Dragon's Dower
Christian shook his gold-streaked brown head in confusion. “A wedding?”
“Aye, between myself and Kelsey’s whelp.”
“What say you?” Jarrod rose from the well-worn bench, his hand going to the hilt of his sword.
Simon sat wearily on the other bench beside Christian, telling him, “Desist, my friend. Anger will gain us naught.” He felt Christian’s strong and comforting hand upon his shoulder. It was ever thus, Jarrod needing to be soothed, and Christian soothing. He knew these two men as well as he did himself. They were his brothers in all but flesh. Now that his true brother, Arthur was dead, his only brothers. He accepted each as he was, the aspects of his personality being all that Simon would ask for.
Jarrod sank back down, speaking more evenly, though there was still a gleam of outrage in those black eyes. “Pray tell us what you are talking about.”
Simon took a long drink from one of the two half-filled cups on the table before replying. “King John informs me that unless I agree to wed the daughter of the very man we have sworn vengeance upon, I will lose my head.”
Again Jarrod reached for his sword, though this time it was clearly a symbolic gesture for his other hand went to the brooch at his broad shoulder. His tone was filled with outrage. “You can not agree to such a demand. And if resistance means your death, then we go with you.”
Simon answered him calmly. “And what would our deaths solve? For that is what the outcome would be. The three of us can not hope to triumph against the crown. It would in no way cause Kelsey to suffer the consequences of his despicable acts.”
Even the more levelheaded Christian sounded angry and horrified. “But to pledge yourself to Kelsey’s daughter?”
Simon took a deep breath and another drink of the cool ale. “I know. ’Tis an untenable thought.”
Christian said. “What precisely did the king say? Perhaps you have not understood him aright and there is another way….”
Simon halted him with a raised hand. “I understood all too well for he put it baldly enough. ’Tis the axe or Kelsey’s get.”
“But why? What purpose does it serve?”
“Because, my friends, he wants me where he can be sure that I am being watched and by one whose loyalty to him is unquestioned.” Simon gave a rueful laugh. “The king informed me that he does not really wish to kill me lest he must. He feels that my death will bring about a certain amount of dissent amongst the nobles and he would avoid that if he is able. It is really a question of what will bring him the least amount of inconvenience.”
The scowl on Jarrod’s face was as black as his hair. “We should have stayed in Jerusalem. Life there was hard but the enemy was better known, more easily identified.”
Simon shook his dark head. “I had to return to Avington when I got word that Arthur was gravely ill.”
Christian spoke up. “Aye, and my own father is getting on as well and has been ill of late. His death would leave no one but my sister, Aislynn, to look after the lands. You are free to do as you will, Jarrod, we are not. Your brother will see to Kewstoke.”
Simon watched for the familiar darkness that hovered in the back of Jarrod’s black gaze whenever he thought of his family, for it was only his place as bastard that precluded his inheriting the lands and titles his younger brother now held. Jarrod turned away as he said, “King John is correct in one thing at least. There would be an outcry against him at your death.”
Into the weighty silence that fell Christian said, “You must agree to this marriage.”
Simon nodded. “As I had realized.”
Jarrod looked at them as if they had surely lost their minds, once again standing up from his place on the bench across from them. “What say you? Have you both gone mad?”
Casting a quick glance about the crowded chamber, Simon motioned for him to sit down. “Pray remember yourself, my friend. The king allowed me to go where I would, but there is no reason to believe he would not have me followed. You must have a care lest we be overheard.”
“But you can not marry Kelsey’s daughter.”
Christian shook his head. “What real choice has he, Jarrod? John is king. Even if Simon were to escape to the continent, he would not be free. He would know that he had forfeited his lands, left them to the mercy of whatever toady the crown finds favor with at the moment. As things stand, that could very well be Kelsey, lest the king be wise enough to see that granting any man more power than the earl already wields would be a mistake. Simon can not abandon Avington no matter that he must marry the daughter of the very devil himself.”
“But to marry himself to that family? What know you of her? I recall her but little, other than that our foster father seemed to dote on her as he did his own Rosalind whenever she was visiting.”
Simon was not unaware of the regret in Jarrod’s voice as he spoke Rosalind’s name, nor that the sad expression in Christian’s gaze matched his own. None of them could forget the sight of her crumpled body beneath that sheet.
He took a deep breath and forced himself back to the matter before him. He vaguely recalled Isabelle Kelsey from visits to Dragonwick with her father. He had seen little of her, though, as he and his friends had preferred to make themselves scarce when their foster father’s brother was about. He had a vague recollection of a solemn child with overlarge eyes and dark hair that had been arranged carefully at all times.
Simon shook his head. “I know nothing of her, but that she is the get of my enemy. Yet what matter if I did? I must fall in with King John’s wishes. I can only assume that he has already informed Kelsey of his intent in this because the girl has been sent for and will, I assume, be awaiting me on the morrow.”
“That was presumptuous.” Jarrod frowned.
Christian added, “The king must have been planning this all along. Listening to the evidence was a mere formality.”
“Aye, the letter condemned me from the beginning. It takes more than a day to travel here from Dragonwick. If the girl is to be here by morning…” Simon took a deep breath. “Christian has indeed come to the crux of it. Even if I could escape the king’s ‘justice’ I could not abandon my responsibilities.”
“But marriage?”
Simon leaned closer to them, pitching his voice so it could not possibly be overheard. “The king has offered only two alternatives of which I have told you, and marriage, though only slightly more so, is the most palatable of the two. Yet haps the marriage might not be such a drastic step. Haps there is a way to leave my options open.”
Christian leaned toward him, his blue eyes intent with new interest. “And what way might that be?”
Simon shrugged. “If the marriage is not consummated, an annulment might be obtained at some point in the future.”
Now Jarrod smiled coldly. “You mean at some point when we lay siege to Dragonwick and win her.”
Christian shook his head fiercely. “Nay, there is no hope of that now. Not with Simon already under punishment from the king. We could never convince him that our cause had been just.”
Simon nodded, his regret tingeing his voice. “Aye, it is too late to hope to win Dragonwick from the knave. What I must think on is getting free of his control.” He turned to Christian. “Your father was friend to mine.”
Christian nodded. “Of a certainty.”
“Then perhaps, for the sake of the lands he held so dear he would do me a service.”
Christian sat up straighter. “What have you in mind?”
“My father was friend to many. If your father was to write those who might be willing to come to my aid and enough of them did so, John might be forced to free me.”
Christian nodded. “Of course. John would be forced to release you if enough pressure was brought to bear. I am certain there will be no difficulty in finding those who are willing. Kelsey has made many enemies.”
Jarrod scowled. “I will not offer to approach my brother. He would not be likely to even grant me entrance to Kewstoke.”
Again Simon heard his pain, and knew he had no answer for it, but his own love. He faced him. “I would ask a different, but equally dear, boon of you, my friend. Could you make your way to Avington and watch over it in my absence?”
Jarrod bowed. “Of a certainty.” He then raised a tight fist. “Kelsey can not be allowed to roam free, to escape retribution for all he has done, including this new evil. He must meet his reward.”
“And he will,” Christian added. “Eventually we will find a way to get to Kelsey in spite of King John’s support.”
Simon shrugged, fighting his own frustration. “But for the moment I will be in no position to see it done, trapped as I will be beneath his very thumb.”
“But we shall not be.” Jarrod narrowed his black eyes.
“Nay, we shall not,” seconded Christian.
Simon cast them both a quelling glance. “You must do nothing to put your own lives in jeopardy. Kelsey has proven himself a more slippery eel than any of us has foreseen.”
Jarrod nodded. “When I strike it will be with care and none shall have reason to believe you involved. He will ride around a bond in the and….”
“Pray give this notion of garnering support amongst the nobles a chance. Haps Kelsey would find himself on the receiving end of the king’s wrath if enough information was brought to light.” Simon did not imagine that Jarrod could act against Kelsey without being found out.
With obvious reluctance, Jarrod nodded, as did Christian.
Feeling only somewhat relieved, Simon raked a hand through his heavy dark hair, addressing Jarrod, “You will go to Avington until I am able to get further word to you?”
Jarrod nodded. “Aye.”
Christian sighed. “I will go to my father. In the event I am needed, Jarrod will send word on to me at Greatham.”
Again Jarrod nodded his midnight-dark head.
“You have my thanks,” Simon told them earnestly. “I will tell my men that they are to accompany you, Jarrod. There is no need for them to come to Dragonwick. Does Kelsey mean me harm, they will not be able to prevent him.”
Christian frowned, his expression direct. “You will watch your back?”
Simon reached for the cup and took a long drink. “I will, for I have no doubts that I must do so if I am to come out of this alive. For we have seen how far Kelsey is willing to go for what he wants.” His free hand covered the dragon on his shoulder.
Jarrod and Christian did the same. “Aye, after murdering his own brother to gain an earldom, your death would not trouble him in the least.”
Chapter Two
Quietly, Isabelle waited in the crowded and poorly appointed chamber she was sharing with several other ladies of the court. She had seated herself on a narrow backless chair some distance from where the other women chattered whilst pretending to attend to their sewing.
She did not know why her father had summoned her here to Windsor, nor had she wanted to come. She had only been to court on one other occasion with her father, who seemed to like court life little better than she. He preferred to be on his own lands where he was the law.
Nay, she had not wished to come. The first time she had been to court, she had been gawked at and disdained by the other ladies, though she could not understand why they would behave so cruelly to a girl of no more than fourteen years. This visit had proved no different. If only she could return home to Dragonwick. But what choice had she in it? Her father was master of her fate as he had reminded her more times than she could ever begin to count in the twenty years of her existence.
She was infinitely aware of the fact that to anyone, including her father, viewing her from the outside she would appear completely unmoved. Yet her mind rolled with questions and fear of what he might be about.
Why had he sent for her? When he had left for court he had seemed agitated about some matter. Yet he had shared nothing with her.
It had crossed Isabelle’s mind that there might be a possible suitor involved. But her father had not told her to make herself amenable as he had each time he had dangled her before a hopeful at Dragonwick. And there had been more than a few. Possible alliance to an earl drew those who would further their own positions. Thus far none of the men had offered enough on their own part. The Earl of Kelsey would not give up his pawn, for keeping her unwed had made allies of those men who still sought to win her.
She had not even seen her father except at dinner the previous evening. He had done no more than cast a sweeping glance over her, saying that she was looking well enough and that she was to garb herself carefully. She had not wasted breath in asking him to tell her what he was about in bidding her to come to court. He would say nothing until he was prepared to do so. No amount of coaxing had ever changed that, as she’d learned from early childhood.
Again Isabelle wondered why her father had her summoned here. Dared she even hope? Surely he would choose the weakest, most malleable of men, the kind who fawned and cowered before him. And when he did, Isabelle herself might hope to exert some influence over such a man. Marriage would bring the possibility of freedom from the tight fist of her father’s control.
Unfortunately until that event occurred Isabelle must play the part of dutiful and obedient daughter. It was a part she had learned to play very well.
To cover her extreme agitation she focused her attention on her clothing, her jewels and her hair. She ran her hand over the deep-blue velvet of her skirt, concentrating on the roughness of the silver embroidery beneath her fingers. She knew that the silver slippers she wore and the sheer veil with its silver circlet were the perfect complement for the gown with its tight bodice and low square neck.
Unbidden, thoughts of the stranger who had stopped to ask if she required assistance the previous day came into her head. He had indeed been very handsome with his well-formed masculine features, dark hair and warm brown eyes. Those dark-lashed eyes had also looked on her with appreciation as he raked his thick straight hair back from a high, intelligent forehead.
Unlike other times when she had been viewed thusly, his appreciation had made something shift inside her, something feminine and vulnerable. For the stranger had been seeing her—Isabelle—and with gentle eyes. He had not known that she was the only offspring of the Earl of Kelsey.
Though many men had professed to find her attractive they knew her father had no other heir to his earldom but her. They sought power, as her father had done in attaining his earldom—from betraying his own brother. That man had been her uncle, the one other warriors had called The Dragon because of his skill and fierceness in battle, and because of his fierce sense of honor, duty and love. It was to her uncle that she owed thanks for the vast dower her suitors sought.
Isabelle’s heart ached afresh at the thought of the loss of him. For though she had been a small child when he died she had loved her uncle Wallace like no other human being. He had been kind and gentle and all that was good in the world and thus became the prey of one who would do what he must to gain power and position.
Her father. She hated her father more for that than for all his many cruelties to her. But he was all she had. Her mother had died when she was very small and the only thing she knew of her folk was that they lived in Normandy. Once, not long after her mother’s death, a woman had visited, saying she was Isabelle’s aunt, but her father had sent her away and she had never returned.
All Isabelle could do to try to make things right was to think of the dower that would someday be hers as her father’s only heir. In memory of The Dragon she would teach her child to be like his great uncle Wallace had been.
The knock that sounded at the door did not surprise her, nor did the presence of her father’s man, Sir Fredrick, standing there when one of the other women opened it. Father had sent word this morn that she was to be at the ready for his summons.
Without haste Isabelle stood, again smoothing her hand over the skirt of her kirtle.
She kept her head high beneath the gazes of the women of the court. She was grateful when the door closed behind her and she no longer had to endure their hurtful speculation.
Sir Fredrick paid her little heed other than to clear the hallway for her passage. She did not need to be told that his efforts were more in aid of hurrying to reach her father than any concern for her. He had been with her father for as long as she had memory and made his complete loyalty to the earl known at all times. Though Isabelle was amazed that her cold and distant father could have inspired such devotion in any man, she had come to accept it.
They moved on to a more sumptuously appointed portion of the castle, finally arriving at a door, which the knight opened without knocking. Still trying to remain impassive, Isabelle moved ahead of him when he stepped aside and motioned her forward.
What she saw on the other side of the door was a surprise to test the skills of self-possession that she had spent her lifetime perfecting.
The long narrow chamber bore four occupants. At the far end of the chamber, her father, King John and another man stood with their backs to her. With them was a priest.
Her gaze went to her father, even as she felt the eyes of the king come to rest upon her face. There was something familiar about the third man, who still stood with his back toward her, his wide shoulders encased in dark-green velvet. There was something about the thick, straight dark hair that brushed the velvet of his collar.
Her questioning gaze went back to her father. He cast an approving glance over her, assessing her to determine if she was properly representing him, as he always did, but not seeing her. He nodded and said, “Very well, then. Isabelle has arrived. We may begin.”
Isabelle met the king’s sharp gaze for a brief moment as she asked, “Begin what, Father?” She was pleased at the cool unconcern of her tone. It betrayed none of the agitation that made her heart pound painfully in her chest. Peripherally she became aware that the other man had finally turned around.
Isabelle’s gaze moved to his face. Her heart stopped, then thumped to life again as she saw, saints above, that it was the very man she had met upon the road the previous day. The very man who had been so much in her thoughts in spite of her wishes to the contrary.
If the shock on his handsome face was any indication, he was as surprised to see her here as she was him.
What indeed was he doing here in this chamber with her father, the king and a clergyman? Forcing herself to speak evenly, she asked again, “Begin what, Father?”
There was a long heavy silence. “Haven’t you even told her?” It was the stranger’s deep voice. His brown eyes met hers. In them she saw resentment.
Odd. Odder still was her reaction to his expression. The ripples of annoyance and unwanted regret that rolled through her made it difficult to retain her pose of calm. She was not sorry when he turned to glare at her father.
Her father scowled. “What I tell my daughter is none of your concern.”
“It is if she is to be my bride.”
“Bride.” The word was nothing more than a whisper of outgoing breath. She had hope, but…It was so sudden.
Her shock was lost to the others as her father replied, coldly, “You have me there, Warleigh. But recall as you consider yourself master to my daughter that I am master to you.”
The man who, if she was hearing aright, was to be her husband, answered with equal lack of warmth. “’Tis only through dastardly doing that it be so. Had you not falsely accused me—”
Her father blustered. “Dastardly? I’ll have you keep your accusations to—”
King John halted them with upraised hands. “No more.” He cast her father a warning glance. “You assured me that you could see to this matter. Keep this man in check.”
Her father bowed. “That I will, Sire.”
“And you, my lord, you will recall that it is only by my mercy that you have been granted this opportunity to live. You will create no trouble for your father-by-marriage. Is that clear, Warleigh?”
Warleigh. In all these years she had not forgotten the names of the three fosterlings who had given evidence against her uncle. Shock rolled through her anew. Not only was she to marry one of the ones who had done her such ill, the marriage had clearly been foisted on the angry and resentful Warleigh as a punishment.
Never had she expected love, or even affection. But she had not thought to be given in such a state of resentment, had even hoped the man she wed might be malleable to her own wishes. Warleigh’s outraged pride told of a strong and commanding will. Heaven help her, it would take every ounce of her self-control to see this through without breaking.
But that was precisely what she must do.
Never could she let anyone see how devastated this turn of events had left her. Especially not the man who, for a brief moment yesterday, had made her think about what it would be like to be young and free, to be looked on with favor by a handsome young man.
From his place beside the priest, Simon watched Isabelle’s impassive and beautiful face.
So this woman, the one he had met along the road the previous day, was Isabelle, daughter to the Earl of Kelsey. He would never have guessed that she was the one he had been ordered to wed, and had he done so not even a beauty as great as hers could have moved him.
His gaze raked her face. His faint recollections of the child he had seen a few times so many years ago would never have prepared him for the woman she had become.
He had much clearer memories of her younger cousin, the scarlet-haired Rosalind, who had died the day Gerard Kelsey attacked the keep. The very thought angered him anew.
Simon’s lips thinned as he focused on the woman before him again. There was no hint of reaction to her father’s declaration that she was to be married in those astonishing lilac eyes, nor was there any rise of color in the porcelain cheeks. Those perfectly formed pink lips did not thin, nor did they purse. Her slender white hands with their long delicate fingers rested lightly on the skirt of her lavish gown. Her dark head was held at a proud but relaxed angle, further betraying her lack of concern.
How could she possibly listen to the exchange that had just taken place without reacting in some way? Yet she had.
He now realized that she was beautiful indeed, but it was more in the way of a marble statue he had seen in Rome. Unbearably lovely but lacking the animation that would fully impassion a man.
She started toward them, her slender hips drawing his gaze as she moved forward with sensuous grace. In spite of his revelations his body reacted to her grace and beauty with a will of its own. Meanwhile his mind continued to view her lack of emotion with displeasure. He told himself ’twas unnatural for a young woman to be so cold. Even the most obedient of daughters might have hoped to hear of her marriage before the moment was upon her.
Alas, he reminded himself, he could not expect more from the earl’s daughter. Simon was infinitely conscious of the pale perfection of her face as she came to a halt beside him. And, heaven help him, her slender but enticing form. The gold belt about her slim hips drew his wayward gaze but when he forced it upward he was equally captivated by her long, narrow waist and high, proud breasts made all the more enticing by the deep blue of her gown, which clung lovingly to each curve.
Determinedly he pulled his gaze to his own hard fingers, which had curled into a fist at his side. He forced himself to recall his plan to remain apart from his wife. It was his only hope of being free of her and thus her father.
Unfortunately he had not at the time of making that decision realized that the very woman who had so occupied his thoughts since he left her at the side of the road yesterday was the one he must deny himself.