Читать книгу Dragon's Dower - Catherine Archer - Страница 11

Kelsey ordered the men to stop and make camp before dark had fallen.

Simon did not question this. He was too occupied in considering the motivations of the woman he had married. And perhaps his own motives as well. For a brief moment, when she had faced him after her despicable father had knocked his squire to the ground for the crime of having difficulty with the horse, he had thought he’d seen fear and pleading in her gaze. It had been that which made him subside, that and his certainty that King John would only uphold the knave’s right to mistreat his folk if he so desired.

Yet as he had ridden on ahead of his captor, Simon had thought about the actual words she had spoken. Though he’d thought he sensed a hint of contempt along with those other more gentle emotions, Isabelle had surely meant nothing but to remind him her father held power here.

She had paid him not even cursory attention since leaving Windsor. She rode at the center of the entourage, looking neither right nor left, speaking to no one, obviously completely lost in her own concerns.

Her father’s acceptance of her words as confidence in his power seemed somewhat dull-witted and self-serving at the same time. Simon had sensed a sarcasm in her he would never have expected. Why would she address her father with contempt, however carefully veiled, on Simon’s account when she seemed disinterested in anything but herself?

Though Simon wished he could deny it he had been quite preoccupied with her. Each time he glanced up ahead of him he was reminded anew of her beauty. She was enough to take a man’s breath away with the sunlight glinting on hair that, though black, held a hint of dark flame in those glossy tresses. It framed a profile so delicately lovely that it drew his gaze again and again.

Only once had she glanced back for the briefest of moments. Those amazing lavender eyes had slid over him, her expression seeming strangely uncertain for a moment before her lids cast downward. But when he had watched her even more intently to attempt to understand this, he had realized he must have been mistaken. There was no hint of any emotion in those eyes as they skimmed over whatever passed before them.

Aye, lovely she was, breathtakingly so, but there was indeed a coldness to that beauty. He would not forget who and what Isabelle was. Even as he felt drawn to her, he suspected that any man who allowed himself to fall victim to her loveliness might have cause to rue such a weakness.

Deliberately Simon averted his gaze from both Isabelle and her patronizing father as they dismounted and began the evening’s preparations. He fixed his attention on several of Kelsey’s men as they erected two tents.

He looked away only as Isabelle and her woman entered the smaller of the two tents. Gerard Kelsey beckoned one of his men to his side and motioned to Simon with a sharply voiced command to prevent him from leaving. He then disappeared into the other tent with the watchful knight who never left his side, leaving Simon both relieved and irritated.

Neither his wife, nor her father had said so much as a word to him. What, then were his sleeping arrangements to be on his wedding night?

Simon shrugged even as he tried to deny that there was a certain stirring deep in his body at the very thought. In spite of all that he had told himself of her, he was less than certain as to his reactions should she be waiting for him.

Simon drew himself up. Better to bed down around the fire with the men than to go into the darkness of that tent with Isabelle. He was not concerned about sleeping out under the stars. He had done so many times, under countless skies from here to the Holy Land and back.

Yet what could he say, if he might be expected to share that tent with her?

How could he refuse? Simon did not wish to arouse suspicion as to his true intentions concerning the marriage. King John had made his feelings clear. He would not take any defiance lightly. There was no doubt in Simon’s mind that Kelsey would be more than pleased to inform the king that he was not being obeyed.

Frustrated with his thoughts, Simon turned to his own men, who stood nearby. “Wylie, groom our horses and ready our bedrolls for night.”

Wylie scowled and looked about at the other men, who were occupied with their own duties. It was clear that he felt uneasy at the notion of mixing with Kelsey’s men, but Simon was confident that no harm would come to the squire with Sir Edmund nearby. He cast the knight a meaningful glance over the squire’s head.

Sir Edmund nodded almost imperceptibly. “Come along lad, we’ve work to do.”

Wylie moved to obey. Simon knew it would do well for him to see to his accustomed duties. They must all attempt to find some ease with the situation. But having given over these tasks to his men, he had naught to occupy himself.

Simon swung around and strode to the edge of camp. He was surprised to feel a restraining hand upon his arm.

He swung around to meet the determined gaze of the same man whom Kelsey had ordered to watch him. “My lord has bid me keep you here.”

Simon shook off that hand. He could hear the strain in his own voice, the barely leashed anger. “I tire of proclaiming my honor at every turn. I will not try to escape, but neither will I beg permission to leave this camp for a few moments, no matter what your lord orders.”

The man frowned, looking toward Kelsey’s tent.

Simon rolled his eyes. “I am going for a swim. If you value your hand you will take it from me.”

The man looked at him for a long moment, then stepped back. “I have simply been told to do my duty.”

Simon nodded. “Aye, and you may say that you have done your best to do so.” With that he turned and stalked away. He had no wish to cause the man difficulty. He was, as he said, only doing as he had been instructed. But neither would Simon submit to Kelsey’s desire to see him completely subjugated. He had indeed been forced to proclaim his honor far too many times in the past two days.

And all in aid of a man who would not know what honor was did it rear up and bite him on his bony backside.

Isabelle chafed inside the small confines of her tent, ever conscious of the watchful and worried gaze of Helwys. She decided to occupy herself and the maid by rearranging her hair. But Helwys’s expression did not ease throughout this familiar activity and she finally broached the subject of the coming night. “Will he come to you, my lady?”

Isabelle was forced to inform her maid of the dismal truth with as much self-possession as she could muster. “I have no idea what is to happen.” It was true that her father had called a halt to their journey rather early in the evening but he had given no indication of why.

“Oh, my dear lady.”

Though Isabelle did love the older woman it was sometimes difficult to deal with her worry and sympathy. It was oftimes displayed when Isabelle could least afford any sign of weakness, any hint of self-pity. Such was the case now. She must retain her equilibrium. “My father will inform me of what he wishes for me to do when he wishes it. And not a moment before, as you well know.”

Helwys put her plump hands to her bosom. “’Tis unnatural, his treatment of you.”

Isabelle hushed her with a raised hand. “Do not say so.” She looked about them. “These walls are very poor protection indeed to guard against my father’s many ears and eyes. Were he to think you against him he would send you away…or…” Her voice broke as she recalled the beating Helwys had once received at her father’s command, and all because she had dared question one of Isabelle’s lessons. He did not feel that forcing five-year-old Isabelle to sit at table each evening for a fortnight without eating as a punishment for spilling her cup was cruel. She took a deep breath. “We can not risk angering him.” Though that had not been the last beating Helwys had suffered by his order there had been none in recent years and Isabelle would keep it so.

The older woman sent Isabelle a glance that told of just how much she understood. They two had been together since Isabelle was a child, but like everything else that had ever meant anything to her, Isabelle hid her love for the serving woman lest her father, who viewed such emotions as weakness, find some way to use it against her.

Weakness was not tolerated.

Even though Helwys desisted, the sadness and worry did not leave her brown gaze. Feeling as if she would surely explode with the tension of staying calm in the face of her maid’s anxiety Isabelle took up her scarlet cloak, saying, “I am going for a walk before it grows dark.”

Helwys frowned. “But, my lady…”

She took a quick breath through her nose, speaking with barely leashed strain. “If I do not do something, I shall go quite mad.”

The wide-eyed maid said no more in the face of this unaccustomed outburst and Isabelle slipped from the tent. She was afforded a measure of privacy as she hurried into the cover of the tall green pine and yew, as well as the rapidly turning ash and willow that grew close to the nearby stream.

Leaving the sounds of the camp behind, Isabelle took a deep breath, rubbing her hand over the base of her neck. Her cheeks felt hot and flushed. With a sigh she made her way to where the brush was thicker at the edge of the stream, moving forward carefully in order to make certain that the ground was firm beneath her.

It seemed soft and dense with moss but not unsafe. Isabelle knelt down and reached out to dip her hand in the cool water, meaning to bring it up to her heated cheeks.

In the very act of bending over, the sound of a splash came to her. Looking toward the noise, she stopped still. There, in the water just a bit farther downstream was a man. He was standing with his bare back to her in the shallows on the opposite bank as he splashed water over his upper body and over his thick, straight dark hair.

Isabelle jerked back, her hand going to her mouth as she realized that the man was Simon Warleigh. Her husband. The man who had already caused her so much unrest this day.

She knew that she should go away before he saw her. She could not imagine how she would ever live with his knowing that she had seen him this way. But another part of her, one that would not be denied, argued that he would never realize she was here.

And after all, was he not her own husband? It was not unusual that she would wonder about him, wonder about the body that must eventually be joined with hers if a child was to be made. She told herself that seeing him thus would surely help prepare her for the act that must come.

Isabelle had no wish to appear frightened or unsure of herself if he should come to her. And the more prepared she was, the more likely that she would be able to hide any anxiety she might feel from her husband.

Thus having convinced herself, she carefully leaned back out from behind the brush. Her gaze moved over those wide golden shoulders, down his back to his narrow waist and lean hips. When Warleigh raised his arms to scrub at his dark hair she saw the hardness of the muscles as they flexed in his forearms, his shoulders and down his back.

Isabelle frowned thoughtfully. She had not expected him to be so muscular. Simon was a slender man, as her father was, but from what she could see it was obvious that his body was far harder, more masculine.

He was strangely appealing, she realized as a faint tingle of awareness came to her belly. Her gaze grew wide. Now where had that thought come from?

However strong and attractive he might be, Warleigh did not appeal to her. If they came together it would be in the interest of producing a child. Nothing more.

Nonetheless she watched as he dove into the deeper portion of the river, then emerged far closer to her hiding spot than she would have expected. Again Isabelle ducked back behind the brush, while being careful to keep him in sight between the branches. She held her breath as Simon stood, his body glistening in the low-slanting, evening sunlight, his dark hair slicked back from his broad brow.

Her heart thumped in her chest, for he looked like some pagan god of old, risen from the very waters in which he stood. Again came that strange, pleasurable tingling. Quickly Isabelle called herself to task. Such fanciful thoughts were completely foreign to her.

Since early childhood Isabelle had been taught to control her feelings. No unwanted physical sensations or girlish daydreams had ever arisen in a mind that was completely fixed on doing what was expected of her and thus preventing any lessons. But now, with one glimpse of this man, she was entertaining notions that were quite unacceptable to her.

She drew herself up, pulling back as she closed her eyes. It would not serve, however fascinating the man might appear in the glory of his nakedness.

A flash of scarlet amongst the green drew Simon’s eyes. He stopped in the act of reaching for a handful of sand to rub in his wet hair, his gaze searching the bushes along that stretch of river.

Nothing.

Yet he had not imagined what he had seen. And the red was too vivid to be created by a trick of light on water.

Perhaps he told himself, it had been one of Kelsey’s men, sent to watch and make sure he did not try to escape. Yet he did not recall seeing any of the men wearing such a bright color. Then a vivid image of Isabelle entered his mind. She had been dressed in a scarlet cloak this day.

Shock jolted through him.

Why would Isabelle have come here to spy upon him? He could not credit that her father would send her to do so. Surely even Gerard Kelsey had more sensibility toward his own daughter.

Even more unbelievable was the notion that she might have come for her own purposes. The cold beauty had shown no sign of vague curiosity as far as he was concerned. The very thought of her having an interest in him made his body tighten although his will bade it do otherwise.

Isabelle Kelsey seemed to have little care for him.

Yet somehow he knew it had been her. An image of her looking back at him the first time he had seen her flashed through his mind. It made no sense in light of her behavior this day. Other than her defense of his keeping his men with him.

He dressed himself, then quickly made his way to the spot where he had seen the flash of scarlet. In the soft moss near the edge of the water he saw the imprint of two small shoes. It had to be a woman. Even the squires would have bigger feet. The only other woman on the journey besides Isabelle was the maid and she had been garbed in dark colors.

Far from clarifying anything, this further evidence that it had indeed been his wife left him even more at a loss. Again he wondered what possible reason she could have for such behavior.

Thoughtfully Simon made his way back to camp. Scanning the camp, he saw that Isabelle was not amongst those who had gathered around the fire in the growing gloom.

Disappointment made his lips tighten as he moved to sit on a log beside Sir Edmund just a bit apart from the others. Simon greeted him quietly. “All has gone well?”

The knight shrugged, “Well enough, my lord. It seems we will be tolerated for the most part.” Simon knew the knight would not complain lest things were particularly unpleasant. He had been one of his brother’s oldest knights and was much recommended by the steward at Avington.

“Wylie?” he asked, for he was not as certain of the squire’s behavior.

“Down by the stream watering the horses. I told him to have extra care with them.”

Simon nodded. “Well done.” Sir Edmund understood the importance of keeping the squire busy. He raked a hand through his hair, which was drying quickly in the heat of the fire. As he dropped his hand to his side, he caught a flash of red from the corner of his eye.

Isabelle. He swung around to look at her where she stood beside her tent.

That cool lavender gaze slid over him, away, then came back. For a brief moment their eyes locked before she turned away, her face as impassive as ever. Yet he was not blind to the deep rose coloring in her cheekbones.

Again he raked his hair straight back from his forehead. That flush seemed a sign of agitation for the cool beauty. Did it mean that beneath that icy demeanor there beat a passionate heart? Did she perhaps find him more appealing than she wished him to know? Was that why she had been at the stream?

His next thought, that he wished for this to be so, appalled Simon so completely he knew he must find something else to occupy his mind.

His gaze came to rest on Kelsey who now stood before his tent. The dark knight hovered, as ever, just behind him. The earl surveyed the activity of the camp with a disapproving expression. Seeing the degree of efficiency with which the men worked preparing for the coming night Simon was surprised. He knew his own men, many of them trained in haste by the necessity of the battlefield, could not have done better.

Noting Simon’s attention, Gerard Kelsey came toward him, his shadow following. “Well, Warleigh, I hope you are not finding our duty over you too chafing.” His tone said that his true hope was far different from that contained in his words.

Simon shrugged. “I am content, my lord. For the moment.” It did not seem that the knight who had attempted to detain him before he went to bathe had mentioned the matter of their confrontation. Simon felt no need to do so.

He watched as Kelsey smiled at him. “’Twould be best if you stayed content, my lord. I will not tolerate any disregard of the king’s wishes.”

Simon bowed. “Rest easy, sir. I have no wish to trouble the king.” He did not add that he had no such feelings as far as Kelsey himself was concerned.

“Very good.”

Then Kelsey was distracted by something behind Simon and shouted out, “Have you not been reprimanded enough this day? Have a care with that animal do you value your hide.”

Simon swung around to see the young lad who had been violently punished at Windsor, holding the reins of the magnificent black stallion once again. It pranced and fought at the bit, its hooves flashing at everything that came close to foot. Now it was clear the horse’s agitation was clearly caused by poor temperament, rather than improper handling, and that the stallion had been chosen for appearance rather than anything else. The lad had been harshly and unjustly punished.

He failed at keeping the disdain for his host from his voice as he said, “’Tis a beautiful horse.”

Kelsey raked him with an equally disdainful glance. “I would have no less in anything I possess.” He cast an oddly unreadable glance toward Isabelle’s tent.

Simon could not help realizing that he was speaking of Isabelle. He found himself asking, “Including your daughter?”

The older man raised gray brows high in challenge. “Including my daughter.”

How could the man speak of his own child so dispassionately, as if she were no more to him than any other possession and before his man, even though he be a knight? The thought was strangely disturbing and he found himself watching Kelsey’s face for any hint of fatherly affection. He saw none, only conceit.

He felt a tug of sympathy. Perhaps here was a clue to the veiled sarcasm he had heard in her voice when she spoke to her father before leaving Windsor.

Simon gave himself a mental shake. Isabelle would not welcome his pity. She seemed to be more than content with her lot in spite of her apparent sarcasm toward her father. He would do well to expend his energies in thinking how he would get out of this situation, away from this man, while still retaining his lands.

He was distracted from these thoughts by the sudden angry babble of his squire’s voice. Simon sighed, wondering what could have set the lad off this time. Had he known that his journey to court would end in his being in the custody of his most hated enemy, he would never have taken Wylie to Windsor. He had taken him to service under his longtime squire, Martin, who had served him in the Holy Land, because Martin would soon be receiving his spurs and Simon had been impressed with Wylie, who was the son of one of the other knights at Avington. He had noted a quickness of intellect in the lad that he had thought to hone with discipline and training.

Unfortunately the boy was also somewhat impulsive. Simon knew that the lad’s admiration and gratitude toward him was great. All of this complicated things and did not bode well for his hope that Wylie would be able to control himself enough to stay out of trouble until an opportunity to return to Avington presented itself.

Quickly Simon moved to where Wylie was standing with his arms folded over his chest in the midst of the other men who had quickly gathered at the edge of the camp where the horses were tied. Rage radiated from his squire in waves. “What goes on here?” Simon demanded.

Wylie turned from his angry contemplation of one of the other men, another boy really, Simon realized as he took a closer look at the object of Wylie’s displeasure.

His squire exploded. “He says I may not bring our blankets close to the fire, my lord. He says that the best places are for Kelsey’s own men.”

Simon sighed. “I am sure no insult was meant. Of course, as his lord’s squire he would be most concerned with making sure that his lord’s men be given their just due of honor. We are newly come and would not usurp anyone’s position. I am sure there will be comforts aplenty for all at Dragonwick.”

Wylie scowled at the other squire, who smiled slyly.

Simon felt a rush of irritation with Kelsey’s squire himself. At the same time he knew it was unrealistic to expect more from Kelsey’s retainers. A good example must be set in order to receive honorable behavior from underlings.

Kelsey interrupted his thoughts with a gruffly voiced order. “You must keep your men under control.”

Simon knew a tug of resentment, even though he had been thinking much the same thing. He kept it well hidden. “Of course, my lord.” He looked to his squire. “There will be no more problems, will there, Wylie?”

The lad bowed, keeping his head down.

Kelsey seemed to be somewhat mollified by Simon’s lack of resistance to his position of power. But he continued to keep his nose raised to a haughty angle. “I mean to finish attending some matters in my tent. Sir Fredrick, you are to see that there are no more disturbances.”

The shadow nodded, his narrowed eyes sliding over Simon. He slipped a caressing hand to the hilt of his sword as he leaned close to whisper in his master’s ear. The earl shook his head sharply as he whispered, “Not now, my friend. We must remember John’s wishes.”

The knight’s disappointment was obvious and it took no great amount of imagination to guess at the subject of their exchange. Simon realized he must watch his back with this one, though it seemed he would heed his master as far as an open attack was concerned. There was no doubt in Simon’s mind that he had naught to thank for his continued good health but Kelsey’s determination to hold him for the crown. From that whispered phrase it seemed he would not be averse to changing his mind.

Sir Fredrick continued to study Simon as he took up a rigid stance outside the ring of the fire. Simon dismissed him, focusing on the arrogant earl as he strode away with no concern whatsoever for the fact that the exchange might have been overheard. His back rigid, Simon balled his hands into fists at his sides. He would very much like to change the straight angle of that autocratic nose. He forced his hands to open, for he must remember Avington, and the folk who lived there, were what mattered here not some self-indulgent sense of injured dignity.

If they did mean him ill, they would not find him so very easy to kill.

Through his anger, he heard Wylie whisper, “’Tis a disgrace, my lord, you being held by that blackguard.”

Deliberately, Simon made a greater effort to gain mastery over his feelings. He was certain no one could have heard the exchange but himself, and he would keep it to himself. He put a soothing hand on the squire’s shoulder, a warning hand. “Pray hold your tongue, lad. I am not pleased by events but neither am I uneasy in my mind. All will right itself soon enough.”

The boy raised hopeful eyes to his face. “You are too easy with them, my lord. We should fight our way through this as Martin has told me you were forced to many times in the Holy Land.”

Simon leaned closer, his tone admonishing. “Heed me, boy. What happens here is not the same. There we fought the enemy. Here, the king himself has ordered that I be put under Kelsey’s rule. We would be committing not only a foolish act, but a suicidal one in defying Kelsey and through him the king.” He held that light-blue gaze. “Dost understand me, Wylie? ’Twould be treason. You must keep your head till I devise a way to make the king see that I have no desire to plot against him.” Which was a true enough statement. He did sympathize with the other nobles but he had no intention beyond that at this moment.

It was Kelsey he wished to see brought low. Yet that anticipated outcome must wait. Hate him though Simon did, he would not risk Avington.

Simon was not completely reassured when the boy said, “Aye, my lord,” for his lips were set in a stubborn line as his resentful gaze flicked over the earl’s men, lingering longest on the prideful countenance of the squire who had so offended him.

That grudgingly muttered acquiescence was all he would get and would have to do, in these circumstances. Simon need simply keep ahead of the willful boy.

Kelsey must be lulled into believing he posed no threat no matter how difficult that feat might prove, no matter how hotly his anger and resentment burned inside him. Simon only hoped that he would begin to ease his vigilant eyes ere long. He did not wish to resort to accepting Jarrod’s wild notion of laying in wait for the earl and killing him even though the situation had become dire enough to warrant casting chivalry aside. Not whilst he was the one most likely to be suspect.

If they could only garner the support of the other nobles to petition for his release he might still find a way out.

He must find a way.

And he must do this in the midst of trying to understand his own unwanted awareness of his enemy’s daughter. He could not afford himself the self-indulgence of giving in to his attraction for her, not if he meant to be free of her and her supercilious and reprehensible sire.