Simon sat up in a rush of anger. Never in his life had he taken an unwilling woman. He would not do so now simply because the woman was his wife.
Simon entered the great hall and stopped as the unnatural stillness of the chamber intruded upon his thoughts. He scanned it quickly and saw that all present seemed to be watching Kelsey, who stood beside the high table.
At his feet was Isabelle’s maid. Helwys was lying upon the floor, a bowl clutched in her outstretched hand.
Without thinking Simon moved toward them.
As he approached Kelsey growled, “You fool.”
Now Simon was close enough to see the expression of horror that contorted Helwys’s pleasantly featured face, as she stared at the front of Kelsey’s tunic. Immediately Simon realized the reason for this. The thick gruel that had once been contained in the bowl now stained the front of the earl’s garment.
The rage on Kelsey’s face was obvious. He opened his mouth, but before any more words could issue forth, Isabelle’s voice, sharp with reprimand, interrupted. “Helwys, you lack-wit. What have you done? Have I not told you that you must have a care for your clumsiness?”
Simon looked to where Isabelle had risen from her place at the table. Her face was set in that cool and emotionless mask that was beginning to wear upon him. He felt his stomach tighten at her words and unfeeling tone. Surely what had occurred had only been an accident.
Again Kelsey opened his mouth, glaring his own outrage at the maid.
Again Isabelle broke in. “Helwys, you will begin by going to my chamber and removing every garment from my chests. Check each seam, each bit of embroidery, every jewel, no stitch is to escape repair.” Isabelle met the maid’s wide terrified gaze directly, her tone frigid as December wind. “It is a task which even you can not fail.”
The maid scrambled to her feet, ducking her head in fear and subjection, before running from the hall.
As soon as she was gone Isabelle turned to her father. “Forgive me, Father, I must bear the responsibility for this slight to your person. Clearly I have been lax in my instruction of late. As we have discussed on occasion, Helwys is dull-witted and clumsy. I will see that you need never suffer such indignity again.”
Her father found his tongue. “She should be beaten.”
Isabelle stiffened, looking down at her hands, which were folded before her. “Father, no doubt you are right. But as we both know there are other methods of teaching.” She looked up into her sire’s face. “I have learned from the most thorough of teachers. In the future she will have a care in all she does.”
All of this had taken place in the space of mere moments. Before Kelsey could reply Simon moved forward again, drawing their gazes as he came to a halt beside his wife. “Are you both mad? The nurse must have tripped or stumbled. That is no cause for such cruelty toward her.”
Sir Fredrick came from seemingly nowhere and pushed his chest into Simon’s, his blue eyes filled with hatred as he said, “How dare you speak to my Lord Kelsey that way? I shall gut you like the—”
Simon pushed him away, his own voice hard with rage, not only at the knight, but all of them. “Come then, sir lackey.” Simon put a hand to his sword hilt.
Kelsey’s voice stopped the knight in the act of removing his sword. “Fredrick! Have we not discussed this?”
Stepping back the knight turned to him. “As you will, my lord.” But that did not stop him from casting a hate-filled glance at Simon. A glance of warning.
Simon cared not what deeds the two might have planned for him. They would find them difficult to carry out. Kelsey swept him with a disdainful gaze. “Have I not told you to mind your own affairs, Warleigh?”
Isabelle spoke up again, seeming somewhat impatient with what had just occurred. “Father, you should be treated with all the respect and care you are due. I ask again for your permission to see to the punishment for my maid.”
Simon was sickened by his wife’s steadfast desire to punish Helwys herself.
Kelsey reacted quite differently. He smiled thinly. “You have indeed learned much, Isabelle. You may see to the maid and I will rest assured that you will not suffer from unwarranted pity that will only lead to further mishaps.”
Isabelle inclined her head with pleased modesty.
Simon, watching her, thought he saw something odd pass through her lavender eyes as she spoke, but he was so angry that he had little care for what it might mean. He cast a scathing glance over her. “I will not stand here and bear witness to this for another moment.”
Simon strode across the chamber. Neither of them might have any consideration for the maid, but he did. Though Simon had no notion of what comfort or aid he might give to the poor woman he was determined to interfere in whatever punishment Isabelle might heap upon the ludicrous one already given. It was especially distasteful to him in light of the fact that the maid was so very defensive and admiring of her mistress.
He went directly to Isabelle’s chamber.
Simon expected that he would enter a scene of chaos. From the number of trunks in her chamber the variety of garments she owned was surely staggering. What he saw when he opened the door made him pause with shock.
Far from being surrounded by a sea of her lady’s finery, she stood, quite unoccupied, in front of the open window, gazing out upon the scene below. What could she be thinking to bring more retribution upon herself?
Perhaps the maid had been too distraught to begin her assigned tasks. Even as he stepped into the room, Helwys began to swing around, speaking in a tone of gratitude, “Thank you, my lady Isa—” When she saw who it was she stopped, her eyes going wide. “My lord Warleigh!”
Simon approached her slowly. There had been no fear or anxiety in her voice when she had clearly thought it was Isabelle behind her. He had heard only affection and welcome. He was puzzled at this.
Helwys looked down at something in her hand and Simon followed her gaze. She was holding a little bird, which pecked at a bit of bread on her palm.
Immediately she turned and placed the bird on the sill, before swinging back to face him. “Is there aught I can do to be of assistance, my lord?”
He frowned, noting absently that the little bird remained where she had placed it, even as he said, “I…What is going on here between you and Isabelle?”
The maid moved to one of the huge trunks that rested along the wall. “I…” It was obvious that she was searching desperately for words. “Forgive me, my lord. I should have obeyed my lady without delay. Pray forgive me, but I will begin now.”
Simon was no fool. He shook his head. For whatever reason the maid and his wife had enacted a hoax.
He spoke sharply, “What are you and Isabelle doing?”
Silence.
Looking at the maid’s profile as she delved into one of the trunks, he knew that she would tell him nothing. Taking a deep breath Simon turned and stalked from the room.
Simon was angry with the both of them, his wife for being so maddeningly confusing, and with the maid for refusing to explain any of it. One thing was clear though: Isabelle’s actions below had been her way of protecting the maid rather than punishing her.
For reasons he could not begin to understand, this only troubled him more than believing her cruel and unfeeling.
The fact that Isabelle would go to such lengths to protect Helwys from her father meant nothing to him. She was not willing to face her father’s cruelty openly, which would be a true display of courage. She had to resort to this devious playacting.
He was more determined than ever to escape from this farce of a marriage.
Chapter Seven
The next week passed in a blur of anger for Simon. He slept on the floor in Isabelle’s chamber each night, and spent his days on the practice field with Sir Edmund and Wylie, along with Jack and the few other men who had decided to join them.
He rarely saw Isabelle or her father, the latter being much gone from the keep. Simon could not doubt that ruling his la
nds by fear and intimidation would require a heavy physical presence.
Only at night, when he lay awake listening to the soft rhythm of his wife’s breathing, did his anger abate. But like a talisman of protection Simon would pull it to him once more, for the emotion that strove to replace it was much less welcome and far more dangerous to his well-being.
On the seventh day, after a particularly sleepless night, he rose and went to the great hall before the bedrolls had all been removed to make way for the trestle tables. Sighing, he went out, rubbing the back of his neck as he looked up into the crisp blue sky. The decided chill in the air marked the encroachment of late autumn.
Simon had a sudden and overwhelming urge to get out into that brisk air. Surely it would wash away some of the frustration that had been his constant companion since he’d come to this cloying keep of secrets and silences.
In the stable he found the just risen Wylie coming back from his morning ablutions. He heard the tightness in his own voice as he said, “Ready my horse for riding.”
A young blond fellow who had been feeding the horses approached Simon hesitantly. “Pray forgive me, my lord, but I have been told you are not to be given your horse.”
Wylie, swung about, bristling like a rooster. “How dare you speak thusly to my lord Warleigh?”
Simon took a deep breath as he felt his own anger stir inside him. It was only by a great act of will that he held it in check.
Yet Wylie was ever quick to take offence. Simon addressed his squire with a calm that pleased him. “That will be enough. It is beneath you to harry this man for doing his master’s will.”
It was true. Kelsey was responsible for all the ills here. Simon swung around and stalked back to the keep. The earl would not prevent him from riding. Simon told himself he must find some reasonable method of approaching Kelsey in order to convince him that Simon had no intention of attempting to escape.
He easily found his host in the great hall, where the morning meal was now being laid. Kelsey frowned with displeasure as Simon approached him, and Simon did his best to ignore the expression, though it gave him the impulse to run the bastard through with his sword. It was only the knowledge that he would likely lose Avington to the crown that prevented him. Simon forced himself to speak evenly, “My lord Kelsey.”
Unfortunately the other man behaved with his usual lack of civility. “Ah, the proverbial ill wind.”
Simon bristled in spite of his good intentions. “You would dare to say such a thing to me, when all here shiver in the wake of your passage?”
The earl frowned. “You have been warned. What happens in this hall is not your affair. You are my prisoner.”
Simon’s gaze narrowed. “I am your daughter’s husband.”
The earl raked him with cold gray eyes. “Not by my own will. Haps you will prove yourself worthy of some consideration when you have produced a child.”
“That is none of your concern.”
The earl laughed a harsh sound that had no mirth in it. “All that goes on in this keep is my concern.”
“Not in the matter of myself and my wife.”
Kelsey shook his head. “You will find, my lord cockerel, that Isabelle’s place as your wife will ever be second to her obedience to me.”
That this was true did not ease Simon’s displeasure. In spite of her occasional secret acts of rebellion, her loyalty did indeed lie with her father. Why, he asked himself, did he care? Isabelle had certainly offered no sign of loyalty to him. “You are quite right, my lord.” He heard the bitterness in his voice as he continued, “Isabelle is no ally of mine. I concede that without argument.”
The earl spoke softly, his gaze superior. “I must further insist that what you do in my keep is also my affair. And you will behave accordingly.”
Simon felt his lips twist. “Though I do not agree and it has galled me to do so at times, that is exactly what I have done, my lord.”
“Have you?” Kelsey stood, his superior gaze raking Simon from head to toe. “My lord Warleigh, I have heard disturbing tales of your behavior.”
Simon scowled in chagrin. Had Isabelle told her father of what had occurred the night he’d been drinking?
As he had been on their wedding night, Kelsey seemed careless of speaking thusly before those gathered for the morning meal. Simon frowned. “I would not have—”
The older man cut him off angrily. “I dare say you would not have been so foolish as to disrupt my hall with your drunken revelry had I been present. Mark me well, sir, do not do so again, lest I make your misdeeds known to King John.”
Simon took a deep breath of shock. It was the drinking he was angry about. And after a week had passed, although clearly he had not known until recently or he would surely have remarked on it. Simon was more than slightly taken aback at what offended the man’s sensibilities. He, who had betrayed his own brother to gain an earldom, was appalled at a bit of merrymaking.
The man had insisted Isabelle bed with Simon, but it would be obvious to him that there was strain between them. Kelsey simply expected Isabelle to overcome her aversion to Simon and do as he instructed. Her distaste of Simon would make it all more acceptable. For reasons he could not quite name, Simon did not wish for Isabelle’s father to know of the passion that had flared between them.
Carefully keeping his expression bland, Simon faced Kelsey. He had no problem admitting that he had behaved foolishly in allowing himself to drink too much. “Forgive my lack of consideration in disrupting the peace of your hall. It will not occur again.”
For a moment the older man seemed at a loss for words. He recovered quickly. “I only hope that may be true.”
Simon shrugged wryly. “Believe what you will. That matter is done as far as I am concerned, yet there is something else I must insist upon discussing.” He faced the other man squarely, for Simon was suddenly done with placating his host. “Your man has informed me that you have forbidden me to ride. I would not cause difficulty for one of your servants, for I have seen how any misdeed is viewed, yet I will go riding.”
Kelsey put his hands on his lean hips. “Oh, you will? Do not imagine you may simply declare your intention to do as you will and that I must accept it. Your over-blown confidence will not move me, my lord Warleigh.”
Simon lowered his voice but continued to hold those cool gray eyes. “I do not mean for this to be a contest of wills. I have made myself amenable to all that you have demanded thus far and give you my word here and now that I will not try to escape. But I will go riding.”
“And your word should mean something to me?”
Simon cast an assessing glance over him. “Do not judge me by yourself, my lord.”
The earl’s lips set in an angry line. “How dare—”
Simon shrugged. “How dare I? You try me greatly with your lack of goodwill, my lord. I could have escaped many times over on the journey here, had that been my intent. I simply wish to go riding.”
Kelsey frowned. “Do you imagine I can spare a man to make sure you honor your word?”
Simon shrugged again. “That is your concern. Do you wish to persist in believing me a liar, it will indeed cost you a man to act as my guard.”
The earl’s scowl darkened as he glanced about the chamber. No doubt he was doubly angry at Simon’s defiance of his authority before those gathered for the meal, though all were giving them a wide berth. No doubt because of their lord’s angry expression, Simon thought.
Kelsey paused then as his gaze came to rest on something, or someone, beyond Simon’s left shoulder.
Simon spun around to see Isabelle standing there, looking lovely as ever in a peach velvet kirtle and soft green linen underdress. Although her perfect features were set in the same imperturbable expression that he was quickly becoming accustomed to, he was aware of the fact that she avoided meeting his gaze. Perhaps she had spoken to the maid and knew that he was aware of their game.
Unaccountably pleased at this evidence of disquiet
in her, Simon felt an unexpectedly strong rise of triumph.
Intruding upon his satisfaction came his enemy’s self-satisfied voice. “Isabelle will accompany you riding.”
Isabelle heard her father from across the chamber and felt horror sweep over her. She would not—could not—ride with Simon. Not after the way he had kissed her. Not after the way she had responded.
Not after what Helwys had told her of his coming to her chamber to find the maid playing with the little bird she had adopted as a pet, rather than going through the trunks as she had been instructed. That the maid had refused to answer when he had questioned her on their charade did little to soothe Isabelle.
Though he was many things Warleigh was not dull of wit. He must realize what was going on between them. How he might use that against her she could only imagine, but she was not sorry she had spared Helwys from certain disaster.
Isabelle forced herself to attend her father. She was not at all pleased to see the cold expression that came into his eyes as they passed from Simon’s back to her. Nor was she pleased at the open horror on Simon’s face, or his immediate response of, “Nay, I—”
She found herself wanting to inform him that it was quite unfair of him to be so emphatic in his rejection of her father’s decree.
She said nothing as her father nodded emphatically. “Aye, Isabelle will see to you. She has little else to do.” He ran a cool glance over her. “Ready yourself for riding.”
She flinched inwardly at his saying she had little else to do. It was her father who declared that she was not to concern herself with the running of the keep. Suddenly she wanted to defy him and his command, and all commands to come, to say that she would never accompany Simon Warleigh anywhere. But she knew it would be for naught. Her father had the power to make her do as he pleased. Too many lessons had been learned to doubt it. She must not allow her father to see she had a preference in this. Letting him know of her reluctance to be with her husband would only give him power over her. She bowed, keeping close guard of her expression. “I will make ready.”
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