Hooked. Betina Krahn

of it.”

      “You will have nothing to report.” Simon could not quite hide the disgust in his tone, nor could he keep it from his eyes. Quickly he turned and left the man who was now his father-by-marriage. For the moment.

      As he rode to the inn Simon realized that perhaps this circumstance could be used for good purpose. Perhaps he could discover something that would aid them in their quest to see Gerard Kelsey robbed of all he had stolen.

      Isabelle moved quickly to her waiting mare. She was earlier than her father had commanded but she was eager to leave this place of intrigue and unhappiness.

      The task of being ever on her guard, of never showing a hint of emotion was just too difficult to maintain. At least at Dragonwick she had those moments when she was alone in her chamber to let go of her rigid self-control.

      Surreptitiously, her gaze swept the mounted men. There was no sign of her new husband.

      Husband. The word seemed strange. The ceremony had been accomplished so quickly and with so little fanfare that it seemed completely unreal. At no point had the baron so much as touched her. Then her father had dismissed her, informing her that she was to make ready for the return to Dragonwick within the hour.

      Even as she told herself she had no real interest in Simon Warleigh, he came galloping through the castle gate. She could not help noting that he rode his enormous chestnut stallion as if he were one with it. His straight thick hair was drawn back by the wind of his passage, leaving those well sculpted, masculine features bared to her lingering gaze. He looked handsome, strong and untamed.

      Her heart thudded in her chest.

      Quickly she busied herself with getting fully settled in the saddle. Isabelle was determined to set her attention on the ride ahead. She loved riding, lest it involved hunting. She cast a quick glance at her father.

      Her father called out, “Where is my horse?” An expression of impatience had replaced the one that had told her he had been congratulating himself on his ability to control everything and everyone around him.

      For a moment, watching him, she could almost feel sympathy toward her newly wedded husband. That emotion was quickly dismissed as her gaze went to Warleigh’s face. There was no mistaking the pride and arrogance she saw there, the confidence. Again she was reminded that her hope of eventually gaining the ear of a pliant husband would never come to pass. The man was nothing more than her father’s prisoner and yet he retained this prideful stance.

      She could not help wondering from whence his self-confidence came. She had always admired strength.

      It was a quality she knew her father lacked, for all his ability to control others. If he had not wrought such misery and pain by his actions she would have felt pity for him. She felt her lips twist wryly. God help her, she did pity him still. Yet she could not allow herself to display it in any way for he would simply use it against her. As he had always used the weakness of others against them.

      That she was his own daughter had no bearing on his behavior. He had no loyalty greater than that toward his own power and greed.

      Isabelle found her gaze going back to her husband. He seemed to have no fear of facing her father. Yet that was no good to her, for he clearly felt nothing but resentment toward her for her part in his imprisonment.

      Then the sound of pounding hooves drew her gaze back to the gate as two more riders came galloping into the bailey. One was quite young, perhaps thirteen or fourteen years of age, with a thatch of unruly blond hair and strong features that were too large for his face. The other was an older man, wide shouldered, gray haired and steady of regard, his bearing and accoutrements marking him a knight. They rode directly to Simon Warleigh and halted.

      The knight spoke to Simon Warleigh, “My lord, we are at your disposal.”

      Warleigh scowled, his wide brow creasing. “I appreciate your sense of duty, Sir Edmund, but I do not require your service at the moment, else I would not have informed you that you were to return to Avington.”

      The knight raised his head high as he held his overlord’s gaze. “Aye, my lord. But there were others who agreed that it would be best if we were to accompany you.”

      Isabelle watched as her husband took a deep breath before replying. “I say again, I do not require your attendance.” His gaze flicked to the young rider, who, from the look of him must be a squire. “You must take Wylie home to Avington.”

      The older man frowned, “But, my lord—”

      Her father’s voice interrupted. “This will not serve.” He made a sweeping motion. “You may not accompany us.”

      They ignored him, continuing to look to their overlord with genuine concern, even love. Isabelle was amazed by loyalty that seemed to have no basis in fear.

      The boy, whom Warleigh had called Wylie, cried, “My lord, we can not go off and leave you to…” His angry gaze raked the assembled company.

      His patience obviously at an end, Isabelle’s father motioned to his men. “Remove them from the bailey.” Two of them moved forward to take hold of the reins of the man and boy who voiced such concern for their master.

      The lad resisted, making his horse dance away from the reaching hands.

      Simon Warleigh again told his men, “Go in peace. Have no concern for me. I will be well.”

      Her father laughed coldly. “Nicely said, Warleigh, but you really have no say in this. Take them.”

      Seeing the way her father was enjoying this display of power Isabelle felt an unexpected sense of rebellion. She had no connection to Simon Warleigh, no reason to set aside her accustomed mask of disregard. Yet it was her own voice that said, “Pray let them come, Father. You are most equal to the task of keeping them at heel.”

      Her father seemed surprised that she would concern herself with such a matter. But he nodded thoughtfully. “Aye, you advise me well, daughter.” His superior gaze then swept the men. “I would not wish for them to think I fear their ability to free their master from my guardianship.”

      Simon Warleigh, her husband, cast her a glance that was at first surprised and then puzzled. But his puzzlement was quickly masked behind an unreadable expression.

      Again she noted that Warleigh’s men had made no visible reaction to her and her father’s conversation. Their attention was all for Simon, who said, “You may accompany me but you—” he looked to the boy “—will remember yourself and do nothing but what you are instructed to do, lest I send you home.”

      The boy nodded.

      Her father said, “You must first consult me before giving any order, even that of sending your men away from Dragonwick. I must answer to the king for your actions.”

      Simon eyed him closely. “As you will, my lord. I will certainly consult you before giving such orders. My instructing my squire against foolhardy behavior should certainly come under close scrutiny.”

      Isabelle had to restrain a smile at the look of shocked displeasure in her father’s face. Once more she was surprised at her reaction to the man’s open defiance of her father. It was admirable, but completely mad. Gerard Kelsey always succeeded in getting what he wanted.

      Had he not succeeded in seeing Simon Warleigh placed beneath his very thumb? Not that she doubted her husband deserved it. From what she had heard in the king’s chamber it appeared he had been caught plotting against the crown.

      Whatever madness had prodded her to interfere between him and her father was now overcome. She had no interest in Warleigh. Her hope of attaining some influence with her husband was dead. Her hope to have a son whom she could love was not.

      She chose not to dwell on accomplishing that deed. Somehow she would find the courage when the time came. Any hardship could be faced in order to see her goal of having a son realized.

      But when would it happen? When would she and…

      No