Dragon's Dower

“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.