Wylie’s eyes widened in rebellion. “But, my lord, I can not leave you alone with these—”
Simon knew it was love of himself that brought about this response and he was not unmoved by it. Yet for the sake of the squire he could not allow him to disobey an order under any circumstances. Wylie had already displayed far too little control this day. “I have determined that you will return to Avington and you will do so.”
Wylie scowled. “My lord, I will not go without you.”
Simon drew himself up, his tone hardening, “You will obey me, or leave my service.” The boy must be prepared to do as he was told without question, for his own well-being.
The squire stared at him in shock.
Simon could not waver. “In the event that you must ever be called to serve me in battle, your defiance of my instructions, even for a moment, could mean your life or the life of another.”
The squire’s face filled with horror, “My lord, I would never def—”
Simon halted him. “You would do so by continuing to behave as you have. I have warned you again and again in your behavior here. And you have disregarded my warnings. Which could mean life or death in a situation such as this where we are surrounded by those who are our enemies.”
The squire shook his head. “I had not thought.”
Simon’s lips tightened. “That much is clear, but if you wish to remain in my service as my squire you must begin to think on all you do.” He watched the boy carefully. “As my squire you are as close to me as any man will be. Your behavior is a reflection of my own.”
Wylie took a step toward him. “I would do better from now on, my lord.”
“Then pray attend your actions, boy. You drew a weapon in the hall of the very man who has the well-being of my lands in his hands. And it is my true opinion that you did so wrongly. I do believe that Kelsey’s squire was as shocked by what happened as you. And hear this, even if he were not, you would have been wrong to do this. Avington is my first concern and must, as my squire and loyal man, be yours. I and those who serve me must place the continued good of the many who abide there foremost even over our own anger. We must be men of self-control and think before we act in a way that would put their future in possible jeopardy. It is this manner of being that separates man from boy. In which category will you stand?”
Wylie continued to look up at him, his blue eyes filled with a myriad of emotions that rushed through so quickly that it was impossible to gauge them. Finally the lad took a deep breath. “Like a child I have let my temperament rule me.”
Simon nodded. “You have.”
Regret filled Wylie’s face. “I will not do so now.”
“Show me this by obeying what is asked of you.”
Wylie drew himself up to his full height. “It is my greatest wish to serve you well, my lord. No more will you have cause to question this.”
Watching him Simon felt a trace of returning confidence that he had indeed chosen well in the lad. It seemed that this incident had taught him something.
Then as he stood there a sudden and fortuitous thought came to him. With Wylie returning to Avington this day came an opportunity to send word to Jarrod. It must be done with all haste. With Kelsey ill there was far less chance of their being found out.
Simon followed to where the boy had begun to gather his belongings from where he had been making his bed in the hay. “Wylie, I have something very important I wish for you to do. It will require your remembering every detail of what I tell you.” The meeting with Jarrod must be timed perfectly so he was not missed.
Wylie straightened, standing tall and proud. “I will see it done, my lord. You will have no more cause to doubt my ability to serve you.”
Simon nodded.
Isabelle was in the hall overseeing the changing of the rushes when Sir Fredrick approached her. His face was dark with anger and his tone was barely civil. “Lady Isabelle, your father had instructed me to speak with you.”
She drew herself up. “Oh.”
“It has come to his attention that your husband has sent the squire away and you sanctioned his doing so.”
She held her head high. “He did so as a punishment.”
The knight continued to scowl. “You are to refrain from giving the man permission to do anything.”
Isabelle could feel the others watching her. “I am lady of this keep and you will remember that when speaking to me.”
He sucked in a breath. “Your father has decreed it.”
“Then he may tell me him himself. You will not forget my position again.”
The man’s gaze narrowed but he stalked away without another word. Isabelle knew there would be consequences when her father was well. Yet she felt he must understand that she would not accept such insolence from a retainer when he had made so much of her being mindful of her place.
One thing she did know, though, was she must have care for what she did. Obviously her father was being informed of the goings on in the keep in spite of his illness.
Isabelle was torn. Because he was her father she wished for his recovery. Yet at the same time his absence had created a strange sort of peace that would be disrupted once he emerged from the sickroom, especially the peace between her and Simon.
She and Simon had not been to the lodge, and had not made love, but a different sort of bond seemed to have developed between them. When she learned he had sent the squire away she had felt a momentary sense of unease, but it had changed to admiration as it seemed not only a suitable punishment for the hot-tempered lad, but a logical solution to his outbursts. Simon’s obvious fairness in dealing with the situation had also changed the way the castle folk treated him. There was more respect in their voices when obeying his direction.
Her own attitude toward him had definitely undergone a strange metamorphosis, as had his toward her. Since the events of that morning she had found excuses to enter the hall when she knew he would be present. Twice in passing Simon actually placed a gentle hand on her, once on her shoulder, another time on her arm. Each touch was cause for reflection for it awakened in her that strange yearning that went far beyond desire. Although desire was certainly a part of it.
Mayhap being with Simon, who was more than able to quench her physical ache, would ease that other less familiar longing. But it would be mad to place him in further jeopardy. As long as her father believed that Simon could not have produced a child, he was somewhat safe. Sir Fredrick had been very angry about his sending the squire to Avington and she knew as well as anyone that he spoke for her father. She realized that she had been wrong not to force Simon to heed her warning about her father’s intention to kill him.
She must try again.
Isabelle sought him out in the courtyard where he was helping some of the men to unload the top portion of a layer of hay so it would fit beneath the entry to the keep.
Simon turned and came toward her with an expression that she could not read, even as the other men went back to work. He spoke softly as he rubbed a hand over one broad shoulder. “Is there something you need, Isabelle?”
She shook her head quickly, vividly recalling the strength of those wide shoulders under her eager fingers. “Oh, nay. I—I simply wanted to talk to you.”
He smiled and that smile sent a thrill of renewed longing through her. “What would you like to talk about?”
Isabelle felt suddenly shy, casting her gaze about. The other men were clearly waiting. “I…pray forgive me. This is not the time. You have much to do, as do I.”
“But name a time that is more convenient to you and I shall be in your service.”
She saw the openness in his face and the banked heat in those mahogany eyes. It called to an answering reaction inside her. She forced herself to think on what was important here. “I…with my father ill, there would be less impediment to your coming to my chamber to talk.”
He bent over her, studying her closely. “You wish for me to come to your chamber this evening?”
She looked up at him from beneath her lashes. “If that is your wish.”
His hot gaze swept over her, making the heat rise in her own body. “I will attend you.”
He turned back to the men and Isabelle realized that she had let him think the wrong thing.
She told herself she could not explain now. Another part of her was not sure that she wished to do so. The very thought of experiencing the promised passion in his eyes was nearly enough to make her forget everything else.
But only nearly, she assured herself.
Chapter Thirteen
As he stopped at the entrance to Isabelle’s chamber, Simon was infinitely aware of the fact that he had sent for Jarrod.
Simon took a deep breath as he stood in front of that door. There was silence within.
Perhaps he had misread his wife’s intentions when she had come to him in the courtyard. Perhaps she was not expecting him. Yet the pounding in his blood told him to open that door. He put his hand on the latch.
Again he paused. If Isabelle was asleep he would return to the stable.
If she was not…
He moved the latch. The heavy oak door swung inward without a sound.
His heart stopped then thudded to a start once more as he saw that Isabelle was indeed awake. She stood before the fire, seeming oblivious to her surroundings. The light of the flames outlined every perfect line of her body, revealing those long legs, gently curved hips and narrow waist to his heated gaze.
At that moment she turned her eyes meeting his. There was a strange uncertainty in them.
He moved toward her.
Isabelle came forward at the same moment. “Simon, this time you must listen to me.”
He forced himself to concentrate on the worry in her face, to damp down the now aching need that had arisen at the very sight of her like this. “What is it, Isabelle?”
She bit her lip, her gaze dark with torment. At last she said, “It is my father. I should have told you long before this. I just could not…but now I…” She squared her shoulders. “He means to do you ill, Simon.”
He quirked a brow. “That much I know.”
She shook her head. “Nay, you do not understand. My father has told me that once I am with child he means to…”
He nodded slowly. “I see. You mean that he has actually told you he means to have me killed.”
She nodded, then spoke with obvious difficulty. “Yes.”
Simon was not entirely surprised. He watched her closely, “Why are you telling me this, Isabelle?”
She took a deep breath. “Sir Fredrick came to me this day and told me that my father is very angry at your having sent your squire to Avington.”
“But why now? He has been angry with me before.”
She looked away. “I have come to respect you. You have proven a good and decent man during my father’s illness. I could not repay you with silence in this matter.” She looked back at him. “I will rest easily in the fact that you are the father of my child.”
Simon took a long deep breath. This was no declaration of love or care. Yet in some part of him he knew that to Isabelle this was great praise indeed. The child was all that seemed to really matter to her.
He refused to acknowledge the regret that twisted inside him. He would take the fact that she had warned him of her father’s intent in the spirit it was intended. She cared, at least in some small way, what happened to him.
He held out his hand. “I thank you for telling me this, Isabelle. I know how hard it was for you to do so.”
She did not reach out to take his hand. “I…would you please go now, Simon? It is dangerous for you to stay. If Father had any reason to believe I might be with child…”
Simon heard the catch in her voice. He spoke softly. “Is that what you truly want?”
She looked at him then. “I…yes…” His gaze held hers as she faltered. She turned away again. “I do not know what I want.”
He put a finger to her chin, urging her to face him. She did so with obvious reluctance. “Yes, you do, Isabelle. You want the same thing that I want.”
Her breathing quickened visibly. “Aye, perhaps I do, but what if we are discovered?”
“Tonight that is a risk I am willing to take.” Simon placed his lips on hers.
And then she was in his arms, her body molding itself to the length of his. He deepened their kiss, his mouth crushing hers beneath his own. She lifted her arms and clasped his shoulders tightly, pulling herself up to him.
Simon wrapped his arms around her, drawing her up to him, feeling the softness of her with every part of him. How he had longed for this, dreamed of holding her in each hour of the day.
Then he felt another new wave of feeling wash through him as she turned her head and placed her warm mouth at the pulse at the base of his throat. “Simon, how I want your arms about me.”
“Isabelle.”
Her name came as a caress that made the fine hairs stand up along her flesh.
Isabelle had prayed that he would come. She knew that this aching, this loneliness could be filled by no other than Simon. She needed him—his body, his touch.
She pushed back to look into his eyes, not saying a word as she reached down to push her hands beneath the hem of his tunic. Slowly she moved them up to splay over his stomach, which convulsed at her gentle touch.
Isabelle felt his reaction, was emboldened to go on. She enjoyed the ripple of hard muscle beneath her fingers as she passed over his upper stomach, moved on to the wall of his chest, brushing over the nubs of his male nipples and coming back to them.
Her pleasure was halted when Simon placed his hands over hers. She looked up into his heated gaze, holding his eyes as she lifted her slightly parted mouth.
He slid his arms around her slender and yielding form and his lips took her offering. She tilted her head back, granting him full access to her lips, her throat, the curve of her breasts above the low neckline of her gown.
Isabelle welcomed the heat of passion that flowed through her. For this one moment she would think of nothing beyond her and Simon, her own reactions to his caresses.
He lifted her in his arms and moved toward the bed. As Simon lay her upon it he kissed her closed lids. “As I lay over there on my pallet I dreamed of having you here.”
She opened those wonderful, hypnotic eyes. “I, too, have dreamed of it.”
He answered her with his mouth. She met him fully, passionately, the heat of her mouth scorching his.
When Isabelle’s eager hands again reached to the hem of his tunic he drew back, this time to aid her. It took no more than a moment to pull it over his head. It fell as her hands reached for him and he gathered her back into his arms to kiss her again, with a thoroughness that left his head spinning.
He then drew back to look into her eyes again as he moved to slowly slip his hand up beneath her gown, to slide it slowly upward. Her legs, smooth and lovely and golden in the candlelight, quivered at his touch. He pushed the gown higher, frustrated when diaphanous fabric hindered his desire to uncover more of her.
Her body quaking with desire, Isabelle raised up upon her knees. Her gaze never leaving Simon’s, she lifted her arms up above her head. “Take it off.”
Simon lost no time in doing so.
Beneath the gown was a soft gossamer shift. Nothing more. Even in the soft light of the candle, the dusky tips of her breasts were visible. The low neck of the shift revealed the enticing shadow between her breasts, which seemed even fuller, riper than when last they were together.
His palms dampened with the force of his reaction to the sight of the body he had loved with such thorough delight. It was as if no amount of intimacy with the woman could ever dampen his reaction to her beauty. He felt his manhood swell and harden, the fabric of his hose an uncomfortable barrier between him and Isabelle.
Sweet, lovely Isabelle, the source of all desire, all pleasure.
He bent his head to nuzzle the shadow between
her breasts. That soft weight was completely intoxicating against his cheek and he turned his head to kiss, and then to flick his tongue over it.
Isabelle’s head fell back, her hand going to his nape to hold him to her, her heart pounding as the warmth swelled at the joining of her thighs.
With his nose, Simon pushed the barrier of her shift out his way as his lips traced the sweet and tempting curve, stopping only when he reached the already rigid tip. She gasped as his mouth closed over it, her fingers trembling on his nape. When he drew it more fully into his mouth, suckling her, her hips rose up and she pressed herself against him.
He raised his hand to her other breast, which seemed to swell beneath his fingers. Slowly, deliberately as he continued to suckle the other breast, he circled that hard tip with his thumb.
She pressed herself more fully to him. Her tone was hoarse as she cried, “Simon.”
But he wasn’t yet ready to give in to her pleading. He wanted to savor her and this moment.
Isabelle was floating in a sea of pleasure, her body on fire, each kiss, each touch awakening her body to further heights of longing. She held his head to her breast even as the plying of his thumb increased the throbbing that was centered at the core of her being.
Simon reached up to pull the fabric down, to bare the rest of that delightful body to his view, but the neckline would not come so low. He hooked a finger in the edge of the opening. Isabelle met his hungry gaze, encouraging him.
Simon needed no more urging than this. A quick tug parted the delicate fabric to below her waist. Reaching up Isabelle put her hand over his and ripped again, parting it to the hem. The remnants fell away from her delicate shoulders as if by sorcery. But Simon cared little for this as his burning gaze ran over her.
As he reached for her Isabelle leaned into him, gloried in the feel of his hands on her sensitive flesh. She put her own mouth to his breast, flicking her tongue out to taste the salty smooth surface.
Simon groaned with need and Isabelle pulled him down with her, down onto the softness of the bed, into the heat of her body. He caught his breath in a sweet agony of desire as he felt her close around him.
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