The Penitent: De Wolfe Pack Connected World Page 8

  Ewan’s green eyes and broad forehead—his Maxwell legacy—rose in her mind. She relaxed slightly. He looked nothing like Simon. Except for the golden curls gracing his head. They were exactly like Simon’s.

  Chapter Ten

  Kaily halted abruptly, skirts swaying, eyes flashing, as Simon met them in the hall. His gaze glanced over her to Iseabal, noting her guarded look.

  Damn! What did Kaily say?

  Quelling the impulse to kick himself for sending her with Kaily, and ignoring Garin’s I-told-ye-so look, he motioned for Iseabal to precede him and guided her back to her seat at the hearth. The dog thumped his tail on the floor as they approached, seemingly much improved with the healer’s care and a dish of meaty broth brought up from the kitchen.

  Iseabal ruffled the dog’s ears, peering at his wounds. A bright white bandage wrapped about the dog’s foreleg and the blood had been cleaned from his ruff. Apparently satisfied with the dog’s treatment, Iseabal took the offered seat and a servant handed her a steaming cup of cider. The rich scent of apples rose and Iseabal’s lips curved in appreciation as she wrapped her hands about the mug.

  Simon frowned, then caught himself, and forced his lips into a gentler slope. “I am sorry ye were attacked. Ye must have known there are wolves about.”

  Iseabal rolled one shoulder as if she’d weighed the dangers and found them acceptable. Simon resisted the impulse to shake her. What if he hadn’t arrived when he had?

  “How did ye find me?” Her eyebrows lifted in question.

  Simon bit the inside of his lip to stall his reply. Shrug it off as chance? Or tell her the truth?

  Her eyes narrowed. “Ye’ve been following me.” She set her mug down with a thud. “I’d like to go now.” She pushed up from the chair. Simon grabbed her wrist, restraining her. Her look of warning sent daggers into his gut. He removed his hand.

  “Wait until the rain stops. I promised I would take ye and your animals home as soon as the weather clears,” her reminded her, wishing again he knew what Kaily had said. His gaze cut to the doorway.

  Kaily flashed him a smug look as she left the hall.

  Simon ground his teeth. “Whatever Kaily has told ye, know she is upset with me. Might ye give me the benefit of the doubt?” He motioned a request for Iseabal to return to her seat. With a lift of her chin, she sat.

  “Ye think I dinnae understand the wrath of a spurned mistress?” One black eyebrow arched, laden with hauteur.

  Simon’s skin heated. He leaned closer, his words for Iseabal only. “I never meant to hurt ye. Our time was neither sordid nor casual. My regret was neither of us was of an age or in a position to make any sort of promise.”

  She glanced about the room. “Nae so bad for a third son with no prospects.”

  “Five years ago my entire life was fighting. I belonged to Lord de Wolfe. I then pledged my sword to his nephew, Geoffrey de Wylde, and there isn’t a Scotsman alive who would have given me his daughter in marriage.”

  Iseabal sent him an amused look. “Ye would have married me? That warms my heart.”

  “Damnit, Iseabal! What will it take for ye to accept my apology?”

  She drew a deep breath and slowly let it out. “Och, now ye’re a landed lord, I suppose ye could use yer funds to sponsor a convent—a refuge for the poor victims of unscrupulous men.”

  Simon huffed, then realized she meant to torment him. Her tone was low, drawling, not the swift biting fury Kaily used when vexed. Iseabal might not like him, but she’d apparently moved beyond their liaison long ago.

  He blinked. He wasn’t certain he liked being so easily dismissed. He sought a different topic. Something that might bring a smile to her lips. “Tell me of your son. Is he much like his father?”

  Her hands gripped the arms of the chair. The delicate color in her cheeks vanished.

  “I am sorry,” Simon said. “I do not know why everything I say causes ye pain. ’Tis not my intent.”

  Iseabal relaxed. “Ye cannae know mention of Ewan’s da upsets me. ’Tis nae a subject I am fond of.”

  “What happened?”

  Iseabal took her time before she answered. “He left to fight with the English and never returned.”

  “Again, I am sorry. The enmity between our people has cost us much.”

  “Aye.” She fingered the lip of the mug.

  “Do ye plan to remarry?”

  “A dear friend has suggested Ewan needs a da.”

  “And ye? What about ye, Iseabal? Do ye need a husband?”

  Her stark gaze met his.

  “Nae.”

  Her skin suddenly cried for his touch. To know he’d recently held his mistress—kissed her, loved her—tore her heart from her chest. Kaily might be angry over the loss of a title, but Iseabal would have demanded far more. She would have claimed nothing less than his heart.

  She had no right to him. He’d never promised he would take her with him. Her ears had worked perfectly when he warned her he would leave, resume his life as a knight in service to de Wolfe. It was her heart that had refused to listen.

  She had his son. Mayhap he would wish to know he’d sired a child. It was also possible he had many by-blows and one more would scarcely interest him. Ewan was all she had left of the sweet folly of her youth, and she would not sacrifice her son or her memories to assuage her guilt for not telling Simon he was Ewan’s father.

  Iseabal gripped the wagon’s wooden seat, her eyes trained on the low gray horizon, and tried not to stare at the man on the bay gelding next to her. The wheels bumped over the rocky ground, pitching her back and forth. The lambs and the two ewes bedded down comfortably in deep hay—a scarcity this time of year—Shep curled next to them. She’d found and saved the silly bleating beasts. Why was her heart so grim?

  Her gown was still slightly damp even after several hours draped over a rod near the hearth, and the brisk air bit through the cloth. But her sense of loss bit deeper. She stole a glance at Simon, seated atop his dark red war horse, black mane and tail flowing in the breeze. Simon’s golden curls, shorn close beneath his helmet, were mercifully out of tempting view. She’d once run her hands through the locks, marveling as they twisted about her fingers. Her skin remembered the sensation as though it was yesterday.

  His dark eyes stared straight ahead as if intent on avoiding her gaze. Little beyond words had passed between them during the strained hours at North Hall, and though she’d skirted acceptance of his apology, he hadn’t asked her forgiveness again. Despite her avowal their brief acquaintance held no influence over her, he still had the power to wound her.

  The careful shield she’d built around herself since she’d discovered she was pregnant five years past had sustained a direct hit this day. To her dismay, she found nothing more than a hollow space within the perimeter of her walls. Intent on allowing neither words nor actions to affect her decision to raise Ewan without the subterfuge of a willing husband to cloud the circumstances of his birth, she’d allowed nothing inside. No one to further complicate her feelings of betrayal and loss.

  “I’ve made arrangements for someone to keep an eye on ye and the croft.”

  Simon’s words snared her attention and she realized they’d come to a stop a short distance from Mary’s and Clyde’s croft.

  “There’s nae need . . . .”

  He held up a hand, interrupting her protest. He dismounted, stripping off his helmet. He hung it on his saddle then stepped to the wagon. “I will not have ye bothered. When I determine ye are no longer at risk, we will discuss this again.”

  Iseabal scowled. “We are capable of caring for ourselves. We dinnae need the English . . . .”

  “Caring, yes. Protecting is a different matter. Ye will not sway me on this.”

  “Why does it matter so much? I’m of nae importance to ye.”

  A muscle twitched in Simon’s jaw. His eyes bored into hers.

  “Suit yerself.” Iseabal hopped down from the wagon before he could assist her. She did n
ot wish his help—and she did not believe she could endure the torment of his hands on her, however impersonal.

  “’Tis no bother to me if ye wish to squander yer knights’ time sitting about the village when they could be doing something important.” Her bravado strained to ring true. The truth was, every time she saw one of his knights, rather than worry James or one of his men had found her, she would know Simon watched.

  Simon unhooked the boards at the back of the wagon and lowered Shep to the ground while the driver unloaded the two ewes. Mary’s dog rushed from the sheep fold, barking his challenge. His posture changed at Iseabal’s command to halt, and he sat in the middle of the dirt road, head tilted to one side as though perplexed.

  Mary appeared in the doorway. Ewan pushed past her, racing across the yard.

  “Ma!” He yanked open the gate and pelted up the road.

  Iseabal’s sore heart eased and she bent to hug Ewan. Shep’s bark drew the lad’s attention and he tore away, using his hands to pull himself up enough to look into the wagon.

  “Mary, Aggie! More lambs!” he shouted as he bounced up and down, unable to maintain his position at the rear of the wagon. Simon caught Ewan and hefted him effortlessly next to the lambs.

  Iseabal’s breath halted. Late afternoon sunlight pierced dispersing clouds, gilding the two heads bent to examine the new lambs. She clenched her fists, wadding the damp thin wool between her fingers. Ewan laughed and tilted his face to Simon, green eyes meeting midnight blue. Iseabal’s heart quivered.

  Mary crossed the yard and gave Iseabal a hug. “We worried about ye, lass. ’Tis good to see ye took no harm.” She peered into the wagon at Ewan’s insistence. “And brought a bonnie pair back with ye.” Her gaze cut to Ewan and Simon, a curious slant to her head.

  Iseabal snapped her fingers. “Come down, Ewan. We must get the lambs in the fold before dark.”

  Simon sent her a curious look. “We’ve time. Don’t be so hard on the boy.”

  Hard on him? I’ve raised him, not ye. Loved him, taught him . . . . Iseabal’s eyes flew wide, her hand raising to her mouth as though she’d said the words aloud.

  Simon’s head tilted farther. “I’ll not harm the boy.” He stood only a step or two away, his voice pitched low, but to Iseabal it seemed as though he shouted.

  “The ewe. She’ll be wanting her lambs.” It was hardly an apology, but her urgent goal was to take Ewan away from Simon. Away from Mary’s thoughtful gaze, before even an innocent comparison ruined everything.

  With a slight nod, Simon set the lambs on the ground and they made their wobbly way to the ewe who chuckled deep in her throat as she gathered them close. Shep and Tig guided the tiny flock to the pen at Mary’s command.

  “Catch!” Ewan shouted a split second before he launched himself at Simon. With a startled grin, Simon caught the lad then set him on the ground. He ruffled Ewan’s hair.

  “Ye are a hefty lad. How old are ye?”

  “I’s this many summers,” Ewan replied, holding up four fingers. His thumb tried to open, and he folded it against his palm with his other hand, a look of concentration on his face.

  Simon laughed. “Ye’ve a bit of growing to do, then.” He bent close. “Keep that hair trimmed. Those curls will attract the lasses.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Simon had been glad to mark the absence of Kaily’s belongings when he returned to the keep later that evening. Instead of the nagging disappointment of lacking female companionship for the evening, energy raced through his veins. Enthusiastically, he detailed his plans for a second yard and outer wall, assuring each person gathered in the hall of the value of their help.

  “Your men may decide to retrieve your leman if ye announce even one more task,” Garin noted as men left the hall after receiving their assignments. Simon wasn’t certain he joked.

  “The outer wall is a necessity if we are to offer protection for the entire village. And breaking ground for various fruit trees and enlarging the gardens will please everyone once the harvest is in. The keep was left in some disorder for almost a year after we took it from the Scots, as ye well know, and I wish to make improvements. What better time than whilst we continue repairs?”

  “And who will the oriel window please?” Garin nodded to the parchment beneath Simon’s hand. His handwriting covered the upper portion, but a sketch of the square, tower-like keep at the bottom boasted a turret beginning approximately halfway up the outer wall which jutted out over the yard, its mullioned windows marked on the outermost wall. There was no such structure on the current keep. The beautifully detailed window seat was a marked extravagance meant to please a woman.

  “That is not a matter for discussion,” Simon growled. “’Twill give needed work for some craftsmen in the village. There will be times when they are not needed to watch sheep or weed gardens.”

  “And they will be happy to have the work.” Garin pounded Simon’s shoulder as he rose from the table. “Shall I send for Kaily?” Garin grinned, safe beyond Simon’s reach. “Or a black-haired wench from the village with a boy tugging at her skirts?”

  “’Twill be hard to replace ye after I pound ye into the ground for your insolence,” Simon growled, only half-serious. He could stay as busy as a squirrel in winter, but he was unable to banish Iseabal from his mind.

  “How would ye woo a lady, Garin?”

  The knight halted then returned to the table. “I’m no ladies’ man,” he replied. “Ye are who we mere mortal men look to win a lady’s attention.” He shrugged. “Treat her like ye do the others. They eat from your hand readily enough.”

  “Therein lies my problem,” Simon remarked. “I do not want her to be like the others.”

  “When will ye tell him, lass?”

  Iseabal sent Mary a wide-eyed look, halting with a half-dry mug in her hands. She cut a look to Aggie who snored softly in her chair by the hearth.

  “Who?”

  Mary gently took the mug and piece of linen from Iseabal’s grasp and set them on the table, then led her to the pallet where Ewan slept peacefully.

  “The lad’s da.” She shook her head. “I’ve naught seen another head of hair like his, all golden and tight curls, until today. With yer black hair, ’tis a wonder the lad doesnae look more like ye. But I saw the man who brought ye home, Sir Simon himself, his shiny head exactly like yer lad’s.” Mary waggled a finger. “If that man isnae the lad’s da, then ’tis his uncle.”

  Iseabal’s gaze lingered on Ewan. She pivoted on her heel and walked slowly to the door. She leaned against the open door frame, peering into the night. Shep left Ewan’s blanket and paced to her side then flopped to his belly with a sigh and proceeded to lick his injured leg. Iseabal absently patted his head to distract him. He thumped his tail twice on the floor then resumed his slow, rhythmic treatment.

  “’Tis not such a simple thing. I never thought to see him again.”

  Moonlight laid a silver mantle over the boulders beyond the yard. Shadows stark and black slashed across the moors, revealing dips and rills. A breeze rustled the grasses. In the distance a wolf howled.

  Iseabal shuddered, remembering how close she’d come to death.

  “Simon and other English knights had chased some reivers—Johnstones, I believe—across the Border at the behest of a minor English baron. Simon was injured and became separated from his men. Da forbade me to leave Eaglesmuir, warned me against the knights who wouldnae hesitate to pluck my innocence.” One corner of her lips twitched.

  “He wasnae wrong, lass,” Mary said. “Ye should have listened.”

  “I have a problem with obedience, it seems. I rough-housed with my brother rather than attend my sewing. He taught me to use a sling—which saved my life today.”

  “What happed to yer brother? Why did ye not seek his protection when yer da died?”

  “He drowned in the River Annan the summer I was fifteen. My sister had been sent to England to marry an English lord. My brother had always deflected the wors
t of Da’s temper. When he died, I was all alone.”

  Mary clucked her tongue in sympathy.

  “Walks across the moors helped put distance between me and Da. We fought less when we werenae in the same keep, so I invented reasons to be gone as much as possible. ’Twas easy to defy his order. ’Twould have been a mark of honor to capture an English knight—no matter his head had been coshed and he was near death by the time I found him.”

  “’Twas the charitable thing to save a man’s life,” Mary replied, clearly torn between hospitality and the story whose end she saw all too clearly.

  “A few days’ nursing care brought Simon around, though he suffered from a severe headache and blurred vision. I managed to convince him to remain in the abandoned croft a few days more—until his strength returned and I knew he could stay no longer.”

  The sough of the wind mesmerized Iseabal, her gaze drifting beyond the tiny yard and rough-built sheep fold. Beyond the hills and into the past.

  Dinnae leave me, Simon. Tears roughened her voice. He needed her. Appreciated her. He treated her with an easy respect, teased her in a manner that left her yearning for something she did not understand.

  Ye would not be happy with me, Iseabal. I am a warrior. My life is sworn to fighting.

  Then fight for me! For us! Unwitting or not, he had bound her to him. To lose him was unthinkable.

  Ye do not understand, my heart. I owe ye my life, and it destroys me to leave ye. Ye are beautiful, kind, and passionate. But my life is not my own to command.

  She’d thrown herself at him, certain he would succumb to whatever charms she could lay claim to. She vowed she’d do anything, anything at all to keep her English knight.

  Their lips met. He did not push her away, immediately meeting her fervor with his own. His arms wrapped about her without hesitation. Hungry glances, gentle touches, the tenderness of the past week overwhelmed by a soaring passion she’d never expected. The resulting fire had burned her, consumed her.