great hulking beast next to her petite form. Though her
garments lacked the extravagance of her sister-in-law’s, an aura of femininity
surrounded her. How had he ever mistaken her for a boy? She was all that
was woman.
Donovan
wasn’t clear why he was including her but he didn’t feel comfortable leaving
her behind with Syllba. He didn’t know what his course of action was to be so
he wasn’t sure how to reassure her. He just knew he was going to see to her
safety. Simon would not use her as whipping boy when Donovan was through with
him.
Donoban
was much more comfortable in the heat of battle.
He
gave a quick nod to Carstairs before entering the corridor leading to what
should be the hub of a well-cared-for estate. Two of his lieutenants would take
their places outside the closed door. No one would go in or out unless Donovan
deemed it so.
During
his earlier meeting with Porter, Donovan had noticed a fire had not burned in
the hearth in months. Even though Porter did much of the tallying the accounts
in this room, a fire was not prepared for his ease—another example of Simon
caring naught, unless it had to do with his own personal comfort. He found
Simon already sat in the chair behind the worktable as if he used the room
every day. Donovan doubted if the man knew where even half of the documents
concerning the operation of the manor were located.
Donovan
released his hold on Isabeau to close the big wood and iron door behind them.
He paced to the window, letting Simon keep his seat. He took inthe
limited view of the inner bailey before turning back to the room; staring at
Simon just long enough to make the other man fidget.
His
hands gripped behind his back, Donovan addressed Simon as if he were addressing
a legion of troops. “I had planned to make an extensive inspection of all my
properties; to take the time to introduce and reacquaint myself to my people.
My agenda has undergone a major alteration. I will be returning to Bennington
on the morrow.” He kept his haze on Simon but he felt Lady Isabeau’s surprise
match his own when he added, “Your sister will be a part of my entourage.”
But in what capacity? For what reason? To be safe from her brother’s
retribution?
Simon
stood so quickly he knocked the chair to the floor. “No, I won’t allow it!”
“ You won’t allow it?” Donovan arched an eyebrow. Had the man no sense? He’d already,
before men of both Olivet and Bennington, almost defied the man he should honor
with his allegiance.
Simon
changed his defiant stance to one a bit more submissive. “I wish my dear sister
to remain here,” he protested.
As
Donovan continued to stare at him, Simon finally offered an explanation. “I
have negotiated nuptials between Isabeau and Lord Kirney.” He held out his
hands, as if there were nothing to be done about the situation.
“No,”
Isabeau gasped, conveying anguish and revulsion. As hushed as the cry, the
single word captured Donovan’s full attention. Candlelight danced in her
glistening eyes. Her posture unmoving, her stance poised as a hart’s caught in
the stare of a wolf—wanting to flee but unable to move.
Does she see me as a predator hungry for her soft
throat?
Yet,
he could see her questions and fears mingling with a possible glimmer of hope.
Do
I have and answers for her?
She
fisted her hands at her sides until her knuckles turned white. Then she took a
deep breath and stretched out her fingers. She reached out to him as he pivoted
back towards Simon.
“And
I suppose the terms are—generous?” Donovan asked. He made the questions seem
casual, but Isabeau must have sensed a deeper meaning because she moved closer.
“My
lord?” Simon queried, straightening his posture only minutely.
Donovan
nailed Simon with a penetrating stare. “What are the specific terms you have
worked so hard to negotiate?” Simon must have finally realized the gravity of
his surly behavior. He swallowed
garments lacked the extravagance of her sister-in-law’s, an aura of femininity
surrounded her. How had he ever mistaken her for a boy? She was all that
was woman.
Donovan
wasn’t clear why he was including her but he didn’t feel comfortable leaving
her behind with Syllba. He didn’t know what his course of action was to be so
he wasn’t sure how to reassure her. He just knew he was going to see to her
safety. Simon would not use her as whipping boy when Donovan was through with
him.
Donoban
was much more comfortable in the heat of battle.
He
gave a quick nod to Carstairs before entering the corridor leading to what
should be the hub of a well-cared-for estate. Two of his lieutenants would take
their places outside the closed door. No one would go in or out unless Donovan
deemed it so.
During
his earlier meeting with Porter, Donovan had noticed a fire had not burned in
the hearth in months. Even though Porter did much of the tallying the accounts
in this room, a fire was not prepared for his ease—another example of Simon
caring naught, unless it had to do with his own personal comfort. He found
Simon already sat in the chair behind the worktable as if he used the room
every day. Donovan doubted if the man knew where even half of the documents
concerning the operation of the manor were located.
Donovan
released his hold on Isabeau to close the big wood and iron door behind them.
He paced to the window, letting Simon keep his seat. He took inthe
limited view of the inner bailey before turning back to the room; staring at
Simon just long enough to make the other man fidget.
His
hands gripped behind his back, Donovan addressed Simon as if he were addressing
a legion of troops. “I had planned to make an extensive inspection of all my
properties; to take the time to introduce and reacquaint myself to my people.
My agenda has undergone a major alteration. I will be returning to Bennington
on the morrow.” He kept his haze on Simon but he felt Lady Isabeau’s surprise
match his own when he added, “Your sister will be a part of my entourage.”
But in what capacity? For what reason? To be safe from her brother’s
retribution?
Simon
stood so quickly he knocked the chair to the floor. “No, I won’t allow it!”
“ You won’t allow it?” Donovan arched an eyebrow. Had the man no sense? He’d already,
before men of both Olivet and Bennington, almost defied the man he should honor
with his allegiance.
Simon
changed his defiant stance to one a bit more submissive. “I wish my dear sister
to remain here,” he protested.
As
Donovan continued to stare at him, Simon finally offered an explanation. “I
have negotiated nuptials between Isabeau and Lord Kirney.” He held out his
hands, as if there were nothing to be done about the situation.
“No,”
Isabeau gasped, conveying anguish and revulsion. As hushed as the cry, the
single word captured Donovan’s full attention. Candlelight danced in her
glistening eyes. Her posture unmoving, her stance poised as a hart’s caught in
the stare of a wolf—wanting to flee but unable to move.
Does she see me as a predator hungry for her soft
throat?
Yet,
he could see her questions and fears mingling with a possible glimmer of hope.
Do
I have and answers for her?
She
fisted her hands at her sides until her knuckles turned white. Then she took a
deep breath and stretched out her fingers. She reached out to him as he pivoted
back towards Simon.
“And
I suppose the terms are—generous?” Donovan asked. He made the questions seem
casual, but Isabeau must have sensed a deeper meaning because she moved closer.
“My
lord?” Simon queried, straightening his posture only minutely.
Donovan
nailed Simon with a penetrating stare. “What are the specific terms you have
worked so hard to negotiate?” Simon must have finally realized the gravity of
his surly behavior. He swallowed
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