Isabelle could not begin to fathom what might have brought on this strange pronouncement. Yet she tried, out of love, to reply evenly, “And pray what has brought you to this mad conclusion?”
Helwys looked at the floor, flushing. “Just now when Lord Warleigh was here with you I was listening outside the door. I must confess as well to listening outside the tent on the wedding night.” When Isabelle opened her mouth to give a reprimand, the serving woman rushed on to continue, “I had to be certain you would be safe.”
Isabelle was moved by this care for her. Yet she could not allow this defense of Simon Warleigh to go without challenge. “If you were listening, Helwys, then you know just how arrogant and intractable the man is.”
“Perhaps he is a bit proud, my lady. But that is very appealing in its way.” When Isabelle cast her a glare, Helwys had the grace to bow her head but only briefly. “Lord Warleigh was unpleasant, my lady, only after you had been so with him. And when he found me listening to the two of you in the hallway, I thought he meant to strike me, but he did no such thing. He was kind to me when he realized what I had been doing there, praised me for my care of you.”
Isabelle sighed. “This is ridiculous.”
“Pray forgive me, my lady, but it is not. And the night you were wed—” she raised her pert nose “—he spoke of his own feelings about being held here. But he also spoke of the fact that you two are strangers. I thought it most thoughtful of him to give you time to know him before taking to your bed. It is a sign of kindness, my lady, for it is not an easy matter to share your body with a stranger. I know you were prepared to do as Lord Kelsey had ordered, but it would have been very difficult.” There was no mistaking her disapproval toward Isabelle’s father.
Isabelle could form no reply. Perhaps shock kept her silent. Or a distant wish that the words could be true, even though she knew they were not. Surely it had been less than kind to bring up the fact that he had heard her crying.
Helwys went on softly. “Mayhap my prayers have been answered at last and in spite of the marriage being a forced one it was the best thing for you, my lady. Mayhap you will come to see that there is more to relationships than control and power.”
Never were such words to be spoken aloud. She raised her trembling hands. “Nay, Helwys, I will hear no more on it.” To allow such a thought to enter her mind would be to set herself up to disappointment and loss. Simon Warleigh sought only to further his own ends. He would not be in this situation if he had not plotted against her father no matter how her father might have twisted the truth of that to suit his own purposes.
Her voice emerged in a harsh whisper, “You are not to mention that man’s name lest it be absolutely necessary.”
“But—”
“Nay, no more. No one is coming to rescue me from my life and I require no one to do so. To pretend otherwise is to live in delusion.”
To her relief, the maid subsided, though she did not look happy.
“Please, fetch the burgundy velvet from my chest.” As the maid moved to obey, Isabelle continued to do just what she did not wish to do. She continued to think about Simon Warleigh and to wish the impossible was not.
But Isabelle could not allow herself to believe, no matter what the maid had said. The nurse loved her, it was true. She was one of the very few people Isabelle trusted, but she could be misled by a handsome face. And there was no denying that Simon was handsome. Isabelle could not deny that it had been difficult for her to keep from thinking about him and the glory of his golden body.
Isabelle shook her head. In spite of that and Simon’s seeming kindness to Helwys she could not relent. If her own father had never shown her any hint of genuine tenderness why would a stranger?
As if that had not been enough for one day, Helwys had just finished lacing her into the fresh gown when the door was opened by one of the kitchen maids. Her eyes were round with excitement and she spoke with a lack of ceremony that was quickly explained by her words, “My lord Warleigh is fighting Jack on the practice field.” She scurried away.
Isabelle started after her without thinking.
Word that Simon Warleigh was fighting one of her father’s knights on the field had obviously spread like the wind through the keep. The man was none other than Jack, the giant of a man who kept so much to himself.
Isabelle halted at the edge of the crowd, wondering what she was doing there. She told herself it was because she was eager to see the arrogant knave bested. But it had not been eagerness that had coursed through her as she watched him fighting the giant.
Anxiety rose higher with each fierce clash of swords. She also felt a strange sort of unexplainable pride as she realized that Simon Warleigh was meeting those powerful blows with vigor and prowess.
As she saw Simon falter, she felt a rush of fear that she could not understand or even acknowledge. She could no more stop her gasp of fright than halt the changing of the seasons.
The relief that rose in her upon the large man’s fall made her even more confused. She felt like a fool to react thusly when Simon Warleigh had treated her so ill by speaking of things best left unsaid, by behaving as if she had wronged him!
Yet before she could take her leave he looked into her eyes. The expression in that triumphant face made her feel as if he knew her very thoughts. Isabelle could think of nothing save getting away.
Surely it was only unwanted longings awakening inside her at the notion of having someone to depend on that made her so confused. She hurried back to her room, not caring what anyone might make of her obvious agitation.
Her reactions to Warleigh were far too unpredictable for her own well-being. It had been years since anyone had been able to break through her defenses, to make her feel when she did not want to feel. Yet Simon Warleigh had managed to do just that. And she had known him for no more than a few brief days.
Damn Simon Warleigh to the very fires of hell.
What right had he, who knew nothing of her and her life, to come and upset the delicate balance of her existence? Helwys’s insistence that Simon Warleigh was a decent man was nothing short of madness.
Unfortunately if her father had returned he would expect her at the meal, especially since she had taken the previous one in her chamber. Because of her preoccupation with that dratted man she had failed to ask one of the servants to tell her the moment her father arrived home. Since she was a child she had made it her business to know when her father was in the keep. She must put in an appearance at the meal, even if it be brief.
She called Helwys to aid her in finishing her grooming, which had been interrupted by the outing to the practice field. The familiar activities did nothing to ease her thoughts. Would Simon speak to her? What would he say?
She shifted restlessly on the stool.
Helwys’s voice interrupted her unhappy thoughts. “All will be well, my lady. Lord Warleigh will behave toward you with chivalry. Did you not see the way he was with Jack, congratulating him on his skill?”
Isabelle spoke tightly to her maid, recalling that he had been quite unchivalrous as far as she was concerned. “I have forbade you to mention that man in my presence, lest it be necessary.”
Helwys fell silent as she continued preparing her mistress, but her expression was reproving. Isabelle told herself she did not care if the maid was angry with her. She was justified in her dislike of her husband. She could not let herself forget Simon was not what he seemed. He had been one of the men responsible for her beloved uncle’s death.
When finally the maid stepped back with a pleased expression, Isabelle knew that she could delay here no longer. The ivory linen underdress was perfectly set off by the short, low-necked tunic of lush burgundy velvet with its border of pearled embroidery. Through her coiled dark braids Helwys had woven matching ivory ribbons. Feeling in no way secure, even with the armor of her beautiful vestments in place, she went down to the hall.
The deep, boisterous laughter she heard on stepping into the hall made her halt and send
a surprised glance toward the source. She could not recall when this hall had last been the setting of such gaiety. She was even further surprised to see her husband, who was seated at one of the tables with several other men. One of those men was the very one he had fought so earnestly only a short time ago.
The fact that the men had been drinking was evidenced by their relaxed demeanor and the pitchers littering the table. Casting her gaze about the chamber, Isabelle breathed a sigh of relief when she did not see her father. She realized she was not the only one who was observing this display of joviality quite closely. All here knew her father would never sanction such behavior. He insisted the meal proceed without loud conversation, and certainly no drunkenness.
Anxiety made Isabelle’s heart pound as another boisterous laugh sounded from the group of revelers.
She did not know what to do. One part of her wished to warn Simon, for her father could be formidable in his anger. Another part of her felt that Simon Warleigh was surely able to look after himself. Had he not shown this thus far?
Her father was not present. She thought she might return to her own chamber and have Helwys bring her a tray.
Still, she hesitated.
For too long.
As he cast a sweeping arm wide to illustrate some point he was making, Simon’s gaze came to rest upon her. His warm brown eyes widened, then slowly moved down over her, before coming back to her face. A languid smile curved his lips even as she noted that his eyes seemed to have darkened, the lids having grown heavy.
There was a strange fluttering in her belly. Without conscious thought she moved her hand down to cover the spot, her breath quickening as she realized that he was looking at her as if…as if he found her desirable.
As she watched Simon smile, his gaze darkened further. He seemed almost to read her very thoughts.
Flushing, Isabelle sucked in a deep breath as her belly fluttered anew.
She must be mad. She had no desire to be leered at by a drunken lout, even if he was her husband. For he was husband in none but name and that was just fine with her.
Isabelle turned and hurried back down the long narrow corridor that led to the stairs. She took the equally narrow stairway to the upper floor. She was able to enter her own chamber without seeing anyone, including Helwys. Closing the door behind her she took a deep calming breath and moved to sit on the edge of her bed.
She must gain control of her untoward reaction to the man. Why it was proving so very difficult she could not fathom. He meant nothing to her.
When the door opened, she did not raise her gaze. Isabelle did not wish for Helwys to see her agitation. “I will hear no more on Warleigh. Please, leave me in peace for a time, Helwys.”
“It is not Helwys.”
A gasp of surprise escaped her lips as she heard her husband’s deep voice.
She gained her feet on suddenly shaking legs. “My lord Warleigh!”
He spoke with unusual care. “Isabelle, I thought we had agreed that you would call me Simon.”
His lack of formality was not lost on her, nor was the way his unreadable gaze moved over her, nor was the fact that he had been drinking. She raised her head high. She was determined to make him understand that she did not welcome familiarity from him now, not in this situation.
But there was a decidedly pleased and devilish glint in his eyes as he added, “You and the maid have been discussing me.”
She gasped at his insufferable arrogance. “Since you know that, you also know I do not wish to do so.”
He sighed with exaggerated regret as he said, “Then it must have been anger I saw in your eyes when you were watching me fight. Although you did say that you would not allow yourself to become angry with me again.”
Isabelle flushed from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. Was no unchivalrous remark beyond him?
She said, “I was not angry, only disdainful of your poor fighting skills.” When he continued to watch her with obvious disbelief, she wished for nothing more than the strength to strangle the blackguard with her bare hands. But never would she give him the benefit of knowing how thoroughly he plagued her.
“My lord Warleigh,” she proclaimed, deliberately using the formal title, “I am not prepared to receive you at this time.”
He swept the room with a wide gesture. “Not prepared to receive me? You can not have forgotten that I share this chamber.”
She swallowed, “I have not forgotten. You may certainly come back after my maid has prepared your bed.” She paused. “That is if you are prepared to go to sleep.”
He scowled, then shook his head. “Nay, ’twill not serve. I will come and go as I wish. This is my chamber and you are my wife.” He moved toward her slowly, deliberately, his gaze raking her from head to foot. “It is not improper for me to be alone with you.” He stopped before her, this time perusing her form far more 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 his implication. She told herself that the knave was obviously behaving this way because he was drunk.
Deliberately she stood, running her hand down her skirt. “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?” His husky tone sent a chill down her spine that had naught to do with being cold.
Again she reminded herself that he was drunk, and was saying things that made no sense. He had made his desire to remain apart from her clear. Once his head had sobered he would be angry with himself and her.
She must hold tightly to her control.
Yet when Simon came closer to her, leaning over her, his breath warm on her cheek, she was forced to call upon all her powers of will to remain unmoved. His words only further served to enervate her as he spoke with soft intimacy. “I would not be above remedying the oversight.”
She gasped aloud, stumbling back. “How dare you, you drunken lout.”
He studied her. “Drunken lout I may be. But I am your husband, Isabelle, in spite of the fact that I’ve been granted not one moment of privilege because of it. Not even my freedom.”
Desperation made her speak frankly. “But you do not want me. You have said as much.”
He put his hands on her shoulders, holding tightly to her. “Aye, I have said that.” She forced herself to remain impassive beneath his strong hands, though her breath caught in her chest at his touch. She would not give him the satisfaction of a struggle.
Yet she was shocked into resisting when he pulled her against the hardness of his chest. Her strength was nothing compared to the power of his battle-hardened arms. His mouth found hers.
Isabelle tasted wine, and the coolness of the outdoors and something more elusive she could only think was Simon himself. Then all rational thoughts disappeared as a shaft of indescribable heat coursed down her body.
And just as suddenly as Simon had grabbed her he set her away. Confused and dazed Isabelle looked at him through heavily hooded lids. “Simon.” Her voice was far too breathless. “I did not imagine…”
He arched a dark brow. “Nay, but now you will. I am no one’s pawn.”
Ah, she realized suddenly, dragging the shattered edges of her composure about her. He thought to punish her as he was being punished. This was much easier to deal with than the notion that he might actually be attracted to her—desire her.
That thought chased the last bits of fog from her mind. She drew herself up, meeting his gaze with anger. “Do not again forget that I have done naught against you, my lord Warleigh. If wronged you have been, it was not wrought by me. You will not again approach me with the notion of avenging any wrongs you feel have been done to you.”
She watched as what appeared to be a grudging respect dawned in those eyes. But she did not allow it to soften her stance.
Finally he answered. “Very w
ell, Isabelle. I will never again approach you with the notion of revenge.”
He said the words. But something, an unreadable something that seemed strangely like an unspoken promise, kept her from feeling relieved by them.
Without another word Simon went to the bed and took the top fur from it. He strode to the far wall, lay it upon the floor and threw himself down upon it. The deepness of his breathing only moments later told her that he was already asleep.
Simon woke to a terrible throbbing in his head.
The wine!
He opened one eye and closed it again, raising his hand to block out the light that sent a shaft of agony down the top of his head. Saint George, it hurt, but not enough. He groaned, wishing his head hurt so much that he did not remember what he had done the previous evening.
The stillness of the room told him Isabelle had risen and left without waking him. He was not sorry. It would be best if his sickness eased somewhat before he faced the recriminations she would surely heap upon him.
What had he been thinking to approach the ice maiden as he had? An image flashed in his mind of the heat in her eyes when he’d set her away after kissing her. But quickly he dismissed it. Surely it was the wine that made him see desire where there was only anger.
It was her maddening defiance and resentment that had driven him past rational behavior. That, and God help him, her beauty. What had the Good Lord, in all His wisdom, been thinking when he created such a perfect form to couple with so disagreeable a disposition?
Surely she was put on earth as temptation for the weak of mind and will. And Simon was in no way weak of will.
Yet when he had kissed her he had felt his body respond in a way he would never have expected, with instantaneous fire. Again he was beset by a memory of Isabelle’s heated response. Was it indeed the wine that made him recall it thusly, or could there have actually been passion in her response?
The conversation with her afterward, which he remembered with equal vividness, did not lead him to trust his memory of that kiss. Isabelle had made it all too clear that she did not wish to be with him. That it would be a form of punishment for her.
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