As if he sensed her attention, Simon Warleigh’s gaze met hers. His was assessing, raking the sheer silver veil, which was pinned atop her carefully arranged hair, and her face. It then passed over the length of her blue gown, which was visible through the opening of the scarlet cloak she wore. Isabelle knew the gown was overfine for a journey, but she had been so eager to leave that she had refused when her maid Helwys had suggested changing it.
His gaze did not in any way lead her to believe that he was interested in…
In point of fact, nothing he had done or said during that painfully tense marriage ceremony or afterward had made her think he had even considered the wedding night, let alone wished for it to happen. Isabelle tore her gaze away from his coolly assessing one as her father called out again, “My horse.”
At last his squire, Karl, came leading the wildly straining black stallion from the stable. The lad was disheveled as he tried to hold the horse steady and his uncertain gaze fixed itself on her father’s face.
Isabelle felt her whole body tense at the cold anger she saw there. He strode to the lad, reaching out for the reins with one hand, while back of the other snaked out to connect with Karl’s cheek.
The squire sprawled in the dust of the courtyard, his hand going to his cheek. There was utter stillness as her father mounted without a glance in the lad’s direction. Into the achingly heavy silence Simon cried, “Are you mad?”
Her father swung to face him. “You dare not question me concerning my treatment of my own folk, Warleigh. Lest you care to go back and tell King John that his will for you is not to your liking?”
Seeing the familiar icy fire in her father’s gaze, Isabelle knew how near they were to being taught one of his lessons. Not even Simon could stop him no matter how confident he might be. Desperately Isabelle cried out in a hoarse tone as her eyes met her husband’s, “You have no power here. Pray leave be.” She knew he would see the pleading in her gaze, but cared not. She would spare Karl, nay all of them, the harsh reality of her father’s enmity.
Her face flaming with emotions that she could not quite identify, Isabelle was filled with relief as her father flicked her an approving glance and gave the order to ride out. Guiding her horse out onto the road that would take them south to Dragonwick gave her something to do besides think about what would come next between her and Simon Warleigh.
Chapter Three
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