Dragon's Dower

by Catherine Archer

  Isabelle moved toward his chamber with her head held high. She would give away nothing about what she and Simon were doing, nor her own plan to leave Dragonwick. His determination for her to have a babe with all due haste was solely due to his desire to end Simon’s life. As long as they were able to hide a pregnancy—should one occur—until Simon was gone, he was in no danger.

  Her father was sitting at his writing table, bent over the long columns in one of his ledgers. He looked up with raised eyebrows as she opened the door. “Isabelle. I sent for you some time ago.”

  She faced him without wavering, though her heart fluttered with anxiety. “I was riding with Simon Warleigh.”

  Her father scowled. “Then it could not have been him.”

  “Of what do you speak, Father?”

  He raked her with a preoccupied glance. “I narrowly missed being hit by an arrow this very morn.”

  She gasped, starting toward him, for in spite of her hatred of him a part of her, the one that had always longed for his love, loved him. “Are you al—”

  He raised a hand, “There is no need for sentimentality. As you see I am quite whole.” He looked at her more closely. “I had a particularly unpleasant conversation with Warleigh last eve. He was…confrontational.” His cold gaze raked her once again. “Why did you not tell me he had moved from your chamber?”

  She took a deep breath. “I had not had opportunity to do so, Father.”

  He frowned thoughtfully. “’Tis true that I have been gone much of late. There is much to do in collecting my portion of the harvests. I would not be shorted.”

  She knew she should not be shocked that he was more concerned about his harvests than being shot at. “But who could have fired upon you, Father?”

  “If ’twas not Warleigh then I know not. You see, he dropped this.” He reached to take an object from beneath the ledger. “He was with you the whole of the morning?”

  Shock rocked her as she saw the dragon brooch. She had seen it, or its twin, on Simon’s cloak. “Yes, Father.” She could hear the amazement and confusion in her voice.

  He was scowling again. “His men are also accounted for.” He shook his head. “It makes no sense for I have seen this brooch upon your husband’s cloak. He was very angry after I told him that I expected him to do his duty in getting you with child. He informed me that I had no say in what went on between the two of you.”

  Isabelle cringed inside but maintained her composure as she answered in the way he expected. “How foolish of him.”

  He lifted a gray brow. “Precisely. Even if the man is in no way connected to what occurred in the wood this day, which seems impossible, we will be well served to be rid of him once he is of no further use to us.”

  The first time her father had said this it had troubled her. This time a shaft of ice seemed to pierce her chest. “Father, are you bent on seeing him dead?”

  He frowned. “As soon as you are with child, thus assuring my wardship of Avington and all Warleigh’s other holdings, he shall meet what I feel to be a most timely end. He was a fool to attempt to plot against me and will lose all because of it.”

  Simon had told her that her father had been his true target. Isabelle was able to keep any sign of her inner disgust from her voice when she said, “But will not King John be angered after having left Warleigh in your care?”

  Her father laughed harshly. “King John will be most pleased to be rid of a problem in the form of one Simon Warleigh. Did Warleigh choose to take up his sword and join the growing number of barons who are against the king, he would certainly influence others to do the same.”

  “Then why did the king not simply have him hanged at the outset? Why force him into a marriage with me?”

  Her father’s gaze narrowed. “Why this sudden concern for Warleigh? You do not mean to take my enemy’s part?”

  She shook her head, but not too quickly, for she knew that would be as telling as to react too slowly. “Nay, Father, I simply try to think ahead. To prevent any difficulty from falling to you for Warleigh’s sake.”

  She knew she had struck just the right tone between indifference and irritation when he smiled thinly. “Very good. But you need have no concern over any complications for me. There are methods of disposing of a man that would seem quite accidental.”

  Isabelle’s heart stopped as her father went on. “You will see to your part and get yourself with child so that there will be no question as to my right to oversee the lands.”

  Isabelle did not meet his gaze. “I will do my utmost to fulfill my duty as soon as possible, though, as you say, Warleigh has left my chamber.”

  He frowned. “Surely you can do something to remedy that.”

  “I…will do my best.” She returned his gaze though it took all her will to do so. “You know how contrary the man is.”

  “See that it is done.” He nodded, looking down at his ledger once more. And that was the end of it.

  Isabelle knew she had been dismissed. Without another word, she went to the door and let herself out.

  The horror and misery she felt at her father’s expectations of her, his devious coldness, remained locked inside her. As they always had.

  It was not as easy to dismiss her fear for Simon. She considered warning him again. Yet she knew he would not heed her. He felt himself invincible. She soothed herself with the notion that as long as her father believed she was not with child Simon would be safe—lest he acted against her father.

  She thought again of the brooch. There was no denying that it was exactly the same as the one he wore. She would see on the morrow if he still had it. And what if he did not? It could mean that he had enlisted someone’s aid, someone who was in as much danger as he if they thought to strike out at her father.

  Isabelle could not forget the cold ice in her father’s eyes as he said he was growing tired of the problem of Simon Warleigh, that he could be disposed of without complication. She knew he was not speaking idly.

  She was determined to discover if he had been involved in the attack. If so, she would convince him that he must stop before he was found out. Not only she, but Simon must escape her father. She owed him that for his willingness to give her what she wanted most—a child.

  So thinking she approached Helwys that very afternoon. “Helwys, I would have you take clean linens and some other supplies to a lodge that lays in the wood not far from the castle. You are to tell no one of this. Do not allow anyone to even see you go there.”

  The maid looked at her in confusion for a moment before light dawned in her face. “It is for you and Lord Warleigh. You mean to seduce him.” Isabelle was shocked at the approval in her tone.

  Chagrinned she frowned at the shorter woman. Yet the years of theirs being the only warm relationship in Isabelle’s life made her answer honestly. “I had meant to, but it did not prove necessary.”

  Isabelle was amazed at the smile that lit up Helwys’s face. “I am so very glad, my lady. Now he will find a way to take you away from this place.”

  Isabelle stiffened. She could not tell the woman who loved her so dearly that she would not be leaving here with Simon. Nor was she ready to tell her of her own plan for her and Helwys to go to her aunt in Normandy after she had conceived a child.

  Not that Isabelle did not trust her maid implicitly. She simply felt it best to keep her plans close to her until she was ready to put them into effect. That way Helwys would not be in a position of behaving normally with two such enormous confidences to hold inside her.

  Thus thinking she faced the other woman with what she hoped was a calm expression. “Can I rely upon your discretion in seeing to the cottage? I am more closely watched and must have a care to do nothing that would make my father suspicious.”

  Helwys nodded quickly. “I will see to it, though I do not understand why you would keep this secret when your father’s wish that you produce a child is so well-known.”

  Isabelle felt her stomach tighten. “Aye, it is.
But I have my reasons.”

  The maid bowed her dear head. “Your wishes are mine, my lady.”

  Isabelle slept little that night. As soon as she arose a sense of nervous anticipation swept away any hint of tiredness. She did not find Simon in the hall.

  She did find him on the practice field with his men.

  Isabelle approached him slowly. He looked up from where he was pointing out some specific feature of his sword edge to his squire, his brown eyes meeting hers. There was a sudden and measurable softening in them.

  She felt definite tingling along her backbone, a sense of anticipation. Isabelle hesitated, her gaze dropping, as she recalled that this meant nothing really. He did not truly desire her for herself. He but acted on the passion that existed between them and was prepared to have her because of any child that might come of that passion. Isabelle reminded herself of her own resolve to take that passion for what it was. She moved forward even more slowly than before.

  When Isabelle could force herself to look at Simon again, she saw that he was motioning his men away with a distracted gesture, not taking his gaze from her. Could it be that he knew why she was there?

  He took the last two steps to her. “Isabelle.”

  She focused on the neckline of his tunic. “Simon.”

  He spoke softly. “I trust you are well.”

  Still not meeting his gaze she cast a glance about the field, which was littered with the implements for learning to make war, including arrow butts, quintains and lists. It was far easier to look at anything but him. “I am. And you?”

  He laughed softly, wryly. “I find that I am very well indeed this day.”

  Her gaze skittered to his and away when she saw the warmth in it. She whispered, “Simon, I…Helwys has gone to prepare the lodge.”

  She could feel him nod. “I see.”

  She took a deep breath. “Would you care to go riding with me this morn?”

  He spoke in what seemed a carefully even tone. “Aye. I would be most pleased to go riding with you.”

  Another wave of anticipation raced through her body, heating her blood at his reply. At the same time she was beset by a strange sadness at knowing that this really meant nothing to either one of them.

  Quickly she reminded herself that she wanted nothing from this man. Though he did not seem cruel and cold like her father she really knew very little of him, other than the passion he could awaken in her so easily.

  Her gaze flicked to his shoulder. The brooch was in place. So it had not been Simon.

  She quickly brushed aside the wave of pleasure that washed through her, squaring her shoulders as she faced him, speaking as evenly as possible, “After the morning meal then.” She and Simon had nothing more than an agreement to accomplish a purpose.

  Simon cast a quick but unmistakably perturbed glance over her as he bowed. “I shall be most pleased to attend you…Isabelle.” He said her name in a way that brought the events of the previous day to life inside her.

  Again Isabelle looked down, shy of his seeing her reactions. With a nod, she moved away, walking in a fog of uncertainty, and yes, anticipation.

  It was not until she was upon him that she became aware of her father. “Isabelle?”

  She peered up at him surprise. “Father.”

  He cast a glance from her to Simon. “You do well.”

  For a moment she could not imagine what he was talking about, though the praise was so surprising that it warmed her. Then remembrance hit. He spoke of her and Simon. “Aye, Father, Simon is going riding with me this morn.”

  “Very good indeed,” he told her briskly. But as he said the words, Isabelle, ever cognizant of her father’s moods and reactions could feel a strange tension in him.

  She looked down at her hands. “Simon wears his brooch. The one you found could not be his.”

  The words made his scowl deepen. He leaned close to her. “You seem pleased by this.”

  She forced herself to meet his gaze. “I would please you, Father and am only relieved that you need not watch your back within the keep.”

  There was nothing discernable in his voice as he went on. “I am well pleased with your loyalty to me, Isabelle, and bid you remember that this does not prove Warleigh’s lack of involvement. Be on your guard for any information that might be of interest to me.”

  She watched him move off toward his waiting horse beside the stable with a sudden and overwhelming sense of sorrow. Why could things not have been different between them? Why was she naught but a pawn to him? Why could he not have loved her as she imagined a father should? But he did not. She had no one but Helwys. And God willing, her mother’s sister.

  Unconsciously she looked to Simon Warleigh where he now stood once more with his men, his gaze on her father’s back as he rode through the gate. Suddenly feeling unaccountably angry with herself, Isabelle turned and hurried into the keep.

  They rode to the cottage in near silence, neither of them seeming to know what to say.

  Once inside Isabelle saw that Helwys had indeed readied the lodge. The bed was turned down to display fine snowy linens. Fresh candles graced the table beside the bed as did a pitcher and two glasses. Going to it, Isabelle saw that the pitcher contained wine.

  She turned to Simon who was in the act of building a fire. “Helwys has left wine. Would you care for some?”

  He cast her a glance. “Aye, thank you.”

  Isabelle was glad for that much to do. It helped to keep her from thinking…

  Never was a glass of wine poured more carefully. By the time she turned back to face him Simon had stood back from the now flickering fire. She held it out to him, carefully keeping her features schooled to unconcern even as she handed him the glass without touching his large hand, the hand that would soon…

  Carefully Simon reached around her to set the cup down on the table, his hard chest but inches from her own. His gaze met hers. “Isabelle.”

  She did not break that gaze. “Yes?”

  He raised one gentle finger to trace her cheek. “You ask me not to speak of the future. I ask one thing of you.”

  “Yes.”

  “There will be no coldness here between us, not when we are here for this purpose. I have seen you with the maid, offering her comfort, warmth. I know it is in you.”

  She flushed, stiffening. She looked down at her hands, which were twisted tightly before her and took a deep breath. Was it really so very much to ask? He could only think to enjoy their passion more fully. And was she not determined to do that as well? “I…will try.”

  He put a gentle hand on hers, and she looked up into those warm brown eyes. There was a trace of irony in his tone. “That will have to serve.”

  His gaze moved to her mouth and without even thinking, Isabelle felt it soften, felt herself lean into him. Simon closed the space with his lips.

  His arms slid about her, pulling her close against his strong form and all at once her awkwardness melted away. Simon did indeed know what to do. His hands moved down her back to her hips, holding her, molding her to his hardness, which grew as she opened her mouth to receive his tongue.

  She felt her own core soften and moisten, sending out tendrils of desire through her lower body. She was amazed at her own ready response but too overcome by the force of it to question.

  She could only feel the ache in her belly, the pounding in her blood. With a gasp of longing, Isabelle pulled her mouth from his. She grasped the hem of his tunic, this time with no hint of her previous timidity.

  Simon put his hands over hers, raining hungry kisses on her face as he pulled it up and off.

  He turned back to her, not reaching to her clothing as she had expected but to the coil of her hair. With gentle hands he pulled it free to fall about her to her hips.

  Simon smoothed that tangled mass of black burgundy with a trembling hand. He could hear the huskiness in his own voice as he whispered, “This, too, I ask, that you leave your hair unbound for me.”

&
nbsp; Isabelle could not speak for her throat was suddenly dry from the quickness of her breathing as his passion-darkened eyes held hers. Her reply was to tug impatiently at the laces of her cape. He stopped her, removing it and the gown beneath it with ease and the feel of her hair on her own body was now more sensuous than she would ever have imagined because of the way he saw it.

  It was Isabelle who pulled off her shift, tossing it aside. Once bared she moved to come back into his arms but he held her away. “Let me look at you. I shall never tire of looking at you.”

  That word. Never. For a moment it tore through her determination to think of nothing save the now. There would be no never for them but that was no cause for mourning.

  She overcame her momentary lapse. There was no need for more than this moment, the heat of desire inside her and in this man.

  She raised up to press her mouth to his once more, kissing him with an abandon that made her own head spin, her blood sing in her veins. She ran her hands over his chest, tucked her fingers into the top of his hose. Down she tugged and they pulled away, baring him.

  Simon felt himself spring free and groaned. He had reveled in and enjoyed Isabelle’s passion the previous day. Had it only been a day? It had seemed so much longer when he was waiting for this moment to arrive.

  Now he found himself awed, drowning in the eager wildness of his wife’s response to him. As her fingers closed over the throbbing length of him, Simon’s knees weakened, and he gasped her name aloud, “Isabelle.”

  He shivered when she laughed softly, her mouth closing over his male nipple. Simon threaded his fingers through her hair, tugging gently until her head fell back. He kissed her. “No, you don’t. I have yet to ready you for love.”

  She did not look away, her lids heavy as she whispered, “I have no further need of preparation, my lord. I would have you now.”

  He rested his palm over the joining of her thighs. He swallowed hard as his stomach tightened further at finding her so damp. She was indeed ready for him.

  But Simon, greedy and determined to have more of Isabelle than this, forced his speeding heart to calm. He looked into her eyes. “Come.” He lifted her in his arms and laid her upon those snowy linens. Her body was golden and warm with the firelight playing over it.