that she might have come for her own purposes. The cold beauty had shown no sign of vague curiosity as far as he was concerned. The very thought of her having an interest in him made his body tighten although his will bade it do otherwise.
Isabelle Kelsey seemed to have little care for him.
Yet somehow he knew it had been her. An image of her looking back at him the first time he had seen her flashed through his mind. It made no sense in light of her behavior this day. Other than her defense of his keeping his men with him.
He dressed himself, then quickly made his way to the spot where he had seen the flash of scarlet. In the soft moss near the edge of the water he saw the imprint of two small shoes. It had to be a woman. Even the squires would have bigger feet. The only other woman on the journey besides Isabelle was the maid and she had been garbed in dark colors.
Far from clarifying anything, this further evidence that it had indeed been his wife left him even more at a loss. Again he wondered what possible reason she could have for such behavior.
Thoughtfully Simon made his way back to camp. Scanning the camp, he saw that Isabelle was not amongst those who had gathered around the fire in the growing gloom.
Disappointment made his lips tighten as he moved to sit on a log beside Sir Edmund just a bit apart from the others. Simon greeted him quietly. “All has gone well?”
The knight shrugged, “Well enough, my lord. It seems we will be tolerated for the most part.” Simon knew the knight would not complain lest things were particularly unpleasant. He had been one of his brother’s oldest knights and was much recommended by the steward at Avington.
“Wylie?” he asked, for he was not as certain of the squire’s behavior.
“Down by the stream watering the horses. I told him to have extra care with them.”
Simon nodded. “Well done.” Sir Edmund understood the importance of keeping the squire busy. He raked a hand through his hair, which was drying quickly in the heat of the fire. As he dropped his hand to his side, he caught a flash of red from the corner of his eye.
Isabelle. He swung around to look at her where she stood beside her tent.
That cool lavender gaze slid over him, away, then came back. For a brief moment their eyes locked before she turned away, her face as impassive as ever. Yet he was not blind to the deep rose coloring in her cheekbones.
Again he raked his hair straight back from his forehead. That flush seemed a sign of agitation for the cool beauty. Did it mean that beneath that icy demeanor there beat a passionate heart? Did she perhaps find him more appealing than she wished him to know? Was that why she had been at the stream?
His next thought, that he wished for this to be so, appalled Simon so completely he knew he must find something else to occupy his mind.
His gaze came to rest on Kelsey who now stood before his tent. The dark knight hovered, as ever, just behind him. The earl surveyed the activity of the camp with a disapproving expression. Seeing the degree of efficiency with which the men worked preparing for the coming night Simon was surprised. He knew his own men, many of them trained in haste by the necessity of the battlefield, could not have done better.
Noting Simon’s attention, Gerard Kelsey came toward him, his shadow following. “Well, Warleigh, I hope you are not finding our duty over you too chafing.” His tone said that his true hope was far different from that contained in his words.
Simon shrugged. “I am content, my lord. For the moment.” It did not seem that the knight who had attempted to detain him before he went to bathe had mentioned the matter of their confrontation. Simon felt no need to do so.
He watched as Kelsey smiled at him. “’Twould be best if you stayed content, my lord. I will not tolerate any disregard of the king’s wishes.”
Simon bowed. “Rest easy, sir. I have no wish to trouble the king.” He did not add that he had no such feelings as far as Kelsey himself was concerned.
“Very good.”
Then Kelsey was distracted by something behind Simon and shouted out, “Have you not been reprimanded enough this day? Have a care with that animal do you value your hide.”
Simon swung around to see the young lad who had been violently punished at Windsor, holding the reins of the magnificent black stallion once again. It pranced and fought at the bit, its hooves flashing at everything that came close to foot. Now it was clear the horse’s agitation was clearly caused by poor temperament, rather than improper handling, and that the stallion had been chosen for appearance rather than anything else. The lad had been harshly and unjustly punished.
He failed at keeping the disdain for his host from his voice as he said, “’Tis a beautiful horse.”
Kelsey raked him with an equally disdainful glance. “I would have no less in anything I possess.” He cast an oddly unreadable glance toward Isabelle’s tent.
Simon could not help realizing that he was speaking of Isabelle. He found himself asking, “Including your daughter?”
The older man raised gray brows high in challenge. “Including my daughter.”
How could the man speak of his own child so dispassionately, as if she were no more to him than any other possession and before his man, even though he be a knight? The thought was strangely disturbing and he found himself watching Kelsey’s face for any hint of fatherly affection. He saw none, only conceit.
He felt a tug of sympathy. Perhaps here was a clue to the veiled sarcasm he had heard in her voice when she spoke to her father before leaving Windsor.
Simon gave himself a mental shake. Isabelle would not welcome his pity. She seemed to be more than content with her lot in spite of her apparent sarcasm toward her father. He would do well to expend his energies in thinking how he would get out of this situation, away from this man, while still retaining his lands.
He was distracted from these thoughts by the sudden angry babble of his squire’s voice. Simon sighed, wondering what could have set the lad off this time. Had he known that his journey to court would end in his being in the custody of his most hated enemy, he would never have taken Wylie to Windsor. He had taken him to service under his longtime squire, Martin, who had served him in the Holy Land, because Martin would soon be receiving his spurs and Simon had been impressed with Wylie, who was the son of one of the other knights at Avington. He had noted a quickness of intellect in the lad that he had thought to hone with discipline and training.
Unfortunately the boy was also somewhat impulsive. Simon knew that the lad’s admiration and gratitude toward him was great. All of this complicated things and did not bode well for his hope that Wylie would be able to control himself enough to stay out of trouble until an opportunity to return to Avington presented itself.
Quickly Simon moved to where Wylie was standing with his arms folded over his chest in the midst of the other men who had quickly gathered at the edge of the camp where the horses were tied. Rage radiated from his squire in waves. “What goes on here?” Simon demanded.
Wylie turned from his angry contemplation of one of the other men, another boy really, Simon realized as he took a closer look at the object of Wylie’s displeasure.
His squire exploded. “He says I may not bring our blankets close to the fire, my lord. He says that the
