Dragon's Dower

by Catherine Archer

  She held out her arms and Simon shook his head, dipping his head to her breast. Isabelle cried out with both pleasure and disappointment. She wanted him so very desperately, needed an easing of the ache of longing that was so intense it made her body quiver from head to toe.

  When she tugged at him, he raised up, looking into her glazed eyes. “Will you trust me in this one thing, Isabelle?”

  As she looked at him she felt something inside her give way, a wall that had never been breached since the day her uncle died. “I will.”

  He dipped his head once more and suckled at her other breast until she was writhing beneath him, glorying in eagerness for him. When she moved her head from side to side in frustration, he moved lower, felt her stomach quiver under his questing tongue.

  Isabelle was aflame, her body aching with a need so great that she knew not what to do. Simon’s warm tongue on her belly only served to send another wave of desire shooting through her, making her dig her fingers into the heavy hair at his nape.

  She had said that she would trust him, but she burned to have this wanting reach its culmination.

  It was not until he moved on, his cheek brushing against her nether curls that she realized what he might be about. Even as she opened her eyes, his tongue found her most secret core. Isabelle cried out, her fingers pushing and holding him at the same time. As he deepened the intimate kiss, her head fell back and she sobbed aloud.

  The passion built until Isabelle could do no more than utter hoarse whispers of wanting as she climbed higher and higher along that path of ecstasy. And then she stiffened as she reached the summit of that fine and indescribable pinpoint of pleasure. She cried out, rising up beneath him, her body opening to him completely.

  Only when the ripples of pleasure had ceased did Isabelle open her eyes. She was lying in Simon’s arms, his warm gaze upon her face.

  He smiled. “You are beautiful.”

  She studied his face, the handsome lines and angles that so filled her thoughts from the day she had met him. Honesty and the wonder at the experience she had just had made her say, “As are you, my lord.”

  “Simon.”

  She swallowed, feeling more uncomfortable than ever at the thought of saying his name, but also knowing it odd to think thusly after the things they had done. “Simon.”

  Simon felt unaccountably pleased with her and himself. He had wanted to enjoy more of Isabelle’s body before ending their interlude. And he had done just that.

  He could not but be aware of the pleasure she had taken from his caresses, his kisses. He was also achingly aware of his own unslaked desire.

  She leaned back peeking up at him from beneath her heavy lashes. “Are we finished, then?”

  He could not help grinning. “Oh, nay, we are not finished. We have not proceeded in the matter of the child.” He had bought himself a few more moments with her, for she would not wish to return to the keep until they had performed the act that could produce her babe. He smiled, then bent to nibble the side of her neck.

  Was he only putting his own desires onto his wife or was there relief and pleasure in those lilac eyes? As she tilted her head further back to give him better access to her throat, saying, “We can not forget that,” he thought, aye relief and pleasure indeed.

  Simon’s triumph soon turned to a more pressing emotion as he felt her soft hands on his shoulders. She raked her hands through his hair, sighing with pleasure as he kissed her breasts, which were still swollen, the nipples rigid from his loving. He took one tip into his mouth and felt the tug of longing that raced though his own body.

  Isabelle was first surprised and then gladdened by the desire that rose up inside her so soon upon her recent sense of utter fulfillment. She was ever so glad that Simon was not yet ready to go back to the castle. Though she told herself that she should be so, as her purpose was to produce a child, it was hard to recall such things with her blood beginning to pulse in that now familiar way.

  The pressure of Simon’s mouth on her breast increased and with it the pressure of desire in her lower belly.

  Simon felt the changes in her body, felt the passion that made her breath quicken afresh with a wave of longing so strong he felt his own head spinning. When her soft hands urged him to raise his head he did so, looking into those passion-dark eyes.

  Isabelle kissed him, deeply and with all the desire that he had awakened inside her. With that kiss came a fresh ripple of need that made her stomach muscles clench, her limbs quiver.

  Simon felt her hands, cool and eager on his flesh, tracing the contours of his chest, then moving lower to his belly. He sucked in a breath, holding his breath as her fingers closed over him.

  His pulsing response was immediate and unmistakable. He could take no more and judging from her breathing, Isabelle would not have him delay either. Deliberately he rose up over her, his knee slipping between hers.

  She watched him, her eyes never leaving his as he eased into that incredible and welcoming warmth. Again he felt the rush of pleasure in his body and stilled himself, closing his eyes for a moment to shut out the sight of her passion, which only made his own all the more intense, more overwhelming.

  Isabelle was awed by the powerful beauty of Simon’s face. It was so filled with the tension of need, yet so open at the same time in a way that made her heart contract in her chest.

  As he began to move inside her, she felt her own body take up a rhythm that it seemed to know instinctively. She met each thrust with anticipation, the pleasure building with each rise of her body, each fall of his. They were in perfect union, she and Simon, rising and falling over and over again, climbing together toward that unutterable crest of ecstasy.

  As he stiffened above her, he opened his eyes and looked at her. In that moment Isabelle reached her own completion, feeling as if she were falling into Simon, for he was pleasure itself and she his willing disciple.

  Only when the ripples of desire had eased did Isabelle’s reaction appall her. As it had the first time they’d been together. Never would she give up her autonomy, her sense of self, for another soul.

  She could not do so. Had she not learned by the most difficult road she could conceive of that her heart could not be trusted with any man? If her own father could not be trusted, then no man could.

  Isabelle sat up, taking the sheet with her. She did not look at Simon as she said, “I…we should be going back now. That is, if you wish to keep our meetings here from being known, we should not remain so long that we risk being seen here together.”

  Isabelle knew it was a poor excuse. No one would come, but she simply had to leave, to put some distance between herself and her own mad reactions to this man.

  Simon seemed very still on the bed behind her. Finally he replied, “Aye.”

  Relief filled her as she heard him rise and dress. Only when he reached the door did she stop him. “You will come back again tomorrow?”

  He watched her closely, his dark eyes seeming to see far too much. “Is that what you truly want?”

  She raised her head. “Of course, we must be certain that I will bear a child.” The sooner that deed was accomplished the better, for her response to Simon’s lovemaking troubled her greatly.

  He looked away. “Of course, the child. I had forgotten for a moment that that was your one reason for being here.”

  She told herself she was utterly mistaken in feeling that there was an underlying unhappiness in his voice. “What other reason could there be?”

  He nodded sharply. “You will get what you want, Isabelle. As I will, for I would see my lands secured if naught else, now that I have commited myself to this…” His lips twisted. “Union.” With that he was gone.

  Stung by his reminder that it was not her he wanted, Isabelle was grateful that she need make no reply. The tightness in her throat would have given away her dejection. Why she felt thusly she could not say for Warleigh had only reinforced her certainty that no man could be trusted with her feelings.
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br />   She gave no more than the briefest thought to her guilt over not providing him with his heir. Once she was gone and their marriage dissolved under whatever grounds he wished, Simon would be relieved to be shed of her.

  She was quite convinced that running away was indeed best for both of them. It seemed entirely likely that King John would have little choice in granting Simon his freedom if his bride had abandoned him.

  They would both get what they held most dear.

  Chapter Eleven

  Over a month passed with Isabelle and Simon meeting at the cottage whenever possible.

  Her father continued to monitor her actions, clearly interested in success in getting her husband back into her bed. Though, gratefully, he said little on the matter. Since the arrow shot, her father had spent even more time from the keep. He was especially eager to learn who had shot at him when he discovered that though Simon’s dragon brooch was indeed in his own possession, the two did match. Perfectly.

  Isabelle knew this only added to his impatience to see Simon’s life ended. She was even more determined than ever to keep their relationship secret. She feared that if her father thought she might indeed have become pregnant he would have the matter done.

  Fortunately keeping their secret was not so very difficult. At the keep not so much as an intimate word passed between herself and Simon Warleigh. When they were at the hunting lodge, well, very few words were necessary there. It was as if they had, by unspoken consent, realized that conversation only caused them difficulty. They spoke with hands and lips and yearning bodies.

  With each touch, each kiss, Isabelle grew more and more empty at the thought of their passion’s end. For end it must. She would find a life where she was wanted for herself alone. She must remember her own strength was all she could depend upon, even if she longed for him more fully with each day that passed.

  One afternoon when the warm flicker of the fire had made her forget that the chill outside their tiny haven confirmed that autumn had become winter, Isabelle lay back upon the pillow with a sigh of repletion. She and Simon had just done things that made her blush as soon as the ripples of passion had passed.

  Simon held her close against his side as he always did after they had coupled. And she drew away, as she always did. He never fought her in this nor had he even remarked upon it. Accepting her will, he simply attempted to hold her close the next time.

  She could not explain to him that the holding seemed somehow more intimate than the passion. It made her long for things she could not allow herself to dream of, the reliance on a strength that was not her own. For she did indeed in those few short moments before she pulled away feel a sense of safety and protection that was more compelling than anything she had ever known, no matter that it was not his true intent toward her.

  These thoughts led her back to the one man who had ever held her heart in high regard. The Dragon.

  Suddenly Isabelle had to know, to understand how Simon and his friends could have betrayed him. How they could have given testimony that would assure his downfall.

  Simon seemed to sense her withdrawal for he turned to her with a questioning expression.

  Isabelle sat up, holding the sheet close over her, yet facing him directly. “Why, Simon, why did you and your friends give testimony against him? Why did you not protect him? He would have done so for you.”

  He blanched, but did not look away, not even trying to pretend that he did not know what she was referring to no matter that he could not have foreseen that she would ask. His tone was now husky with emotion, “I can only speak for myself in this and say I have wished more times than there are stars in the sky that I had said something other than what I did.” He squared his broad shoulders.

  “But he might have been able to find a way to absolve himself if you had not…”

  Simon nodded. “I know.” He looked into the fire and Isabelle could see that he was seeing not the flickering flames but the past.

  He began to speak in a voice that was heavy with regret. “He always took the three of us, Christian, Jarrod and me, when he rode out from the keep, though he had no need for three squires. I believe it was simply because he knew how much we enjoyed it, the possibility of some adventure. Even the thought of coming upon a poacher in the wood was a great excitement to us then. That day seemed no different than any other. We thought to do no more than to follow about the lands while The Dragon saw to his usual duties.

  “When we rode directly to a small glen at the very edge of Dragonwick I took no particular note of it even though it was somewhat out of the ordinary. Longchamps was there and D’Baercy. The Dragon went aside with them. They spoke for no more than minutes. The meeting ended with D’Baercy riding off in what looked to be anger. Longchamps stayed only moments longer before following him.”

  Simon shrugged. “The Dragon came back to us and we went about our business.”

  He looked at her then. “It was not until later when the king’s men came that I even thought to recall the incident again. They seemed overinterested in that meeting and what might have been said.” His face was dark with regret. “Christian, Jarrod and I, we all asked The Dragon what we must say if questioned. He told us to tell the truth, that all a man truly had was his honor and he would ask no man to forsake his for him.”

  He shook his head, staring into the flames once more. “I do not believe he intended to join them in their efforts to aid Richard. The very fact that he took the three of us that day should make that obvious. Anyone who knew him would know he would never endanger the well-being of three green boys by involving them in such a matter.”

  Simon glanced at her and away. “He said, ‘Tell the truth, lads. There can be no harm in it. We have naught to hide.”’ He rubbed a hand over his face. “When the king’s men asked if The Dragon had met with Longchamps and D’Baercy, who had already been arrested, though we did not yet know that here at Dragonwick, I said yes. I believed I was doing the only thing I could do.”

  Hearing his pain in the tightness of his voice, she wished she had not asked the question. But she could not bring herself to stop him.

  Simon went on. “He was such a decent man, but not perfect you know. He could become angry when things were not done properly or when he felt that one was behaving badly, or if one had told a lie. But all in all he was good, and judged others by his own standard. He would never have suspected his own half brother was behind the efforts to destroy him.” He took a deep breath. “We told the truth. The king gave Kelsey sanction to take the keep. The Dragon died.”

  He looked at her. “We were wrong in not protecting him. I must live with that. But it was your father, Isabelle, The Dragon’s own brother, who destroyed him. There is no doubt in my mind that he set all in motion.”

  Isabelle took a deep breath. The unexpectedness of the statement made her reply with more candor than she meant to. “Aye, and I have not forgiven him for that.”

  He frowned, studying her doubtfully. “Then why do you play the dutiful daughter, serve his every command?”

  Isabelle flinched. “How could I do any different? My mother died trying to give birth to my brother when I was naught but three. Where would I have gone after my father killed my uncle? To whom? My uncle was dead. I had only my father and he has lessoned me well in his way of seeing the world.” She deliberately refrained from mentioning her mother’s sister, whom she had not thought of as someone to take her in until most recent days.

  Simon blanched, reaching toward her. “I…forgive me, Isabelle. I should not have spoken so harshly. I begin to see that fate has dealt us both some measure of cruelty. I, as boy, made a terrible mistake by telling the truth. As your father’s dependent you have been left with no choice but to learn to obey.”

  Her throat closed up as she saw the empathy on his handsome face, heard the sadness in his voice. It seemed to release the dam of indifference inside her and she heard her own voice as if from a distance as pain flowed out from her very core. �
�Aye, no one could conceive, lest they had survived it, what being a child in this place of coldness and calculation has been like.”

  Isabelle rose, taking the sheet with her. She went to the foot of the bed, smoothing her hand over the surface of the wood. “My father can be…”

  There was an odd edge to Simon’s tone. “What is it? Does he beat you?”

  A wry smile curved her lips though she felt no mirth, only the accustomed ache of loneliness. She did not want to talk of this, not to him, not to anyone.

  Simon moved closer to her. Isabelle felt his gentle finger on her chin, urging her to face him. She could not resist. The warmth in his eyes made her heart pound. He spoke softly, though there was still a definite edge in his voice, “Does he, Isabelle?”

  She found herself answering that concern, though she would never have imagined herself doing so. “Nay, he does not beat me. He has never had to do so for his method of teaching is far more effective.”

  He watched her, his gaze now confused. “Tell me.” His hand fell away yet she could not turn away from him.

  Isabelle took a deep breath, those eyes holding hers and the words came, not pouring from her as a stream but slowly as a very small leak in a very large dam. “When I was eight there was a puppy. I played with him about the keep, taught him to fetch a stick and come when I called the name I had given him, Little Dragon. Though I never spoke it aloud when anyone else was present, for my father would not have approved.”

  His lips tightened at the name but he said nothing as she paused for a moment, choking when she felt her throat constrict with the sadness of remembering. But she found herself going on. It was as if the words would not be stopped. “No dogs were kept as pets you see. Little Dragon was one of a litter that had been born to one of the castle hounds. Then, as now, they were kept in the stables so as not to disrupt the hall, or soil it.”