Rogue Knight (Medieval Warriors Book 2) (10 page)

“Well, I know where to find some berries for
Sigga to turn into tarts.”

“Tarts!” shouted Finna.

Ottar’s head lifted from where he was
crouched. “Tarts?”

Emma and Inga shared a laugh at the twins’
enthusiasm for the sweet treats.

Once Ottar learned of their plans, he was
persuaded to leave his frog for the promise of the sweet confection and a visit
to see the lambs.

Emma guided her small family to the place
where she had seen the red berries growing, Magnus bounding along beside them.

The day was once again golden.

* * *

“Sir Geoffroi!”

At the sound of the familiar voice, Geoff turned from where
he was speaking with his men in the bailey to see William Malet striding toward
him wearing a broad smile.

“You appear in a jovial mood, my lord sheriff.” Mayhap the
last few weeks had given Malet reason to believe his position was secure
notwithstanding William’s earlier displeasure. Geoff had to wonder why Malet
would care. He was a nobleman with both title and lands in Normandy; he did not
need more in England. But the king had given him manors and lands aplenty.
Mayhap his new lands in England meant more to the sheriff than his holdings in
Normandy.

“Indeed I am in a good mood. I have an invitation for you.
Might you be persuaded to join me and a few others for the evening meal?”

Geoff grinned. “If the event involves food, Malet, you know
I will be pleased to attend. I never miss a meal.”

“Aye, well, Gil is back from his expedition to Durham. ’Twas
a failure as we all suspected ’twould be.”

Geoff thought of Alain’s prediction that Gilbert’s foray
into the north would not go well. “”Twas likely lost from the beginning.”

“Gil tells me a dense fog he attributes to St. Cuthbert
cloaked the rebels and prevented his men from advancing.”

Geoff pondered the idea. “’Tis said Cuthbert protects that
city.”

The sheriff shrugged. “Mayhap you are right. The ways of the
saints are not for mortal man to understand. On a brighter note, FitzOsbern has
returned from Winchester as well and Gil has decided to hold a feast in the new
castle on Baille Hill before he opens it to the garrison.”

“The men could use of bit of celebration,” said Geoff.

“’Twill be only a small group. Gil has invited Helise and me
and FitzOsbern, but he also mentioned wanting you to be one of his guests.”

“Me?” Geoff would never have expected an invitation to join
what would be a feast for the Norman nobles in York.

“Aye, he thinks much of you and asked me to see to it. He’s
also invited Archbishop Ealdred, seeking to make amends, I presume.”

“Or, given the archbishop’s one time support for
Edgar
the Ætheling, it may be Gil wants to be certain Ealdred is with us. Our sire
trusts no Anglo-Saxon, not even a man of the Church.”

Malet seemed to ponder the suggestion. “I wonder if William
put a word in Gilbert’s ear before he left. But no matter, it should be a merry
group. It has been a long while since we have had a proper feast.”

Geoff gazed across the river to the new wooden structure
rising from a motte surrounded by a large bailey and palisade. “I did not
realize the new castle was completed.”

“’Tis finished, save a few final touches of the hammer.
William insisted on haste, you will recall. This evening will be a celebration
just for us. Gilbert has already moved in but tomorrow he opens it to the
others.”

“Will you move to the new castle?”

“Nay. Helise and the boys prefer to stay in the original
tower while we are here.”

Geoff briefly pondered what Emma might think of the new,
larger castle and, suddenly, he knew who he wanted by his side for the evening.
When he wasn’t with her, he was thinking about her. Whether she knew it or not,
whether she wanted it or not, Emma of York held his heart in her delicate hand.

“As long as your wife and the English archbishop will be
there, might I bring a lady of York as my guest?”

A frown formed on Malet’s face. Given the women who
frequented the hall—serving wenches and whores—Geoff understood.

“She is a very
proper
lady, Malet… a virtuous young
widow.”

“Ah. In that case, I am certain Gil will be pleased to
include her. Another citizen of York might put the archbishop at ease. Mayhap
he knows of her. And Helise would be delighted to have the company of another
woman. Yea, by all means, bring her. I will let Gil know to expect the two of
you.”

* * *

The enticing smell of berries baking in a crust with honey,
cinnamon, black pepper and cloves wafted through the air. It was all Emma could
do to keep the twins occupied for she had promised they could share the first
of the berry tarts when they were cool enough to eat.

Inga, tired from her morning of picking flowers with Finna,
was resting in their shared chamber above.

A knock sounded on the door

Reminding herself that Artur, who would normally greet
visitors, was grooming her horse, Emma wiped her hands on a cloth. “I will see
who has come.”

Sigga nodded and handed the first of the treats into the
twins’ open palms.

Magnus, held in rapt attention by the sight of the freshly
baked tarts disappearing into their mouths, whimpered.

Emma chuckled at the three of them and headed toward the
front door. Magnus was so fixed on the tarts he did not even notice her
departure.

She unlatched the door to see Sir Geoffroi standing there in
his knight’s hauberk. Wisely, she supposed, the Normans rarely left the castle
without the protection their chain mail afforded them. Since he wore no helm,
his blond locks were in full view like spun gold around his head and his blue
eyes were twinkling.

“My lady,” he said, bowing. When he straightened, there was
a grin on his face.

“You seem happy today.”

“I am rarely unhappy,” he replied.

“You speak the truth.” And he did, for he was ever cheerful.
It was one of the things she loved about him. And given he was a soldier,
engaged in gruesome endeavors, she considered it remarkable. Glancing behind
him, she saw no one. “Are you alone?”

“I am. I had an errand that required haste. I did not want
to wait for my men to break free from their swordplay.”

She opened the door wide. “Come in.”

“What is that heavenly smell?” he asked as he crossed the
threshold.

“Berry tarts. You will have to wrestle Ottar, Finna and
Magnus for one or wait to share one with me.”

He grinned and looked at her lips. “I will wait.”

They walked into the kitchen where three mouths stained with
berry juice greeted them.

Sir Geoffroi laughed at the sight.

“Sir Geoffroi!” the twins said at the same time, their words
muffled by the sweet treats that filled their mouths.

“We’ve plenty for all,” said Sigga with a nod to Sir
Geoffroi, as she handed him a tart.

“Did you make these, Sigga?” he asked. “They smell
delicious.”

“Thank you, Sir Geoffroi.” Then turning to Emma, “Will you
have one, Mistress?”

“Mayhap later, though they are very tempting, Sigga.”

Sir Geoffroi took a large bite, closed his eyes and moaned.
The sound was sensual to her ears. Did he make the same sound when he made
love? She watched him chewing slowly, savoring every bite. “Oh, my,” he said,
opening his eyes, his tongue running over his bottom lip. “’Tis food for
angels.”

Sigga looked pleased. “Artur likes them, too.” The servant
looked down at Magnus who was licking the berry juice from his mouth and
snatching any crumbs that fell to the floor. “And the hound.”

The knight laughed at the sight of Magnus begging for more
tart from Finna who could not say him nay but handed him a piece of her sweet.

Curious to know what had brought the knight to her door,
Emma could wait no longer to ask. “Why are you here, Sir Geoffroi? Surely you
did not bring us more meat? We have not even plucked the fowl you brought us
earlier.”

He swallowed and wiped his mouth on the cloth Sigga handed
him, then looked at Emma with a hint of uncertainty. “I have an invitation for
you.”

Thinking they might need to be private for this
conversation, she said, “Come, you can finish your tart at the table.”

Leaving the twins to their eating, they walked from the
kitchen to the table where the family dined, the knight carrying the remains of
his tart. Once they were seated, he licked the berry juice from his fingers
before speaking. “The new castellan, Gilbert de Ghent, is hosting a feast
tonight. I would ask you to attend as my guest.”

She was about to decline, when he held up a hand. “Do not
say nay until you hear who will be there. ’Tis a private meal. The castellan
has invited William FitzOsbern, the Earl of Hereford, William Malet, the
sheriff, Helise, his wife and Archbishop Ealdred. We will have the new hall to
ourselves. ’Twould mean much for Helise to have the company of another woman
with all the other guests being men.”

Emma let out a sigh, feeling her brow furrow. “Except for
the archbishop, ’tis a gathering of Normans. What place have I there?”

“You have a place of honor at my side, Emma. It would please
me much should you come. Will not you consider it?”

He had done so much for them—for Ottar, Feigr, Magnus and
her—and provided food when they were hungry. How could she deny him what was
obviously a matter of some importance? Her father would urge her to go, if only
to learn of the new castle and its bailey. But this latter thought was not why
she decided to accept his invitation. It was the look of hope on his face and
the way it cheered her heart to see it. She wanted to be with him, to bring him
joy. “I will do more than consider, sir knight. I will go, and gladly.”

* * *

Geoff came for Emma with Alain riding at his side. The Bear
would not attend the dinner with them, but Alain had asked to accompany Geoff
to her house, expressing his discomfort at Geoff’s riding alone through the
darkened streets of York. Mayhap Alain had the right of it for the looks Geoff
saw on the faces of the people reflected their continuing disdain.

The sun was already setting when the two of them arrived at
Emma’s door. Tied up in front of the house was a white mare.

“A worthy bit of horseflesh,” Alain remarked as he
dismounted and came around to stroke the horse’s neck.

Geoff slid from his horse and joined Alain to examine the
beautiful mare. “’Tis a woman’s saddle the horse bears. Emma of York is full of
surprises.”
A fine home and now a fine mare.

The front door opened, the servant Artur appearing as if
summoned.

“’Tis my lady’s mare, Thyra,” he called to them. “Is she not
a beauty?”

Like her mistress
, Geoff almost replied. At the sound
of its name, the horse lifted its head and nickered. “An intelligent one,”
Geoff said. The look in the horse’s eyes told him the mare was spirited.
Also
like her mistress.

Geoff and Alain walked the short distance to the open door.

Artur beckoned them to enter. “Please wait here,” he said,
leaving them by the hearth. “My wife tells me her mistress is almost ready.”

Geoff took off his gloves to warm his hands by the fire, his
thoughts still on the white mare. He had no idea Emma could ride or that she
had a horse, much less such a fine one. Mathieu had said nothing when he
returned from stabling their horses on their prior visits. Most often, Emma
walked in the city, like all the other citizens of York. Tonight, she would
ride but not in his lap. Though he was disappointed, he supposed it was proper
for a lady to have her own horse to travel to a feast.

Artur had referred to her as his “lady” and Geoff recalled
the servant had done so before. There was still much about her he did not know.
Whether she was highborn. Who her husband had been. Whose large shoes he had
seen. And whether she would look fondly upon a Norman knight who would pay her
court. He did not believe she still harbored hatred for him. Normans yes, but
not him, or Alain or Mathieu. She had made too many exceptions for them and had
shown them too many kindnesses. But did she feel more than gratitude for what
he had done?

While he and Alain waited, Geoff stole glances up the
stairs, anxious to see her. Minutes passed. Then, at the top of the stairs, he
caught a glimmer of green silk edged in gold thread, the kind of gown he might
have seen in London at William’s court. Slowly she descended the stairs, a
smile curving her lips. The gown dipped in front and fitted tightly against her
breasts and small waist. At her hips was a belt of green, black and gold
brocade. Never before had he seen her so richly attired. Tonight she appeared
like a Danish princess. Her pale hair, only partially covered by the headcloth,
hung in two long plaits down the front of her gown.

“My lady,” Geoff said, “You leave me without breath.”

Alain bowed as well but said nothing. Geoff was certain the
Bear had been rendered speechless in the face of Emma’s beauty so richly
adorned.

“You flatter me, Sir Geoffroi. But you must have known that
I could hardly wear a plain tunic to a feast for nobility.” Then in a teasing
manner, she added, “No matter they are French.”

“Not all of them,” he said. “There is the archbishop.”

“Thank God for that,” came her mumbled retort.

He chuckled.

Artur handed Geoff her cloak and he draped it over her
shoulders.

She fastened it with a round brooch of gold that looked
Danish in design, a dark red carnelian stone at its center with carving all
around. Facing Artur, she asked, “The others are fed?”