Joanna Davis - Knights In Shining Armor (4 page)

              Next Emeline led him to the diary where two pretty milk maids were caring for a row of placid cows. He could see why she'd been concerned about his soldiers with such fetching wench's about. He'd make sure the men stuck to their word though.

              She led him to the back of the castle and showed him the place where the few men left in the castle were painstakingly repairing a portion of the wall. It was a massive undertaking and according to Emeline, something that was a constant chore. The stones were frequently being adjusted and remortared.

              The next thing Emeline showed him was the ale house, where the hops were fermented and brewed. They also had a small winery, though much was bought through trade. Apparently the women at Fairhaven were quite adept with a loom and made uncommonly good cloth that they were able to take to market twice a year.

              He had to admit it, he was impressed. Each person had greeted her with the same unwavering courtesy and gratitude. It seems she ruled with an even hand and generosity. It didn't surprise him really. She's always had an open heart. She'd never been a typical stuffy noblewoman. In fact she'd utterly disregarded the rules of propriety when it suited her. How else would she have fallen for a young penniless soldier in his first year?

              He frowned at that thought. She had been well out of his reach when he'd first met her. Her father's house was nearby the fort where the soldiers trained. Of course, he'd seen her about. All the soldiers knew of the highborn beauty Lady Emeline. Yet she'd treated him graciously, even as an equal. She was probably just doing it to irk her parents, like the spoiled brat she was.

              A woman who looked like she did was accustomed to having her way after all.

              As they walked back toward the castle Rowan called one of his soldiers to the area where the animals were kept.

              "We'll need something for dinner. That goat will do."

              Emeline's eyes widened and she raised her hand toward him imploringly.

              "Oh- please- this is Bessie, our best goat. I raised her from a kid. She's a good girl and makes the sweetest milk."

              He narrowed his eyes at her. She had asked for nothing of him as yet, nothing about his decisions, nothing for herself. But she was arguing for a goat. He watched in annoyance as the plucky little animal trotted up to Emeline and nuzzled her hand entreatingly. There were tears in her eyes as her hand stroked the soft dappled fur.

              "Emeline. Enough. You may go inside now and prepare for dinner."

              She started to open her mouth to argue but he stopped her.

              "When is the last time you had a bath?"

              She looked utterly confused at his question. Any man standing in earshot would know why he was asking. But she had no idea, that was plain.

              "Yesterday morning."

              "Good. You'll take another bath before dinner. Go now. Oh and Emeline, do not gainsay me again."

              She closed her eyes and squeezed the animal one more time. He could tell she was crying when she walked away.

             
Crying over a goat?

              "She adores that silly creature."

              He looked up to see Peter standing nearby, leaning negligently against the fence that surrounded the animal pen. The man was watching him with ill concealed contempt in his eyes.

              "Lord knows she's had little kindness in her life. Be a shame to take even this from her."

              Rowan stared at the handsome guard. He wondered suddenly if she'd lain with him. Perhaps even while her husband was alive. He was a virile looking sort and her husband had been an old man. Peter doted on her clearly. Jealously started to bloom in his chest. Hot, white, jealousy.

              Peter just raised his eyebrows at him and walked away.

              "My
lord
."

**********

              Emeline took her bath and dressed in a dark crimson gown, pairing it with a gold cloth overskirt. She knew the gown was becoming on her but she didn't particularly care. She went through the motions of getting dressed mechanically, like a shadow. She twisted the top half of her hair back into a twist and secured it with heavy gold pins.

              She reached for her necklace and then remembered that it was no longer there. Perhaps she should wear some other piece of jewelry. No, she didn't want him to insist she remove it in the middle of dinner. She could just imagine him announcing that, like her, all her possessions now belonged to him. If she was to run away, she'd have need of the gems that had come to her on her marriage. She'd need all the help she could get.

              She stared at the tapestry she'd been working on for the past five years. It had brought her so much solace in the dark and lonely times. Because it had reminded her of
him
. That seemed beyond naive of her now. He's made no acknowledgement of the past, of everything she'd told him in the letters she'd sent. How could he be so cruel? It was as if she'd never know him at all. Certainly he didn't love her now, if he ever had.

             
Not all men are so cruel.

              She had to forcibly remind herself that she knew kind and honorable men such as Peter, or Braun, or many of the men who worked and lived at the castle. The Blacksmith for example, had cared for his ailing wife for almost twenty years before she'd passed away. He'd never had an unkind word for her.

              It was time to go downstairs for the evening meal but she kept delaying, dreading seeing the meat piled high on a platter.

              Her sweet Bessie.

              She felt her tears start to well thinking about her dear friend. She'd been such a weak little thing, they'd been about to put her out of her misery when Emeline had stopped them. She'd brought the kid into the tower with her and nursed her tenderly back to health. She knew she was being silly. That she'd just needed something to love. But the animal had turned out to be a Godsend. The little creature had turned out to have a lot of personality and spunk. Bessie was the one who had kept
her
alive in the end, Emeline was sure of it. The funny little goat even had a sense of humor, teasingly eating her long dark hair sometimes before kicking up her heels and scampering away.

              She forced her tears back. She'd cried all afternoon. Now she had to be strong. She wouldn't let him see how much he'd hurt her by ordering the slaughter of her friend. She'd save the rest of her tears for tonight, when she was safely alone in the tower.

**********

              Rowan was just starting to wonder if Emeline was deliberately late for dinner when she appeared. He felt the wind leave his sails at the sight of her. Her dark red dress reminded him so much of the ones she used to wear as a young girl. But her face was pale and wan. He'd tell her about that he'd spared her goat he decided. Then she would be grateful when he took her to his bed. She would sparkle like her old self again.

              She was quiet as they served wine and food. Kenneth and Wyeth tried to draw her into conversation but to no avail. Her answers were courteous but short, and did not encourage further discourse.

              He just watched her, waiting for an opportunity to tell her about her silly goat. He'd take her aside after dinner and tell her to go to his room and wait for him. Tonight, he'd have her in his arms. He let his mind wander, imagining the things he would do to her. He'd be gentle of course, but firm. She served him now and she would give him what he wanted. What he'd waited for all these long years.

              He felt his body responding to the delicious images floating in his mind's eye when they served the stew. It was hog meat with vegetables in a thick broth. It was impossible to discern what kind of meat it was. He saw Emeline stiffen and throw him an angry look.

              Clearly she assumed he had killed her goat. He could see plainly that there was no doubt in her mind. If she had so little faith in him perhaps he should prove her right. He could make a point about his position of total control over her as well. He narrowed his eyes as she stared stonily at the steaming bowl in front of her.

              "Aren't you hungry?"

              She darted a furious look at him before quickly looking away. There were two red spots on her cheeks. She was very pretty when she was angry. He decided to toy with her a bit. He tasted his stew, savoring it as if it was ambrosia.

              "Hmmmm… delicious. The kitchen servants do an excellent job. You've done well as Chateline here."

              She frowned, doing her best to ignore him.

              "That's why I've decided you will stay on here and continue in that task. Among others."

              She looked up at him. She looked absolutely miserable.

              "After all, I have no way of knowing if my future wife will be as capable. Perhaps she will prefer to leave the work to someone else. If not, you can train her. I'm sure we can find something for you to do."

              He couldn't see her hands but he'd wager a cart full of gold that they were balled up into tiny fists. She had the most delicate hands. It was good to see her feisty instead of acting like a wet rag or a statue.

              She sat there, practically vibrating with rage, as the meal continued around her. When a servant placed a platter of fresh bread in front of her, he dragged it away from her.

              "Lady Emeline is not hungry this evening."

              She looked at him in disbelief. She knew he was taunting her deliberately. He smacked his lips. The bread did smell delicious. Perhaps he'd bring some up to his chamber for her.

             
Their chamber.

              He was already thinking of it that way. He'd order her to share his chamber as well as his bed. Indefinitely. That way she would always be close at hand. He'd wake up to find her warm body in bed with him each morning. And if he woke up before morning… well, she'd have no choice but to appease his lust.

              "Are you finished staring at your plate Emeline?"

              She glanced up at him, a glimmer of hope in her eyes. Clearly she thought he was going to dismiss her so she could go up to her room and sulk in private.

              She was wrong.

              "Yes."

              He realized she had yet to call him 'my lord.' In fact, she hadn't called him anything at all since that first moment when she'd called him 'Rowan.' It annoyed him enough to make him want to make this as humiliating as possible for her.

              "Good. Then you will go up to my chamber and prepare yourself."

              She had an alarmed look on her face. He had her attention at last.

              "Prepare myself for what?"

              He smiled as if enjoying a private joke. In fact, he was imagining her writhing on the bed beneath him.

              "I've decided to have you."

              She was staring at him blankly, not understanding. He realized he would have to spell it out for her.

              "You will serve as my bedmate for as long as I see fit. You will sleep in my chamber until my bride arrives. After that we will put you someplace more discrete."

              He watched her face as his announcement sunk in. He could tell the exact moment when she realized exactly what he was saying. She looked horrified, hurt and… betrayed. Deeply and irrevocably betrayed. He almost wished he could snatch his words back out of the air, to tell her in private. Woo her with soft words and kisses… But this was more practical, expedient. Why waste time he could spend enjoying her? He felt his body tighten in anticipation.

              She lowered her head as the entire room seemed to hold it's breath.

              "Lady Emeline."

              She closed her eyes but didn't move.

             
"Go upstairs, undress and get in my bed. Now."

              Very slowly she turned and rose from the bench. She was moving as if she was made of glass. As if she was afraid she might break into a thousand pieces. She took a few steps toward the wall and put her hand against it for support. Then she straightened up and walked out of the Great Hall.

              "What in God's name did she do to deserve that?"

              He turned to see Wyeth staring at him in disgust. Kenneth was staring down at the table as if he couldn't bear to look at him. Rowan frowned.

              "You know nothing of what you speak of."

              "I know that you've shamed that beautiful girl in front of all these people."

              "That beautiful girl is a spoiled little bitch. She's spent most of her life spitting on people like us."

              That wasn't true. He was twisting things around to suit himself but he didn't particularly care. All that mattered was the end result.

              "Oh, so that's it. I suspected you knew her before we came here. She hurt your feelings, did she? If you opened your eyes you'd see that she's obviously carrying a torch for you. Though I can't imagine why after tonight."

              "Be silent old man and drink your ale."

              "I don't care to share a drink with such a cold hearted bastard."

              Wyeth stood and strode from the room toward the barracks. Kenneth sat there in silence for a few minutes before sheepishly rising to follow Wyeth. Only the lower ranked men remained to watch as Rowan downed his wine and stormed out of the room.