Rogue Knight (Medieval Warriors Book 2) (13 page)

She was gratified to see Sir Alain stood some distance away
on the other side of Sir Geoffroi’s stallion, his back to them. “Thank you for
protecting my reputation, though I am certain my neighbors already wonder at my
behavior.”

“I hope they do not cause you concern.”

“Nay.” She would not change what she had done no matter her
neighbors disapproved. She had enjoyed her evening with Sir Geoffroi.

“When are you to meet with Helise Malet to plan the garden?”

“Two days hence.”

“If I can, I will be there to bid you welcome.”

* * *

The next day, kneeling in her own garden, Emma loosened the
dirt around the young plants that had risen from the soil. The smell of the
herbs and the rich, tilled earth reminded her of the summer harvest that would
come.

The garden was nestled behind the kitchen and surrounded by
a reed fence some distance from the stable at the rear of her home. While not
nearly the scale of the one her family had cultivated in Lincolnshire, it was
of sufficient size that they always had more than enough to share with others.
Cabbage, leeks, turnips and kale were among the vegetables she planted, along
with herbs for cooking—parsley, sage, chives and dill—and those for healing,
like betony and chamomile. She planted flowers, too, both for eating and for
healing, though not many. Her small garden did not allow for all she would have
liked, but there was always enough.

A shadow fell over the plant she was weeding. She sat back
on her heels and lifted her hand to shield her eyes from the sun.

Sigga stood over her, a worried expression on her face. “Mistress,
I am concerned about Inga.”

Emma set aside her tools and rose, dusting off the tunic she
usually wore to dig in the earth. “Why?”

“These past few days she has spewed up her morning meal.”

“She is unwell?” Inga had seemed so much happier in recent days.
Emma had begun to believe the young woman would be able to look forward to her
future.

“No, I do not think she is sick.” Sigga hesitated, wringing
her hands, as if reluctant to say more.

“What, then?” Emma waited for her servant to speak. Whatever
she had to say was obviously causing her pain.

“I believe she is with child.”

“Oh, no.” Emma’s heart sank. She had hoped there would be no
child from the rape, no lasting reminder of that night. Her own courses were so
erratic she did not note Inga missing one, but she had not inquired. Perhaps
she had not let herself consider she might be wrong in her assumption all was
well. “If what you believe is true, this changes everything.”

“Aye, Mistress. And just now she ran from the house. When I
shouted after her, asking where she was going, she said only ‘the old tower’.”

Emma inhaled sharply.

Sigga said, “Might she go to confront the knight who is
responsible?”

“Nay,” she said, rising from the ground. “Inga would not
want to see him again.” Suddenly a thought came to Emma, one so horrible it
made her heart speed in panic. “Sigga, the square tower the Normans first built
is the highest point in the city, save for the Minster. I pray she does not
plan what I fear.”

“What?” inquired a concerned Sigga.

“The shame she feels may have impelled her to want to take
her own life. I think she means to cast herself down from the ramparts.”

Sigga crossed herself. “God and all the angels, no.”

Emma raced into the house, Sigga following on her heels. “I
must stop her.”

“But you will not be admitted to the Norman castle,”
cautioned the servant. “Neither will Inga.”

Reaching the door, Emma grabbed her cloak from the peg. “She
has only to persuade them she is a new servant and they will let her in. They
did me when I went to see Sir Geoffroi. Keep watch over the twins and do not
let Magnus leave. He would only draw unwanted attention and no servant would
travel with a hound.”

She ran out the door. Once in the street, her gaze searched
for Inga but all she saw were people going about their business. It was midday
and the streets were crowded. If Inga were running, she would be some distance
ahead.

Launching herself into the street, she did not stop running
until she reached the castle. She was panting when she spoke to the guard.
Using her prior excuse, and the added one of being late, she gained entry and
hurried through the bailey to the tower. Seeing a group of knights going in the
same direction, she kept her head down.

The hall was full of men eating their midday meal and she
was able to move to the stairs as one of the servants. Once there, an older
serving woman stopped her.

“What brings such a one as ye to the castle?”

Knowing she did not look the part of a servant even wearing
her soiled tunic, the only thing that came to mind was to mention the reason
she had come to the tower in recent days. “I am on an errand for Helise Malet.”

“Aye, well, she is not usually in the floors above.”

“I must see for myself,” Emma told the woman and brushed
past her, racing up the stairs.

Midway to the highest level, Emma stopped, her chest heaving
as a sharp pain stabbed her beneath her ribs. She was not accustomed to running
such long distances. A few breaths later, determined to find Inga before it was
too late, she resumed the climb, reaching the top of the narrow, curling
stairs.

The stairs ended in a wooden door. She opened it and stepped
onto the platform on the third story of the tower. The wooden walls of the
battlement were solid except for the arrow loops, too narrow for even a woman
to jump through. But there was the walk at the top that circled the walls. It
was there she found Inga, staring out, her hands gripping the edge of the low
wall.

“Inga.”

The girl shot a glance at Emma, but then returned her gaze
to the vast expanse below the tower. The wind whipped strands of her
honey-colored hair about her face as she held her body rigid and leaned
slightly forward. Was she preparing to leap?

Cautiously, so as not to cause Inga to make a sudden move,
Emma closed the distance between them and whispered, “Inga, you must not.” She
wanted to grab hold of Inga but feared she might cause the girl to suddenly
leap from the wall.

Inga glanced back at her. “All will know. I will be shunned,
the child called the bastard of our hated enemy. How will my father bear it?”

Finally reaching out to Inga on the narrow walk, Emma pulled
her into her arms and backed them away from the precipice. The girl turned into
Emma’s chest and sobbed.

“Oh, Emma…”

“Your father will not blame you, Inga.”

Inga pulled back, her gray eyes appearing to plead. “But how
can I live with such a thing?”

“The child is innocent, a child who will grow to love you.
To take such a life and your own would be against God’s law. ‘Tis worse than
murder, Inga, for you would be killing not only the body, but also the soul.
You could not even be buried in hallowed ground. You and your innocent babe
would be barred from Heaven for all eternity.” Emma knew the words of the
Church’s teachings were harsh, and while she did not believe God was so unmerciful,
she had to use what she could to dissuade Inga from such a dire action.

Inga shuddered in Emma’s arms. “How could I ever love a
child who looks like him?” Inga muttered.

“Mayhap the child will have your golden hair and gray eyes.
Did you not once tell me that your grandfather’s look was clear on all his
offspring? You and Feigr have the same look about you. So might the child. And
to a mother’s love, looks are nothing. The child will be heart of your heart,
half your own soul. How could you fail to love it?”

Sniffing, Inga’s sobs abated, giving Emma hope.

“What are you doing up here?” a deep voice bellowed behind
them.

Emma turned her head to see the Norman guard. “We are just
looking at the countryside,” the excuse coming to Emma. “The forest is so beautiful
it has moved my friend to tears.”

“Aye, that may be, but you have no business here.” He gave
Inga a suspicious look, her tear-stained cheek speaking of things other than
surveying the surrounding countryside.

“We will trouble your battlement no longer, good sir. We are
leaving.”

His eyes followed them as Emma helped Inga down and together
they walked to the stairs.

“It will be all right, Inga. I will help you. We will raise
your child with the twins.”

* * *

“I saw your lady in the bailey today,” Mathieu said to Geoff
as he left the practice yard in the bailey wiping sweat from his brow.

Geoff paused. “Mayhap she came to see Helise about the
garden they plan for the new castle. I am sorry to have missed her.”

“I do not think so, sir. She was running, as if for her
life.”

“What?”
Why would Emma be running across the bailey?
“Was anyone chasing her?”

“Nay, but she appeared fearful. Then I saw her again, a
short while later, when she walked with her friend, Inga, to the gate. You were
in the midst of sparring with Sir Alain or I would have fetched you. I did not
see Inga enter, but they left together.”

Geoff could not imagine what the sword-maker’s daughter
would be doing in the castle where Eude and his companions kept their pallets.
He would have to ask Helise if Emma had come today about the garden. Or, better
still, he would try and get away to pay Emma a visit and ask her himself.
Why
had she been afraid?

* * *

Emma was focused on her embroidery when she heard Feigr’s
heavy steps as he trudged down the stairs after one of his many visits to see
his daughter. Seeing Emma, he drew up a bench in front of her. “Why does my
daughter weep so, my lady?”

He was pale and his face lined with worry. She rose and
poured him some mead from the pitcher on the table, dreading the conversation
to come. “Let us share some mead.”

She resumed her seat with her cup, wondering if he would be
able to absorb the news. “Inga recovers, Feigr, but…”

“’Tis still that night she thinks of?” he interrupted.
Without waiting for Emma’s answer, he gazed into the pale liquid he held in his
hands. “I failed to protect her.” His eyes narrowed. “But no more! I am
training with the warriors now. My own swords will be put to good use killing
Normans.”

“Oh, Feigr, not you, too?”

“I must,” he insisted. “When that cur and his brutes came
for Inga, had I known better how to wield my own weapons, I might have stopped
them.”

“Or, mayhap you would have been killed, Feigr. The knights
train from their youth. And think. Inga would have wept all the more had she
lost you.”

For a moment he said nothing, just stared into his wine. “I
would give anything to see the tears gone from my daughter’s face.”

Emma steeled herself for what she must say. “There is
something I must tell you.” His eyes were the same gray as his daughter’s only
more intense. She hoped he would understand. “Inga may not be able to tell you,
but because you love her, you must know.”

“What?”

“Inga is with child.”

Feigr’s face froze in shock. Then he expelled an oath and
beneath his breath his voice was fierce. “I will kill him!”

“Mayhap you will one day, but for now you must help Inga.
She needs you. And this you must not speak of ever again: Inga sought to take
her life.”

He pulled back, a look of shock on his face. Then his eyes
narrowed as his face contorted in anger.

“I stopped her in time, Feigr, but she needs both of us to
see her through this ordeal, to give her courage to bear the child.”

His anger faded and he slumped. “My poor daughter,” he
mourned, shaking his head, his eyes revealing his grief. “What have they done
to my Inga?”

“You must help her, Feigr. You must let her know you stand
beside her. The child will be Inga’s, after all. And your grandchild.”

“’Twill be the Norman’s bastard!”

Emma vowed silently never to again use that word. “The babe
will be an innocent, Feigr. I have told Inga I will help her to raise the
child. We will be a family, Inga, Ottar, Finna and the child. You, too, Feigr.
The child will know nothing but love, I promise.”

He looked up at her, his eyes full of unshed tears. “I thank
you, my lady. Without you, Inga might be lost to me. Aye, for her sake, it will
be as you say. I will let her know she has my love, no matter what comes. But I
vow I will kill the Norman scum who did this to her.”

It was early in June when Geoff sat in the great hall,
breaking his fast, wondering which of the many tasks FitzOsbern had given him
he should undertake first. He had wanted to go to Emma since that conversation
with Mathieu, but with demands on his time from both Malet and FitzOsbern and
the needs of his men, he had been unable to return to her in a sennight. But
she was constantly in his thoughts. He longed to hold her, to kiss her. He knew
she was well from his conversations with Helise Malet who had told him how
pleased she was with Emma’s help with the new castle’s garden.

Helise, who ate next to him, leaned close and whispered, “I
like Emma very much, Sir Geoffroi. She is ever so clever. She knows more than I
do about growing things. With her advice, I have chosen well the plants for
Gilbert’s garden.”

Her comments about Emma pleased him and he was delighted to
realize Emma had made a friend. “The men will be happy to have the bounty from
that garden.”

“Aye, and the castle’s cook will be pleased. Emma is such an
unusual young woman, Sir Geoffroi. Did she lose her husband in the fighting? I
dared not ask.”

He did not know which battle Malet’s wife spoke of, for
there had been many since William had come to England. Mayhap she had in mind
the battle in York that had taken place the year before. It had not lasted
long, but even so, Northumbrians had died before the city surrendered to
William. “Nay, she has been a widow longer than that.” In truth, he did not
know much of her husband. If he had died at the hands of Norman knights in
earlier battles, Geoff would not be the one to remind her, but knowing Emma she
would have told him had that been the case.

It was an hour later when he and Alain had just finished
their morning sword practice that shouts echoed through the bailey.

“Attack! The rebels attack!”

Geoff wiped the sweat from his bare chest and hurriedly
donned his tunic and hauberk, calling for Mathieu, who was already racing to
his side.

“See to our warhorses. We ride with FitzOsbern!”

The squire bolted for the stables.

“Another rising?” asked Alain as he, too, hurriedly donned
his clothes and mail, preparing for battle.

“Aye and not unexpected. With William’s army fighting Harold
of Wessex’s sons in the South, we have less than half the men we once did. They
would seize the advantage if they could.”

“Sir Geoffroi!” FitzOsbern pulled his horse up short before
the two knights, coming to a stop in a cloud of dust. “Do you ride with me?”

Between the practice yard and the stables, Geoff saw Mathieu
coming with their horses, the helms and shields tied to the saddles. “Aye, we
do.”

Striding to his destrier, Geoff mounted, shoved his helm on
his head, took up his shield and let out a huff.
Will York never be at
peace?

Moments later, his lance firmly gripped in his right hand,
he gave the signal to his waiting men and followed FitzOsbern out the gate.

Between the castle and Skeldergate, the shield-maker’s
street, a large crowd of Northumbrians was already engaged in fighting the
first mounted knights to confront them. In such close quarters, the battle was
intense, men’s shouts and the clash of metal sounding loud in his ears.

Geoff entered the fray, piercing one rebel with his lance
only to turn and engage another. Soon he turned to his sword, his blade
slashing into the unmailed chest of a bearded Northumbrian, cutting a long red
swath. Another swing of the steel and he sliced through the skin of the rebel’s
bared neck.

Blood from Geoff’s victim shot into the air. And blood ran
in the streets as the brutal fighting continued and both rebels and knights
fell.

The battle was fought in quarters too close for the Norman
crossbows to do any good. Bodkin arrows shot from the tower’s arrow loops might
as easily hit a Norman as well as a Northumbrian. Geoff fought on, keenly aware
this battle would have to be won without such help.

In a matter of minutes, hundreds of knights from both
castles streamed into the fight, hacking at the rebels and backing them to
Coppergate where they fled into the city.

Sensing danger at his back, Geoff turned to see a rebel
running toward him with a raised sword. A knife sailed through the air to lodge
in the man’s neck, the sickening sound of metal meeting soft flesh echoing in
Geoff’s ears. Glancing over his shoulder, he glimpsed Alain on his great gray
warhorse, smiling beneath his helm.

Turning his horse, Geoff tipped his head in thanks to the
powerful knight and surveyed the remaining rebel forces still fighting. “’Tis
nearly over.”

“Aye,” agreed Alain as they headed into what remained of the
battle.

Another hour of brutal work gave them the victory, but it
had come at a cost. Scores of knights lay dead. Regrettably, some of the slain
had been those who rode with him from Talisand, their bodies mingling with
those of the slain rebels.

Geoff thought of Emma and the wedge such a battle would
drive between them, particularly if any of her kinsmen had been among the
rebels. Would she see his hands as stained by their blood? Would she rise like
the Valkyrie he had named her to seek revenge? He needed peace between her
people and his for there to be peace between the two of them. He longed to see
her, to see if he still found favor in her eyes, but his duties required his
presence in the castle.

* * *

Emma studied the tapestry she was working on. The gold and
yellow threads formed a brilliantly colored background for the black horse in
the center. Keeping her hands busy took her mind from the battle that had been
fought a sennight ago between the Normans and the men from Durham who had
emerged from the woods where they had been waiting for a chance to reengage.

The fighting, Artur had told her, had not lasted long.
FitzOsbern and the mounted knights had quickly beaten back the rebels. The word
of the defeat had been carried through the city and the loss keenly felt. The
people had hoped for another result.

Knights had died as well as men from Durham. While the
battle raged, she had worried for Sir Geoffroi. She was glad when Mathieu, the
faithful messenger, brought her word that he and Sir Alain lived. She was
conflicted in her loyalties, wanting Sir Geoffroi to live yet also wanting the
Northumbrians to be victorious. It could not be.

Rising, she walked to the window and pulled back the animal
hide covering to stare out. Two of the women who lived on her street waved to
her. She waved back. On the surface, the city appeared to be almost normal
again. Though she could not see them from her window, she knew the shops and
market were open and the people busy at their pursuits. In the fields, churls
and villeins once again tended the new crops.

Yet there remained an undercurrent in York, an unease that
hung in the air, as if the city were holding its breath, waiting for worse to
come. Emma, of all people, knew well what was coming and, whereas once she would
have welcomed her father’s plans for an uprising, now those plans only brought
her dread. Someone she loved was bound to be hurt, even killed.

Should she warn Sir Geoffroi of the plans for a major
rising? Of the Danes whose help they sought? Surely to do so would be a
betrayal of her father. How could she choose between them? Nay, she could not.
She wanted to see York free of the Normans, but she wanted it to happen without
bloodshed. An impossible dream.

Helise had insisted Emma pay her a visit to see the garden
they had planted and she was determined not to disappoint Malet’s wife. With
the sun high in the sky, she grabbed her light cloak off the peg and headed
toward the tower castle where they had agreed to meet in the bailey.

Magnus loped at her side. It would be the first time she had
taken him to the castle but her errand today was not secret so there was no
reason to leave him behind. As she traveled down Coppergate, she bid good day
to the merchants she knew. Feigr was busy at his forge when she stopped to
greet him. Magnus waited patiently by her side.

“Making new swords?” she inquired. Though that was his
primary business, he also made fine knives and an occasional seax.

“’Tis an axe blade I forge today for one of the men who
prefers that weapon. How is Inga?”

“She fares well. The twins love her, you know.”

His face took on a wistful look as if he were seeing
something far away. “Like her mother she is. Good with children. I am glad she
is with you.”

“Do not worry about her, Feigr.”

“I am in your debt for the kindness you have shown her.”

“Inga is my friend. I could not do otherwise.”

She bid him goodbye but did not mention her destination. He
would not have approved. And she did not ask him for whom he forged the new
weapon. She did not want to know.

Quickening her pace, she passed the other shops. Sigga would
be at the market and Inga with the twins, but she did not want to be away too
long.

Helise would welcome her, but given the recent hostilities
the Normans would be on their guard for anyone from York entering either of the
castles.

She looked forward to seeing Malet’s wife. In the making of
the garden, they had forged a friendship. When one put a face on the enemy,
shared a meal with them and made friends among their ranks, it was difficult to
see the sides clearly after that. So it was with Emma. She no longer hated the
Normans as she once had. While she wanted the North free of the French and men
like Eude gone forever, she did not wish to be free of Sir Geoffroi’s kind
attentions or Helise’s friendship. She had come to see the wisdom in the old
archbishop’s words.
Further rebellion will only lead to more hardship and
death.
She might wish it otherwise, but she was practical enough to know
further rebellion was inevitable. The Normans had tormented York for too long,
reducing it to a city of serfs and their French lords.

Scattered bloodstains, now dried to nearly black, still
appeared in places on the ground near the old castle but the bodies were gone.
As before, when Emma was questioned at the gate, she was able to gain entry.
There were so few women in the castles, the knights welcomed any who entered,
be they servants, whores or the occasional lady. But this time the guard knew
her name when she gave it. Helise had told her he would.

“The sheriff’s wife expects you,” said the burly guard who
glared apprehensively at Magnus.

“The hound will not harm you,” she said, picking up the
skirts of her gown and cloak to cross the bailey. Magnus trailed along, his
keen eyes darting from one side of the bailey to the other, watchful and
protective.

The sounds of knights sparring rose in her ears causing Emma
to glance toward the practice yard. Her heart sped.

Sir Geoffroi.

His bare chest glistened with sweat as he deftly wielded his
sword, his muscles flexing with the strain as the metal of his blade clashed
with that of the huge knight she recognized as Sir Alain. Despite her desire to
stay and watch, she paused only briefly in her progress toward the door of the
square tower. A woman alone, even an invited one, might face unwanted attention
from the men looking on. She fingered the plain, metal brooch at her neck. The
day was fair, but in an attempt to ward off the leers of the Norman soldiers,
she had worn a cloak.

She entered the hall and went directly to the sheriff’s
chamber and knocked on the door. A servant answered, backing away as she stared
at Magnus. “My lady waits for you within,” she said in a shaky voice.

Helise set aside her stitching and rose to greet her. “You
have come at last! And who is this with you?”

“Magnus. He is gentle; you need not fear him. He only growls
at those he perceives to be a threat.”

Malet’s wife looked at Magnus’ wagging tail. “Well, then,
welcome to you both.”

The servant, unconvinced, waited to one side.

“I have only a few things I need,” said Helise, bustling
about the chamber gathering her cloak and a paper that bore a diagram of sorts.
“Then we can be off. Wait until you see our plants, Emma! They are growing.”

For the first time, Emma noticed the intricate work the
older woman had set on the table. “Do you embroider?”

Helise nodded. “I find it keeps me occupied when my husband
is otherwise engaged and the boys are at their lessons. At Holderness, I am
often left to my own endeavors.”

“Where are your sons today?” Emma asked. She had not seen
the two lads Ottar’s age when she had entered the hall.

“Watching the knights at their swordplay, I suspect. They
are of an age to want to become squires, but Robert is his father’s heir, so
there are expectations for him that will rule that out.”

Emma’s gaze momentarily fell to her hands. “I was going to
bring the twins but since the situation in the city has worsened, I have kept
them close to home.”

“I understand, Emma.” Helise gave her a look of
understanding. “My sons know not to leave the castle. ’Tis too dangerous for
them to move about freely after the last attack.”

Helise picked up her cloak and Emma helped her to don it.
The Norman woman held herself in a dignified manner but beneath the aura of
calm, Emma sensed tension. One of Helise’s hands nervously twisted the folds of
her cloak.

“You must be anxious to leave for Holderness,” Emma said.

“Aye, I will be glad to quit York. I jump at every loud
noise. But we have a happy task to see to today. Come, let me show you the progress
in the garden. You will be amazed! And I believe you will like our escort,” she
added with a wink.

Emma understood Helise’s meaning when they reached the
knights who waited to escort them to the other side of the River Ouse. Among
them was Sir Geoffroi.