Dragon's Dower

by Catherine Archer

  In spite of his kindness here, she knew it was just that, kindness.

  Helwys’s reply swept all thoughts of herself and Simon from her mind. “’Tis the housekeeper, my lady. And the head cook. Both have fallen ill, as well as several others and it seems that the effects are the same as those which afflict your father.”

  Simon moved to stand beside Isabelle as he asked Helwys, “Has the physician been told of this?”

  “Has the physician arrived then?” Isabelle questioned him.

  He nodded. “I had meant to tell you that he has declared there are no signs of poison, though it seems he has not yet determined the cause of illness.” He looked to Helwys. “Has he examined these women?”

  Isabelle was aware of the fact that cool competence had replaced his tenderness. She was surprised to find herself somewhat comforted by his strength for though she was relieved to learn that her father had not been poisoned, the rest was troubling news indeed.

  “Nay, my lord, he is still with Lord Kelsey.”

  Simon nodded, and said, “That is understandable. Yet he must be informed that he is to see to the other two as well. He may even gain some clue as to your lord’s ailment by doing so.”

  Helwys dipped a curtsey. “Yes, my lord, but Sir Fredrick will allow no one to enter his chamber.”

  Simon scowled. The man is a knight in his service. “He has no such authority lest it be given him.”

  Isabelle realized in that moment she was daughter of this household even though she had never been responsible for any of the duties which usually accompanied that position. In spite of her father’s attitude toward her and his command that she stay away from the sickroom she must do what was best for all here. Pride was one thing he had always encouraged in her and she would draw upon it now.

  She raised her head high. “I shall deal with Sir Fredrick. Simon is quite right to believe the doctor must examine the others who are ill. The ailment must indeed be connected. Though I have no notion of how, the doctor surely will.”

  Even as Isabelle moved toward the door, she heard Simon say, “And Helwys, you must discover how many have fallen ill, then inform your mistress of their numbers.”

  Helwys dipped a curtsey, “Yes, my lord.”

  Isabelle said nothing of his taking command, for she was not prepared to either encourage or deny him. But when she left the room she felt confident that Simon would see to matters while she confronted Sir Fredrick.

  She soon discovered she had been quite right to imagine that Sir Fredrick would not wish to allow the doctor to leave her father’s side.

  He looked at her as if she had indeed gone mad. “My lady, you can not mean to leave your father to suffer whilst the doctor sees to the servants.” Her father moaned from the depths of the bed as if to emphasize this point.

  Despite a flush of sympathy, Isabelle stood firm. “Seeing to the women may help the doctor to learn what is amiss with my father. You are, no doubt, in favor of that.”

  The knight looked at her with grudging agreement. “Aye, Lady Isabelle, haps you have the right of it.”

  She did not bother to inform him that it had been Simon who had thought of it. She simply nodded. “I am going to see what can be done for the others.” She looked to the doctor where he stood with a bowl of fresh blood beside the bed. “Once he has finished bleeding my father send him right down.”

  She did not linger to see that Sir Fredrick carried out her order. He would, if only for her father’s sake.

  Isabelle was not prepared for the sight of the two women who, in essence, oversaw the daily running of the entire keep. Someone had had the forethought to make them each a bed in one of the storage chambers off the hall. It would have been a sight to turn all from any thought of eating to have them in the hall where the majority of the castle folk not only took their meals but slept each night.

  Isabelle felt her heart turn over at their misery. The women lay doubled up upon their pallets. The physical evidences of their suffering had left a foul odor in the chamber. Next to each pallet was a bowl with a cloth.

  The serving girl who stood between them, turning from one to the other as if she were not sure what to do next looked to Isabelle for guidance. Isabelle stood immobile for a long moment, as uncertain as the servant. Never before had she had occasion to be in charge of any portion of the running of the keep. Her father discouraged her from attending to anything beyond her appearance.

  And suddenly as she stood there, feeling that pleading gaze upon her, Isabelle felt a sweeping sense of duty that was far from distressing as she might have thought. She was the lady of this keep.

  With her father ill, as well the two head women, there was no one but her to decide what must be done. There was no one other than Simon, at any rate. Though he seemed not only competent, but willing to take some responsibility, he was unlikely to be of any use here in the sickroom.

  Isabelle raised her head. “Who is attending the other sick? Where are they?”

  The girl spoke in a tone of fear. “It is several of the soldiers, my lady. They are in the barracks. Ona and another one of the women are tending them.”

  Isabelle nodded. Ona was one of the most senior women under the head woman and the best choice for this task. Yet her seeing to this duty would mean there was even more need for Isabelle to take charge.

  She spoke with a certainty that amazed her. “Take those buckets out and clean them. Also fetch one of the other girls to help you. That way one of you will always be in attendance here, while keeping the place in a reasonable state for sick folk.”

  The serving girl dipped a curtsey and took up the buckets, clearly relieved at having someone decide what must be done. As she moved toward the door, Isabelle added, “The doctor will be down shortly. Make sure he is directed here immediately.”

  Again she dipped a curtsey. “Yes, my lady.”

  Isabelle looked after her for a moment. Though the castle folk had never been less than courteous of her she sensed a new level of respect in the woman’s tone that brought a swell of self-confidence to her chest.

  A soft moan issued from one of the beds. Isabelle moved to the pallet of the head woman with a determined step.

  It was sometime later that she emerged from the chamber. The doctor had indeed felt seeing the two women had helped him to ascertain the cause of their illness. From questioning them he had learned that both they and her father seemed to have eaten of the same food that morning. He was sure it had gone foul in some way, rather than being poisoned as the two dogs that had been given the same stew were quite well. He had gone to discover if the soldiers who had fallen ill had consumed the same food, though he seemed sure he would be told they had.

  Isabelle could only pray no others would be afflicted.

  Simon was waiting for her in the hall. His concerned gaze moved her in a way that she could not quite fathom and she found herself avoiding it as she said, “The doctor says he believes they have eaten tainted food and should be well in a few days.”

  Now that she was no longer occupied Isabelle was fully conscious of having betrayed her father’s confidence by telling Simon of the attempted assault upon her father. It was of little comfort that Simon had not seemed to know of the attack.

  He put a gentle hand on her arm. “Praise God.”

  She looked at him then. “Can you be so concerned for folk who are not your own?”

  He shook his head. “They are yours and I can find a gladness on your behalf if nothing else.” He looked at her more closely, “The suffering of others is cause for compassion, at any rate.”

  She found herself studying him, uncaring what he might think of her close scrutiny. “What manner of man are you then, Simon Warleigh?”

  “A very common one, I would think,” he replied with a self-deprecating laugh.

  Though she had a sudden inclination that this was not quite true Isabelle stopped herself from saying so. She was not certain of anything at the moment, least of all how he
would take such a comment, or what she would mean by it.

  Recalling where they were, who they were, she stepped back. “We must make certain no one else has fallen ill.”

  He frowned, but said only, “Aye, they might be in some remote corner of the castle grounds and too ill to come for aid.” He held up a hand as she made to start off. “Pray, stay here where you may be needed. I will see that a search is made.”

  Isabelle nodded. In spite of the wall she had, of necessity, put up between them, she realized again what a relief it was to have Simon’s aid.

  Simon sensed that the intimacy that had sprung up between himself and Isabelle in her chamber only a short while ago was gone. Though why he did not know.

  Perhaps she was sorry she had told him of the attack on her father. He was not. He knew he must find some way to get a message to Jarrod, so he could make sure it did not happen again, though he knew not how. Kelsey’s illness had bought Simon some time as there could be no attempts on his life while he was ill in bed.

  All he could do was wait, as he had waited since coming here. But he could make himself useful for the first time in many weeks. Isabelle needed him now and he was prepared to come to her aid.

  Kelsey’s men were not eager to follow his direction. But with their master ill and Sir Fredrick at his bedside, they did obey when he told them what must be done as he would have his own castle folk at Avington.

  During those days Simon barely saw Isabelle throughout the day. He did note that she had begun to wear gowns such as he had never seen on her before. They were each of fine wool, it was true, but was far from her usual costume. There were no trims or embroidery as he had always seen in her in the past, yet there was a new easiness in the way she carried her slender form that made the garments elegant for all their lack of embellishment.

  She seemed far too busy with whatever tasks she was performing in the kitchens and other deep regions of the keep to emerge for anything other than to direct the household women in their duties.

  The most notable thing about her, though, was not her mode of dress, nor her unusual activity. It was the light of determination and accomplishment that fair burned in her, even at a distance.

  Never would he have expected Isabelle to react thusly to this upheaval. It was a new side to her that made him think that perhaps she would eventually come to be a good and responsible mistress to Avington and its folk. That was, if she could ever come to care about them enough to make the effort as she was here.

  Yet even as he thought this Simon knew that it was something best left in the back of his mind.

  He began leaving the hall early each day and not returning until hunger drove him to do so. When he did he would take his accustomed place with Jack, his own two men and a few others. None of them had fallen ill as true to the doctor’s suspicions it was only those who had eaten of the same food as Kelsey who had been afflicted.

  On the evening of the third day Simon took the steps of the keep with a sigh. He was eager for a cup of cool wine and the savory smells that wafted through the open doorway brought a growl from his stomach.

  According to Sir Fredrick, who had only emerged from the sickroom for a short time this very morning, Kelsey’s condition had improved a little. The knight had remarked that it seemed strange for Simon to be expending such efforts in the aid of his enemy’s folk.

  Simon had simply replied that they were not at fault.

  But he knew it was for Isabelle’s sake that he worked so hard. Isabelle. As always the thought of her brought a sense of anticipation. In spite of his fatigue, his body made him aware that it had been four long days since they had been to the lodge.

  Into this state of anticipation came the sounds of discord. Simon’s brow furrowed as he lengthened his stride and entered the hall.

  At the far end of the chamber a small crowd had gathered. The sound of angrily raised voices came again. One of them Simon recognized immediately.

  Wylie.

  The boy was once more in the thick of some turmoil. It was the last thing he needed at the moment. Simon had specifically warned him this very morning that he must hold his tongue even more carefully while Kelsey was ill.

  He approached the group with both determination and reluctance. Even as he came up to them, his squire cried, “You have dishonored me.”

  The object of Wylie’s rage, Kelsey’s own squire raised his own chin to a stubborn angle. “’Twas an accident and all here know it.”

  It was then that Simon saw his own sword clenched in his squire’s hands. Holding the weapon close to his chest Wylie cast an outraged and resentful glance around him. “These folk would uphold whatever you say, even if it be a lie. They care not for the fairness of their words.”

  An outcry of denial came from those gathered.

  Although Simon knew that he must stop this before it went any further, he clenched his teeth tightly to hold back the words of reprimand that sprang to his mind. He did not wish to startle the squire into doing anything more foolish than he already had.

  If it was his aim to teach the boy self-control, he must make every effort to display it. And he must not only do so for Wylie’s sake. He realized that all present would best be served by calm reason.

  Thus Simon’s tone was as even as he could make it. “What has happened here, Wylie?”

  The boy looked over at him with eager welcome, his grip on the sword relaxing. Simon took that moment to take the weapon from his hand. Wylie released it reluctantly but he did release it before casting another angry glare over Kelsey’s squire. “My lord Warleigh, ’tis most well-timed that you have come.” He pointed to the squire. “He fell into me deliberately, made me cut myself with the edge of your sword when I was polishing the hilt.” Simon now saw the welling wound in Wylie’s palm.

  It did not appear to be more than a flesh wound and Simon focused on the other boy, who was equally as enraged. “I was only walking by and stumbled on the armor he had left on the floor. I meant no insult or injury, though now I wish I had.”

  Wylie started toward him, fists clenched tightly, even as Simon ran a quick glance over his own armor which still lay where Wylie must have rested it while he was cleaning it. The squire sputtered as he said, “You lie.”

  Again he heard unhappy muttering from those gathered.

  Simon reached out and put a restraining hand upon his squire’s shoulder. He knew he must assess this situation clearly. He continued to watch Kelsey’s squire closely. The lad was angry, but it was a clear-eyed anger, which bespoke a sense of injustice. It told him that in spite of Wylie’s belief that the accident had been no accident, the squire was telling the truth.

  “Wylie,” Simon spoke quietly but firmly.

  The boy did not even look at him, but continued to glare at the other squire. Simon could feel the eyes of all present, watching him, waiting.

  This time he said his squire’s name with more force. “Wylie.”

  The squire swung around at last but there was obviously no lessening of the rage inside him. Simon could see that he hated these folk and the small slights he felt they had all suffered at their hands and had focused his anger for those slights on this incident. Simon realized that Wylie was a boiling pot, that he was not safe to remain here for another day. Once he had threatened others with a weapon in the hall, as he had just now, the castle folk would be watching him, possibly even baiting him to see if he would behave so rashly again.

  Because of this, it was not difficult to imagine that the lad could indeed be capable of actually hurting someone. Or of getting himself hurt.

  A confused voice interrupted his disturbed thoughts. “What is going on here?”

  Simon looked to Isabelle. “My squire has made a grievous error.”

  Kelsey’s squire cried, “He has threatened me with a sword in our lord’s hall, my lady.”

  Isabelle looked to the weapon, which Simon still held. Simon nodded. “’Tis true, Isabelle.”

  She noted the ga
thered castle folk. “But what…?”

  Quickly Simon explained the situation. Isabelle frowned. “This can not be allowed to go unpunished.”

  Simon felt Wylie stiffen, but at least the rash lad was not fool enough to contradict the lady of the keep.

  Simon nodded. “I concur and will be happy to deal with the matter if you will permit me.”

  She watched him for a long moment.

  He leaned close so she alone could hear him. “Pray trust me in this, Isabelle. I mean naught but good here.”

  She continued to look up at him, her lavender eyes uncertain. He did not waver under that close regard and finally she nodded. “I will trust you.”

  Feeling a wave of pleasure that seemed to go far beyond the moment, Simon bowed to her with careful deference. He then turned to Kelsey’s squire. “You have my apology for what has just occurred.” He looked to the others. “As do you all. You have my assurance that Wylie will be suitably disciplined for disrupting the peace of your hall this day.”

  Wylie, who seemed to have been experiencing some degree of shock at what was occurring, finally sputtered, “But my lord…”

  Simon took him by the arm and led him, none too gently, from the hall. Yet that was greatly due to the fact that the boy resisted, pointing and muttering his confusion and unhappiness over Simon’s taking the other boy’s part.

  Only when they had reached the stables did Simon release his squire. He spoke coolly, deliberately, “You will gather your belongings and your horse and make you ready for a journey.”

  “Where are we going, my lord?” A gleam of hope entered his eyes. “Are we going home to Avington?”

  Simon shook his head, knowing he was making the right decision in sending the lad home. He did not imagine Kelsey would care. The boy’s presence at Dragonwick had not pleased him from the beginning. “We are not going. You are going. I have realized that you would best serve me by returning to Avington.”