitting the throat of a deer during hunting. He had forced her to watch each and every time thereafter, telling her she must not shy away from anything, must be strong enough within herself to let nothing disturb her. He must have no reason to feel she had not learned this lesson.
She faced him squarely, her voice betraying none of her inner turmoil. “I am only tired from traveling, Father. I have no preference in the matter of Warleigh. I would prepare myself if that is your desire.”
His gaze raked her. “You truly are without feeling, aren’t you, Isabelle? Though I did have to think on how you would best be trained you have taken to my guidance well.” For a moment there was something strange and unreadable in that gaze as there had been so many times over the course of her life. Then he said, “I am gladdened to see this. It means you would never allow emotion, love, nor hate to make you act rashly. I have seen to it that you will not allow passion for anyone or anything drive you.”
She nodded, holding the hurt engendered by his assessment to her tightly, keeping her gaze level. She knew that, to him, this was indeed a compliment. “I would do what pleases you, Father.”
He smiled that cool little smile which told her he was indeed happy with her in his way. “Then I will tell you what pleases me in this.”
She waited, her insides twisting with anxiety but giving no hint of it.
Her father smiled again. “Methinks it would serve me very well for you to bed Warleigh. You, being the dutiful daughter that you are, Isabelle, will please me by getting yourself with a son. In the event that Warleigh was to meet with an untimely end his holdings would fall to the lad, who would do quite well under my capable tutelage. And your dower, which was not discussed as a term of this marriage, also remains in my hands. Indeed this union with Warleigh could prove quite profitable.”
Isabelle was able to hide her disgust with only the greatest of determination. Her father would not raise her son in his image. He would not do as he had attempted to do to her, trying to wipe out all emotion. For though he had succeeded in teaching her to hide her feelings, he had not destroyed them. Isabelle was still capable of loving and she intended to shower all the love she had buried inside her on her own son. She would be the one to teach him what was right and wrong, that true strength lay in not being afraid to love. He would be like the Dragon.
She thought she had managed to keep her reaction to his pronouncement hidden as she always had, until her father said, “What is it I see in those pretty eyes, Isabelle?” There was no mistaking the surprise in his tone. “Reassure me that is not rebellion.”
Quickly she pulled herself up short, the accustomed mask falling firmly into place as she met his eyes without wavering. “Nay, why would you think such a thing? What would I rebel against?”
“You are not concerned about the possibility of your husband meeting an early end? It simply may prove necessary in the event that the king ever allows him to return to Avington. Now that I have pointed out his plotting against the crown to King John, I will be his target. It is only wise to secure the succession of the lands as soon as possible at any rate. Even if it does not prove necessary for me to act against him, a man who is the enemy of many, as Warleigh is, makes many enemies. He could meet his death at any time and the king may wish to take Avington for himself if there is no heir. Why not assure our own claim?”
She continued to look directly into those assessing eyes as she took in this information. She could only think that it was her father’s pleasure at the thought of attaining Avington that made him so forthcoming.
She realized her father had fallen silent, that he was watching her. Quickly she said, “Clearly Warleigh can see to himself.” In spite of her father’s revelation that Warleigh was not innocent in this, she felt a rush of regret. She soothed herself with the thought that her father had implied he would be safe as long as he did not return to Avington. At the same time she was aware of a certainty that for all his acquiescence to her father’s will thus far, Simon Warleigh might not be so easily killed.
All unaware her father nodded. “Very good.”
She heard the lack of emotion in her own voice as she answered, “Do I not always do as you wish, Father?”
Obviously feeling too much praise had already been handed out this day, he frowned. “And you will continue to do so if you know what is good for you, wench. I can devise an effective method of teaching obedience whenever it might prove necessary as well as taking back those pretty frocks and jewels should I feel you are not suitably grateful.”
She looked at the floor, not wanting him to see the immediate rise of anger and anxiety in her gaze. Neither would she tell him that the fine clothing and jewels meant nothing to her and never would.
Someday she would be free of him and the steel bands of his control. She would have her own life, would be free to love. In order to meet that end she must first have a child. And to do that she must appear to fall in with her father’s plans.
Her father interrupted her thoughts as he said, “I will have Warleigh informed that he is to attend you.” She could hear the satisfaction he felt at being able to tell the other man what he must do.
Though Isabelle knew a momentary rush of sympathy for Simon Warleigh she did not dwell upon it. He was, as she had said, surely capable of looking after himself.
It was she who must steel herself to accept the coming events. Her husband was a stranger. Her feelings of unease were not lessened when thoughts of the coming night brought a sudden and vivid memory of his powerful warrior’s body.
Simon looked up from his roasted meat in surprise as Kelsey’s knight stepped before him. “Sirrah?
The knight made no pretence at civility, his eyes dark with hostility. “My lord Kelsey has bade me inform you that you are to attend the lady Isabelle in her tent.”
Simon stiffened. He was aware of all the eyes that focused on him. And in that moment he knew that he could not debate this matter here before the men, and certainly not with Kelsey’s knight. No woman, even the daughter of his enemy, should be shown so little respect.
Yet Simon need not have worried on that score. The knight did not linger to gain his opinion on the subject. He swung around and strode away without another word.
Slowly Simon stood. He continued to be aware of the eyes that had followed him as he left the fire. He paused, taking a deep breath as he came to the entrance of her tent.
He had no intention of changing his mind in this. How, he wondered, would he convey his position without offering offense to the woman he had taken as his bride this very morn? That the marriage had taken place under duress did not change the fact that he had no wish to shame her.
He took another deep breath, then spoke softly. “It is Simon Warleigh. I beg entrance.”
The husky reply was a moment in coming. “You may enter, my lord.”
Simon stepped inside and halted. There in the center of small chamber was Isabelle. His wife.
She looked so beautiful in the light of the candles that for a moment he wished his intention was something completely different from what it was. Her ebony hair had been left in a rippling curtain that fell to her hips. When she shifted slightly beneath his regard the light revealed the hint of deep fire that gave it an unexpected warmth. His gaze moved down over the white shift that was formed from a fabric so fine that he was given the most tantalizing glimpses of the creamy flesh that lay beneath.
The sight of her brought every part of him to life. Deliberately he looked away. He did not know how it could be but there was only the barest hint of huskiness to betray his feelings when he said, “I was told that you were expecting me.”
She answered softly, her voice telling him nothing of her feelings. “My father bade me to make myself ready.”
Though she did not say so he had the sudden realization that she had been informed of her father’s wishes with as little care as he. He took a step closer to her, seeing a way out for both of them. “Isabelle, you need not feel that you must go through with this now. After all, we do not even know one another.”
She turned away, her slender shoulders seeming to tense. “I am prepared to do as my father has bid me.”
Cool, remote Isabelle. Other than the stiffness in her shoulders there was no sign of reaction in her. It was as if they were speaking of the weather.
“I see.” Simon repressed the urge to run a weary hand over his face. What a day it had been. He must find some way to stay out of his marriage bed while still offering his unwanted bride a way to retain her dignity. In spite of her being his enemy’s daughter, it greatly mattered to him that he do so. She had done him no ill.
He was not blind to the fatigue in his voice as he said, “Do you have something to drink? I find I have a great thirst.”
Without looking at him, she moved to the low table that held the candles and lifted a pitcher and cup. With what seemed more than usual care, she poured the wine and moved toward him.
Simon was hard-pressed to keep from noting the way the light silhouetted her slim and beguiling form as she passed in front of it. He kept his gaze on the cup as she moved closer and held it out. He found himself wiping away the sweat that beaded on his upper lip as the scent of jasmine and the warm scent of woman wafted over him as he reached for the cup with the other hand. His gaze fell to the shadow between the curves of her breasts, which was just visible at the neckline of her gown.
He forced himself to look up, and came into direct contact with those violet eyes. They watched him with an expression that was impossible to read as her tongue flicked out to dampen her lips. The sight of the moisture on that sweet mouth made him want to press his own to it, made his body tighten.
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Catherine Archer
Simon Warleigh and his brothers-in-arms had sworn to avenge the murder of their beloved foster father, the Dragon. But upon Simon's return from the Holy Land, the brave knight was falsely accused of treason and stripped of his lands.His only chance to recover his beloved Avington was to marry the daughter of the very man he had vowed to bring to justice!Simon was quickly wed to the beautiful Lady Isabelle, with her mesmerizing violet eyes and a demeanor as cold as the chapel statues. Yet there were glimpses of the fire burning beneath Isabelle's cool exterior. And soon thoughts of revenge turned to thoughts of love as Simon yearned to melt the ice maiden into a woman of flesh and blood.
“My lord Warleigh, I am not prepared to receive you at this time.”
“Not prepared to receive me? You can not have forgotten that we share this chamber.”
“I have not forgotten. You may come back after my maid has prepared your bed.”
Simon scowled, then shook his head. “Nay, ’twill not serve. This is my chamber and you are my wife. It is not improper for me to be alone with you.” He stepped before her, perusing her slowly. “To do anything I wish with you.”
She sucked in a deep breath, as a rush of something dark and unknown raced through her. Desperately she fought for control at her reaction to him.
“I would not say that you may do as you wish with me, my lord. Wed though we may be, it is not a real marriage.”
“Do I detect a note of disappointment, Isabelle?”
Praise for Catherine Archer’s previous works
Summer’s Bride
“A delightful read!”
—Romance Reviews Today
Winter’s Bride
“…a pleasurable medieval romance with conventional characters and a tried-and-true plot.”
—Romantic Times Magazine
Fire Song
“This finely crafted medieval romance…(is) a tale to savor.”
—Romantic Times Magazine
Lord Sin
“…deftly done and sure to please.”
—Romantic Times Magazine
#591 MY LADY’S TRUST
Julia Justiss
#592 CALL OF THE WHITE WOLF
Carol Finch
#594 GOLD RUSH BRIDE
Debra Lee Brown
Dragon’s Dower
Catherine Archer
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Available from Harlequin Historicals and
CATHERINE ARCHER
Rose Among Thorns #136
** (#litres_trial_promo)Velvet Bond #282
** (#litres_trial_promo)Velvet Touch #322
Lady Thorn #353
Lord Sin #379
Fire Song #426
* (#litres_trial_promo)Winter’s Bride #477
* (#litres_trial_promo)The Bride of Spring #514
* (#litres_trial_promo)Summer’s Bride #544
* (#litres_trial_promo)Autumn’s Bride #582
† (#litres_trial_promo)Dragon’s Dower #593
To my sisters-in-law, Edie, Iris, Lillian and Bev, for their continued interest and support of my writing for all these years. Thank you.
Contents
Prologue (#u46ba24f4-b601-5727-909f-069e1d207d47)
Chapter One (#u39f97629-81ac-51ac-b3c9-fe0879379e2f)
Chapter Two (#uc21d9b79-1434-5f3a-a8d4-faa047a6433e)
Chapter Three (#u0fba57b9-da13-554b-ac9a-c3595a549456)
Chapter Four (#uc302dc23-614d-5bba-a951-325f4d29f2cd)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Prologue
England, 1188
The three boys sat facing one another. The flames of the fire they had lit at the center of their circle burned no hotter than the anger in their eyes.
Simon, who was the oldest by three months, took up his knife and held it over the flames. “I, Simon Warleigh, swear my allegiance and friendship to you, my brothers in arms, for the rest of my life.”
He drew the blade across his palm, barely flinching as it left a long shallow cut that began to bleed immediately. He passed the blade to Jarrod on his right.
The dark boy took the blade, held it over the flames and said, “I, Jarrod Maxwell, swear my allegiance and friendship to you, my brothers in arms, for the rest of my life.” He made no sign as the knife slit his flesh, passing it to his right.
Christian was the youngest by nearly a year. His brown hair was glossy with golden streaks in the fire-light. He took the blade. He looked to his companions, then held the knife over the flames as they had done. His voice was as firm with conviction as theirs had been. “I, Christian Greatham, swear my allegiance and friendship to you, my brothers in arms, for the rest of my life.”
He flicked his tongue out to wet his lower lip, then dragged the knife over his palm with a frown of concentration. He looked up at the other two.
All three stood in unison and they held their dripping palms out over the flames.
Simon spoke with a maturity far beyond his thirteen years. “Brothers we are, bound by the blood we shed and by our love for each other and the man who brought us together. May we never forget The Dragon and the wrong done him.”
“The Dragon,” intoned the other two boys.
Jarrod reached out to clasp Christian’s wrist. Christian did the same to Simon, who closed his own palm around Jarrod’s wrist.
Simon called out to the star-studded sky overhead. “Does it take our whole lives, my lord, we will see the man who wronged you punished.” The pain and sadness in his voice was echoed in the others’ faces.
They stood like that, bound by their love for one another and for the man who had acted as foster father, mentor and teacher to the three of them. The man whom they had been forced to testify against.
Jarrod spoke in a harsh voice. “We should have lied.”
Christian shook his head, his blue eyes dark with misery. “He would not have had us do such a thing, even to save him.”
Simon nodded. “Aye.”
Their foster father had had no idea what would come when he’d told them to tell the truth. Yet Simon knew that none of them would ever rid themselves of the guilt of having given testimony that would incriminate him.
Though Simon had loved his own father deeply neither he nor anyone else who had ever known Wallace Kelsey, known by friends and foe alike as The Dragon, could deny the impact of his character and genuine care for all who came into contact with him. That was, no one but The Dragon’s own brother, Gerard Kelsey.
It was he who, due to his treachery, now bore the title of Earl of Kelsey. It was he who sat in the place of honor in the great hall at Dragonwick.
At that moment Jarrod spoke up, “I have something that I wish to give each of you before we leave here.” He went to his horse and took a velvet bag from his belongings.
He came back to the fire and removed three objects, holding them out to the light. Simon saw that they were brooches, each containing a circle and within the circle was a magnificent dragon, its wings unfurled.
Jarrod held one out to Simon, then to Christian. “These will keep us from forgetting each other or him.”
Simon’s voice was as husky as his friend’s as he pinned the brooch to his cape. “I will never forget.”
“Nor I,” said Christian as he pinned his own into place.
Swallowing hard, Jarrod did the same. Then, with no further words between them, the three mounted and headed back to the keep, which after the events of the previous day no longer felt like home. It was the day when their innocence had died, the day The Dragon’s brother had attacked the keep and killed him.
Chapter One
England, 1201
“There is one way, my lord, for you to keep your head.” King John’s keenly assessing gaze held him.
Simon Warleigh, Lord of Avington stiffened where he stood before the king. King John leaned forward, his elbows on the table before him, as Simon spoke with a tone of calm that surprised him no less than it did the king. “And that would be?”
John Lackland was so called because his father Henry had made no great provision for him as he had his brothers. He had ruled with an iron hand since inheriting from his brother, Richard Lionheart, after his death in 1199. The king smiled thinly, reaching down to run a slender hand over the head of the sleek-coated hound that sat beside his heavily carved chair. “Take Kelsey’s daughter to wife.”
Simon sucked in a breath of shock. He was aware of the quick glances of the two guards who stood back from the king’s chair, though neither man made any other outward sign that they were taking note of the proceedings. The guards were the small stone chamber’s only other occupants, but their presence was hardly necessary. Even if Simon was foolish enough to try to escape this private audience he could never hope to make it through the castle without being apprehended.
But that was not the greatest of his problems at the moment. “Why would I take my accuser’s daughter to my very bosom?” As soon as he said the words Simon realized he must go carefully. Though he was not guilty of plotting against the king John clearly believed that he was. The king’s harsh dealings with his nobles had certainly caused much unrest and gave him good reason to suspect insurrection amongst his subjects. Were Simon not so occupied with his own conflict with Kelsey, he might indeed have fallen in with those who had asked him to join their efforts to rein in this king. But he had little time to afford such activities.
The king shrugged, his shoulders narrow despite the heavy red velvet tunic he wore. “Because as I have just informed you, it is the only way to keep that head of yours attached to the shoulders the women at court seem to make so much of.”
Simon ignored the jibe. He had no care for the foolish tongues of women who had nothing of import to occupy them.
Simon had Avington to see to first and foremost. He had come back from the Holy Land to learn of the inheritance that had fallen to him with both a sense of responsibility and a deep sorrow. He would never have expected the death of both his father, who he learned had been dead these many months, and his elder brother only weeks prior to his return to England. Yet he’d had no time to grieve their loss, for he had immediately become embroiled in this conflict with the Earl of Kelsey. It galled him so to call the usurper by that name, the title that had graced his former foster father.
It was near beyond comprehension that the king would now make Kelsey Simon’s father-by-marriage. He shook his dark head, trying to fathom some way out of this untenable situation. Never for a moment had he, Jarrod or Christian foreseen such a complication to their budding plans to bring Kelsey to ruin. He spoke almost absently. “It makes no sense. Why would you ask this of me? What possible gain could there be from it?”
King John watched him for a moment, stroking his long narrow cheek. “In spite of your long absence from England you can not be ignorant of your father’s, and after him your brother’s, influence with the other nobles. Do I execute you I risk their enmity. Do I marry you to a man as loyal to me as Kelsey, the very man who alerted me to your perfidy, I prevent you from continuing to plot against me. And mark me well, Kelsey will prevent that.”
Simon spoke carefully, knowing that this man had the power to take Avington from him if he chose to do so. “Perhaps Kelsey will not have me for his daughter.” Kelsey knew very well that it had been himself Simon was referring to as the target in the intercepted letter that had been used as evidence against him.
“He will do as I say, even to the point of taking you into his home. His loyalty to me is unquestioned.”
“You mean for me to abide at Dragonwick?”
“You could not believe I would allow you to go home to Avington where you would be able to make whatever mischief you might conceive of. You will abide at Dragonwick and Kelsey will serve as guarantor of your conduct until such time as I am assured of your loyalty.”
“By controlling my every movement.” Simon could not quite keep the bitterness from his voice, for it was even worse than he could have imagined.
The king regarded him coldly. “Aye.”
Resentment rolled through him at the very thought of being in the bastard’s control. “And if I refuse?”
John smiled again. “In spite of any ire that might be garnered amongst the nobles by your death I would see it done in order to assure that you cause me no difficulty.”
Simon took a deep breath, knowing he had to try this one last time to convince the king of the truth. “I repeat, Sire, that I have done naught against you.”
The king raised dark brows and looked down at the letter before him. The letter that outlined much of Simon’s wish to destroy Kelsey, without actually naming the man. The letter had been on its way to Christian at Bransbury when it had been intercepted by Kelsey’s man, who had the messenger killed. Although he regretted the death of that good man, Simon knew that it had likely been the one thing to save Christian and Jarrod. If Kelsey had had an opportunity to question the messenger, he might very well have divulged his destination.
Simon said, “I have told you, Your Majesty, that letter has been taken out of turn. The man I spoke of was not you, but Kelsey himself.”
The king shook his head. “And as I have told you, my lord Warleigh, there would be no reason for Kelsey to lie to me in this. He says that he does know for a fact that it is me you plot against and not him because you approached him in that vein. Indeed, why would he lie if he knew that it was he who was the target of your machinations? Surely a loyal man such as he would simply seek my protection.”
Simon knew why. Kelsey had thought that by making it appear that Simon was plotting against the crown he would rid himself of an enemy with little effort on his part. Yet Simon knew it was pointless to reiterate this fact. John, knowing that many of the nobles were discontented with him, was ready to believe the worst.
The king seemed angered anew! “Well, Warleigh, what say you? Take Kelsey’s daughter, or…?” He arched dark brows high.
Simon reached up and ran a hand over the dragon brooch that held his heavy woolen cloak over his shoulder. He spoke deliberately. “I must think on this.”
John nodded sharply. “You have until morning.” The king’s gaze raked him. “Kelsey’s daughter has been summoned. ’Tis her or the axe.”
Simon raised his own dark brows, outraged at what was revealed by the king’s words. It was clear that Kelsey had agreed before Simon was even informed. “I begin to see that this marriage is a bid by Kelsey to gain my lands….”
John stopped him with a raised hand. “Your accusation is ridiculous, for my lord Kelsey was not eager for this union. Yet he—” the king’s scathing gaze raked Simon “—is loyal to me and will do as his sovereign desires. Even had I been inclined to heed your accusations against the earl, this new charge against him would convince me of your lack of honesty. You will say no more against him.”
Simon felt a stab of self-directed anger at his rashness in speaking without thinking. Of course Kelsey had not engineered the marriage. As Simon’s nearest neighbor and favorite of the king he would have some hope of gaining the lands without such a drastic step, or at least holding them if the king wanted them for himself.
Simon could see no choice but to agree to this marriage. He took a deep calming breath. “I understand.”
The two guards started toward him. He stopped them with a raised hand, his dark eyes proud as he looked to the king. “Their escort will not be necessary. I can find my own way back to the village.”
John eyed him, then shrugged when Simon’s gaze did not waver. “Very well. See that you do not leave the town and be warned, if you do, I have the power to take Avington. You would also forfeit your life, for my patience would be at an end and my offer of leniency revoked.”
Again Simon bowed, making no reply, though he would not have called what had been offered to him here leniency. Not marriage to Kelsey’s daughter.
The king then gestured toward the door. “Leave me.”
Simon swung around and strode from the chamber. He must indeed think on this matter, though what could come of thinking he did not know.
He went directly to the stables, heedless of the chill autumn breeze that cut through his light cloak. His very life was at stake here—and more importantly, Avington. With his father and brother dead he finally had an inkling of why his father had always put Avington first, even before his own well-being. ’Twas a great responsibility to care for not only the heritage of his family, but the lives of so many who depended upon him as their lord.
He now realized how mad he had been to embark upon this feud with Kelsey. Yet upon returning from the Holy Land, all his old outrage against the earl had been awakened when he learned that upon his brother’s death the earl had sought to gain control of Avington. The longtime steward had told Simon enough of the earl’s machinations to make his blood boil, including the fact that Kelsey had tried to gain access to the keep with his men a week before Simon returned home. The steward had only been able to put him off by declaring that he had no right to grant anyone permission to enter with his lord dead and the new lord not yet returned. That he would be happy to do so if the earl was to come with edict from the king.
Simon’s arrival at Avington had clearly only just prevented the earl’s obtaining that edict.
Newly come from the Holy Land with him, both Jarrod and Christian had been eager in their insistence on joining his quest to see Kelsey pay for his wrong-doings. When Simon had stated that this was his fight and that he would not have them risk their own skins, they had reminded him quite forcefully that Kelsey had wronged them as well. They had been mere boys when he murdered The Dragon and took his lands. Now they were men, hardened by hardship and battle. They would not have Simon cheat them of this chance to strike back at one who had done such wrong.
These thoughts reminded him that the only two men he fully trusted on earth awaited word of what had occurred in the king’s chambers. They appeared within hours of each other at the inn where he had been allowed to stay when he arrived at court two days before. Neither had admitted how they knew what was going on, but Simon suspected that it had been the steward who had sent them news of his summons to court. That good man had cautioned against retribution toward Kelsey, who he knew was an intimate of the king.
Simon had failed to heed that advice.
To his detriment. For he had not foreseen how devious Kelsey would prove.
Kelsey had already been at court with his stolen letter when Simon arrived. Nothing Simon had said in his own defense had been heeded and he would not have been allowed any other witnesses even if he had been inclined to let his friends stand for him.
Kelsey could not know their identities or they would have been accused, as well. Simon would keep it that way.
He pressed his horse to a faster speed.
So preoccupied was he that Simon was nearly upon the wagon blocking the center of the road before it gained his attention. Casting a puzzled gaze over the wagon he immediately realized that one of the rear wheels was lying beside it in the road. Several men, most of them garbed in mail and obviously soldiers, were working to raise it in order to get the wheel back on. Horses of decent breed, as well as a glossy black mare of exceptional quality, were tied to a tree just off to the right.
Two women, one in a long hooded cape of good wool and another in a hooded cape of heavy burgundy velvet stood looking on. A noblewoman and her entourage, he assessed quickly. Most likely they were on their way to court.
In spite of all that was going wrong in his own life, Simon found himself stopping. He greeted the two women. “Is there aught I might do to help you?”
The taller of the two, the one in the velvet cape raised her head….
Dear heaven, he thought as his eyes met hers, which were almond shaped and the most unusual color he had ever seen, for they were the exact shade of newly budded lilacs. Her alabaster skin molded features of perfect and pleasing symmetry like those he had seen on statues while travelling through Italy, the nose straight, the cheekbones high. Her lips were such a luscious wild berry hue that he wondered if she had been biting them. The dark ebony hair that rimmed the inside of her hood seemed to come afire with subtle streaks of deep red in the morning light.
She was beautiful, undeniably, incredibly, mesmerizingly beautiful.
It took Simon a moment to realize that those perfect lips were moving, answering the question he had forgotten he’d asked. Her voice, having a slight huskiness for a woman, was soft and evenly modulated, and it stirred his senses as greatly as her beauty. “I do not know what it might be, sir.” She did not fully meet his gaze for more than a brief moment as she gestured to the men who had not ceased in their efforts to raise the wagon. “There are hands enough to see it done.”
A firm rejection of his offer, but perhaps just what a gently bred young woman should tell a strange man.
Still he lingered, finding himself asking inanely, “Do you go on to court?”
She kept her gaze cast down and he noted the way her lashes lay very thick and dark over her ivory cheeks. “My lord, I do appreciate your concern but we really require no aid. And my father would not have me converse with a man unknown to me, lest there be some pressing need for it.”
Simon was not at all surprised. The man who counted himself this damsel’s father must certainly have a care with her.
Truth be told he was somewhat of a blackguard to linger about here staring like an untried lad. He might soon find himself wed, and though it was not of his choosing, his circumstances made his attentions to the young woman less than honorable.
Simon bowed, his tone softer than it might have been had he not felt somewhat doubtful of his own reasons for continuing to tarry. “Pray forgive me, my lady. I did not mean to cause you such discomfort by gawking as so many others must.”
She looked up at him then, seeming to really see him for the first time, her uncertain gaze moving over his face. He smiled reassuringly, feeling a deep desire to put her at her ease.
Her lashes fluttered down, then up as she cast him a shy look. For a moment her gaze seemed almost wishful.
One of the men spoke up. “Is there a difficulty, my lady?”
Immediately that expression of cool dismissal fell into place. “Nay, Sir Brian. This man was only asking if he might be of help. I have told him he may go on his way.”
Simon looked to the man, who met his gaze with disapproval. He had no right to the resentment he felt. The fellow was only doing his duty.
Yet Simon could not resist one more look at those haunting eyes, which now seemed to hold no expression at all. He felt unexplainably disappointed.
He bowed again and prodded his horse onward. Christian and Jarrod awaited him.
Yet he found himself looking back to see that the young woman was watching him. Then his horse took him around a bend in the road and she was gone.
Feeling oddly bereft Simon gave himself a mental shake. He had no time to allow himself to entertain romantic notions toward a young woman with whom he had exchanged no more than a handful of words at the side of the road.
No matter that she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Marriage to his enemy’s daughter would mean that he would no longer be a free man, in spite of the fact that the very notion was abhorrent to him.
Jarrod and Christian swung about as he approached them where they sat at a narrow wooden table in a window alcove within the dim interior of the inn. The low-beamed chamber’s other occupants paid more heed to their cups than to each other, which was one of the reasons for choosing this location. Both his friends’ expressions were grave.
As always, Jarrod spoke first, his black eyes piercing in their intensity. “What said the king?”
The question brought a new rush of shock and disbelief over what John had proposed. Yet Simon’s tone was amazingly matter-of-fact. “His majesty has proposed a solution in the form of a wedding.”
Christian shook his gold-streaked brown head in confusion. “A wedding?”
“Aye, between myself and Kelsey’s whelp.”
“What say you?” Jarrod rose from the well-worn bench, his hand going to the hilt of his sword.
Simon sat wearily on the other bench beside Christian, telling him, “Desist, my friend. Anger will gain us naught.” He felt Christian’s strong and comforting hand upon his shoulder. It was ever thus, Jarrod needing to be soothed, and Christian soothing. He knew these two men as well as he did himself. They were his brothers in all but flesh. Now that his true brother, Arthur was dead, his only brothers. He accepted each as he was, the aspects of his personality being all that Simon would ask for.
Jarrod sank back down, speaking more evenly, though there was still a gleam of outrage in those black eyes. “Pray tell us what you are talking about.”
Simon took a long drink from one of the two half-filled cups on the table before replying. “King John informs me that unless I agree to wed the daughter of the very man we have sworn vengeance upon, I will lose my head.”
Again Jarrod reached for his sword, though this time it was clearly a symbolic gesture for his other hand went to the brooch at his broad shoulder. His tone was filled with outrage. “You can not agree to such a demand. And if resistance means your death, then we go with you.”
Simon answered him calmly. “And what would our deaths solve? For that is what the outcome would be. The three of us can not hope to triumph against the crown. It would in no way cause Kelsey to suffer the consequences of his despicable acts.”
Even the more levelheaded Christian sounded angry and horrified. “But to pledge yourself to Kelsey’s daughter?”
Simon took a deep breath and another drink of the cool ale. “I know. ’Tis an untenable thought.”
Christian said. “What precisely did the king say? Perhaps you have not understood him aright and there is another way….”
Simon halted him with a raised hand. “I understood all too well for he put it baldly enough. ’Tis the axe or Kelsey’s get.”
“But why? What purpose does it serve?”
“Because, my friends, he wants me where he can be sure that I am being watched and by one whose loyalty to him is unquestioned.” Simon gave a rueful laugh. “The king informed me that he does not really wish to kill me lest he must. He feels that my death will bring about a certain amount of dissent amongst the nobles and he would avoid that if he is able. It is really a question of what will bring him the least amount of inconvenience.”
The scowl on Jarrod’s face was as black as his hair. “We should have stayed in Jerusalem. Life there was hard but the enemy was better known, more easily identified.”
Simon shook his dark head. “I had to return to Avington when I got word that Arthur was gravely ill.”
Christian spoke up. “Aye, and my own father is getting on as well and has been ill of late. His death would leave no one but my sister, Aislynn, to look after the lands. You are free to do as you will, Jarrod, we are not. Your brother will see to Kewstoke.”
Simon watched for the familiar darkness that hovered in the back of Jarrod’s black gaze whenever he thought of his family, for it was only his place as bastard that precluded his inheriting the lands and titles his younger brother now held. Jarrod turned away as he said, “King John is correct in one thing at least. There would be an outcry against him at your death.”
Into the weighty silence that fell Christian said, “You must agree to this marriage.”
Simon nodded. “As I had realized.”
Jarrod looked at them as if they had surely lost their minds, once again standing up from his place on the bench across from them. “What say you? Have you both gone mad?”
Casting a quick glance about the crowded chamber, Simon motioned for him to sit down. “Pray remember yourself, my friend. The king allowed me to go where I would, but there is no reason to believe he would not have me followed. You must have a care lest we be overheard.”
“But you can not marry Kelsey’s daughter.”
Christian shook his head. “What real choice has he, Jarrod? John is king. Even if Simon were to escape to the continent, he would not be free. He would know that he had forfeited his lands, left them to the mercy of whatever toady the crown finds favor with at the moment. As things stand, that could very well be Kelsey, lest the king be wise enough to see that granting any man more power than the earl already wields would be a mistake. Simon can not abandon Avington no matter that he must marry the daughter of the very devil himself.”
“But to marry himself to that family? What know you of her? I recall her but little, other than that our foster father seemed to dote on her as he did his own Rosalind whenever she was visiting.”
Simon was not unaware of the regret in Jarrod’s voice as he spoke Rosalind’s name, nor that the sad expression in Christian’s gaze matched his own. None of them could forget the sight of her crumpled body beneath that sheet.
He took a deep breath and forced himself back to the matter before him. He vaguely recalled Isabelle Kelsey from visits to Dragonwick with her father. He had seen little of her, though, as he and his friends had preferred to make themselves scarce when their foster father’s brother was about. He had a vague recollection of a solemn child with overlarge eyes and dark hair that had been arranged carefully at all times.
Simon shook his head. “I know nothing of her, but that she is the get of my enemy. Yet what matter if I did? I must fall in with King John’s wishes. I can only assume that he has already informed Kelsey of his intent in this because the girl has been sent for and will, I assume, be awaiting me on the morrow.”
“That was presumptuous.” Jarrod frowned.
Christian added, “The king must have been planning this all along. Listening to the evidence was a mere formality.”
“Aye, the letter condemned me from the beginning. It takes more than a day to travel here from Dragonwick. If the girl is to be here by morning…” Simon took a deep breath. “Christian has indeed come to the crux of it. Even if I could escape the king’s ‘justice’ I could not abandon my responsibilities.”
“But marriage?”
Simon leaned closer to them, pitching his voice so it could not possibly be overheard. “The king has offered only two alternatives of which I have told you, and marriage, though only slightly more so, is the most palatable of the two. Yet haps the marriage might not be such a drastic step. Haps there is a way to leave my options open.”
Christian leaned toward him, his blue eyes intent with new interest. “And what way might that be?”
Simon shrugged. “If the marriage is not consummated, an annulment might be obtained at some point in the future.”
Now Jarrod smiled coldly. “You mean at some point when we lay siege to Dragonwick and win her.”
Christian shook his head fiercely. “Nay, there is no hope of that now. Not with Simon already under punishment from the king. We could never convince him that our cause had been just.”
Simon nodded, his regret tingeing his voice. “Aye, it is too late to hope to win Dragonwick from the knave. What I must think on is getting free of his control.” He turned to Christian. “Your father was friend to mine.”
Christian nodded. “Of a certainty.”
“Then perhaps, for the sake of the lands he held so dear he would do me a service.”
Christian sat up straighter. “What have you in mind?”
“My father was friend to many. If your father was to write those who might be willing to come to my aid and enough of them did so, John might be forced to free me.”
Christian nodded. “Of course. John would be forced to release you if enough pressure was brought to bear. I am certain there will be no difficulty in finding those who are willing. Kelsey has made many enemies.”
Jarrod scowled. “I will not offer to approach my brother. He would not be likely to even grant me entrance to Kewstoke.”
Again Simon heard his pain, and knew he had no answer for it, but his own love. He faced him. “I would ask a different, but equally dear, boon of you, my friend. Could you make your way to Avington and watch over it in my absence?”
Jarrod bowed. “Of a certainty.” He then raised a tight fist. “Kelsey can not be allowed to roam free, to escape retribution for all he has done, including this new evil. He must meet his reward.”
“And he will,” Christian added. “Eventually we will find a way to get to Kelsey in spite of King John’s support.”
Simon shrugged, fighting his own frustration. “But for the moment I will be in no position to see it done, trapped as I will be beneath his very thumb.”
“But we shall not be.” Jarrod narrowed his black eyes.
“Nay, we shall not,” seconded Christian.
Simon cast them both a quelling glance. “You must do nothing to put your own lives in jeopardy. Kelsey has proven himself a more slippery eel than any of us has foreseen.”
Jarrod nodded. “When I strike it will be with care and none shall have reason to believe you involved. He will ride around a bond in the and….”
“Pray give this notion of garnering support amongst the nobles a chance. Haps Kelsey would find himself on the receiving end of the king’s wrath if enough information was brought to light.” Simon did not imagine that Jarrod could act against Kelsey without being found out.
With obvious reluctance, Jarrod nodded, as did Christian.
Feeling only somewhat relieved, Simon raked a hand through his heavy dark hair, addressing Jarrod, “You will go to Avington until I am able to get further word to you?”
Jarrod nodded. “Aye.”
Christian sighed. “I will go to my father. In the event I am needed, Jarrod will send word on to me at Greatham.”
Again Jarrod nodded his midnight-dark head.
“You have my thanks,” Simon told them earnestly. “I will tell my men that they are to accompany you, Jarrod. There is no need for them to come to Dragonwick. Does Kelsey mean me harm, they will not be able to prevent him.”
Christian frowned, his expression direct. “You will watch your back?”
Simon reached for the cup and took a long drink. “I will, for I have no doubts that I must do so if I am to come out of this alive. For we have seen how far Kelsey is willing to go for what he wants.” His free hand covered the dragon on his shoulder.
Jarrod and Christian did the same. “Aye, after murdering his own brother to gain an earldom, your death would not trouble him in the least.”
Chapter Two
Quietly, Isabelle waited in the crowded and poorly appointed chamber she was sharing with several other ladies of the court. She had seated herself on a narrow backless chair some distance from where the other women chattered whilst pretending to attend to their sewing.
She did not know why her father had summoned her here to Windsor, nor had she wanted to come. She had only been to court on one other occasion with her father, who seemed to like court life little better than she. He preferred to be on his own lands where he was the law.
Nay, she had not wished to come. The first time she had been to court, she had been gawked at and disdained by the other ladies, though she could not understand why they would behave so cruelly to a girl of no more than fourteen years. This visit had proved no different. If only she could return home to Dragonwick. But what choice had she in it? Her father was master of her fate as he had reminded her more times than she could ever begin to count in the twenty years of her existence.
She was infinitely aware of the fact that to anyone, including her father, viewing her from the outside she would appear completely unmoved. Yet her mind rolled with questions and fear of what he might be about.
Why had he sent for her? When he had left for court he had seemed agitated about some matter. Yet he had shared nothing with her.
It had crossed Isabelle’s mind that there might be a possible suitor involved. But her father had not told her to make herself amenable as he had each time he had dangled her before a hopeful at Dragonwick. And there had been more than a few. Possible alliance to an earl drew those who would further their own positions. Thus far none of the men had offered enough on their own part. The Earl of Kelsey would not give up his pawn, for keeping her unwed had made allies of those men who still sought to win her.
She had not even seen her father except at dinner the previous evening. He had done no more than cast a sweeping glance over her, saying that she was looking well enough and that she was to garb herself carefully. She had not wasted breath in asking him to tell her what he was about in bidding her to come to court. He would say nothing until he was prepared to do so. No amount of coaxing had ever changed that, as she’d learned from early childhood.
Again Isabelle wondered why her father had her summoned here. Dared she even hope? Surely he would choose the weakest, most malleable of men, the kind who fawned and cowered before him. And when he did, Isabelle herself might hope to exert some influence over such a man. Marriage would bring the possibility of freedom from the tight fist of her father’s control.
Unfortunately until that event occurred Isabelle must play the part of dutiful and obedient daughter. It was a part she had learned to play very well.
To cover her extreme agitation she focused her attention on her clothing, her jewels and her hair. She ran her hand over the deep-blue velvet of her skirt, concentrating on the roughness of the silver embroidery beneath her fingers. She knew that the silver slippers she wore and the sheer veil with its silver circlet were the perfect complement for the gown with its tight bodice and low square neck.
Unbidden, thoughts of the stranger who had stopped to ask if she required assistance the previous day came into her head. He had indeed been very handsome with his well-formed masculine features, dark hair and warm brown eyes. Those dark-lashed eyes had also looked on her with appreciation as he raked his thick straight hair back from a high, intelligent forehead.
Unlike other times when she had been viewed thusly, his appreciation had made something shift inside her, something feminine and vulnerable. For the stranger had been seeing her—Isabelle—and with gentle eyes. He had not known that she was the only offspring of the Earl of Kelsey.
Though many men had professed to find her attractive they knew her father had no other heir to his earldom but her. They sought power, as her father had done in attaining his earldom—from betraying his own brother. That man had been her uncle, the one other warriors had called The Dragon because of his skill and fierceness in battle, and because of his fierce sense of honor, duty and love. It was to her uncle that she owed thanks for the vast dower her suitors sought.
Isabelle’s heart ached afresh at the thought of the loss of him. For though she had been a small child when he died she had loved her uncle Wallace like no other human being. He had been kind and gentle and all that was good in the world and thus became the prey of one who would do what he must to gain power and position.
Her father. She hated her father more for that than for all his many cruelties to her. But he was all she had. Her mother had died when she was very small and the only thing she knew of her folk was that they lived in Normandy. Once, not long after her mother’s death, a woman had visited, saying she was Isabelle’s aunt, but her father had sent her away and she had never returned.
All Isabelle could do to try to make things right was to think of the dower that would someday be hers as her father’s only heir. In memory of The Dragon she would teach her child to be like his great uncle Wallace had been.
The knock that sounded at the door did not surprise her, nor did the presence of her father’s man, Sir Fredrick, standing there when one of the other women opened it. Father had sent word this morn that she was to be at the ready for his summons.
Without haste Isabelle stood, again smoothing her hand over the skirt of her kirtle.
She kept her head high beneath the gazes of the women of the court. She was grateful when the door closed behind her and she no longer had to endure their hurtful speculation.
Sir Fredrick paid her little heed other than to clear the hallway for her passage. She did not need to be told that his efforts were more in aid of hurrying to reach her father than any concern for her. He had been with her father for as long as she had memory and made his complete loyalty to the earl known at all times. Though Isabelle was amazed that her cold and distant father could have inspired such devotion in any man, she had come to accept it.
They moved on to a more sumptuously appointed portion of the castle, finally arriving at a door, which the knight opened without knocking. Still trying to remain impassive, Isabelle moved ahead of him when he stepped aside and motioned her forward.
What she saw on the other side of the door was a surprise to test the skills of self-possession that she had spent her lifetime perfecting.
The long narrow chamber bore four occupants. At the far end of the chamber, her father, King John and another man stood with their backs to her. With them was a priest.
Her gaze went to her father, even as she felt the eyes of the king come to rest upon her face. There was something familiar about the third man, who still stood with his back toward her, his wide shoulders encased in dark-green velvet. There was something about the thick, straight dark hair that brushed the velvet of his collar.
Her questioning gaze went back to her father. He cast an approving glance over her, assessing her to determine if she was properly representing him, as he always did, but not seeing her. He nodded and said, “Very well, then. Isabelle has arrived. We may begin.”
Isabelle met the king’s sharp gaze for a brief moment as she asked, “Begin what, Father?” She was pleased at the cool unconcern of her tone. It betrayed none of the agitation that made her heart pound painfully in her chest. Peripherally she became aware that the other man had finally turned around.
Isabelle’s gaze moved to his face. Her heart stopped, then thumped to life again as she saw, saints above, that it was the very man she had met upon the road the previous day. The very man who had been so much in her thoughts in spite of her wishes to the contrary.
If the shock on his handsome face was any indication, he was as surprised to see her here as she was him.
What indeed was he doing here in this chamber with her father, the king and a clergyman? Forcing herself to speak evenly, she asked again, “Begin what, Father?”
There was a long heavy silence. “Haven’t you even told her?” It was the stranger’s deep voice. His brown eyes met hers. In them she saw resentment.
Odd. Odder still was her reaction to his expression. The ripples of annoyance and unwanted regret that rolled through her made it difficult to retain her pose of calm. She was not sorry when he turned to glare at her father.
Her father scowled. “What I tell my daughter is none of your concern.”
“It is if she is to be my bride.”
“Bride.” The word was nothing more than a whisper of outgoing breath. She had hope, but…It was so sudden.
Her shock was lost to the others as her father replied, coldly, “You have me there, Warleigh. But recall as you consider yourself master to my daughter that I am master to you.”
The man who, if she was hearing aright, was to be her husband, answered with equal lack of warmth. “’Tis only through dastardly doing that it be so. Had you not falsely accused me—”
Her father blustered. “Dastardly? I’ll have you keep your accusations to—”
King John halted them with upraised hands. “No more.” He cast her father a warning glance. “You assured me that you could see to this matter. Keep this man in check.”
Her father bowed. “That I will, Sire.”
“And you, my lord, you will recall that it is only by my mercy that you have been granted this opportunity to live. You will create no trouble for your father-by-marriage. Is that clear, Warleigh?”
Warleigh. In all these years she had not forgotten the names of the three fosterlings who had given evidence against her uncle. Shock rolled through her anew. Not only was she to marry one of the ones who had done her such ill, the marriage had clearly been foisted on the angry and resentful Warleigh as a punishment.
Never had she expected love, or even affection. But she had not thought to be given in such a state of resentment, had even hoped the man she wed might be malleable to her own wishes. Warleigh’s outraged pride told of a strong and commanding will. Heaven help her, it would take every ounce of her self-control to see this through without breaking.
But that was precisely what she must do.
Never could she let anyone see how devastated this turn of events had left her. Especially not the man who, for a brief moment yesterday, had made her think about what it would be like to be young and free, to be looked on with favor by a handsome young man.
From his place beside the priest, Simon watched Isabelle’s impassive and beautiful face.
So this woman, the one he had met along the road the previous day, was Isabelle, daughter to the Earl of Kelsey. He would never have guessed that she was the one he had been ordered to wed, and had he done so not even a beauty as great as hers could have moved him.
His gaze raked her face. His faint recollections of the child he had seen a few times so many years ago would never have prepared him for the woman she had become.
He had much clearer memories of her younger cousin, the scarlet-haired Rosalind, who had died the day Gerard Kelsey attacked the keep. The very thought angered him anew.
Simon’s lips thinned as he focused on the woman before him again. There was no hint of reaction to her father’s declaration that she was to be married in those astonishing lilac eyes, nor was there any rise of color in the porcelain cheeks. Those perfectly formed pink lips did not thin, nor did they purse. Her slender white hands with their long delicate fingers rested lightly on the skirt of her lavish gown. Her dark head was held at a proud but relaxed angle, further betraying her lack of concern.
How could she possibly listen to the exchange that had just taken place without reacting in some way? Yet she had.
He now realized that she was beautiful indeed, but it was more in the way of a marble statue he had seen in Rome. Unbearably lovely but lacking the animation that would fully impassion a man.
She started toward them, her slender hips drawing his gaze as she moved forward with sensuous grace. In spite of his revelations his body reacted to her grace and beauty with a will of its own. Meanwhile his mind continued to view her lack of emotion with displeasure. He told himself ’twas unnatural for a young woman to be so cold. Even the most obedient of daughters might have hoped to hear of her marriage before the moment was upon her.
Alas, he reminded himself, he could not expect more from the earl’s daughter. Simon was infinitely conscious of the pale perfection of her face as she came to a halt beside him. And, heaven help him, her slender but enticing form. The gold belt about her slim hips drew his wayward gaze but when he forced it upward he was equally captivated by her long, narrow waist and high, proud breasts made all the more enticing by the deep blue of her gown, which clung lovingly to each curve.
Determinedly he pulled his gaze to his own hard fingers, which had curled into a fist at his side. He forced himself to recall his plan to remain apart from his wife. It was his only hope of being free of her and thus her father.
Unfortunately he had not at the time of making that decision realized that the very woman who had so occupied his thoughts since he left her at the side of the road yesterday was the one he must deny himself.
King John interrupted his tormented thoughts. “Shall we have it done, then? I do have other matters to attend.”
Kelsey spoke before Simon could. “Of course, my lord. It would greatly trouble my sleep to think that I had brought you any undue inconvenience.”
Simon felt his lips twist in derision. The man was a toad. As he had always been.
He must keep this in mind. Raised by one such as the earl the girl could not be but less than honorable of character. The longing he had thought he had seen in her eyes yesterday was nothing more than the wishful thinking of a man who had found himself in the company of a very lovely woman. A man who had just been told he must marry in order to save his head. He could not afford himself the luxury of allowing one such as she to become the lady of Avington.
No matter how beautiful she might be.
An indeterminable time later Simon left the chamber where the marriage had taken place, pausing in the hall outside as he realized that he had nowhere to go. There was no sign of his bride, who had exited just moments before him with no more hint of emotion than she had displayed on entering, hardly a word having been exchanged between them, nothing save their replies to the priest’s intonations.
Simon heaved a silent sigh, aware of the angry and watchful eyes of the man who stood as if guarding the door. He had been the same man to bring Isabelle to the chamber, which told Simon that he was Kelsey’s man even if his resentful blue gaze had not. He must guard himself even now with Kelsey still inside with the king, who had informed him that he was to await them in the hall. As parting words King John had again made it very clear that Simon would be accompanying his wife and her father to Dragonwick this very day. And that he would be remaining there indefinitely.
Dragonwick.
The very thought brought back so many memories. It had been his home for two years as squire to The Dragon. He had spent many a happy day there riding, sword playing, exploring the lands with Jarrod and Christian. Not that Wallace Kelsey had been an easy mentor. He had expected much from those under him, including Simon and Jarrod and Christian.
It had been a good life until The Dragon was accused of supporting those who plotted against King Henry. Through it all, The Dragon had declared his innocence and support of the king. He had been accused of meeting in secret with two of Henry’s son, Richard’s, most loyal allies. It had been to this that Simon, Jarrod and Christian had been forced to testify.
It had not gone well and The Dragon had decided he would not give up his lands without resistance. He was determined to stand by his principles. Never had Simon or his friends imagined what would happen next. Somehow they had believed that their foster father would triumph. No one had suspected that his brother Gerard would convince the king to provide him a force to lead against him.
They had not realized how very desperate King Henry was to rid himself of Wallace Kelsey when it appeared he had allied himself against the crown. Simon had not participated in the fighting the day The Dragon’s brother attacked the keep. Under protest he, Jarrod and Christian had been locked away in a shed to keep them out of the battle.
They had only been released in time to see the bodies of The Dragon and his three-year-old daughter, Rosalind, who had been brought down to lie beside her father in the bailey. Gerard Kelsey had loudly declared his regret that his niece was dead, claimed that she had inadvertently fallen from the top of the inner stairs trying to get to her father, who had been fighting in the hall.
Simon had been sickened by the blackguard’s false regret and the sight of that tiny crumpled body, glad the nurse had wrapped the child in linens to cover her broken form from the eyes of her enemies. These many years later he remembered the sweetness of the carrot-haired child who had followed them about the castle grounds and he felt his chest tighten. He’d wished that he could give vent to the tears that threatened even now.
Aye, Dragonwick would be filled with memories and not all of them good ones.
Surely, he would eventually find a way to extricate himself from this odious situation. King John had much to occupy him with his nobles’ anger and resentment against the crown, not to mention his own recent divorce and remarriage. John could not afford to divert his attention to a favorite such as Kelsey for very long.
From behind Simon came Kelsey’s voice. “We will be leaving court within the hour.”
Simon stiffened, as he faced him. “I must only retrieve my belongings from the inn where I have been staying.”
Kelsey scowled. “Do not attempt to escape, my lord. I take the charge to keep you under my eyes most seriously.”
Simon shrugged, casting a glance over to the dark knight with the resentful blue eyes, who had moved to stand at the earl’s right. “Send a guard, if you will. It will only delay me. I have no wish to try to escape you. I hold my own lands too dear to risk them over such foolishness.”
The older man’s expression remained disapproving, but he nodded. “Very well then, but know I shall send them after you if you do not return and the king will hear of it.”
“You will have nothing to report.” Simon could not quite hide the disgust in his tone, nor could he keep it from his eyes. Quickly he turned and left the man who was now his father-by-marriage. For the moment.
As he rode to the inn Simon realized that perhaps this circumstance could be used for good purpose. Perhaps he could discover something that would aid them in their quest to see Gerard Kelsey robbed of all he had stolen.
Isabelle moved quickly to her waiting mare. She was earlier than her father had commanded but she was eager to leave this place of intrigue and unhappiness.
The task of being ever on her guard, of never showing a hint of emotion was just too difficult to maintain. At least at Dragonwick she had those moments when she was alone in her chamber to let go of her rigid self-control.
Surreptitiously, her gaze swept the mounted men. There was no sign of her new husband.
Husband. The word seemed strange. The ceremony had been accomplished so quickly and with so little fanfare that it seemed completely unreal. At no point had the baron so much as touched her. Then her father had dismissed her, informing her that she was to make ready for the return to Dragonwick within the hour.
Even as she told herself she had no real interest in Simon Warleigh, he came galloping through the castle gate. She could not help noting that he rode his enormous chestnut stallion as if he were one with it. His straight thick hair was drawn back by the wind of his passage, leaving those well sculpted, masculine features bared to her lingering gaze. He looked handsome, strong and untamed.
Her heart thudded in her chest.
Quickly she busied herself with getting fully settled in the saddle. Isabelle was determined to set her attention on the ride ahead. She loved riding, lest it involved hunting. She cast a quick glance at her father.
Her father called out, “Where is my horse?” An expression of impatience had replaced the one that had told her he had been congratulating himself on his ability to control everything and everyone around him.
For a moment, watching him, she could almost feel sympathy toward her newly wedded husband. That emotion was quickly dismissed as her gaze went to Warleigh’s face. There was no mistaking the pride and arrogance she saw there, the confidence. Again she was reminded that her hope of eventually gaining the ear of a pliant husband would never come to pass. The man was nothing more than her father’s prisoner and yet he retained this prideful stance.
She could not help wondering from whence his self-confidence came. She had always admired strength.
It was a quality she knew her father lacked, for all his ability to control others. If he had not wrought such misery and pain by his actions she would have felt pity for him. She felt her lips twist wryly. God help her, she did pity him still. Yet she could not allow herself to display it in any way for he would simply use it against her. As he had always used the weakness of others against them.
That she was his own daughter had no bearing on his behavior. He had no loyalty greater than that toward his own power and greed.
Isabelle found her gaze going back to her husband. He seemed to have no fear of facing her father. Yet that was no good to her, for he clearly felt nothing but resentment toward her for her part in his imprisonment.
Then the sound of pounding hooves drew her gaze back to the gate as two more riders came galloping into the bailey. One was quite young, perhaps thirteen or fourteen years of age, with a thatch of unruly blond hair and strong features that were too large for his face. The other was an older man, wide shouldered, gray haired and steady of regard, his bearing and accoutrements marking him a knight. They rode directly to Simon Warleigh and halted.
The knight spoke to Simon Warleigh, “My lord, we are at your disposal.”
Warleigh scowled, his wide brow creasing. “I appreciate your sense of duty, Sir Edmund, but I do not require your service at the moment, else I would not have informed you that you were to return to Avington.”
The knight raised his head high as he held his overlord’s gaze. “Aye, my lord. But there were others who agreed that it would be best if we were to accompany you.”
Isabelle watched as her husband took a deep breath before replying. “I say again, I do not require your attendance.” His gaze flicked to the young rider, who, from the look of him must be a squire. “You must take Wylie home to Avington.”
The older man frowned, “But, my lord—”
Her father’s voice interrupted. “This will not serve.” He made a sweeping motion. “You may not accompany us.”
They ignored him, continuing to look to their overlord with genuine concern, even love. Isabelle was amazed by loyalty that seemed to have no basis in fear.
The boy, whom Warleigh had called Wylie, cried, “My lord, we can not go off and leave you to…” His angry gaze raked the assembled company.
His patience obviously at an end, Isabelle’s father motioned to his men. “Remove them from the bailey.” Two of them moved forward to take hold of the reins of the man and boy who voiced such concern for their master.
The lad resisted, making his horse dance away from the reaching hands.
Simon Warleigh again told his men, “Go in peace. Have no concern for me. I will be well.”
Her father laughed coldly. “Nicely said, Warleigh, but you really have no say in this. Take them.”
Seeing the way her father was enjoying this display of power Isabelle felt an unexpected sense of rebellion. She had no connection to Simon Warleigh, no reason to set aside her accustomed mask of disregard. Yet it was her own voice that said, “Pray let them come, Father. You are most equal to the task of keeping them at heel.”
Her father seemed surprised that she would concern herself with such a matter. But he nodded thoughtfully. “Aye, you advise me well, daughter.” His superior gaze then swept the men. “I would not wish for them to think I fear their ability to free their master from my guardianship.”
Simon Warleigh, her husband, cast her a glance that was at first surprised and then puzzled. But his puzzlement was quickly masked behind an unreadable expression.
Again she noted that Warleigh’s men had made no visible reaction to her and her father’s conversation. Their attention was all for Simon, who said, “You may accompany me but you—” he looked to the boy “—will remember yourself and do nothing but what you are instructed to do, lest I send you home.”
The boy nodded.
Her father said, “You must first consult me before giving any order, even that of sending your men away from Dragonwick. I must answer to the king for your actions.”
Simon eyed him closely. “As you will, my lord. I will certainly consult you before giving such orders. My instructing my squire against foolhardy behavior should certainly come under close scrutiny.”
Isabelle had to restrain a smile at the look of shocked displeasure in her father’s face. Once more she was surprised at her reaction to the man’s open defiance of her father. It was admirable, but completely mad. Gerard Kelsey always succeeded in getting what he wanted.
Had he not succeeded in seeing Simon Warleigh placed beneath his very thumb? Not that she doubted her husband deserved it. From what she had heard in the king’s chamber it appeared he had been caught plotting against the crown.
Whatever madness had prodded her to interfere between him and her father was now overcome. She had no interest in Warleigh. Her hope of attaining some influence with her husband was dead. Her hope to have a son whom she could love was not.
She chose not to dwell on accomplishing that deed. Somehow she would find the courage when the time came. Any hardship could be faced in order to see her goal of having a son realized.
But when would it happen? When would she and…
No one had even so much as alluded to the coming night.
Almost of its own accord her gaze went to her husband’s undeniably handsome face. What would it be like—to be taken into his arms, to feel his body against hers? She felt a strange rush of warmth that shocked her.
As if he sensed her attention, Simon Warleigh’s gaze met hers. His was assessing, raking the sheer silver veil, which was pinned atop her carefully arranged hair, and her face. It then passed over the length of her blue gown, which was visible through the opening of the scarlet cloak she wore. Isabelle knew the gown was overfine for a journey, but she had been so eager to leave that she had refused when her maid Helwys had suggested changing it.
His gaze did not in any way lead her to believe that he was interested in…
In point of fact, nothing he had done or said during that painfully tense marriage ceremony or afterward had made her think he had even considered the wedding night, let alone wished for it to happen. Isabelle tore her gaze away from his coolly assessing one as her father called out again, “My horse.”
At last his squire, Karl, came leading the wildly straining black stallion from the stable. The lad was disheveled as he tried to hold the horse steady and his uncertain gaze fixed itself on her father’s face.
Isabelle felt her whole body tense at the cold anger she saw there. He strode to the lad, reaching out for the reins with one hand, while back of the other snaked out to connect with Karl’s cheek.
The squire sprawled in the dust of the courtyard, his hand going to his cheek. There was utter stillness as her father mounted without a glance in the lad’s direction. Into the achingly heavy silence Simon cried, “Are you mad?”
Her father swung to face him. “You dare not question me concerning my treatment of my own folk, Warleigh. Lest you care to go back and tell King John that his will for you is not to your liking?”
Seeing the familiar icy fire in her father’s gaze, Isabelle knew how near they were to being taught one of his lessons. Not even Simon could stop him no matter how confident he might be. Desperately Isabelle cried out in a hoarse tone as her eyes met her husband’s, “You have no power here. Pray leave be.” She knew he would see the pleading in her gaze, but cared not. She would spare Karl, nay all of them, the harsh reality of her father’s enmity.
Her face flaming with emotions that she could not quite identify, Isabelle was filled with relief as her father flicked her an approving glance and gave the order to ride out. Guiding her horse out onto the road that would take them south to Dragonwick gave her something to do besides think about what would come next between her and Simon Warleigh.
Chapter Three
Kelsey ordered the men to stop and make camp before dark had fallen.
Simon did not question this. He was too occupied in considering the motivations of the woman he had married. And perhaps his own motives as well. For a brief moment, when she had faced him after her despicable father had knocked his squire to the ground for the crime of having difficulty with the horse, he had thought he’d seen fear and pleading in her gaze. It had been that which made him subside, that and his certainty that King John would only uphold the knave’s right to mistreat his folk if he so desired.
Yet as he had ridden on ahead of his captor, Simon had thought about the actual words she had spoken. Though he’d thought he sensed a hint of contempt along with those other more gentle emotions, Isabelle had surely meant nothing but to remind him her father held power here.
She had paid him not even cursory attention since leaving Windsor. She rode at the center of the entourage, looking neither right nor left, speaking to no one, obviously completely lost in her own concerns.
Her father’s acceptance of her words as confidence in his power seemed somewhat dull-witted and self-serving at the same time. Simon had sensed a sarcasm in her he would never have expected. Why would she address her father with contempt, however carefully veiled, on Simon’s account when she seemed disinterested in anything but herself?
Though Simon wished he could deny it he had been quite preoccupied with her. Each time he glanced up ahead of him he was reminded anew of her beauty. She was enough to take a man’s breath away with the sunlight glinting on hair that, though black, held a hint of dark flame in those glossy tresses. It framed a profile so delicately lovely that it drew his gaze again and again.
Only once had she glanced back for the briefest of moments. Those amazing lavender eyes had slid over him, her expression seeming strangely uncertain for a moment before her lids cast downward. But when he had watched her even more intently to attempt to understand this, he had realized he must have been mistaken. There was no hint of any emotion in those eyes as they skimmed over whatever passed before them.
Aye, lovely she was, breathtakingly so, but there was indeed a coldness to that beauty. He would not forget who and what Isabelle was. Even as he felt drawn to her, he suspected that any man who allowed himself to fall victim to her loveliness might have cause to rue such a weakness.
Deliberately Simon averted his gaze from both Isabelle and her patronizing father as they dismounted and began the evening’s preparations. He fixed his attention on several of Kelsey’s men as they erected two tents.
He looked away only as Isabelle and her woman entered the smaller of the two tents. Gerard Kelsey beckoned one of his men to his side and motioned to Simon with a sharply voiced command to prevent him from leaving. He then disappeared into the other tent with the watchful knight who never left his side, leaving Simon both relieved and irritated.
Neither his wife, nor her father had said so much as a word to him. What, then were his sleeping arrangements to be on his wedding night?
Simon shrugged even as he tried to deny that there was a certain stirring deep in his body at the very thought. In spite of all that he had told himself of her, he was less than certain as to his reactions should she be waiting for him.
Simon drew himself up. Better to bed down around the fire with the men than to go into the darkness of that tent with Isabelle. He was not concerned about sleeping out under the stars. He had done so many times, under countless skies from here to the Holy Land and back.
Yet what could he say, if he might be expected to share that tent with her?
How could he refuse? Simon did not wish to arouse suspicion as to his true intentions concerning the marriage. King John had made his feelings clear. He would not take any defiance lightly. There was no doubt in Simon’s mind that Kelsey would be more than pleased to inform the king that he was not being obeyed.
Frustrated with his thoughts, Simon turned to his own men, who stood nearby. “Wylie, groom our horses and ready our bedrolls for night.”
Wylie scowled and looked about at the other men, who were occupied with their own duties. It was clear that he felt uneasy at the notion of mixing with Kelsey’s men, but Simon was confident that no harm would come to the squire with Sir Edmund nearby. He cast the knight a meaningful glance over the squire’s head.
Sir Edmund nodded almost imperceptibly. “Come along lad, we’ve work to do.”
Wylie moved to obey. Simon knew it would do well for him to see to his accustomed duties. They must all attempt to find some ease with the situation. But having given over these tasks to his men, he had naught to occupy himself.
Simon swung around and strode to the edge of camp. He was surprised to feel a restraining hand upon his arm.
He swung around to meet the determined gaze of the same man whom Kelsey had ordered to watch him. “My lord has bid me keep you here.”
Simon shook off that hand. He could hear the strain in his own voice, the barely leashed anger. “I tire of proclaiming my honor at every turn. I will not try to escape, but neither will I beg permission to leave this camp for a few moments, no matter what your lord orders.”
The man frowned, looking toward Kelsey’s tent.
Simon rolled his eyes. “I am going for a swim. If you value your hand you will take it from me.”
The man looked at him for a long moment, then stepped back. “I have simply been told to do my duty.”
Simon nodded. “Aye, and you may say that you have done your best to do so.” With that he turned and stalked away. He had no wish to cause the man difficulty. He was, as he said, only doing as he had been instructed. But neither would Simon submit to Kelsey’s desire to see him completely subjugated. He had indeed been forced to proclaim his honor far too many times in the past two days.
And all in aid of a man who would not know what honor was did it rear up and bite him on his bony backside.
Isabelle chafed inside the small confines of her tent, ever conscious of the watchful and worried gaze of Helwys. She decided to occupy herself and the maid by rearranging her hair. But Helwys’s expression did not ease throughout this familiar activity and she finally broached the subject of the coming night. “Will he come to you, my lady?”
Isabelle was forced to inform her maid of the dismal truth with as much self-possession as she could muster. “I have no idea what is to happen.” It was true that her father had called a halt to their journey rather early in the evening but he had given no indication of why.
“Oh, my dear lady.”
Though Isabelle did love the older woman it was sometimes difficult to deal with her worry and sympathy. It was oftimes displayed when Isabelle could least afford any sign of weakness, any hint of self-pity. Such was the case now. She must retain her equilibrium. “My father will inform me of what he wishes for me to do when he wishes it. And not a moment before, as you well know.”
Helwys put her plump hands to her bosom. “’Tis unnatural, his treatment of you.”
Isabelle hushed her with a raised hand. “Do not say so.” She looked about them. “These walls are very poor protection indeed to guard against my father’s many ears and eyes. Were he to think you against him he would send you away…or…” Her voice broke as she recalled the beating Helwys had once received at her father’s command, and all because she had dared question one of Isabelle’s lessons. He did not feel that forcing five-year-old Isabelle to sit at table each evening for a fortnight without eating as a punishment for spilling her cup was cruel. She took a deep breath. “We can not risk angering him.” Though that had not been the last beating Helwys had suffered by his order there had been none in recent years and Isabelle would keep it so.
The older woman sent Isabelle a glance that told of just how much she understood. They two had been together since Isabelle was a child, but like everything else that had ever meant anything to her, Isabelle hid her love for the serving woman lest her father, who viewed such emotions as weakness, find some way to use it against her.
Weakness was not tolerated.
Even though Helwys desisted, the sadness and worry did not leave her brown gaze. Feeling as if she would surely explode with the tension of staying calm in the face of her maid’s anxiety Isabelle took up her scarlet cloak, saying, “I am going for a walk before it grows dark.”
Helwys frowned. “But, my lady…”
She took a quick breath through her nose, speaking with barely leashed strain. “If I do not do something, I shall go quite mad.”
The wide-eyed maid said no more in the face of this unaccustomed outburst and Isabelle slipped from the tent. She was afforded a measure of privacy as she hurried into the cover of the tall green pine and yew, as well as the rapidly turning ash and willow that grew close to the nearby stream.
Leaving the sounds of the camp behind, Isabelle took a deep breath, rubbing her hand over the base of her neck. Her cheeks felt hot and flushed. With a sigh she made her way to where the brush was thicker at the edge of the stream, moving forward carefully in order to make certain that the ground was firm beneath her.
It seemed soft and dense with moss but not unsafe. Isabelle knelt down and reached out to dip her hand in the cool water, meaning to bring it up to her heated cheeks.
In the very act of bending over, the sound of a splash came to her. Looking toward the noise, she stopped still. There, in the water just a bit farther downstream was a man. He was standing with his bare back to her in the shallows on the opposite bank as he splashed water over his upper body and over his thick, straight dark hair.
Isabelle jerked back, her hand going to her mouth as she realized that the man was Simon Warleigh. Her husband. The man who had already caused her so much unrest this day.
She knew that she should go away before he saw her. She could not imagine how she would ever live with his knowing that she had seen him this way. But another part of her, one that would not be denied, argued that he would never realize she was here.
And after all, was he not her own husband? It was not unusual that she would wonder about him, wonder about the body that must eventually be joined with hers if a child was to be made. She told herself that seeing him thus would surely help prepare her for the act that must come.
Isabelle had no wish to appear frightened or unsure of herself if he should come to her. And the more prepared she was, the more likely that she would be able to hide any anxiety she might feel from her husband.
Thus having convinced herself, she carefully leaned back out from behind the brush. Her gaze moved over those wide golden shoulders, down his back to his narrow waist and lean hips. When Warleigh raised his arms to scrub at his dark hair she saw the hardness of the muscles as they flexed in his forearms, his shoulders and down his back.
Isabelle frowned thoughtfully. She had not expected him to be so muscular. Simon was a slender man, as her father was, but from what she could see it was obvious that his body was far harder, more masculine.
He was strangely appealing, she realized as a faint tingle of awareness came to her belly. Her gaze grew wide. Now where had that thought come from?
However strong and attractive he might be, Warleigh did not appeal to her. If they came together it would be in the interest of producing a child. Nothing more.
Nonetheless she watched as he dove into the deeper portion of the river, then emerged far closer to her hiding spot than she would have expected. Again Isabelle ducked back behind the brush, while being careful to keep him in sight between the branches. She held her breath as Simon stood, his body glistening in the low-slanting, evening sunlight, his dark hair slicked back from his broad brow.
Her heart thumped in her chest, for he looked like some pagan god of old, risen from the very waters in which he stood. Again came that strange, pleasurable tingling. Quickly Isabelle called herself to task. Such fanciful thoughts were completely foreign to her.
Since early childhood Isabelle had been taught to control her feelings. No unwanted physical sensations or girlish daydreams had ever arisen in a mind that was completely fixed on doing what was expected of her and thus preventing any lessons. But now, with one glimpse of this man, she was entertaining notions that were quite unacceptable to her.
She drew herself up, pulling back as she closed her eyes. It would not serve, however fascinating the man might appear in the glory of his nakedness.
A flash of scarlet amongst the green drew Simon’s eyes. He stopped in the act of reaching for a handful of sand to rub in his wet hair, his gaze searching the bushes along that stretch of river.
Nothing.
Yet he had not imagined what he had seen. And the red was too vivid to be created by a trick of light on water.
Perhaps he told himself, it had been one of Kelsey’s men, sent to watch and make sure he did not try to escape. Yet he did not recall seeing any of the men wearing such a bright color. Then a vivid image of Isabelle entered his mind. She had been dressed in a scarlet cloak this day.
Shock jolted through him.
Why would Isabelle have come here to spy upon him? He could not credit that her father would send her to do so. Surely even Gerard Kelsey had more sensibility toward his own daughter.
Even more unbelievable was the notion that she might have come for her own purposes. The cold beauty had shown no sign of vague curiosity as far as he was concerned. The very thought of her having an interest in him made his body tighten although his will bade it do otherwise.
Isabelle Kelsey seemed to have little care for him.
Yet somehow he knew it had been her. An image of her looking back at him the first time he had seen her flashed through his mind. It made no sense in light of her behavior this day. Other than her defense of his keeping his men with him.
He dressed himself, then quickly made his way to the spot where he had seen the flash of scarlet. In the soft moss near the edge of the water he saw the imprint of two small shoes. It had to be a woman. Even the squires would have bigger feet. The only other woman on the journey besides Isabelle was the maid and she had been garbed in dark colors.
Far from clarifying anything, this further evidence that it had indeed been his wife left him even more at a loss. Again he wondered what possible reason she could have for such behavior.
Thoughtfully Simon made his way back to camp. Scanning the camp, he saw that Isabelle was not amongst those who had gathered around the fire in the growing gloom.
Disappointment made his lips tighten as he moved to sit on a log beside Sir Edmund just a bit apart from the others. Simon greeted him quietly. “All has gone well?”
The knight shrugged, “Well enough, my lord. It seems we will be tolerated for the most part.” Simon knew the knight would not complain lest things were particularly unpleasant. He had been one of his brother’s oldest knights and was much recommended by the steward at Avington.
“Wylie?” he asked, for he was not as certain of the squire’s behavior.
“Down by the stream watering the horses. I told him to have extra care with them.”
Simon nodded. “Well done.” Sir Edmund understood the importance of keeping the squire busy. He raked a hand through his hair, which was drying quickly in the heat of the fire. As he dropped his hand to his side, he caught a flash of red from the corner of his eye.
Isabelle. He swung around to look at her where she stood beside her tent.
That cool lavender gaze slid over him, away, then came back. For a brief moment their eyes locked before she turned away, her face as impassive as ever. Yet he was not blind to the deep rose coloring in her cheekbones.
Again he raked his hair straight back from his forehead. That flush seemed a sign of agitation for the cool beauty. Did it mean that beneath that icy demeanor there beat a passionate heart? Did she perhaps find him more appealing than she wished him to know? Was that why she had been at the stream?
His next thought, that he wished for this to be so, appalled Simon so completely he knew he must find something else to occupy his mind.
His gaze came to rest on Kelsey who now stood before his tent. The dark knight hovered, as ever, just behind him. The earl surveyed the activity of the camp with a disapproving expression. Seeing the degree of efficiency with which the men worked preparing for the coming night Simon was surprised. He knew his own men, many of them trained in haste by the necessity of the battlefield, could not have done better.
Noting Simon’s attention, Gerard Kelsey came toward him, his shadow following. “Well, Warleigh, I hope you are not finding our duty over you too chafing.” His tone said that his true hope was far different from that contained in his words.
Simon shrugged. “I am content, my lord. For the moment.” It did not seem that the knight who had attempted to detain him before he went to bathe had mentioned the matter of their confrontation. Simon felt no need to do so.
He watched as Kelsey smiled at him. “’Twould be best if you stayed content, my lord. I will not tolerate any disregard of the king’s wishes.”
Simon bowed. “Rest easy, sir. I have no wish to trouble the king.” He did not add that he had no such feelings as far as Kelsey himself was concerned.
“Very good.”
Then Kelsey was distracted by something behind Simon and shouted out, “Have you not been reprimanded enough this day? Have a care with that animal do you value your hide.”
Simon swung around to see the young lad who had been violently punished at Windsor, holding the reins of the magnificent black stallion once again. It pranced and fought at the bit, its hooves flashing at everything that came close to foot. Now it was clear the horse’s agitation was clearly caused by poor temperament, rather than improper handling, and that the stallion had been chosen for appearance rather than anything else. The lad had been harshly and unjustly punished.
He failed at keeping the disdain for his host from his voice as he said, “’Tis a beautiful horse.”
Kelsey raked him with an equally disdainful glance. “I would have no less in anything I possess.” He cast an oddly unreadable glance toward Isabelle’s tent.
Simon could not help realizing that he was speaking of Isabelle. He found himself asking, “Including your daughter?”
The older man raised gray brows high in challenge. “Including my daughter.”
How could the man speak of his own child so dispassionately, as if she were no more to him than any other possession and before his man, even though he be a knight? The thought was strangely disturbing and he found himself watching Kelsey’s face for any hint of fatherly affection. He saw none, only conceit.
He felt a tug of sympathy. Perhaps here was a clue to the veiled sarcasm he had heard in her voice when she spoke to her father before leaving Windsor.
Simon gave himself a mental shake. Isabelle would not welcome his pity. She seemed to be more than content with her lot in spite of her apparent sarcasm toward her father. He would do well to expend his energies in thinking how he would get out of this situation, away from this man, while still retaining his lands.
He was distracted from these thoughts by the sudden angry babble of his squire’s voice. Simon sighed, wondering what could have set the lad off this time. Had he known that his journey to court would end in his being in the custody of his most hated enemy, he would never have taken Wylie to Windsor. He had taken him to service under his longtime squire, Martin, who had served him in the Holy Land, because Martin would soon be receiving his spurs and Simon had been impressed with Wylie, who was the son of one of the other knights at Avington. He had noted a quickness of intellect in the lad that he had thought to hone with discipline and training.
Unfortunately the boy was also somewhat impulsive. Simon knew that the lad’s admiration and gratitude toward him was great. All of this complicated things and did not bode well for his hope that Wylie would be able to control himself enough to stay out of trouble until an opportunity to return to Avington presented itself.
Quickly Simon moved to where Wylie was standing with his arms folded over his chest in the midst of the other men who had quickly gathered at the edge of the camp where the horses were tied. Rage radiated from his squire in waves. “What goes on here?” Simon demanded.
Wylie turned from his angry contemplation of one of the other men, another boy really, Simon realized as he took a closer look at the object of Wylie’s displeasure.
His squire exploded. “He says I may not bring our blankets close to the fire, my lord. He says that the best places are for Kelsey’s own men.”
Simon sighed. “I am sure no insult was meant. Of course, as his lord’s squire he would be most concerned with making sure that his lord’s men be given their just due of honor. We are newly come and would not usurp anyone’s position. I am sure there will be comforts aplenty for all at Dragonwick.”
Wylie scowled at the other squire, who smiled slyly.
Simon felt a rush of irritation with Kelsey’s squire himself. At the same time he knew it was unrealistic to expect more from Kelsey’s retainers. A good example must be set in order to receive honorable behavior from underlings.
Kelsey interrupted his thoughts with a gruffly voiced order. “You must keep your men under control.”
Simon knew a tug of resentment, even though he had been thinking much the same thing. He kept it well hidden. “Of course, my lord.” He looked to his squire. “There will be no more problems, will there, Wylie?”
The lad bowed, keeping his head down.
Kelsey seemed to be somewhat mollified by Simon’s lack of resistance to his position of power. But he continued to keep his nose raised to a haughty angle. “I mean to finish attending some matters in my tent. Sir Fredrick, you are to see that there are no more disturbances.”
The shadow nodded, his narrowed eyes sliding over Simon. He slipped a caressing hand to the hilt of his sword as he leaned close to whisper in his master’s ear. The earl shook his head sharply as he whispered, “Not now, my friend. We must remember John’s wishes.”
The knight’s disappointment was obvious and it took no great amount of imagination to guess at the subject of their exchange. Simon realized he must watch his back with this one, though it seemed he would heed his master as far as an open attack was concerned. There was no doubt in Simon’s mind that he had naught to thank for his continued good health but Kelsey’s determination to hold him for the crown. From that whispered phrase it seemed he would not be averse to changing his mind.
Sir Fredrick continued to study Simon as he took up a rigid stance outside the ring of the fire. Simon dismissed him, focusing on the arrogant earl as he strode away with no concern whatsoever for the fact that the exchange might have been overheard. His back rigid, Simon balled his hands into fists at his sides. He would very much like to change the straight angle of that autocratic nose. He forced his hands to open, for he must remember Avington, and the folk who lived there, were what mattered here not some self-indulgent sense of injured dignity.
If they did mean him ill, they would not find him so very easy to kill.
Through his anger, he heard Wylie whisper, “’Tis a disgrace, my lord, you being held by that blackguard.”
Deliberately, Simon made a greater effort to gain mastery over his feelings. He was certain no one could have heard the exchange but himself, and he would keep it to himself. He put a soothing hand on the squire’s shoulder, a warning hand. “Pray hold your tongue, lad. I am not pleased by events but neither am I uneasy in my mind. All will right itself soon enough.”
The boy raised hopeful eyes to his face. “You are too easy with them, my lord. We should fight our way through this as Martin has told me you were forced to many times in the Holy Land.”
Simon leaned closer, his tone admonishing. “Heed me, boy. What happens here is not the same. There we fought the enemy. Here, the king himself has ordered that I be put under Kelsey’s rule. We would be committing not only a foolish act, but a suicidal one in defying Kelsey and through him the king.” He held that light-blue gaze. “Dost understand me, Wylie? ’Twould be treason. You must keep your head till I devise a way to make the king see that I have no desire to plot against him.” Which was a true enough statement. He did sympathize with the other nobles but he had no intention beyond that at this moment.
It was Kelsey he wished to see brought low. Yet that anticipated outcome must wait. Hate him though Simon did, he would not risk Avington.
Simon was not completely reassured when the boy said, “Aye, my lord,” for his lips were set in a stubborn line as his resentful gaze flicked over the earl’s men, lingering longest on the prideful countenance of the squire who had so offended him.
That grudgingly muttered acquiescence was all he would get and would have to do, in these circumstances. Simon need simply keep ahead of the willful boy.
Kelsey must be lulled into believing he posed no threat no matter how difficult that feat might prove, no matter how hotly his anger and resentment burned inside him. Simon only hoped that he would begin to ease his vigilant eyes ere long. He did not wish to resort to accepting Jarrod’s wild notion of laying in wait for the earl and killing him even though the situation had become dire enough to warrant casting chivalry aside. Not whilst he was the one most likely to be suspect.
If they could only garner the support of the other nobles to petition for his release he might still find a way out.
He must find a way.
And he must do this in the midst of trying to understand his own unwanted awareness of his enemy’s daughter. He could not afford himself the self-indulgence of giving in to his attraction for her, not if he meant to be free of her and her supercilious and reprehensible sire.
Chapter Four
Isabelle lingered far from the camp for as long as she dared to avoid meeting Simon. When she returned night had nearly fallen.
She made every effort to avoid looking for her husband amongst the men. Yet she found him near the blaze of the fire, his dark hair dry, his powerful body hidden by the fine garments he wore. That did not prevent a vision of how he had appeared in the stream from coming into her mind. Simon did not seem to notice her at all, let alone her discomfiture. She could not but be grateful though she knew theirs must be the oddest marriage ever entered into, even amongst arranged marriages. A deep flush heated her face and neck.
She ducked into her tent. The relief on Helwys’s face made her chest tighten with guilt. She opened her lips to apologize when a commotion from without made Helwys look at her with an unvoiced question that mirrored her own.
Isabelle, not wishing to come face-to-face with Simon, said, “Will you go to see what has occurred?”
The maid nodded and hurried out, clearly curious.
Isabelle continued to hear the deep rumble of men’s voices and a slightly higher one that was still distinctly male, but it was impossible to make out the words any of them spoke. Not until Helwys scurried back into the tent was she able to learn what had occurred.
The maid raised clear brown eyes to hers. “It was Lord Warleigh’s squire, my lady. He took issue with your father’s squire telling him that he could not put their blankets beside the fire.”
Isabelle moved to sit on the pile of furs that made up her bed. “Oh.”
The maid’s approving tone brought her gaze back to her. “Your husband acquitted himself most fairly, my lady. He smoothed all over by saying that my lord Kelsey’s men must have first choice as he had no wish to displace any man. He seems bent on trying to make peace betwixt the men. His manner in the incident was naught as your—” Helwys blanched and Isabelle knew she been about to refer to her father in a derogatory manner. She continued carefully, “Your lord husband behaved in a way that was quite admirable. ’Tis a good sign, for I do hope he will be kind to you.”
Isabelle was troubled by Helwys’s approval of Simon Warleigh. She had no wish to look for nobility in him. She had never known anything but disappointment in any man other than her uncle Wallace. Thinking of him made her recall that no matter how compelling the sight of Warleigh’s body might be, he had been one of those to condemn her uncle.
Quickly she interjected, “Haps my husband is simply weak.” Isabelle knew this was not true even as the words left her mouth.
Helwys frowned at her. “I would not say so, my lady. He speaks most confidently.”
Isabelle did not wish to discuss this, or to think about Simon, or the sight of his strong body. Yet this conversation had made her do just that.
A male voice intruded on her thoughts, “My lady.”
Isabelle would know that voice anywhere. She moved to the door of the tent and looked out. “Sir Fredrick.”
The knight did not face her as he said, “My lord Kelsey would speak with you in his tent.”
Isabelle nodded. “You may tell him I shall attend him in a moment.”
He bowed even as she ducked back inside. She looked to Helwys, who had begun to wring her hands. “I am going to speak with my father.”
Both of them knew the likely purpose of this summons.
The maid said nothing to this but continued to wring her hands as Isabelle left. At the door of her father’s tent, she faltered, her mouth opening but no sound issuing forth. She wanted nothing so much than to run away.
There was no telling what she might have done had Sir Fredrick, whom she had not noted hovering nearby, not spoken for her. “The lady Isabelle has come, my lord.”
Her sire answered from within, “You may enter, Isabelle.” There was no emotion in his voice from which to gage his intent.
Taking a deep breath Isabelle forced herself to don the mask of cool indifference that served her so well when dealing with her father. She entered the tent with squared shoulders and a deliberately unconcerned expression.
Candles lit the dim interior and she saw that her father was seated on a low stool. He was sipping sparingly from a silver cup, which he lowered as his gaze came to rest on her. Isabelle was rocked by a sense of loneliness in those eyes such as she had never imagined, but it was so fleeting that she told herself it could not have been anything but a trick of the flickering light. For when she looked more closely his eyes were, as she was accustomed to seeing them, without expression. “Isabelle.”
She refrained from sighing and the effort to retain her equilibrium was made doubly difficult by that fleeting impression, no matter how false. “You sent for me, Father?”
He smiled, though there was no warmth in that smile. “I would have you prepare yourself for Warleigh.”
Even though she had known this could be the case, shock rolled through her. She had just met the man this very morn and his resentment of the marriage was more than clear. Her tone was hoarse with surprise and uncertainty as she said, “You mean for me to bed with him?”
Her father watched her closely now. “Would you have me say that I do not, daughter?”
A chill rolled over her at his tone and assessing expression. She had made a terrible mistake in betraying so much. Self-preservation required an immediate recovery of her accustomed pose of indifference. When she was twelve her father had seen her turn away from the sight of him slitting the throat of a deer during hunting. He had forced her to watch each and every time thereafter, telling her she must not shy away from anything, must be strong enough within herself to let nothing disturb her. He must have no reason to feel she had not learned this lesson.
She faced him squarely, her voice betraying none of her inner turmoil. “I am only tired from traveling, Father. I have no preference in the matter of Warleigh. I would prepare myself if that is your desire.”
His gaze raked her. “You truly are without feeling, aren’t you, Isabelle? Though I did have to think on how you would best be trained you have taken to my guidance well.” For a moment there was something strange and unreadable in that gaze as there had been so many times over the course of her life. Then he said, “I am gladdened to see this. It means you would never allow emotion, love, nor hate to make you act rashly. I have seen to it that you will not allow passion for anyone or anything drive you.”
She nodded, holding the hurt engendered by his assessment to her tightly, keeping her gaze level. She knew that, to him, this was indeed a compliment. “I would do what pleases you, Father.”
He smiled that cool little smile which told her he was indeed happy with her in his way. “Then I will tell you what pleases me in this.”
She waited, her insides twisting with anxiety but giving no hint of it.
Her father smiled again. “Methinks it would serve me very well for you to bed Warleigh. You, being the dutiful daughter that you are, Isabelle, will please me by getting yourself with a son. In the event that Warleigh was to meet with an untimely end his holdings would fall to the lad, who would do quite well under my capable tutelage. And your dower, which was not discussed as a term of this marriage, also remains in my hands. Indeed this union with Warleigh could prove quite profitable.”
Isabelle was able to hide her disgust with only the greatest of determination. Her father would not raise her son in his image. He would not do as he had attempted to do to her, trying to wipe out all emotion. For though he had succeeded in teaching her to hide her feelings, he had not destroyed them. Isabelle was still capable of loving and she intended to shower all the love she had buried inside her on her own son. She would be the one to teach him what was right and wrong, that true strength lay in not being afraid to love. He would be like the Dragon.
She thought she had managed to keep her reaction to his pronouncement hidden as she always had, until her father said, “What is it I see in those pretty eyes, Isabelle?” There was no mistaking the surprise in his tone. “Reassure me that is not rebellion.”
Quickly she pulled herself up short, the accustomed mask falling firmly into place as she met his eyes without wavering. “Nay, why would you think such a thing? What would I rebel against?”
“You are not concerned about the possibility of your husband meeting an early end? It simply may prove necessary in the event that the king ever allows him to return to Avington. Now that I have pointed out his plotting against the crown to King John, I will be his target. It is only wise to secure the succession of the lands as soon as possible at any rate. Even if it does not prove necessary for me to act against him, a man who is the enemy of many, as Warleigh is, makes many enemies. He could meet his death at any time and the king may wish to take Avington for himself if there is no heir. Why not assure our own claim?”
She continued to look directly into those assessing eyes as she took in this information. She could only think that it was her father’s pleasure at the thought of attaining Avington that made him so forthcoming.
She realized her father had fallen silent, that he was watching her. Quickly she said, “Clearly Warleigh can see to himself.” In spite of her father’s revelation that Warleigh was not innocent in this, she felt a rush of regret. She soothed herself with the thought that her father had implied he would be safe as long as he did not return to Avington. At the same time she was aware of a certainty that for all his acquiescence to her father’s will thus far, Simon Warleigh might not be so easily killed.
All unaware her father nodded. “Very good.”
She heard the lack of emotion in her own voice as she answered, “Do I not always do as you wish, Father?”
Obviously feeling too much praise had already been handed out this day, he frowned. “And you will continue to do so if you know what is good for you, wench. I can devise an effective method of teaching obedience whenever it might prove necessary as well as taking back those pretty frocks and jewels should I feel you are not suitably grateful.”
She looked at the floor, not wanting him to see the immediate rise of anger and anxiety in her gaze. Neither would she tell him that the fine clothing and jewels meant nothing to her and never would.
Someday she would be free of him and the steel bands of his control. She would have her own life, would be free to love. In order to meet that end she must first have a child. And to do that she must appear to fall in with her father’s plans.
Her father interrupted her thoughts as he said, “I will have Warleigh informed that he is to attend you.” She could hear the satisfaction he felt at being able to tell the other man what he must do.
Though Isabelle knew a momentary rush of sympathy for Simon Warleigh she did not dwell upon it. He was, as she had said, surely capable of looking after himself.
It was she who must steel herself to accept the coming events. Her husband was a stranger. Her feelings of unease were not lessened when thoughts of the coming night brought a sudden and vivid memory of his powerful warrior’s body.
Simon looked up from his roasted meat in surprise as Kelsey’s knight stepped before him. “Sirrah?
The knight made no pretence at civility, his eyes dark with hostility. “My lord Kelsey has bade me inform you that you are to attend the lady Isabelle in her tent.”
Simon stiffened. He was aware of all the eyes that focused on him. And in that moment he knew that he could not debate this matter here before the men, and certainly not with Kelsey’s knight. No woman, even the daughter of his enemy, should be shown so little respect.
Yet Simon need not have worried on that score. The knight did not linger to gain his opinion on the subject. He swung around and strode away without another word.
Slowly Simon stood. He continued to be aware of the eyes that had followed him as he left the fire. He paused, taking a deep breath as he came to the entrance of her tent.
He had no intention of changing his mind in this. How, he wondered, would he convey his position without offering offense to the woman he had taken as his bride this very morn? That the marriage had taken place under duress did not change the fact that he had no wish to shame her.
He took another deep breath, then spoke softly. “It is Simon Warleigh. I beg entrance.”
The husky reply was a moment in coming. “You may enter, my lord.”
Simon stepped inside and halted. There in the center of small chamber was Isabelle. His wife.
She looked so beautiful in the light of the candles that for a moment he wished his intention was something completely different from what it was. Her ebony hair had been left in a rippling curtain that fell to her hips. When she shifted slightly beneath his regard the light revealed the hint of deep fire that gave it an unexpected warmth. His gaze moved down over the white shift that was formed from a fabric so fine that he was given the most tantalizing glimpses of the creamy flesh that lay beneath.
The sight of her brought every part of him to life. Deliberately he looked away. He did not know how it could be but there was only the barest hint of huskiness to betray his feelings when he said, “I was told that you were expecting me.”
She answered softly, her voice telling him nothing of her feelings. “My father bade me to make myself ready.”
Though she did not say so he had the sudden realization that she had been informed of her father’s wishes with as little care as he. He took a step closer to her, seeing a way out for both of them. “Isabelle, you need not feel that you must go through with this now. After all, we do not even know one another.”
She turned away, her slender shoulders seeming to tense. “I am prepared to do as my father has bid me.”
Cool, remote Isabelle. Other than the stiffness in her shoulders there was no sign of reaction in her. It was as if they were speaking of the weather.
“I see.” Simon repressed the urge to run a weary hand over his face. What a day it had been. He must find some way to stay out of his marriage bed while still offering his unwanted bride a way to retain her dignity. In spite of her being his enemy’s daughter, it greatly mattered to him that he do so. She had done him no ill.
He was not blind to the fatigue in his voice as he said, “Do you have something to drink? I find I have a great thirst.”
Without looking at him, she moved to the low table that held the candles and lifted a pitcher and cup. With what seemed more than usual care, she poured the wine and moved toward him.
Simon was hard-pressed to keep from noting the way the light silhouetted her slim and beguiling form as she passed in front of it. He kept his gaze on the cup as she moved closer and held it out. He found himself wiping away the sweat that beaded on his upper lip as the scent of jasmine and the warm scent of woman wafted over him as he reached for the cup with the other hand. His gaze fell to the shadow between the curves of her breasts, which was just visible at the neckline of her gown.
He forced himself to look up, and came into direct contact with those violet eyes. They watched him with an expression that was impossible to read as her tongue flicked out to dampen her lips. The sight of the moisture on that sweet mouth made him want to press his own to it, made his body tighten.
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Catherine Archer
Тип: электронная книга
Жанр: Современная зарубежная литература
Язык: на английском языке
Издательство: HarperCollins
Дата публикации: 16.04.2024
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О книге: Simon Warleigh and his brothers-in-arms had sworn to avenge the murder of their beloved foster father, the Dragon. But upon Simon′s return from the Holy Land, the brave knight was falsely accused of treason and stripped of his lands.His only chance to recover his beloved Avington was to marry the daughter of the very man he had vowed to bring to justice!Simon was quickly wed to the beautiful Lady Isabelle, with her mesmerizing violet eyes and a demeanor as cold as the chapel statues. Yet there were glimpses of the fire burning beneath Isabelle′s cool exterior. And soon thoughts of revenge turned to thoughts of love as Simon yearned to melt the ice maiden into a woman of flesh and blood.