How could she bear his intrusion here, in the one place that had been her own? She had not even considered that they would be expected to share a chamber on a regular basis, though clearly she should have. Her father had made his desire for her to have a child most explicit. He could not know she had deceived him. Simon would not trouble her greatly. He would rise and leave each morn before she did. As he had done on the journey here.
Isabelle nodded sharply in acquiescence.
With an equally sharp nod of reply, Simon Warleigh turned his back on her.
Simon strode across the chamber and through the open door. Grabbing the latch he made to slam it closed behind him. And wrenched the latch right out of the hands of the serving woman who stumbled forward. Even as the door slammed shut she fell into him with wide frightened eyes.
Simon caught her as she sputtered, “Oh…I…forgive…”
Quickly Simon drew her a distance from the door, which though heavy might not be proof against sound. “What were you doing?”
Her hair fell across her eyes and when she reached to swipe at it she stumbled again, grabbing at him. Again he caught her. “Did Kelsey send you to spy upon us?”
The horror in the maid’s gaze told him this was not the case. “Nay, my lord. I would not betray my lady. I was but…” Defiance lit her eyes. “You must not hurt her.”
Here at last in this dismal place he found a sign of goodness. He raised his hand to wipe the hair from the maid’s face and she cringed in fear. Taking a deep breath, Simon carefully held her shoulders with both hands. “There is no need to be afraid of me. I would not strike you.”
She looked up at him with uncertainty. “Yes, my lord. Forgive me, my lord.”
He scowled. “For what? How can I fault you for being protective of your mistress? She should count herself fortunate someone cares for her despite her cold nature.”
The maid’s chin tilted. “My lady is not cold.”
Simon eyed her. “Your loyal defense of your mistress is admirable, but seems somewhat misplaced.”
The maid opened her mouth, then closed it again without debating him. But her gaze was far from happy.
Shaking his head Simon stepped back and with a sharp nod moved on. The maid was wise to keep her own counsel if she thought to defend her lady.
Marriage to the contrary and cold Isabelle was proving as difficult as he had feared. He thought of the way she had looked at him when she imagined that he might have come to her because he wished to bed her. Those beautiful eyes could not have been more horrified. Damn her.
He was wasting his time and hers in attempting to talk with Isabelle—in being here at all. Frustration made each hour at Dragonwick seem a week.
All he wished to do was go home, to take hold of Avington and look after it the way his father and brother would have him do. They had been so much alike in body and mind. Never would they have risked Avington by becoming embroiled in such a predicament as he was now in.
He must be patient, as they would have been. He had been hasty and careless in his determination to seek vengeance against Kelsey. He would go slowly, wisely, even though he was more resolved than ever to see Kelsey repaid for his ills against others. This thought kept him from stalking out of the keep, calling his men and riding out of this prison. For there was no doubt in his mind that did he wish to leave none of them could hold him here.
Yet his frustration rode high and he knew he must do something or explode. He went down to the great hall, which was dim on this fall afternoon with only its one enormous hearth and the high arrow slits along the outside wall to illuminate it. Simon found Wylie and Sir Edmund where he had left them, at one of the well-scrubbed trestle tables when he had so foolishly gone to speak to Isabelle after seeing her father leave the keep. The large chamber was not well populated at this time of day and those who were present seemed to be keeping their distance from the newcomers.
Running an assessing glance over them, Simon realized they would likely be no different had the strangers not been present. Though their clothing was clean and in decent repair there seemed no joy in Kelsey’s folk and they went about their duties with undue gravity. Recalling the backhand Kelsey’s squire had received for not being able to control the unruly stallion, Simon could imagine why.
Gruffly Simon commanded his men to come along with him and to bring their weapons. They obeyed immediately, though he could see the uncertainty on their faces.
Simon went to the enormous oak door, then down the wide stone steps that led to the courtyard. He then strode off to the left of the main gate. He knew exactly where he was bound. Going right would have taken him to the stables. One of the things that so irritated him was his vivid recollection of each and every corner of this keep. He and Christian and Jarrod had left no crevice unexplored in their boyish exuberance, in their pride and wonder at their positions as squires to The Dragon.
Simon had been eleven when he arrived at Dragonwick and nervous at leaving home, though he had tried to hide it. He found a second home here as well as a foster father who was worthy and willing to take his father’s place as mentor and teacher between regular visits to Avington.
These thoughts brought on a fresh and fearsome rush of frustration and anger. He quickened his pace. Wylie and Sir Edmund followed, though their expressions were perplexed.
Once the practice field came into sight, the two seemed to realize what he was about. They smiled as Simon moved onto the field and drew his sword.
Sir Edmund met him eagerly. It was as if he, too, felt a need to expend some pent-up energy.
Kelsey’s men who were on the field stopped what they were doing to watch them with wary gazes. Simon ignored them, setting his mind on the clash of sword against sword, the flexing of muscle and bone.
Sometime later, Sir Edmund cried off, wiping a hand across his face, which was covered in dirt and sweat. Simon looked about in frustration, his gaze sliding over Wylie quickly. Though he was not fresh he did not wish to fight the squire who was still far from equal to him.
Frowning Simon ran a hand over his tunic, which was heavy with sweat, realizing that his hair and clothing were gritty with the dirt that clung to that dampness. But he was not yet ready to quit. The last few days had afforded him far too much in the way of frustrations and naught by way of relieving them.
“Will no one give me contest?”
He smiled with relief when one of Kelsey’s men, obviously a soldier by his garb, stepped forth.
Sir Edmund frowned and reached out to put a hand on his arm. He spoke so softly that only Simon and Wylie, who hovered close by, could hear, “Do not fight him, my lord. Not surrounded by enemies as we are. ’Twould be too easy a way to see you dead.”
He could hear the scorn in Wylie’s voice as the boy added his own warning. “Aye, trust him not, my lord.”
Simon was suddenly reminded of Kelsey’s words to Sir Fredrick when he’d put his hand to his sword hilt on their first night upon the road. Even if Kelsey did mean to move against Simon he was not yet ready to do so. He replied coolly, not wishing to rile the already easily riled Wylie, “He may not find it so easy to do away with me.”
The squire’s animosity changed to bravado. “Aye, my lord. You will surely show them what we are made of at last.”
Simon eyed Kelsey’s man, who was a giant in an ill-fitting tunic of rough spun wool, but there was a keen glint to his steely gaze that told Simon of a quick mind. There was also animosity in that gaze.
Simon cared not, for he was in no way surprised. Perhaps it would afford him a better fight. He nodded. “Come forward.”
The man smiled and raised his sword. Simon did the same and the clash began.
He felt a renewed rush of energy, knowing he would fight until he was too exhausted to recall that he must bide his time here. He would fight until he was too exhausted to recall that he was married to the coldest, most beautiful and desirable woman he had ever known.
It did not take lo
ng for him to be certain that his foe had entered the contest with more than common eagerness. There seemed to be far too much anger and resentment in those gray eyes, which burned into Simon’s each time they grappled closely.
Simon had fought many men in his life and this fellow’s purpose went beyond what he would expect in one who was acting out of loyal service to his overlord. Something, some inner sense of knowing, told Simon there was something personal in this attack, though it did not appear as if it were meant to kill, but to punish.
He knew not when the crowd began to gather, but Simon gradually became aware that he and his adversary had attracted the notice of the castle folk. It was clear that their support lay with his opponent, for each time the large man landed a particularly brutal blow a sigh of relief seemed to ripple through them.
This only served to make Simon more determined to best him. Yet the man met each thrust of his sword, offering a counterattack for each one Simon launched.
When Simon finally faltered against the giant, he heard a loud gasp. Unable to seek out the source of that seemingly horrified sound, he attempted to raise his sword to, at least partially, block the descending blow.
He was amazed when his blade met air rather than blade. His opponent’s gaze widened as one of his legs seemed to give out and he fell onto his back, his sword twisted beneath him. Simon quickly found his own stance once more as he approached the fallen knight. He knew it had been more luck that the other man tripped than skill that had aided his own cause.
He was ready to have it done. Leaning over the other man with his sword, he said, “Do you yield?”
The gray eyes seared his, and the harsh whisper that emerged caught him completely off guard. “Why did you betray The Dragon?”
Shock made Simon reply in an equally harsh whisper. “Dear God, sirrah, would that I had not. I have regretted it each day of my life and will until the last breath leaves my body.” He held the man’s gaze. “I commend you for your love for him, though I must admit I am surprised to find one still loyal to him here and now.”
The man watched Simon with equal intensity. “Haps there is a reason that is not readily seen.”
Simon raised his brows. “Haps there is more to the tale of my betrayal of my lord than is readily seen.”
A new expression emerged in those eyes, a measuring that Simon did not falter from. “Aye, perhaps.”
Simon reached out a hand.
After another long hesitation the other man took it. Simon pulled him up.
As he did so he looked over his shoulder and directly into the lavender eyes of his wife. Simon, still charged with the energy of combat, met that gaze with challenge.
Isabelle raised her head high, raking him with a now unreadable gaze and turned away. It amazed him in no small amount that she would be here watching him, lest it be with gleeful hope that he would be felled. Yet there had been no glee in those lovely eyes.
Even as she stalked from the field he had a sudden memory of that horrified gasp. It could not have been Isabelle. She would likely be very relieved to see him dead.
Simon was distracted from the sight of her slender backside by his opponent’s voice, which was now loud enough for all present to hear. “You have fought hard and acquitted yourself well, my lord. Let us now find a cup to quench our thirst.”
Simon was surprised at the sudden change of topic as well as the invitation. Even if this man no longer considered him an enemy, his master did. Simon recalled the fellow’s remark concerning his presence here at Dragonwick, that the reason for it might not be easily seen. Yet he knew ’twould be best if he did not remark on it. If the man’s loyalty did not lie with Kelsey, he would know there could be nothing but danger for him in admitting as much. And in spite of the moment of understanding that had just passed between them, he was unlikely to trust Simon with a confidence such as that.
Simon accepted this unexpected civility in the spirit in which it appeared to be offered. He nodded as he said, “Clearly you know that I am Warleigh. I would have your own name.”
The fellow bowed his head slightly. “Jack, my lord.”
Simon inclined his head, the name holding no particular meaning for him, as it was not uncommon. He would simply have to wait for the other man to volunteer more. If he did. “Well then, Jack. I find I do have a thirst and accept your offer most readily.”
Jack jerked his own silver-streaked head. “Good enough then, my lord.” He looked to what remained of the crowd that had obviously dispersed once the fighting had ceased with no one worse for the clash. “Are any of the rest of you to join us?”
Most of the other men stepped back. Only one nodded as he addressed the giant, “I’ll join ye, Jack.”
Jack grinned. “Very well, Anton, the more for us. I’ve a great thirst after getting myself throttled.”
Simon shook his head, a rueful smile twisting his lips. “Throttled? You acquitted yourself more than fairly.”
The fellow nodded modestly, though he did cast Simon another assessing gaze. Simon motioned to Wylie and Sir Edmund who stood nearby. “I hope you do not mind if they join us as well. They have precious little else to do here.”
Jack bowed politely. “They may suit themselves. Or indeed you, my lord, as you are their master.”
This was indeed true, but Simon was again surprised at this man’s unexpected recognition of his authority and position. Especially as it seemed to be given so easily after there had been so much animosity in him at the initiation of their fight.
He found himself frowning thoughtfully as he turned and strode toward the hall. The others followed.
Once they were seated at a trestle table not far from the entrance to the chamber with frothy cups of the brew in their hands, the man named Jack again seemed to study Simon closely. Simon could no longer contain his own curiosity. “Why do you watch me thusly?”
The man looked away shrugging, but seemed to speak carefully, “It is that seeing you, speaking with you this day has made me think of many things.” His eyes met Simon’s. “I remember you well, my lord Warleigh, though you were but a lad the last time I set eyes upon you.”
Simon looked into those steel gray eyes. “Pray forgive me for I do not recall knowing you.”
“Aye, I am not surprised that you don’t remember me. I was one of—” he lowered his voice “—I was just newly come to The Dragon’s keep from my father’s farm.”
Simon was not blind to the reverence with which he spoke the former lord’s name, nor the continued appraisal in those steely eyes. When Simon remained silent, Jack went on with steady care. “I was there that day, as you were, when good lord Wallace met with those who were plotting against King Henry. ’Twas a black day indeed when he allowed those men his ear.”
“You loved him.”
“Aye. And I now begin to believe the same of you in spite the fact that you and your friends gave testimony against him.”
Simon took a deep breath, speaking with complete honesty. “Aye, I loved him, as my own father.”
Jack lowered his voice even further. “I would ask you then, after what you have told me this day, if you were forced to speak against him.”
Simon could hear the pain in his voice after these thirteen long years that The Dragon had been dead. He heard it and sympathized with it. For the same pain lived in him.
Yet Simon was cautious about admitting anything more to this man, in spite of his appearance of commiseration. It suddenly occurred to him that although Jack might very well be empathetic it was also true that he could be acting on Kelsey’s behalf. He might be attempting to encourage Simon to speak some slight against his lord so that it might be used against him.
Simon well recalled King John’s admonition to make no trouble for his host. He spoke cautiously, but at the same time he could see no gain in prevaricating on this matter. “It is true that we did not realize what we were doing, but we were not forced to speak. Lord Wallace had taught us that there is honor in th
e truth and we must not deviate from it.” He could not completely hide the pain that colored his voice as he went on. “All we sought to do was tell the truth when asked if we had been present when he met with those who were in league with Richard and if that meeting had been held in secret.”
Jack took a deep heavy breath and it was difficult to doubt the sincerity in his voice as he said, “Aye. I know. But you have had to live with knowing that the outcome was the same as if harm had been meant.”
Simon could not deny this. It was partially due to their testimony that King Henry himself had sanctioned the raiding of Dragonwick keep in which Wallace and his young daughter had been killed.
Simon drained his cup, then raised it for more wine. Simon resolved to say nothing. He would remain on his guard and always recall that Jack was in the service of his enemy.
The thought of Kelsey brought him back to the subject he was most determined to forget. Isabelle. What had been behind the strange expression in her eyes as he had looked at her across the field? Had he not known better, he would have imagined her to be fearful for him. But that was ridiculous, completely impossible.
Isabelle had made her hatred of him quite clear.
Simon lifted his cup and drank deep.
Chapter Six
In a state of high agitation Isabelle paced the confines of the chamber she had once thought of as a haven. In spite of her intention to put Simon Warleigh from her mind, this day’s events seemed to have conspired against her.
Immediately upon the heels of that dratted man’s departure Helwys had entered the room. The expression on her well-loved face had been very thoughtful as she said, “He may not be such a bad sort, your lord.”
Still angry with Warleigh, Isabelle swung about in confusion. “My father?”
The maid shook her head, holding her folded hands close against her breast. “Your lord husband.”
Isabelle felt her eyes widen. “What are you saying?”
“Your husband, my lady. Perhaps there is no need to fret so over the marriage.”
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