The Deed (12 page)

Cursing, Amaury tossed the bedclothes aside and turned to sit up on the edge of the bed.
He was damned if his friend was going to tend to his wifes tender feelings. That was his
job, dammit! He was her husband!

My Lord! Lady Emma! Lady Emma! He is trying to get up!

He turned to glare at the door as the maid Maude hurried away, eager to tattle on him.
Muttering under his breath, Amaury shook his head and turned his attention back to
struggling to his feet.

This was his castle, blast it! He could get up if he wished. He was lord here, after all,
and he would tell his wife that too, he decided grimly, gaining his feet.

My husband!

All of Amaurys bluster fled to be replaced by a guilty grimace at her dismayed voice as
his wife reached the room and saw what he was about.

What do you? Are you mad? Emma berated her husband as she rushed into the room. You must
rest to regain your strength, not waste what little you have left.

Amaury scowled at her, then sighed and decided to ignore her bossiness. It was difficult
to argue that he need not stay abed when he was swaying weakly on his feet. It appeared he
had used up most of what little strength his anger had given him. Aside from being a bit
dizzy, he also was feeling rather weary all of a sudden.

Reaching his side, Emma grabbed quickly at his arm to steady him, then urged him to sit on
the bed once more. His legs already collapsing beneath him, Amaury gave a grunt as he
slipped back to sit on the bed, then sighed resignedly as his wife fussed and fretted
around him, helping him to return to a lying position beneath the bedclothes and tucking
him in. Some of his strength returned, however, to send him surging up in bed when she
then moved to leave the room.

Where go you?

Emma turned back, her surprise at the sharp tinge to his tone obvious. I thought to go to
the kitchen to see about dinner.

Nay, your place is here.

Emmas eyebrows rose at that pronouncement. Aye, but you must rest, my lord, and I have
duties to

As your husband, am I not your first duty? She frowned over that. Aye, my lord, but you
needs must rest. Amaury grimaced over that, but did not argue the point. You should rest
also, wife. Me? But I am not the one injured, she protested at once. Aye, but you have two
nights of no sleep to make up for. But... I am not tired. Aye, you are. Nay, I

Do not argue, wife. Do I say that you are tired, then you are. But Am I not your lord? he
asked with an impatient sigh. Aye, but

Then your place is at my side. To bed.

Emma stared at him blankly for a moment, then let her shoulders drop with a sigh and moved
behind the screen to change. It seemed best to humor him just then. He had suffered a head
injury after all and those were known to addle the brain some. She hoped the affliction
would pass with a bit of time.

Grunting his satisfaction, Amaury sank back against the pillows and relaxed. He was
terribly satisfied with himself. It was true, he seemed too weak yet to be able to leave
his bed. However, no one would have the chance to compliment his wife and repair the
damage done to her esteem but himself this way. Besides, his wife had shown a distressing
tendency toward bossiness since his injury. Exerting his authority as he had, had been
enough to remind her of her place. It was not good to let a woman get above herself, he
was sure.

Amaury remained thoroughly satisfied with the way he had maneuvered things right up until
his wife walked out from behind the screen in her black gown and climbed into bed beside
him. Then some of his satisfaction slipped as he watched her plump her pillow and pull the
sheet up before lying on her side facing him and he realized what he had done.

Damn, but he had put her right back in bed beside him again. He would never get any rest
now. Frowning, he peered at her still form, then forced himself to look away and peer at
the sunshine pouring in through the window.

Husband? Amaury turned quickly to glance at his wife at her timid murmur. Aye? You should
rest, she reminded him gently.

Hmm. Shifting against the pillows, he frowned slightly and turned back to the window,
wondering what the men were doing right then. No doubt they were lazing about, growing fat
and sloppy. He would have to see to correcting that once he was up and about. He would
also have to tend to the bandits, he thought grimly.

Husband?

Aye. Amaury growled the word, then tried not to look so fierce when he saw his wifes
uncertainty. Truly, she appeared an odd mixture of bossy and timid.

Can you not rest? He was about to deny that, then sighed and shrugged.

Would you like to talk, perchance? she asked then, and Amaury turned to her with some
surprise.

Talk? To who, wife? There is none other here but you.

Emmas gaze narrowed at that. Aye, husband. Tis true I am all that is available. So mayhap
you would care to talk to me?

Amaury hardly noticed the snap to her words, he was too caught up by the question. Amaury
had never talked to any woman. His mother had died at his birth, and he had been raised
for the first few years of his life by his grandfather, a surly old man to be sure. Then
he had been sent off to foster. The lord he had fostered with had had a wife, of course,
but had rarely seemed to address her except to give her orders. He certainly had never
seemed to see a necessity to talk to her of anything of interest or import, so Amaury had
followed suit and done little more than nod her way in passing as a show of respect.

The only other women who had been in his life were camp followers. He had spent a great
many years fighting this battle or that, trying to earn the money needed to purchase a
home of his own. During those various battles, he had hardly had the time to make proper
use of the services of those women, let alone waste time talking to them. Truth to tell,
it had never occurred to him to bother. What would he have said?

My lord?

Catching the impatience in his wifes voice, Amaury turned his eyes back to her, brows
rising slightly at her expression. His little wife looked quite fraught with anger at the
moment. Clearing his throat, he considered what he might say to her, then remembered his
intention to rebuild her confidence. You are pretty.

Emma blinked at his words. They sounded more like an accusation than a compliment. Truly
her husband was odd, she decided. That thought brought her mind around to the other oddity
he had displayed for her on their wedding night, and her eyes dropped surreptitiously to
his lap. Of course, she had realized by now that it wasnt truly an oddity, not after what
he had done with it. If that was the consummation, then all men must surely have such an
extra limb. A disquieting thought that. Had Fulk had one? And if so, had his been quite so
large when grown? She doubted it, for Fulk had been small and well formed everywhere from
what she had actually seen of him.

Wife? Aye? Emma flushed guiltily as she raised her eyes quickly back to his. I said you
were pretty, He reminded her now. Have you nothing to say? Nay, I do not believe I am.
Amaury stiffened at that. If I say you are pretty, then you are. Aye, husband, Emma
murmured dutifully.

Amaury grunted, but continued to frown. He suspected she was simply agreeing because it
was her place to do so, not because she had realized the truth of his words. I said you
were pretty, he repeated once more.

Aye, husband. Tis kind of you to say so.

Tis not kind. Tis the truth.

If you say so husband. Tell me of how you saved the king. When he merely scowled at her,
she prodded, Rolfe told me you saved the king from assassins inIreland ?

Amaury nodded reluctantly. Aye. Emma waited for him to expound on the subject, but he
simply sat there pursing his lips with displeasure. Who were they? she asked finally.
Irish. She rolled her eyes at that. Aye, surely they were Irish, but Wife, tis not fitting
for a man to discuss war with a lady.

Emma peered at him suspiciously at that announcement. Rolfe discussed war with her. So had
her father before him. They saw nothing wrong with it. Surely he was jesting?
Unfortunately, she had seen little evidence so far that her husband ever jested. Why? she
asked finally.

Why what?

Why is it not fitting for a man to discuss war with a woman?

Amaury scowled over that, trying to recall what he had heard on the subject of war and
women. The truth was he had never heard anyone discuss the merit, or lack thereof, of
discussing war with women. He had simply assumed it was unacceptable. After all, by all
accounts, women were delicate creatures, swooning and weeping at the least provocation. He
had even heard that they suffered occasionally from heart palpitations.

You would most likely swoon and palpitate, he informed her now, then nodded to emphasize
his words when she peered at him doubtfully.

Swoon and palpitate?

Aye. Tis well known women are weak of disposition, wife, he informed her knowledgeably.
Tis why you are resting now.

Tis?

Aye. Women are the weaker gender. They are weaker physically, weaker willed, and even
weaker in the mind. Tis why they must be taken care of, first by their fathers and then by
their husbands.

Emmas eyes were mere slits as she glared at him. Never before had she heard such rot.
Certainly her father and cousin had never said such things to her. They had treated her as
an equal, except when it came to the issue of practice with the sword. Still, she knew
what he said was a common belief, so tried to remain reasonable. I grant you that men are
generally stronger physically than women, Emma said.

And mentally, Amaury insisted quickly.

Nay.

Aye, and in character, wife. Women, if not guided with care, are the most treacherous of
creatures.

Nay. Surely you cannot believe that! She stared at him aghast.

Amaury shrugged. Consider Eve.

Consider the Virgin Mary! Emma snapped back quickly.

He paused over that. Tis true that the Virgin Mary was an exceptional woman; however

And look at Judas or King Herod as examples of men!

You cannot count them for they were evil men, he protested at once.

Just so, then we cannot count Eve or her flawed decisions.

Amaury looked briefly confused, then he regained some of his arrogance. My lady, according
to Thomas Aquinas

Oh, aye. By all means let us hear what he has to say. A celibate who most likely detested
women. Aye, his judgment would be untarnished.

Amaurys frown darkened. You He is also dead, Emma added dryly. I think twould be a good
idea to change the subject, wife. Why? You are beginning to palpitate.

Emma opened her mouth to argue, then thought better of it. She was not getting
palpitations, but she was becoming very angry. She did not wish to argue with her husband,
however, so she decided a change of subject might be the best of all possible options. Who
is Little George?

My first in command. I thought Sir Blake was your first? Sir Blake? He grinned suddenly.
Nay, he is Lord Blake. My friend and partner. Partner?

Aye. He perked up slightly, pride entering his face. We are warriors. We lead two hundred
of the finest fighting men inEngland . We are much in demand. We can ask nearly any fee we
wish. We... His voice faded, a frown slowly sliding across his face as he realized he
couldnt lay claim to that anymore.

He was a duke now with a large estate and servants at his disposal. Unfortunately, it was
all due, not to his own hard work, but to a marriage to the petite woman beside him. In
truth she was the master here. He had been made witness to that on the morning of his
attack. The servants followed her softly spoken directives with respect and alacrity, all
eager to please her. He had yet to see if they would listen to him, and if they did, he
feared it would be out of fear, not due to respect he had gained, for they knew him not.

It was an odd position for Amaury to find himself in. He had been well respected and
followed for his skill in battle, his fairness, and his sharp tactics. As soon as he had
finished his training and earned his knights spurs, he had begun to hire himself out to
those in need of a strong sword arm. It hadnt been very long before he had found himself
being followed from job to job by several other men. Without a word being said, he had
somehow ended up being their leader, arranging jobs, paying their fees, and storing away
as much as possible of what was left over to one day purchase his own home. Over the
years, the size of his men had grown so that when he had met up with Blake again some
years back, the size of his band had reached well over a hundred and fifty.

At that time, Amaury had been considering letting some of the men go, and had been
agonizing over the decision. Their size had grown to such an extent that while they were
the first to be considered for large contracts, they were too large for many of the
smaller but more plentiful jobs. That had resulted in their finding themselves with little
to do but drink and wench on far too many occasions.

Blake had been the solution to his problem. With him for a partner, they could separate
the men for smaller contracts, yet be available for larger ones when needed. The
arrangement had been very successful.

Why was he lorded?

Amaury took his mind away from his thoughts and glanced at his wife with a small frown.
What say you?

Lord Blake. How did he gain the title of lord? Did he save someone important too?

Amaury grinned slightly and shook his head. Nay. He was born a lord. He is Lord Blake
Sherwell.

When she simply stared at him blankly, Amaury said, His father is Lord Rollo Sherwell, the
Earl of Hampshire.

Emma gaped at that, her face flushing with embarrassment. It was bad enough that she had
called him sir when he was a lord, but she could have been forgiven for that were he newly
titled. Calling him sir when he was an earls son was unforgivable. And it was all her
husbands fault of course. He should have explained things to her.

Amaury burst out laughing at her expression, and Emma frowned at him. Tis not funny,
husband. I might have insulted him somehow. Nay, Amaury said now, sobering at once. You
are my wife, you did nothing to insult him.

Emma sighed at that proclamation. It seemed her husband thought he simply had to order
something to make it so. There was no sense arguing with him on that fact, so she turned
her attention to her curiosity instead. Why would the Earl of Hampshires son become a
mercenary?

Amaury shrugged. He was tired of sitting about waiting for his father to die, Ispose.

Emma gaped at him. He said that?