“It will only make ye angry and there is naught ye can do about it anyway.”
“Ilsabeth, I can stand here waiting for a verra long time.”
“Aye, I suspicion ye can,” she muttered and sighed. “He thinks I can give him a son.”
She winced as his grip on her hand tightened. Ilsabeth could see his fury tighten his face and darken his eyes. A part of her was very pleased by this sign of possessiveness, maybe even jealousy, but she knew it was a waste of their time. Henry could not reach her in this prison; he could only threaten her. Simon needed to use his anger and need to protect to capture his brother and put an end to the man’s evil games. The expression on Simon’s face told her that it was not going to be easy to get him to ignore Henry’s talk.
Simon took a deep breath and let it out slowly, easing the grip he had on Ilsabeth as well. For a moment all he had been able to think about was killing Henry. He had had to fight the urge to run right out into the town and try to find his mad brother and end his life. That would solve nothing. Planning was needed if he was to catch a villain as wiley and brutal as Henry and he could only plan well with his head clear.
He had to wonder if Henry had said such a thing knowing Ilsabeth would tell him. It would be the sort of thing Henry would do. It did not mean that Henry had lied, however. Ilsabeth would be the sort of woman Henry would want to take and, if the man had seen her strength and wit, he just might believe she was the type of woman who could give him a son.
“He will never touch ye,” he said.
Simon’s voice was hoarse and deep and Ilsabeth knew anger had a strong grip on him. “He cannae reach me here, Simon. I am safe and now the children are, too. Wheesht, ye are the only one still in danger. Henry hates ye, Simon. He said it was because of the way ye used to watch him with his own eyes, judging him. Henry doesnae think anyone has the right to judge him.”
Just as she had hoped it would, telling Simon why Henry claimed to hate him had tugged at that curious part of his mind enough to pull him free of the tight grip his anger had on him. The anger was still there, but it could now prove more of a strength than a weakness. Ilsabeth realized that she needed Henry gone for more reasons than his threat against the king, against her and her loved ones. She needed him dead so that Simon could shake free of the past, of all that pain that roused such fury inside him whenever Henry drew too near.
“If I watched him too much it was just to ken when it was time to run or when to get my brothers out of Henry’s way.” Simon shook his head. “And a mon needs a guilty conscience to fret o’er being judged for who he is or what he has done. I wouldnae have believed Henry could feel guilty about anything he has done.”
“The mon is mad, Simon. The mad probably only make sense to themselves at times.” She reached through the bars to stroke his cheek. “Get him, Simon, and worry o’er why he is what he is, later. Stop him now.”
He kissed her palm, released her hand and left, searching out the guard. The anger that had swept over him when Ilsabeth had told him what Henry had said was leashed now, but not gone. Simon knew he had to stop allowing what Henry did or said to enrage him so. That rage came from old wounds, from the fact that Henry was the one responsible for Simon’s loss of a true family, for the man had driven away everyone close to them, or killed them. It was time to pull free of that past and deal with the traitorous game Henry played now.
The guard was quick to understand the threat posed by the ability of men to come and go from the bowels of the keep unnoticed and unguarded. In a short time there were guards, soldiers, and some of Simon’s men searching every prison cell, every wall, and every twist and turn of the labyrinth below the keep. Simon worked with Gowan, planning a way to set a trap for Henry and Walter once they found the way the men were secretly slipping inside.
Ilsabeth watched the men searching and waited patiently for a cry of discovery. When it came she breathed a sigh of relief. There would be no more visits from Henry. She knew it was important for the safety of the king, but that did little to dim the pure selfishness of her relief. Henry terrified her.
She smiled when Simon appeared at her cell door. “Ye found it.”
“Aye, and ‘tis because of ye that we e’en kenned a need to look,” he said. “ ‘Tis an old bolt-hole. It was sealed and they did their best to make it look as if it still was. It was Gowan who felt the slight movement of air where there should have been none. We are setting a trap now.”
“Ye think they will come back?”
He heard the fear in her voice and reached through the bars to take her hands in his. “Aye. Once my head cleared of my anger at Henry, I recalled that Walter also had a reason to see ye here. He still wants ye to run to France, aye?”
Ilsabeth grimaced and felt herself blush. “Aye. I confess, Simon; I angered both men with my sharp tongue. I dinnae think Walter kens Henry’s plans for me, either.”
“We are close to ending this, Ilsabeth. Verra close. And then ye willnae have to fear either mon again.”
Ilsabeth hoped he was right. She was tired of being afraid. Part of her saw it as a weakness but she knew that was foolish. She had good reason to be afraid and it would keep her wary and alert.
“I pray ye are right, Simon, but dinnae let concern o’er me take up too much of your thoughts. I am safe here and weel ye ken it. Go and finish this.”
It was a little awkward but Simon gave her a kiss through the bars and then walked away. There were plans to be made. He intended to make more than the one plan to capture Henry and Walter as they tried to sneak back inside through the old bolt-hole. Simon knew that, no matter how good their trap was, how well it was set, there was a chance the men they wanted could escape. He wanted to be absolutely certain that there was a second plan ready to be set in motion immediately.
Simon cursed long and viciously as he looked around at the dead and wounded men, most of them Walter and Henry’s men. He recognized a few men from Lochancorrie. Many of the others looked like men who wielded their swords for anyone with coin enough to pay for their skill. Two days of planning and lying in wait and all they had were the soldiers hired or coerced by the traitors.
“More of your clan?” asked Gowan, studying the six battered men huddled together against a wall.
“Aye. I suspect they are more men like that lad Wallace I told ye about, who did such a poor job of trailing after the children. I will talk to them but they have all probably been forced into this in the same way Wallace was. None of them put up much of fight, did they?”
“Nay, although ye think they would fight rather than get caught and chance being tried and excuted as traitors. That would scare many a mon into fighting to the death.”
“Henry probably scares them more. This way he will be thinking they were killed here and, if Henry holds a sword at the throat of their loved ones, it might ease now. Or that is how they will think. I dinnae think many of those at Lochancorrie believe anyone can do anything to rid them of Henry.”
“Weel, I will leave ye to decide what to do with them.”
“Thank ye. I will speak with them.”
