Читать книгу Dragon's Dower - Catherine Archer - Страница 12

Isabelle lingered far from the camp for as long as she dared to avoid meeting Simon. When she returned night had nearly fallen.

She made every effort to avoid looking for her husband amongst the men. Yet she found him near the blaze of the fire, his dark hair dry, his powerful body hidden by the fine garments he wore. That did not prevent a vision of how he had appeared in the stream from coming into her mind. Simon did not seem to notice her at all, let alone her discomfiture. She could not but be grateful though she knew theirs must be the oddest marriage ever entered into, even amongst arranged marriages. A deep flush heated her face and neck.

She ducked into her tent. The relief on Helwys’s face made her chest tighten with guilt. She opened her lips to apologize when a commotion from without made Helwys look at her with an unvoiced question that mirrored her own.

Isabelle, not wishing to come face-to-face with Simon, said, “Will you go to see what has occurred?”

The maid nodded and hurried out, clearly curious.

Isabelle continued to hear the deep rumble of men’s voices and a slightly higher one that was still distinctly male, but it was impossible to make out the words any of them spoke. Not until Helwys scurried back into the tent was she able to learn what had occurred.

The maid raised clear brown eyes to hers. “It was Lord Warleigh’s squire, my lady. He took issue with your father’s squire telling him that he could not put their blankets beside the fire.”

Isabelle moved to sit on the pile of furs that made up her bed. “Oh.”

The maid’s approving tone brought her gaze back to her. “Your husband acquitted himself most fairly, my lady. He smoothed all over by saying that my lord Kelsey’s men must have first choice as he had no wish to displace any man. He seems bent on trying to make peace betwixt the men. His manner in the incident was naught as your—” Helwys blanched and Isabelle knew she been about to refer to her father in a derogatory manner. She continued carefully, “Your lord husband behaved in a way that was quite admirable. ’Tis a good sign, for I do hope he will be kind to you.”

Isabelle was troubled by Helwys’s approval of Simon Warleigh. She had no wish to look for nobility in him. She had never known anything but disappointment in any man other than her uncle Wallace. Thinking of him made her recall that no matter how compelling the sight of Warleigh’s body might be, he had been one of those to condemn her uncle.

Quickly she interjected, “Haps my husband is simply weak.” Isabelle knew this was not true even as the words left her mouth.

Helwys frowned at her. “I would not say so, my lady. He speaks most confidently.”

Isabelle did not wish to discuss this, or to think about Simon, or the sight of his strong body. Yet this conversation had made her do just that.

A male voice intruded on her thoughts, “My lady.”

Isabelle would know that voice anywhere. She moved to the door of the tent and looked out. “Sir Fredrick.”

The knight did not face her as he said, “My lord Kelsey would speak with you in his tent.”

Isabelle nodded. “You may tell him I shall attend him in a moment.”

He bowed even as she ducked back inside. She looked to Helwys, who had begun to wring her hands. “I am going to speak with my father.”

Both of them knew the likely purpose of this summons.

The maid said nothing to this but continued to wring her hands as Isabelle left. At the door of her father’s tent, she faltered, her mouth opening but no sound issuing forth. She wanted nothing so much than to run away.

There was no telling what she might have done had Sir Fredrick, whom she had not noted hovering nearby, not spoken for her. “The lady Isabelle has come, my lord.”

Her sire answered from within, “You may enter, Isabelle.” There was no emotion in his voice from which to gage his intent.

Taking a deep breath Isabelle forced herself to don the mask of cool indifference that served her so well when dealing with her father. She entered the tent with squared shoulders and a deliberately unconcerned expression.

Candles lit the dim interior and she saw that her father was seated on a low stool. He was sipping sparingly from a silver cup, which he lowered as his gaze came to rest on her. Isabelle was rocked by a sense of loneliness in those eyes such as she had never imagined, but it was so fleeting that she told herself it could not have been anything but a trick of the flickering light. For when she looked more closely his eyes were, as she was accustomed to seeing them, without expression. “Isabelle.”

She refrained from sighing and the effort to retain her equilibrium was made doubly difficult by that fleeting impression, no matter how false. “You sent for me, Father?”

He smiled, though there was no warmth in that smile. “I would have you prepare yourself for Warleigh.”

Even though she had known this could be the case, shock rolled through her. She had just met the man this very morn and his resentment of the marriage was more than clear. Her tone was hoarse with surprise and uncertainty as she said, “You mean for me to bed with him?”

Her father watched her closely now. “Would you have me say that I do not, daughter?”

A chill rolled over her at his tone and assessing expression. She had made a terrible mistake in betraying so much. Self-preservation required an immediate recovery of her accustomed pose of indifference. When she was twelve her father had seen her turn away from the sight of him slitting the throat of a deer during hunting. He had forced her to watch each and every time thereafter, telling her she must not shy away from anything, must be strong enough within herself to let nothing disturb her. He must have no reason to feel she had not learned this lesson.

She faced him squarely, her voice betraying none of her inner turmoil. “I am only tired from traveling, Father. I have no preference in the matter of Warleigh. I would prepare myself if that is your desire.”

His gaze raked her. “You truly are without feeling, aren’t you, Isabelle? Though I did have to think on how you would best be trained you have taken to my guidance well.” For a moment there was something strange and unreadable in that gaze as there had been so many times over the course of her life. Then he said, “I am gladdened to see this. It means you would never allow emotion, love, nor hate to make you act rashly. I have seen to it that you will not allow passion for anyone or anything drive you.”

She nodded, holding the hurt engendered by his assessment to her tightly, keeping her gaze level. She knew that, to him, this was indeed a compliment. “I would do what pleases you, Father.”

He smiled that cool little smile which told her he was indeed happy with her in his way. “Then I will tell you what pleases me in this.”

She waited, her insides twisting with anxiety but giving no hint of it.

Her father smiled again. “Methinks it would serve me very well for you to bed Warleigh. You, being the dutiful daughter that you are, Isabelle, will please me by getting yourself with a son. In the event that Warleigh was to meet with an untimely end his holdings would fall to the lad, who would do quite well under my capable tutelage. And your dower, which was not discussed as a term of this marriage, also remains in my hands. Indeed this union with Warleigh could prove quite profitable.”

Isabelle was able to hide her disgust with only the greatest of determination. Her father would not raise her son in his image. He would not do as he had attempted to do to her, trying to wipe out all emotion. For though he had succeeded in teaching her to hide her feelings, he had not destroyed them. Isabelle was still capable of loving and she intended to shower all the love she had buried inside her on her own son. She would be the one to teach him what was right and wrong, that true strength lay in not being afraid to love. He would be like the Dragon.

She thought she had managed to keep her reaction to his pronouncement hidden as she always had, until her father said, “What is it I see in those pretty eyes, Isabelle?” There was no mistaking the surprise in his tone. “Reassure me that is not rebellion.”

Quickly she pulled herself up short, the accustomed mask falling firmly into place as she met his eyes without wavering. “Nay, why would you think such a thing? What would I rebel against?”

“You are not concerned about the possibility of your husband meeting an early end? It simply may prove necessary in the event that the king ever allows him to return to Avington. Now that I have pointed out his plotting against the crown to King John, I will be his target. It is only wise to secure the succession of the lands as soon as possible at any rate. Even if it does not prove necessary for me to act against him, a man who is the enemy of many, as Warleigh is, makes many enemies. He could meet his death at any time and the king may wish to take Avington for himself if there is no heir. Why not assure our own claim?”

She continued to look directly into those assessing eyes as she took in this information. She could only think that it was her father’s pleasure at the thought of attaining Avington that made him so forthcoming.

She realized her father had fallen silent, that he was watching her. Quickly she said, “Clearly Warleigh can see to himself.” In spite of her father’s revelation that Warleigh was not innocent in this, she felt a rush of regret. She soothed herself with the thought that her father had implied he would be safe as long as he did not return to Avington. At the same time she was aware of a certainty that for all his acquiescence to her father’s will thus far, Simon Warleigh might not be so easily killed.

All unaware her father nodded. “Very good.”

She heard the lack of emotion in her own voice as she answered, “Do I not always do as you wish, Father?”

Obviously feeling too much praise had already been handed out this day, he frowned. “And you will continue to do so if you know what is good for you, wench. I can devise an effective method of teaching obedience whenever it might prove necessary as well as taking back those pretty frocks and jewels should I feel you are not suitably grateful.”

She looked at the floor, not wanting him to see the immediate rise of anger and anxiety in her gaze. Neither would she tell him that the fine clothing and jewels meant nothing to her and never would.

Someday she would be free of him and the steel bands of his control. She would have her own life, would be free to love. In order to meet that end she must first have a child. And to do that she must appear to fall in with her father’s plans.

Her father interrupted her thoughts as he said, “I will have Warleigh informed that he is to attend you.” She could hear the satisfaction he felt at being able to tell the other man what he must do.

Though Isabelle knew a momentary rush of sympathy for Simon Warleigh she did not dwell upon it. He was, as she had said, surely capable of looking after himself.

It was she who must steel herself to accept the coming events. Her husband was a stranger. Her feelings of unease were not lessened when thoughts of the coming night brought a sudden and vivid memory of his powerful warrior’s body.

Simon looked up from his roasted meat in surprise as Kelsey’s knight stepped before him. “Sirrah?

The knight made no pretence at civility, his eyes dark with hostility. “My lord Kelsey has bade me inform you that you are to attend the lady Isabelle in her tent.”

Simon stiffened. He was aware of all the eyes that focused on him. And in that moment he knew that he could not debate this matter here before the men, and certainly not with Kelsey’s knight. No woman, even the daughter of his enemy, should be shown so little respect.

Yet Simon need not have worried on that score. The knight did not linger to gain his opinion on the subject. He swung around and strode away without another word.

Slowly Simon stood. He continued to be aware of the eyes that had followed him as he left the fire. He paused, taking a deep breath as he came to the entrance of her tent.

He had no intention of changing his mind in this. How, he wondered, would he convey his position without offering offense to the woman he had taken as his bride this very morn? That the marriage had taken place under duress did not change the fact that he had no wish to shame her.

He took another deep breath, then spoke softly. “It is Simon Warleigh. I beg entrance.”

The husky reply was a moment in coming. “You may enter, my lord.”

Simon stepped inside and halted. There in the center of small chamber was Isabelle. His wife.

She looked so beautiful in the light of the candles that for a moment he wished his intention was something completely different from what it was. Her ebony hair had been left in a rippling curtain that fell to her hips. When she shifted slightly beneath his regard the light revealed the hint of deep fire that gave it an unexpected warmth. His gaze moved down over the white shift that was formed from a fabric so fine that he was given the most tantalizing glimpses of the creamy flesh that lay beneath.

The sight of her brought every part of him to life. Deliberately he looked away. He did not know how it could be but there was only the barest hint of huskiness to betray his feelings when he said, “I was told that you were expecting me.”

She answered softly, her voice telling him nothing of her feelings. “My father bade me to make myself ready.”

Though she did not say so he had the sudden realization that she had been informed of her father’s wishes with as little care as he. He took a step closer to her, seeing a way out for both of them. “Isabelle, you need not feel that you must go through with this now. After all, we do not even know one another.”

She turned away, her slender shoulders seeming to tense. “I am prepared to do as my father has bid me.”

Cool, remote Isabelle. Other than the stiffness in her shoulders there was no sign of reaction in her. It was as if they were speaking of the weather.

“I see.” Simon repressed the urge to run a weary hand over his face. What a day it had been. He must find some way to stay out of his marriage bed while still offering his unwanted bride a way to retain her dignity. In spite of her being his enemy’s daughter, it greatly mattered to him that he do so. She had done him no ill.

He was not blind to the fatigue in his voice as he said, “Do you have something to drink? I find I have a great thirst.”

Without looking at him, she moved to the low table that held the candles and lifted a pitcher and cup. With what seemed more than usual care, she poured the wine and moved toward him.

Simon was hard-pressed to keep from noting the way the light silhouetted her slim and beguiling form as she passed in front of it. He kept his gaze on the cup as she moved closer and held it out. He found himself wiping away the sweat that beaded on his upper lip as the scent of jasmine and the warm scent of woman wafted over him as he reached for the cup with the other hand. His gaze fell to the shadow between the curves of her breasts, which was just visible at the neckline of her gown.

He forced himself to look up, and came into direct contact with those violet eyes. They watched him with an expression that was impossible to read as her tongue flicked out to dampen her lips. The sight of the moisture on that sweet mouth made him want to press his own to it, made his body tighten.