She assured Isabelle that Jack would again come to their aid. Helwys then offered to obtain the brooch, which Isabelle knew they must have in order for Simon’s friend to be convinced that the letter she intended to write came from him, from her father’s chamber.
Isabelle was concerned that the maid would be caught taking the brooch. Helwys assured her she would not be. Then it was left to Isabelle to write the letter that would accompany it.
It was brief and unsigned: “Come to Windsor.”
She knew Simon would not forgive her for doing this, for disobeying him. But she could not do otherwise.
Eight days passed before Isabelle saw her father again. He came with an expression of triumph. “The fool Warleigh has gone to court to plead his case. On receipt of my letter the king has arrested him.”
Isabelle only just managed to keep standing as a wave of dizzying horror took her. As her father went on she met his watchful gaze. “Warleigh’s fate is assured. You are to garb yourself for traveling. We go to court to secure the lands on the morrow.”
She kept her gaze from wavering. “Yes, Father.”
“I see you truly are not disturbed by this news.”
“No, Father.”
He shrugged. “For a time it did seem that you might have been foolish enough to imagine yourself enamored of the man. You did after all create a child together and I can see that a young woman might find him appealing.”
She did not waver for what she said was truth. “I knew it would not last, Father. It would indeed be mad for me to allow myself to care for the man.”
“Precisely. Attachment is not a weakness either of us would allow ourselves.”
“And I have you to thank you for teaching me to be like you in that, Father.” There was no sign of the bitterness she felt in her voice.
He nodded. “I have learned that it was likely one of my own men who helped Warleigh escape. The soldier Jack has since disappeared, as has the brooch Fredrick found in the wood after the attempt on my life.”
Isabelle shook her head even as she felt a wave of contempt for her father, for he did not add that he had been trespassing on Simon’s own lands when it occurred. She shrugged, “I am sure it is your intent to make him pay for his disloyalty to you.”
With a self-satisfied smile he said, “Aye, it is.” With that he left, closing the door behind him. Obviously convinced that he need distrust her no longer, he did not secure the bolt.
Isabelle’s heart thumped in her chest. Here was her chance. Her father would never question that fact that she was packing. She and Helwys could make ready for their escape openly.
She would leave this very night.
Even as she began to open the chest with her jewels inside, she stopped. Eight days had passed. Simon’s friends had not gone to his aid. Or if they had their presence had counted for naught.
Perhaps they had arrived after the king’s letter had been sent to her father. Perhaps Simon was even now celebrating his freedom.
Yet could she take that chance? Could she walk away without knowing?
She could not. Isabelle sank down on the end of her bed, telling herself that she would never be able to look into her son’s eyes, for she was certain the child was the boy she had always wanted, without guilt.
What she might be able to do for Simon she did not know, but she had to try.
The journey to Windsor took three days. Isabelle did her utmost to avoid talking with her father, feigning a slight illness each time they stopped. It was clear that her father was not pleased, but he made no more than passing comment, as she did not delay their progress in any way.
In truth Isabelle was feeling quite well other than an unaccustomed exhaustion and an occasional lightheadedness. She was almost disappointed that she did feel so well, for it would have been good to think on something besides the fact that Simon would be very angry with her if he knew she had sent for his friends. More pressing even than this worry was her fear of what her father would do when he learned that it was her intent to speak on Simon’s behalf.
His rage would be devastating and it was very likely that she had abandoned her only opportunity to escape him. For she knew he was not above locking her in her chambers for the rest of her days for the sin of betraying him.
It was with this thought fully in her mind that Isabelle followed her father to the king’s audience chamber only hours after their arrival at Windsor.
What she saw when the attendant opened the door to grant them admittance made her stop still. King John sat at a heavy wooden table at the end of the chamber. Before the king were two guards, and between them was Simon.
He spun about as she and her father moved into the room, his gaze widening as it came to rest on her. Isabelle felt her heart thud in her breast, her gaze moving over him quickly. Though her husband was disheveled and there were obvious signs of exhaustion on his handsome face, he seemed unharmed.
Feeling her father’s attention upon her, she quickly lowered her eyes. She did not wish for her father to guess her intent and send her away before she had an opportunity to speak, to hopefully make the king hear the truth.
Even as they went forward she heard King John say, “You have pleaded to face the earl, Warleigh. Here he is.”
Simon said, “May I now question my accuser?”
John shook his head. “I will first ask my own questions and we will see if there is then any point in your doing so.”
Raising her head, Isabelle saw the frustration on his face. The king continued, “Can you deny that you did in fact leave Dragonwick without his permission after I had bid you remain in his care?”
Simon frowned. “You know I can not for I have admitted as much.”
King John nodded, “Can you deny that a brooch that is the exact match of your own was found in the exact place from whence an attempt was made on his life?”
This time Simon said nothing. For though the king had brought Kelsey here as he had asked, it was clear that King John was unprepared to believe anything Simon might say.
Obviously Simon was as aware of this as she for he smiled. “I see now that there is no more point in my defending myself than there ever was.” He nodded to her father. “You may have won against me and everyone else you have sought to destroy thus far, Kelsey, but eventually you will pay. That is the way of things.”
Kelsey turned to the king. “Do you hear him, sire? He threatens me even now.”
Isabelle knew that she could delay no longer. There would be no better chance than this.
She opened her mouth, then closed it as she felt her father’s gaze upon her. Sudden terror of what he would do to her when this was done dampened her palms and tightened her chest to the point where it was near impossible to breathe. Yet she took a deep breath and said, “My liege.” Her voice was nearly inaudible. She tried again, this time with more success. “King John, I beg your leave to speak.”
Her father took her arm. “There is no need, Isabelle. The king will hear us on our own concerns when this matter is done.”
She did not look at him, could not. “It is this matter I wish to address.”
Her gaze met Simon’s. The expression in his eyes was measuring, and yes she could see it, hopeful. Even as she tried to send reassurance, that look changed to warning.
King John leaned back in his chair, drawing her attention back to him as he said, “Speak.” She could feel the continued intensity of Simon’s gaze. His concern for her did not move her to caution as he obviously hoped but fueled her courage to go on. “I would tell you, milord, that Simon Warleigh is guilty of the crimes he has admitted but there are extenuating circumstances that you should be made aware of.”
Her father snarled, “Isabelle!”
At the same time Simon said, “Isabelle, there is no need for you to do this. Naught can come of it.”
She ignored them both, speaking quickly, “These things did occur but it was in his own self-defense that Simon Warleigh acted. My fat
her did in fact lie to you, King John, when he first accused Simon of plotting against the crown. It was indeed my father who was his target. Father has admitted as much to me. It is also true that my father has since plotted to kill Simon Warleigh in the hope of gaining access to his lands. The attempted attack upon my father occurred when he was trespassing at Avington, tormenting one of Lord Warleigh’s own folk in order to obtain information about the fortifications there.”
Her father spoke then, in a cold and even voice that held no hint of distress. “This is preposterous, my lord king. I had feared this for some time but my affection for my daughter blinded me to the truth. She has fallen in love with the knave and seeks to do whatever she must to save his life.”
King John turned to her. “Is this true? Are you in love with this man?”
Isabelle raised her head high. “Aye. I love him.”
Her gaze went to Simon as he cried out, “Isabelle.”
She held his gaze, unable to hide the truth that burned inside her. She did indeed love him, had loved him from the moment she saw him that first day upon the road to Windsor. Only her fear of being hurt had kept her from knowing it. Now, though she knew that Simon did not return her feelings, she was prepared to face him with the truth. For she realized it was not him she must face as much as her fear.
Simon did not shy away from her gaze. “You love me?”
The king spoke with sharp impatience. “Take him. I will not have this meeting digress into nothing more than trite declarations of affection.”
As Simon resisted the grasp of the two guards, Isabelle knew that he would have made no declarations of love. What she had heard in his voice was nothing more than curious amazement. There was no surprise in that, for she had informed him that she was incapable of such feelings on more than one occasion. She watched as he struggled with the guards, shouting, “I will not go with you.”
King John clapped his hands together and from the curtain behind him came two more guards, their swords drawn.
Isabelle held her breath as Simon became still, then stood straight. He cast her father a look of hatred. “This is not yet done, Kelsey.” Then there was time for only one more glance in her direction, a glance that held many emotions she could not begin to name, before he was led out.
With Simon gone, her father leveled her with an icy glare as he addressed the king. “You see the way things are, my lord. Warleigh has seduced her. I had attempted to make her strong but the girl is weak-minded as all her sex.”
There was an edge of icy hatred that only Isabelle seemed to hear as he said this. Unable to understand it she could only shake her head. “He has not seduced me. He is good and strong and honest. Those are the reasons I love him.” She turned to the king. “But more important than why I love him or even that I do is that I am telling the truth here. Simon is not guilty of the things my father has accused him of.”
To her utter despair King John looked to her father with a sympathetic expression on his narrow face. “Clearly she is besotted.”
Her father moved to stand so close that no one but she could hear his words, “You will pay!” but she saw not only anger in his eyes, but also pleasure. He was enjoying besting her, as he always had enjoyed besting everyone who opposed him.
The fact that she was his daughter meant nothing to him. It never had.
She returned his gaze but hers was filled with pity. How very lonely he must be to be unable to love.
No matter what came next in her future, Isabelle was grateful for one thing Simon had given her. He had shown her how to love. Even if he never returned her feelings she had experienced something her father and those like him, those who were so locked inside themselves, so protective of their hearts and feelings, were incapable of.
No matter what pain might come of her loving where it was not returned she had felt that glow inside her, the feeling that moved her to care for something outside herself and her own misery.
Right now she was moved to do whatever she must to save her husband’s life. Without thinking she swung around to face King John. “Take me, keep me as warrant that Simon will do no ill. I would gladly forfeit my freedom to prove that he means you no harm, sire.”
The king shook his head. “Very prettily said, my lady Warleigh, but your words are clearly brought on by your desire to see your husband released. I have no reason to believe that retaining your person would in any way deter him.”
She clenched her hands tightly at her sides in frustration. “There is nothing to be deterred from. It is my father who—” She could see that she had been mad to imagine that her leaving would influence the King to release Simon. Nothing would have mattered.
Her father motioned to Sir Fredrick where he lingered nearby as he always did. “Take her. I would have her shame me no more.”
Even as the knight took her arm in a painful grip, Isabelle wrenched herself free. “Do not put your hands upon me again.”
She glared her anger and he stepped back as she spun about and moved toward the door. She would afford them no more of her misery. She must be alone to think about what could be done.
Chapter Fifteen
Isabelle was in the chamber she had been given to share with her father for no more than minutes before he strode through the door. He waved a dismissive hand to Helwys. “Leave us.”
Helwys looked to Isabelle with an expression of fear, and Isabelle nodded. “Go. I am fine.”
Once the door closed behind her, Isabelle swung around to face her father. “My lord.”
His gaze was angry and cruelly assessing. “Your disloyalty is, to say the least, shameful.”
Even though she did not really believe she had been disloyal, the words stung. He went on. “What could one expect of the offspring of your dame.”
Her amazed gaze fixed on him. “Why would you speak so of my mother?”
He smiled coldly. “Why indeed?”
Isabelle was shocked by this continuing odd behavior. “Since you never married after her death, or seemed interested in any woman, I had always believed she was the one person you have ever loved. And now you speak of her with such…” She shook her head. “I can not even begin to fathom such new depths of disdain toward others.”
“Disdain,” he barked. “It is you who could tell me of disdain. You who have betrayed me for my enemy.”
“I have not betrayed you. I but tried to right a wrong. It is you who have done ill to Simon. You know he has never plotted against the king, because you know that you were the target of his anger. And you know why.”
His hand connected with her cheek. Isabelle reeled, stepping backward with the force of the blow. The actual pain did not come for a heartbeat after.
Before she could say a word, he continued, “You have no notion of what I do or why. You do not know what effort it has taken to gain and hold my place. A place that I richly deserved as payment for what I have been cheated of.”
“I do not understand.”
“Nay,” he nodded sharply and suddenly Isabelle saw a hint of something desolate and lonely in those eyes she had always thought of as cold. “You do not understand.”
Isabelle remembered the day she and Simon had first gone to the lodge. She’d gained the impression that her father was a man of great loneliness then but the reality of his behavior had made her brush it aside.
In spite of the fact that her cheek was still stinging, in spite of the fact that her father had never acted as if he desired her sympathy or compassion, she felt a rush of both. Taking a step toward him, Isabelle said, “What is it, Father? Tell me and I will try to understand.”
That hint of desolation had been replaced by distrust and he raked her with another cold glance. “Father? You must first begin by hearing that I am not your father.”
She jerked back more violently than when he had struck her. “What are you saying?”
He smiled again, seeming to enjoy her horror and confusion. “I am not your father.”
&n
bsp; “How can that be possible?”
Bitterness colored his voice, though she knew he was attempting to speak as if this revelation did not matter to him. “Your mother, my good wife, got you by another.”
She shook her head violently. “Nay. Though I remember her not I have heard others speak of her with great respect. I will not believe that my mother would betray her marriage vows.”
“That much is true. She did keep to the letter of those vows. Yet you are another’s get nonetheless.”
“I can not see how that could be possible.”
“Attend me then,” he ordered sharply. “Your mother had given herself to another before she came to me.” He stared off into the past that only he could see. “She loved a man she met while staying with friends of her family who lived here in England. He had her maidenhead then left for war. I had met her at the same time and had been in love with her all along, unknowing fool that I was. Finding herself alone and with child she accepted my suit in order to give her bastard a name.”
Weakened by the realization that her father was speaking the truth Isabelle sank to her knees on the threadbare carpet. He looked down at her. “She told me none of this at the time, of course. She waited until she was dying after the birth of our own stillborn child only two years later to tell me the truth. She said she could not go without confessing all. She desired,” he laughed bitterly, “that I should go to your true father and tell him all.”
She felt as if she were drowning in shock and confusion, but a question emerged from her numb lips. “You know who my father is?”
He raised disdainful brows. “I do indeed. I have felt the curse of that knowing in each day of my life.”
“Who is he?”
He shrugged. “You may as well know. It can make no difference now. All my efforts to raise you to stand above the errors of your mother have been for naught.”
Her voice rose with impatience at his rambling. “Who was he?” She had to know.
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