“May the angels pity her for it,” Simon retorted. “What protection can I offer anyone, Orlando, whether I like them or not?”
“Who can tell?” the dwarf shot back. “You said yourself, you do not know what threatens this girl, what she fears. Your curse may make you her perfect guardian—the Black Knight, she called you? I call that apt indeed.”
“Maybe,” Simon allowed, getting up to put away his scroll, but suddenly Orlando grabbed his arm.
“You cannot swear yourself to this woman, warrior,” Orlando insisted, sounding urgent, almost fearful. “You cannot do evil to save her, no matter what her need might be.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Simon laughed, trying to pull free, but the wizard would not let him go. “What evil could she want? She is barely more than a child, an innocent—”
“An innocent who asked you if you would kill for her, or have you forgotten already?” his mentor cut him off. “And you told her that you could. Something has passed between you already, innocent or not.” His grip tightened on Simon’s arm. “It may be no more than that, her very innocence, or her pretty face, but already she has laid claim to some part of your loyalty. Did you not hear how quick you were to defend her when I called her a silly girl?”
“That was nothing,” Simon protested.
“Was it?” Orlando replied. “Even if she wants no more than to have a noble cousin in her castle, she could still distract you from your quest, make you forget why it is you have come here and what you hope to find.”
“Not likely.” Simon broke free at last. “Do you think I could forget for one moment what I am, Orlando? Do you not think it preys upon me every moment I am with this woman?”
“I do,” Orlando nodded. “But what if what you are is what she needs? And what if that need should oppose your own need for the Chalice?”
“How could it?”
“Who knows?” The dwarf looked tired suddenly, and older than he had ever seemed before. “I have seen too much, warrior; I know how fate can play tricks. We have come here for a reason, but I fear what other forces may be waiting here as well, what other ends we may be brought to.”
“You worry too much, old man,” Simon said, laying a hand on his shoulder. “Just because Lady Isabel wants my protection doesn’t mean I intend to let her have it—I can’t. I told her I could kill, but I never promised I would kill for her, nor will I. I cannot swear myself to her; I am already sworn. My choices are already made.”
“Are you certain?” Orlando asked. “Can you give your solemn promise? I ask not only for your sake, but for Roxanna—”
“Pardon me, my lord.” A serving wench was peering around the door. “My lady is coming downstairs in a moment, and I wondered if you would have us bring you some breakfast.” She looked Simon up and down, a kittenish smile barely curling the corners of her pretty mouth. “Your room is already prepared.”
“No,” Simon answered. “No breakfast.” The chit had come upon them so suddenly, he felt a little dizzy, her heartbeat like thunder for a moment in his ears before he grew accustomed to her presence. He had not fed since the brigands at the church; he should not risk being near any living creature until he fed again.
“Tell Lady Isabel I will wait upon my master,” Orlando said. “She need not trouble herself.” His expression turned stern. “Or send you back ever again.”
The girl’s smile disappeared. “As you will,” she nodded, obviously miffed. “My lady will be here soon.” Bobbing a curtsey to Simon, she swept from the room in a huff.
“I don’t think I should see Isabel,” Simon said when she had gone. The girl’s scent still hung in the air, maddening and delicious, and he struggled to shut it out.
“Nor do I,” Orlando agreed. “Go and see this room of yours; I shall tell her you’re already sleeping.”
“Yes.” He nodded. But in truth he felt disappointed. He wanted to see his pretended cousin; if he were honest, he would admit he had been looking forward to it all night. But that in itself was dangerous. He shouldn’t care to see her, shouldn’t be thinking of her at all. Could Orlando be right? Could Isabel truly distract him from his quest? “Orlando, I promise,” he said, pausing at the door. “Whatever may happen, I will not abandon the Chalice.”
Isabel passed Susannah coming up the stairs as she was going down. “What’s the matter?” she asked, laughing at the sour look on the other’s girl’s usually pleasant face.
“Your kinsman is a beauty, my lady,” the serving maid answered. “But that little monster with him can go hang.”
“You’d do better to leave both of them in peace,” Isabel advised. Susannah was the castle’s most notorious flirt; heaven only knew what damage she could do to Simon and his penitence, given free rein. “How did you come here? I didn’t see you in the hall.”
“I came from outside, through the cellar door,” she answered. “I was in the garden, and I suddenly thought perhaps your guests would want me to fetch their breakfast.”
“I take it they did not,” Isabel said, trying to keep a stern face. “Is Sir Simon’s room prepared?”
“Yes, my lady.” Properly abashed, the girl bobbed a curtsey and hurried away up the stairs.
The little storeroom was still more a burrow than a proper nobleman’s chamber, but it looked much more cozy than it had the night before. Two beds had been carried downstairs in pieces and reassembled, one large and one small, and a pair of chests covered with thick carpets would serve well enough for seating and for storage. The damp earth walls had been hung with plain blue wool on every side, and another, fancier tapestry depicting the golden oak of Charmot on a field of red had been hung over the larger bed. Fresh torches had been mounted in each corner, and a candle stood waiting on a small table beside the larger bed. Someone had even laid out fresh clothes for Simon, a plain black tunic and hose that had once belonged to her father with a clean white shirt for underneath.
She picked up the tunic, remembering the last time her father had worn it as clearly as she remembered coming down the stairs that morning. She pressed her face to its soft folds, breathing deeply as if she might still catch a whiff of his scent. How many times had she pressed her cheek to this tunic and felt his arms close around her, making her feel safe? How had she lasted so long, knowing she would never feel that way again?
Simon stood in the doorway watching. The room was fine, the best he’d had for shelter in quite some time. But it wasn’t the room that held him silent and entranced. He had meant to avoid Isabel completely until he had rested and fed, but now that he saw her, he couldn’t imagine he could ever look away.