The Deed (10 page)

I see. Emma glanced at her husband with new respect. Not only was he a savior of kings, he
was considered first among trainers of knights. Even by earls.

Truly my father is a good warrior as well, Alden told her now.

I am sure he is, Emma agreed soothingly.

Yet he has many tunics as well, Alden pointed out fretfully, and Emma smiled gently at his
obvious distress.

Your father is an earl as well as a warrior. He must dress accordingly.

Alden nodded with relief. Aye. Tis so. Then he perked up. Now that Lord Amaury is a duke,
he shall have to gain more vestments too.

Aye, I suppose he will, Emma agreed with a frown. Dress is very important. Her eyebrows
rose at his serious tone. Is that so? Aye. I heard the king say so.

Ah. Emma sighed over that. Twas true. Even Rolfe told her their king was most concerned
with fashion. No doubt she had been a great disappointment to the king with her plain
clothes. Probably to her previous husband as well. Easing back in her seat, she peered at
her present husband closely for the first time since they had been wed the day before.

She had managed a peek or two, first at the church, then at the reception, and once or
twice after, but this was her first real chance to look her fill and allow her eyes to run
over his strong features slowly.

He was a handsome man, she supposed. Not handsome as Fulk had been. Fulk had been almost
pretty in his attractiveness, like a deer perched on slender legs. This man was a more
rugged sort. Stronger and dark, he made her think of wolves and bears.

Leaning forward, she brushed a strand of hair off his face. Even in sleep he held on to
his strength, a fearsome scowl on his face. Her father had had a strong face too, as did
Rolfe, but on the few occasions when she had caught them in slumber, it was to find their
features softened and almost boyish. There was nothing boyish about her husband. That told
her more than Blakes words could have that his childhood had been full of hurt and sorrow.
Even in repose he was afraid to let down his guard.

She would change that, Emma determined without even really knowing why she wished to. She
would give him a good home that he could be proud of, and a wife he could be proud of as
well. If he lived long enough to allow it, she thought suddenly with a frown.

Is he awake?

Emma took in her cousins hopeful expression as she joined the table at dinnertime, then
sighed as she shook her head. She had been sitting with Amaury throughout the day,
watching him until her eyes blurred with the effort, but he had not even turned in his
sleep. His silent stillness was beginning to worry her greatly. Nay, he hasnt stirred a
bit, she admitted reluctantly. Alden is watching him. He will call if there is any change.

Rolfe frowned, his gaze meeting that of the bishop, who sat on his other side.

Catching the exchange, Emma raised her eyebrows. What?

Both men turned to her then, their expressions pitying.

What are you thinking? Emma asked warily. You look at me as though I were doomed.

I believe your cousin and the bishop are fretting over what will become of you should your
new husband die, Blake told her quietly, and Emma turned to the man on her left sharply.

My husband will not die, she said more harshly than she had intended. Sides, nothing
would happen to me.

Do you not think that should your second husband die so soon after the wedding, Bertrand
would not be knocking once more at the door?

Emma stiffened at the suggestion. Nay. I...

You would be a widow again, just as you were yesterday. Still in control of the land
Bertrand wants.

Emma paled sickly at his words, her gaze flying worriedly to the servants moving about the
room. The thought of how these people she had grown so fond of would suffer under the hand
of Lady Ascot made her stomach turn. Perchance she herself might even be at risk under her
rule. Then too, there was the matter of the king and the danger Lord Bertrand represented
to him should he gain more power. And she did not even have the hope of an heir to hold
that possibility off with. Her womans time had made its arrival that very afternoon.

He could not die. It was that simple. He could not die... Because she would not marry Lord
Bertrand.

Reaching out, Rolfe covered her hand with one of his own to comfort her, but Emma shook it
away and stood quickly. I must see to my husband, she murmured, slipping away from the
table.

Amaury remained asleep for more than three days, three days during which Emma stayed
steadfast by his bedside waiting and watching. No amount of worry or arguing from Rolfe,
Blake, or her servants would move her from that spot. Even the bishop had a go at her, but
gave up when he saw it was hopeless.

Despite her constant worry and hope that he would awaken, Emma was not immediately aware
of her husbands finally rousing when he suddenly opened his eyes as if he had just been
napping. Emma saw it,

but it took a moment for her brain to register what her blurred gaze had witnessed. When
it finally made it through to her muddled mind, she leapt from her seat with a start and
dropped to her knees beside the bed, whispering his name.

Wincing at the shaft of pain that went through his head as he turned it, Amaury stared at
her through squinted eyes.

Your head is paining you, she murmured, stating the obvious, then stood and moved quickly
to the door. Pulling it open, she called for Maude and Alden, then paused and glanced at
the bishop, who was passing just then. My lord, bishop!

Aye, my lady, is there something I can do for you? He shuffled to a stop before her,
craning his neck slightly in an attempt to see into the room beyond.

Aye, sir. If you would? Fetch Maude for me and have her bring up the tea I had her make
this morning for his lordships head. He is awake.

He is? The older man didnt bother hiding his relief over this news.

Aye.

I will fetch her straightaway, the bishop promised, turning on his heels, only to turn
quickly back. You had her prepare it this morning?

Aye, I feared his head would be aching when he came around.

But... how did you know it would be today?

I did not. I have had her prepare a fresh batch every day, Emma informed him, then closed
the door on his surprised face and moved back to the bed.

Her husbands eyes were closed again. She was not sure if he was sleeping or not, but
decided not to disturb him until Maude arrived with the tea. It was a noxious brew. No
doubt he would balk at having to drink it, but it would ease his paining greatly.

Biting her lip, she looked him over carefully as she regained her seat. There appeared to
be just a tinge of color now to his pallid skin, but that was the only difference in his
appearance.

The door opened following a light tap and Maude hurried in, Alden on her heels. Both of
them looked eagerly over the man they had helped tend as Emma took the mug of tepid tea.

Is it true, my lady? the squire asked eagerly. He awoke? Aye. Oh, sweet Saint Vitus, thank
you, Maude murmured fervently.

Bending to her husband, Emma touched his face gently, then smiled when his eyes opened.
Maude has brought you a drink to aid with your head, she murmured quietly. If I help you,
think you you could sit up to drink it?

Aye. Amaury frowned as he heard his own answer. He had meant to speak in his normally
robust voice, yet it had come out as barely more than a husky whisper of sound. He then
tried to sit up, only to find that he didnt seem to have the strength to do so.

Seeing the difficulty he was having, Emma ignored the scowl on his face and set the mug
down on the table beside the bed, then moved to help him even as Alden hurried around to
the other side of the bed to add his assistance. Both of them ignored the way he grumbled
and muttered vexedly as they aided him into a sitting position, then lifted the mug to his
lips.

Amaury took one sip of the brew before spitting it out across the bed in disgust.

You live.

Emma turned the scowl she had produced at her husbands behavior to the door at the sound
of that cheerful voice. Blake and her cousin were entering, the bishop directly behind.

Not for long, Amaury gasped in a thin voice, not much stronger than it had been the last
time he had spoken. My wife is trying to poison me.

Emma turned her scowl back to her husband. Tis not poison, tis Her words died in
mid-sentence when a large hand suddenly seized her own much smaller one as she tried to
press the mug back to her husbands lips. Head jerking up, she gaped at the man towering
over her like death. He was at least a hand taller than her giant of a husband and easily
twice as wide. He was also as ugly as sin, with a face that looked as if at birth God had
covered it with a hand and pressed down, squishing his features almost flat for all time.

Tis just tea, she whispered, intimidated by his size despite herself. Made from white
willow bark. Twill ease the pain.

Eyes so bright a blue they rivaled the beauty of the sky turned on her, and Emma found
herself catching a breath. Gods truth, it was a bit of a shock to find two such jewels in
such a homely visage. Emma was still trying to get over her surprise, when the man
suddenly nodded and leaned past her to tip the cup to her husbands lips.

Plug your nose, twill help, Emma murmured when Amaury looked about to refuse the drink.
Ale will help kill the taste afterward, she added, grabbing up the mug of ale that had sat
by the bed all morning in case he should awake and be thirsty. Muttering something under
his breath, her husband allowed the stranger to feed him the liquid, then grimaced and
reached immediately for the mug she held. Knowing he was really too weak to hold the
drink, Emma moved it to his lips for him and tipped it up, helping him drink until he
gestured that he had had enough.

Setting the mug back on the table, she watched him anxiously, doing her best to ignore the
man who still loomed at her side like an avenging angel.

After much muttering and shuddering to show his distaste of the medicine Emma had given
him, Amaury sighed and glanced at the man. Tis glad I am to see you. Little George. His
voice was raspy from disuse, but stronger at least than it had first been, he noted with
satisfaction as his friend smiled at him. I take it your task was successful?

Turning to the newcomer, Emma saw him nod one brief nod.

Good. Amaury turned his attention to Blake and Rolfe, who had moved around the bed to
stand where Maude had been but a moment ago. What happened?

You were attacked by bandits, Blake informed him.

Amaury nodded as memory returned. Six of them, he muttered grimly.

Aye.

I was taken unawares. They startled my horse. He unseated me, he admitted testily.

Blake raised his eyebrows at this news, for it was a rare occurrence indeed for Amaury to
be taken unawares, let alone unseated.

I killed four... nay, three. The fourth I only wounded, I think. Blake nodded. He got
away. And the other two? Dead.

The arrow, Amaury murmured, as he recalled his own brief surprise at the sight of the
shaft sticking out of the one mans back. That distraction had cost him dearly, he realized
now, raising a hand to prod gently at the bandage Emma had used to bind his head.

Remembering the pain that had seemed to explode through his skull as he had gaped at the
man, he grimaced. It had only been then that he had remembered the last man and his club.
No doubt his assailant had fallen under an arrow as well, probably mere seconds after
landing his blow with the club. Were that not the case, Amaury had no doubt he would be
dead now.

Two were struck down by arrow, Rolfe said, verifying his thoughts now. Whose arrow? Amaury
asked, frowning. Lord Darion, Alden told him excitedly. He blinked at that. Who?

Lord Darion. Lord Rolfe says hes a spirit of the woods.

Blake grinned slightly at the boys excited face. It seems, aside from a serious problem
with bandits, you also have a mysterious lord of the forest on your hands. And lucky you
are that you do, else you most likely would have died. Blakes smile faded as he added, You
have been unconscious these last three days.

What? Amaury was stunned to hear this.

Aye, my lord, the bishop announced, stepping up behind Emma now to join the conversation.
Three days. We have been sore worried about you.

Amaury finally allowed his gaze to drop to his wife. He had avoided looking at her since
first finding her bent over him smiling. That smile had been so bright it had almost hurt
his head. He had been hard pressed to see why she would smile at him so. So far in their
illustrious marriage he had given her little reason to do so. Unfortunately, now that he
wished to see her expression, her head was bowed, her thoughts hidden from him.

You should rest, my lord, she murmured now, still peering at the hands she was so busily
wringing in her lap.

I have slept for three days, Amaury responded irritably, peeved that he could not see her
expression.

Aye, but Lady Emma is right, the bishop murmured now, a hand dropping to her shoulder. You
needs must rest to continue healing, and so must you, my lady, the bishop added sternly,
giving her shoulder a gentle squeeze as he spoke. You have not slept these two nights and
three days.

He is right, my lady. Alden peered at her across the bed. Yeve not left his Lordships
bedside since he was injured. You will make yourself sick do you not rest soon.

Amaury perked up slightly at that news, then frowned over it. Aye, wife. You will rest. I
will not have you sick.

Emma glanced up at that, but her expression was not what he had hoped for. Rather than
being pleased by his recovery or his concern, she looked vastly annoyed. Why is it that
everyone is always ordering me to bed?

Rolfe grinned at her disgruntlement. Because, sweet cousin, you appear neer to have the
sense to go there on your own.

Why is he called Little George? Emma asked the following morning as she joined her
husbands friend at the table in the Great Hall.

Blake glanced up from the bread and cheese he had been breaking fast with to follow Emmas
gaze as she took a seat beside him at the table. He smiled slightly when he saw the way
the servants were giving the huge man a wide berth and nervous looks where he sat at the
table with the other men. Because he is so large.

Emma frowned at that. That makes very little sense, my lord. Life makes very little sense,
my lady. Emma raised her eyebrows at that.

Blake shrugged. Explain to me why your first husband did not see to his duty by you. He
had meant the question as proof of little sense, for truly, anyone would wonder at a
husband who did not find this woman attractive enough to bed. He realized the moment that
her face flushed in shame, then paled, that he had made a mistake.

Perhaps he found me ugly, she whispered unhappily, and Blake fairly goggled at her. Not
for the words so much, for many was the time that women had said similar things to him in
an effort to elicit compliments. His shock was due to the fact that this lady truly seemed
to believe the words.

My lady, has no one ever told you you are pretty? he asked now.

Emma sighed again. My father... and my cousin, of course, she murmured quietly. But then
they loved me and would say it because they thought it would please me. She obviously did
not believe it was true.

No one else?

Emma shook her head, her eyes trained on the trencher before her as she played with a
piece of cheese in it.

Well. Blake straightened in his seat and gave her his most brilliant smile, despite the
fact that she wasnt even looking. Allow me to tell you, Lady Emma. You are quite a lovely
creature. Your hair is the color of spun gold. Your lips as sweet as the petals of a newly
bloomed rose. Your eyes as large and dewy as a deers. Truly you are... He paused
uncertainly when she suddenly turned to him and patted his arm soothingly.

Tis very kind of you, my lord, but you need not lower yourself to lie.

Tis no lie, he returned quickly.

Then why did Fulk not bed me? she asked simply. Before he could answer that, she got to
her feet and quit the table.