The Damsel's Defiance (18 page)

‘Aye…’ Matilda smiled ‘…he’s lucky, beyond a doubt. But with the maid captured, I suspect he may need our help.’

Emmeline had no idea how far she had walked, but it seemed like miles. The chill wind moaned through the skeleton branches that arched above her, shadowing her steps along the sunken lane; an icy wind whispering at her, cajoling her to lie down, to sleep. The freezing air chased up the wide, tapered sleeves of her
bliaut,
sawing into her bones with bitter teeth. She fumbled uselessly with the long cuffs, trying to pull them over her hands to keep them warm. Her buoyant step of earlier had been replaced by a shuffling, stumbling gait.

A sense of euphoria had washed over her as she had finally squeezed her body through the narrow window of Edgar’s prison, accomplished by stripping down to her linen chemise and hauling the rest of her clothes through after her. Despite wrists raw and smarting, the corners of her mouth bruised from the tight, linen gag, she had rolled out of the window onto a higher piece of ground at the back of the cottage, almost laughing out loud in appreciation of her own achievement. Unsure as to Edgar’s whereabouts, she had donned her garments
briskly, creeping through the shadowed streets of sleeping Wareham to find the road west, the road to Hawkeshayne and her ship. She had learned how to navigate by the stars at her father’s knee, and she had turned her face up to the heavens, almost losing herself in the intricate layers of darkness, locating the Pole Star with ease. Keeping that bright gleam to her right, her direction westwards had been easy to identify.

She had to keep going, had to move forward. No one else could help her now; she had to reach her ship, and sail home. Vaguely, she tried to concentrate on placing one foot in front of another as the soft mud squelched with each step over the sides of her leather boots. Scarcely aware of its damp touch against her woollen hose, she wondered how long it had taken Talvas and her to ride to Wareham—not above half a day, she was certain. As full night draped around her shoulders, sapping at the last vestiges of strength that she held within her, her mind began to crowd with doubts and uncertainties. Had it been only yesterday that they had travelled? Or had it been the day before? She frowned in dismay at the jumble of her mind, the fragments of logic whisking away like feathers on a breeze as she tried to piece together a conscious train of thought. She staggered, her shoulder cracking against the unyielding trunk of a tree, yet she couldn’t feel the pain; her skin seemed frozen, a block of stone. Maybe she should have just a little sleep before she went on; it would lend her renewed energy. The mists of exhaustion swirled around her as she slid down the tree and let her heavy eyelids close.

Talvas lay low, welding himself to his horse’s back, riding wildly as if lightning was striking at his heels, with no other thought or care than to reach Emmeline. His mind seemed to be within hers—he knew her now, knew where she would go. As he had thrown open the door to Emmeline’s prison in
Wareham, he realised immediately the emptiness of the chamber. Despair gnawed at him as his eyes pounced on the bloodstained loosened ropes, a snag of pale green wool on a rusty nail by the window; there was a sense of utter desolation that he couldn’t find her, couldn’t hold her close. And now, as the sky began to lighten with the reddish streaks of dawn, he would catch up with her, he was certain. Rounding a wide, mud-rutted corner of the track at a gallop, clods of wet earth flicking up from behind the horse, he hauled on the reins in surprise. His horse reared up, hooves pawing the air, and he fought to stay on the animal’s back.

A knot of people clustered on the track some way ahead; rich travellers by their appearance, their garments forming a polished display of reds and golds against the more subdued colours of the forest. He cursed, slowing his snorting horse to a walk; his headlong pursuit of Emmeline had made him careless, unthinking as to his own safety. He, above all people, knew the dangers of travelling alone in these times. Then one of the group turned toward him, and to his surprise he recognised the good-natured expression of Stephen.

Dismounting, Talvas ran forward, his long, muscular legs springing quickly over the ground as he pulled his horse behind him. ‘Stephen!’ he greeted his friend. ‘Stephen, have you seen Emmeline, Mam’selle de Lonnieres? She must have come this way!’

‘She’s here…Talvas. We’ve just found her.’ Stephen’s voice seemed crushed, beaten. His stricken expression cast a sad veil across his face.

‘Nay…’ whispered Talvas. His heart split, fragmenting to a thousand tiny splinters of loss. ‘It’s not true…tell me it’s not true…’ He began to push his way through the huddle of bodies, an unforeseen rage searing his chest, aware of Stephen’s hand on his arm…then stopped. For a moment, he
closed his eyes, appalled by the harrowing sight of Emmeline splayed out defencelessly on the frozen ground, then he sprung down beside her, his hands moving over the ashen skin of her face, the blueness of her lips.

‘There’s nothing you can do, Talvas. She’s gone.’ Nausea rose in his gullet as he recognised the calm, measured tones of Matilda, his sister. His hands move ceaselessly over the frosted silk of Emmeline’s skin, trying to find something, anything, that would indicate she was still alive. And then his questing fingers recognised a shiver of movement at Emmeline’s throat. The faintest beat of hope.

‘Nay…’ he gathered her limp body into his arms ‘…she lives.’
Dieu merci,
he thanked God silently as he scooped Emmeline up, throwing her against his chest as he stood up. ‘The cold is killing her, but she is alive!’ he carried Emmeline toward the ox cart, her golden head lolling against the supple leather of his jerkin, the gathered skirt of her
bliaut
falling in a wide arc, the embroidery at the hem skimming the ground. ‘I’ll take her back to Hawkeshayne!’

‘But what of our campaign against Maud?’ Stephen said petulantly. ‘I need you with me at Sedroc. Let Matilda take Emmeline back, with an escort.’

‘Maud can wait, Stephen,’ Talvas growled, his blue eyes lit with the fires of determination. ‘Emmeline goes with me.’ As he turned once more, pacing toward the cart, Matilda moved toward her husband, whispering into his ear. Bending his head to his wife’s lips, Stephen nodded.

Once in the cart, Talvas stripped Emmeline of her clothing with savage resolve. He’d seen people die from exposure before, especially at sea, and he wasn’t about to let this maid go easily. Despite his joy at finding her still alive, he knew of the risks; she was not yet out of danger. Lying her on his cloak, her frozen body clad only in a linen chemise, he slipped off
his own clothes, leaving on his undergarments. Skin to skin contact was the only way to warm a person up. Pulling her close to him, chest to chest, hip to hip, binding her legs tightly with his own longer ones, he was aghast at the iciness of her limbs as he drew the fur of his cloak over both of them.

‘Why didn’t you wait for me, Emmeline?’ he whispered, touching his fingers to the alabaster luminescence of her face, the soft blond curls of hair that frothed over her forehead. A delicate scent of rose petals lifted from her skin as he roped his arms around her back, trying to draw the ice from her limbs with the heat of his body. Tipping his head back a little, he searched her taut, pallid face for some shred, some scrap of life.

‘Talvas! What in God’s name do you think you’re doing?’ Matilda poked her head through the side curtain of the cart, her dark features alive with curiosity, her head bobbing in time to the movement of her horse.

‘I’m trying to save her life!’ Talvas replied, irritated, amazed at how like their mother Matilda sounded.

‘I’ve never seen anyone save a life like that before,’ Matilda continued imperiously. ‘Are you naked under that cloak?’ She noted the bundle of clothes thrown into the corner.

‘As good as…’ Talvas sighed. His younger sister was well known for asking hundreds of questions. Against his limbs, Emmeline stirred gently. His heart leapt.

‘It’s not seemly, Talvas. You should swap with me, and I’ll look after her.’

‘Matilda, tell me one thing. Are we on the road to Hawkeshayne?’

‘Aye, I decided to come with you, but Stephen has carried on to challenge the Empress. He’s not best pleased with you.’

Talvas shrugged his shoulders. ‘I care not. Now close the curtain, little sister, you’re letting in the cold air.’

‘Let me swap with you, Talvas. The maid’s reputation—’

‘Does not matter now,’ Talvas finished the sentence for his sister. ‘What matters is that she is alive.’ His voice fractured with emotion.

‘She means a lot to you.’ Matilda’s words emerged as a statement, not a question.

‘More than you can know, Matilda. More than you can know.’

D
istant voices traversed the swirling fogs of Emmeline’s mind, familiar voices that tugged at her consciousness, drew her out from the numbing mists of sleep. Eyes still closed, she pushed out a hesitant hand, testing the soft supple linen beneath her fingertips, aware of a dull ache in her shoulder.

‘Have no fear, Talvas,’ a woman was saying, her tone merry and reassuring, ‘I’ll take good care of her; I’ll make sure she doesn’t go anywhere without me!’

Emmeline’s lashes stuck together fractionally as she forced her eyes to open, seeking the direction of the voices. The light streaming in from the window embrasure silhouetted two figures: Talvas’s dark, saturnine profile instantly recognisable, and a straight-backed woman whose identity Emmeline failed to place.

Talvas laughed, a boyish sound. To Emmeline’s surprise, he reached out and tugged at one of the woman’s sleek black braids, gently teasing. ‘That’s what worries me, Matilda, for I can’t be certain where you plan to go!’

Matilda! Of course, the woman was his sister! Emmeline’s head shifted on the pillow as she made the identification, the
long blond coils of her hair fanning out silkily on the tightly woven linen. The woman laughed, a delicate, tinkling sound, twisting her head as Emmeline’s small movement caught the corner of her eye. ‘Oh, look, Talvas! She’s awake at last!’

‘Thank the Lord!’ Talvas shoved one hand through his sleek locks, leaving a few strands to spike out with the movement, before covering the planked floor in one stride.

‘Talvas!’ Emmeline croaked, her speech raw as she stretched out her fingers. ‘I’m so glad to see you!’

The blue of his eyes shone with gentleness. ‘And I you, maid. And I you.’ His hand enveloped hers in his warm, strong grasp, his expression travelling over her ashen skin, the faint beating pulse at her neck, still marred by a congealed line of blood, the emerald shine of her eyes.

‘You look like you’ve never seen me before!’

‘I thought I would never see you again,’ he admitted ruefully, settling himself on the edge of the bed. Lines of fatigue incised his face, lending it a carved severity; his eyes were bloodshot.

‘You look terrible,’ She admitted, noting the shadowy stubble that covered his chin. Yet her mind continued to absorb the heart-stopping details of his face, and, like a thirsty man in the wilderness, she drank and drank, never taking her eyes from him.

‘He hasn’t slept since he laid you on that bed,’ Matilda chimed in, coming to stand behind Talvas, elegant in a tight-fitting gown of heavily embroidered russet wool.

‘How long?’ Emmeline struggled to prop herself up beneath the covers, wincing as her body protested with numerous aches and pains.

‘A few days,’ he murmured, pushing her back down gently. ‘Rest easy, Emmeline. Your shoulder is badly bruised…although this—’ he placed his finger at the hollow of her neck ‘—is starting to heal, thank God.’

His touch sent a
frisson
of delight through her, exciting her nerves with a fizzing intensity. She closed her eyes at the exquisiteness of her reaction, amazed that a single touch could transport her to such a frenzy of delight.

‘Emmeline…are you all right?’ His voice held concern.

Her eyes opened, their emerald-green locking into his gaze of sparkling sapphire.

‘I will make myself busy elsewhere,’ Matilda said tactfully, ‘now I have seen for myself that the maid is going to live.’ But no one heard her soft tread across the chamber, the high-pitched click of the iron latch as she left the room.

‘I’m fine, Talvas, fine.’ But Emmeline’s voice held a shudder as the memories came flooding back. The horrific image of Sylvie floating in the moat loomed into her mind.

‘Did the bastard hurt you?’

‘Nay…but he killed Sylvie! She didn’t take her own life, Talvas. He, Edgar, killed her. Sylvie realised he had returned to the castle and she intended to warn us, to warn Stephen. But he killed her before she even had a chance to open her mouth!’

‘God rest her soul,’ Talvas murmured. ‘Her words would have saved you from this ordeal.’

‘She was trying to make amends, Talvas. She truly regretted her actions from all those years ago.’

‘I realise that now. She was a brave woman.’

He leaned forward, scooping his arms behind her shoulders to gather her into his chest, wrapping her tightly in his embrace. ‘As you are,’ he murmured into her shoulder. The scented skin at the nape of her neck was warm from sleep.

‘Nay,’ she replied, ‘it was nothing I couldn’t handle.’

‘It seems like you can handle a great deal,’ he murmured with subdued ferocity, a muscle tensing high in his cheek. He settled her back gently against the pillows. ‘What of this?’ he touched the yellowing bruise at the corner of her mouth.

‘I told Edgar he was wasting his time with me, using me as bait. That you wouldn’t come for me.’

‘But I did, Emmeline. I did.’

‘I knew that…but Edgar couldn’t be sure. I
knew
you would come for me.’ She reached up and touched the rasp of stubble on his chin.

Talvas placed his hand over hers, feeling the smooth warmth of her palm against the side of his face. ‘This can’t go on, Emmeline.’

A nervous trickle of excitement gathered force within her heart.

‘I lost you Emmeline, I couldn’t find you anywhere.’ His voice dropped to a solemn whisper. Lifting her hand from his face, he turned it over, rubbing his thumb carefully against the red, torn skin with his fingertip. ‘And then I found you, collapsed on the track, literally dying with cold.’ His fingers tightened on her wrist. ‘Christ, when I saw you…’ The words died on his lips as he stared into the beautiful, mesmerising enchantment of her eyes, the vital translucency of her skin. He shook his head, unable to speak the emotion he had experienced: the all-consuming sense of anguish, of loss. ‘Emmeline, I can’t go through that again.’

‘What are you saying?’ she whispered, unknown territory looming before her.

‘That I will never lose you again, Emmeline, never.’

She drew her hand away from his, worrying at the amulet that rested on her neck. The pale jade felt cool against her skin, reminded her of the incisive, practical logic of her father. Lifting stricken eyes to his, she replied, ‘It’s a promise we cannot keep.’

‘Why not?’ His voice held the faintest rasp of rejection.

‘You speak of…marriage, Talvas,’ she faltered, biting the bottom of her lip, searching for the right words.

‘It is what I had in mind.’ His eyes adopted a searching look. Sweet Jesu, he had been about to bare his soul to this woman, and still she pushed him away!

‘Talvas, I cannot.’ Her speech dropped to a whisper.

‘Christ, Emmeline, why not?’ Without warning, Talvas leaned forward, hauling her body to him in ferocious desire, sealing her lips to his in a demanding, violent kiss. His hands swept around her body, feeling her slight figure cleave to him through the thinness of her nightgown, before wrenching his lips away, dropping her back against the mattress. ‘Why do you constantly deny what’s between us?’

Her blood pelted around her body, her heart thudding from the impact of his kiss. ‘I don’t deny it!’ She protested, slumping weakly back against the pillow. The fine linen of her nightgown lifted, then settled around her skin again with the movement. ‘Talvas, I want to be with you, but I can’t marry you!’

Tearing himself from the bed, almost banging his head on the crossbar that held the bed curtains, he strode over to the window, rage boiling in his gut. ‘Then I can’t protect you, Emmeline, damn it! I can’t protect you!’

Despair laced her heart; the simple circle of their joy at seeing each other again was ripped apart. She threw back the bed furs, uncaring as to the aches and pains that seared her slim frame, hobbling over to him to place one hand on his shoulder. ‘I don’t need your protection, Talvas, I just want your love.’

The chamber echoed with the solemnity of her words.

‘You let that one man destroy your whole life.’ A deadly calm threaded his voice, the set of his shoulders rigid with rejection. Had he even heard her words? ‘But I can’t make you marry me, Emmeline. God forbid that I ever make Mam’selle de Lonnieres do anything.’ He rounded on her, almost knocking her over with the violence of the brusque movement,
his eyes sparking hostile fire. ‘’Twould be different if you carried my child.’

Icy fingers of horror gripped her chest as her gaze trailed over his obdurate features. Her hand fell from his shoulder, dropping limply by her side. ‘You mean…you would force me to marry you?’ Bewildered by her own revelation, she staggered back, almost tripping over the trailing hem of the nightgown. Nay, Talvas, she wanted to rail at him, don’t do this!

‘If it came to that.’ The damning curtness of his response sent ripples of sorrow through her frame.

She turned away then, hopelessness crushing her chest, an overwhelming sense of isolation welling inside her. ‘Then let’s hope it never will.’

Dark green tendrils of ivy reached their glossy fingers up the pale, rough-cast stone wall that surrounded the kitchen garden at Hawkeshayne. A solitary robin perched on a bush denuded of leaves, the fiery orange of its breast the only brightness amongst the browns and greys of the winter garden. In the weak afternoon sunshine, Emmeline walked slowly, glad of the support of Matilda’s arm. Their thinly slippered feet made little sound on the cobbled pathways that edged the neat vegetable beds, beds loaded with freshly dug rich earth, ready to receive the spring planting.

The days were beginning to drag on Emmeline: a full sennight had passed since Talvas had announced he would return to help Stephen in his battle to extricate Maud from Sedroc. He had left specific instructions to Matilda to keep an eye on Emmeline, to not let her go anywhere until he returned. He had barely spoken to Emmeline before he left. She had struggled from the bed, desolate and weak from their last quarrel, watching from an upstairs window as Talvas rode off with Guillame and a group of soldiers, the shields and
spears sparkling in the sunshine, the red colours of King Stephen draping their horses.

‘’Tis good to see the colour return to your cheeks, Emmeline,’ Matilda remarked, looking down at the woman she had come to regard as her friend over the last few days. Thrown together by the circumstances, the two women had discovered they had much in common, not least their quest for independence, and had shared much laughter over the past few days. The pair formed an attractive contrast: the tall, dark Matilda moving with a willowy grace and Emmeline, petite and fair, stepping carefully at her side.

‘Aye, and to feel the wind on my face,’ Emmeline agreed. The mild breeze carried the tang of the sea to her nostrils, a smell that brought the thrill of excitement, of adventure, coursing through her veins. ‘I am all but fully recovered now.’ She relayed these words with such emphasis that Matilda stopped, glancing at her quizzically.

‘You mean…’

‘Aye, that I’m ready to go home, to go back to France.’

A flock of crows emerged as one from the tangle of bare ash branches in the corner of the garden, cawing and chattering as they rose into the air.

Matilda grinned. ‘Oh, you are so naughty, Emmeline. You know full well that Talvas demanded that you wait for his return. I suspect he plans to take you back to France on your ship.’

‘It would be easy to find another to captain
La Belle Saumur.
There’s nothing left for me here.’ Emmeline tried to ignore the gnawing hole in her heart, burning with a solitary intensity.

‘Are you sure about that?’ Matilda asked carefully. Her brother had been more than usually insistent about his instructions regarding Emmeline; she remembered the way he had worried over Emmeline in her unconsciousness. Matilda
could not recall a time when he had shown more care, more tenderness, toward one woman.

‘He wants to marry me.’ Emmeline sighed, pushing at a fragment of earth with her toe.

‘Oh, Emmeline, that’s wonderful news!’ Matilda reached round to face Emmeline, to take both her hands in her own. ‘So why do you want to return to France?’

‘Because I told him “nay”.’ Emmeline’s voice rang hollow in the still air.

‘I don’t understand.’ Matilda’s expression was serious.

‘He doesn’t believe that love can be separate from marriage…he wants to protect me and thinks that marriage is the only way. I suffered much with Giffard and relished my independence for too long, Matilda. Surely you can understand that?’

‘So what would you say about me, Emmeline? Would you say I was owned, possessed?’ Hands still linked, the two women began to walk again.

‘Nay, I think you are one of the most wilful, strong-minded women I have ever met.’ Emmeline grinned suddenly.

‘I’ll take that as a compliment.’ Matilda laughed. ‘And yet, I am happily married, to a man that I love.’

‘True,’ Emmeline mused. ‘Oh, Matilda, I need to talk to him. I’ve been so horrible to him.’ A weight began to lift from her shoulders. ‘How long do you think it will be until he and Stephen return?’

Matilda sighed, then she smiled softly, squeezing Emmeline’s fingers. ‘Who knows, Emmeline? These walls, beautiful as they are, are beginning to close in on me, and I suspect they are with you, too.’ The light breeze sifted through the loose ebony strands of her hair.

Emmeline nodded, catching on to Matilda’s train of thought. ‘And sieges can go on for weeks and weeks,’ she
added. Both women turned by silent agreement and began to head back to the low arch set into the garden wall. They pushed through the gap together, tripping on each other’s trailing skirts in their eagerness, giggling like mischievous girls.

‘Talvas said nothing about us travelling together. And I promised that I would make certain that you didn’t go anywhere without me. Are you fit to ride?’

‘As ready as I’ll ever be.’

Sedroc Castle stood high on a natural rocky outcrop, dominating the surrounding countryside of flat fields and salt marshlands with its vast square keep and towering walls. The smooth, white walls of the inner keep gleamed implacably in the few glimpses of sunshine that peeked their way through the lumpy clouds. Encircled by a deep-cut moat, the only conceivable access to the castle lay through the gatehouse, which was now heavily guarded by Stephen’s camp. The stained white canvas of the circular tents, each topped by a conical roof trimmed with coloured fabric, indicated the frequent travelling of Stephen’s soldiers, men able to set up or pack up a camp in the space of a few hours. The twenty or so tents each held ten men; Stephen was not about to let Maud slip through his fingers again. Smoke from the cooking fires rose into the still air, the tantalising smell of roasting meat lingering from the soldiers breaking their fast that morning.