visibly before attempting to mask his
trepidation with an ingratiating smile. The smirk immediately warned Donovan
that the other man was scheming. Simon waved a casual hand towards his sister.
“My father provided an acceptable dowry for Isabeau. Along with her bloodlines,
the baron is quite happy with the arrangement.”
Donovan
leaned forward to within an arms length of Simon.
“And
her dowry includes—what? Jewelry? Gold? Land?”
Simon’s
light blue eyes took on a calculating gleam. “Gold.”
Only gold?
What
game did the man play?
“You
didn’t think to bring the matter to my attention? Perhaps I, or the king, have
other plans for your sister. I assume no contracts have been signed? ” Donovan
made the words more statement than question.
Simon
answered slowly, as if debating his chances. “Nay, my lord.”
“ ’Tis most fortunate for you, Olivet.” Donovan
nodded in curt approval. “That two barons should fail to secure the permission
of their liege lord for this transaction is a grave matter.” He intended his
voice carry the tone of a bailiff declaring the sentence before the
executioner.
Isabeau
took two steps forward. She put a beseeching hand on Donovan’s forearm. Her
eyes pleaded for mercy, her voice held a faint croak though she kept a delicate
dignity. “Please. Not Lord Kirney. He—hurt the daughter of our gamekeeper.
She’s only twelve and he—he— They won’t tell me what he
did to her and she can no longer speak to tell of it.”
Donovan
rested his hand atop hers. He gave her fingers a gentle squeeze of silent
assurance. As if Isabeau had not interrupted, he turned to Simon to continue
his questioning. “What happened to Lady Eveana’s jewels?”
Obviously,
neither of the siblings had expected this turn of questions. Isabeau stiffened.
“What has my mother to do with this?”
Simon
merely stared through his lashes as if hiding his calculations.
“Well?”
Donovan prompted.
“The
jewels of my father’s—second wife were pretty but of little value. He sold them
several years ago.”
Donovan
took a deep breath and let it out slowly and loudly. “Olivet, would it surprise
you to know that your father sent my Bennington steward a copy of his last
will? The document was interesting reading; quite specific about the
disposal and disposition of certain items. Were these items mentioned in
the negotiations with Kirney?”
“Towards
the end, my father was not in full control of his wits. He was weak in mind and
body.”
“How
could you say that?” Isabeau practically stomped her slippered foot in her
outrage, her voice thick with tears and anger. “Papa was totally aware of
everything—even on his deathbed. The pain gripped him like the talons of a
dragon yet he refused the opiate tincture the healer prepared. He didn’t wish
his faculties fogged.”
“Didn’t
he?” Donovan wondered aloud. “Why would he be so determined? Did he think you
would not abide by his wishes?” He stared hard at Simon. “Again, Olivet, I ask
you. What of the items that are to go to Lady Isabeau?”
Isabeau
sucked in a breath. “What items?”
Donovan
flattened his lips in a parody of a smile. He wondered if Simon would choose to
be truthful or brazen out his perfidy. He also wondered if he should warn the
man to choose wisely because his very lifestyle—if not his life—depended upon
it.
Simon
licked his lips and hitched up his chin. His posture still carried the weight
of insolence as he sidled over to the tapestry covering the wall next to the
hearth. He swung the thick cloth to one side and tugged a stone from the corner
made by the wall and hearth. Pulling a dusty but well-filled leather bag from
the nook, Simon turned to place his bounty on the table.
For
a long moment, silence held court as Donovan absorbed Isabeau’s astonishment
and Simon’s resentment. Not until Simon began to fidget did Donovan cross to
the wooden door—a strong barricade against
trepidation with an ingratiating smile. The smirk immediately warned Donovan
that the other man was scheming. Simon waved a casual hand towards his sister.
“My father provided an acceptable dowry for Isabeau. Along with her bloodlines,
the baron is quite happy with the arrangement.”
Donovan
leaned forward to within an arms length of Simon.
“And
her dowry includes—what? Jewelry? Gold? Land?”
Simon’s
light blue eyes took on a calculating gleam. “Gold.”
Only gold?
What
game did the man play?
“You
didn’t think to bring the matter to my attention? Perhaps I, or the king, have
other plans for your sister. I assume no contracts have been signed? ” Donovan
made the words more statement than question.
Simon
answered slowly, as if debating his chances. “Nay, my lord.”
“ ’Tis most fortunate for you, Olivet.” Donovan
nodded in curt approval. “That two barons should fail to secure the permission
of their liege lord for this transaction is a grave matter.” He intended his
voice carry the tone of a bailiff declaring the sentence before the
executioner.
Isabeau
took two steps forward. She put a beseeching hand on Donovan’s forearm. Her
eyes pleaded for mercy, her voice held a faint croak though she kept a delicate
dignity. “Please. Not Lord Kirney. He—hurt the daughter of our gamekeeper.
She’s only twelve and he—he— They won’t tell me what he
did to her and she can no longer speak to tell of it.”
Donovan
rested his hand atop hers. He gave her fingers a gentle squeeze of silent
assurance. As if Isabeau had not interrupted, he turned to Simon to continue
his questioning. “What happened to Lady Eveana’s jewels?”
Obviously,
neither of the siblings had expected this turn of questions. Isabeau stiffened.
“What has my mother to do with this?”
Simon
merely stared through his lashes as if hiding his calculations.
“Well?”
Donovan prompted.
“The
jewels of my father’s—second wife were pretty but of little value. He sold them
several years ago.”
Donovan
took a deep breath and let it out slowly and loudly. “Olivet, would it surprise
you to know that your father sent my Bennington steward a copy of his last
will? The document was interesting reading; quite specific about the
disposal and disposition of certain items. Were these items mentioned in
the negotiations with Kirney?”
“Towards
the end, my father was not in full control of his wits. He was weak in mind and
body.”
“How
could you say that?” Isabeau practically stomped her slippered foot in her
outrage, her voice thick with tears and anger. “Papa was totally aware of
everything—even on his deathbed. The pain gripped him like the talons of a
dragon yet he refused the opiate tincture the healer prepared. He didn’t wish
his faculties fogged.”
“Didn’t
he?” Donovan wondered aloud. “Why would he be so determined? Did he think you
would not abide by his wishes?” He stared hard at Simon. “Again, Olivet, I ask
you. What of the items that are to go to Lady Isabeau?”
Isabeau
sucked in a breath. “What items?”
Donovan
flattened his lips in a parody of a smile. He wondered if Simon would choose to
be truthful or brazen out his perfidy. He also wondered if he should warn the
man to choose wisely because his very lifestyle—if not his life—depended upon
it.
Simon
licked his lips and hitched up his chin. His posture still carried the weight
of insolence as he sidled over to the tapestry covering the wall next to the
hearth. He swung the thick cloth to one side and tugged a stone from the corner
made by the wall and hearth. Pulling a dusty but well-filled leather bag from
the nook, Simon turned to place his bounty on the table.
For
a long moment, silence held court as Donovan absorbed Isabeau’s astonishment
and Simon’s resentment. Not until Simon began to fidget did Donovan cross to
the wooden door—a strong barricade against
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