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 he
r 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.
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