The Deed (13 page)

Nay. But why else would a man leave his very own home? It seemed nonsensical to him. He
had wished for a home of his own for so long, he simply could not fathom why another man
would leave his. Of course, now that he had one, he was beginning to be uncomfortable at
how he had gained it. It was one thing to work hard and earn it, or even to marry a mean
old hag who would make his life miserable. Then he would feel he had earned it as well.
But to have it gained by marriage through the sweet woman sitting beside him seemed just
short of thievery to him somehow.

Emma caught the expression of displeasure on her husbands face, and decided discussing his
friend was upsetting him. And that was the last thing he needed just now while recovering
from his injuries, so she changed the topic yet again.

Where is Little George from? I heard him speak this morn and he has an odd accent.

He comes from the north.

How did he become your first?

Amaury shrugged. I have known him near as long as Blake. We squired together. He is the
fourth son of a baron with a small demesne just south ofScotland .

What was the task he was accomplishing that delayed his arrival here?

He was getting wed.

He was? Her eyes widened at that. I should like to meet his wife.

You cannot. Not yet anyway. She stopped off to visit relatives on the way here. Little
George said she shall follow in a week or two.

Oh, Emma murmured with disappointment. She really would like to meet the woman. Her
husbands first was such a large man, surely his wife must be an Amazon to accommodate him?
Emma flushed at the indecency of her own thoughts and endeavored to turn her mind to other
topics. Tell me more about the assassins who tried to kill King Richard. How did

This talking business is very wearing, Amaury said suddenly, lying back on the pillows.
Sleep.

Emma glared at his closed eyes, then sighed and lay back on the bed. She wasnt fooled by
her husbands claim of weariness. It seemed he didnt wish to discuss his brave act. A
frustrating attitude for him to take. And selfish too, she decided. Especially when her
curiosity was so high. Ah, well, she decided, closing her eyes. She would find out
eventually. Shed pester her cousin until he revealed the whole story. In the meantime, she
would apologize to Lord Blake for her mistake in calling him sir, explain that it was all
her husbands fault, and ask him his opinion on her husbands health. She had considered it
carefully while they had spoken, and she thought mayhap Amaurys odd beliefs about women
and their wickedness might simply be due to the injury to his head. As was his insistence
that she rest when she was not tired. Surely it could not be otherwise? She simply refused
to give credence to the idea that he believed the things he had said. * * *

Amaury opened his eyes and peered at the empty bed beside him, then cursed and sat up. His
wife had slipped away while he slept again. She was sadly lacking in obedience, it seemed.

Muttering under his breath, he stood up, relieved that for once the room did not spin. It
seemed the rest had helped him some. He was struggling into his clothes, when Blake came
into the room.

Your wife will not be pleased when she hears you are up, he commented with amusement.

Amaury grunted and tugged his tunic over his head.

She is quite worried about you, know you? Blake commented now, mischief sparkling in his
eyes. She fears the injury to your head may have... er... tetched you somewhat, and wished
me to speak to you and see if I do not notice anything... er... amiss.

Amaury stilled at that, his head coming up in surprised horror. What? There is no need to
roar, Amaury. I am standing right here. His eyes narrowed. You are jesting, he accused
grimly. Blake shrugged. Disbelieve if you will.

Aye. Amaury nodded. I disbelieve you, he muttered, turning his attention back to
straightening his tunic. Where is she?

Down in the kitchen, no doubt, talking to the cook. Or off in a corner sewing. Is that not
how most women spend their time?

How the devil would I know? Amaury muttered, peering about for his sword. Where is my
squire?

Most likely with your wife. Alden has rarely left her side since your injury. Tis building
his confidence, I might add. He does not stutter, stumble, or trip about around her.

Amaury merely shrugged at this news about his clumsy squire, and got quickly to his feet,
cursing when the room wobbled around him.

Steady on, friend. Blake caught his arm. Mayhap you should stay abed. Youve grown suddenly
pale.

Tis just that I stood too quickly. Amaury swallowed the bile at the back of his throat,
then turned to move slowly and cautiously toward the door.

Emma truly will not be pleased at this, Amaury. She will fret.

She is my wife. Tis her duty to fret for me.

Oh, aye. Blake didnt bother to hide his amusement as he hurried forward to open the door
for him, then followed him down the hall to the stairs leading to the Great Hall.

Amaury managed the stairs on his own, though he was as pale as death with a fine sheen of
sweat on his

brow by the time he reached the last step.

My lord husband! Emma paused in the doorway of the castle, consternation on her face as
she spotted him at the foot of the stairs. Handing Alden the basket of willow bark they
had been out collecting, she left him standing at the door with Maude and hurried to
Amaurys side. You should not be up, my lord. Tis too soon.

I told you she would fret, Blake muttered before she reached them. Good day, my lady. You
look positively blooming with the kiss of the sun on your cheeks.

Emma hardly heard the compliment, her attention focused on her husband, who was busy
scowling at his friend. Please sit down, my lord. You look frightfully pale.

Amaury stopped scowling at his friend to say accusingly, You left the bed.

Emma sighed at his expression. Aye, my lord. I could not sleep, so I thought to

Tis not your place to think, wife, he snapped irritably. Tis your place to do as you are
told.

Emma went quite stiff at that announcement. Blake was rolling his eyes and wondering how
to save the situation when the little serving woman, Maude, rushed forward to save the day.

Ere, my lady, if you would take this a moment? Ill fetch his lordship a chair so he might
rest. She thrust the basket into her mistresss hand, giving her little choice but to
unclench her fists to take it, then ran to the corner of the room, returning a moment
later with the heavy chair that generally sat before the fire. Ere you are, my lordship.
Rest ere a heartbeat or two.

Amaury looked about to argue, then gave in to the demands of his body and dropped onto the
chair with a sigh.

I told him he should not be about, Blake announced, trying to distract his friends wife.
Not aware of what he was up to, Amaury glared at him for his tattling. But he would not
listen, Blake added. I fear he may be getting bedsores from his time abed.

Amaurys jaw dropped at the rude lie. Then he flushed slightly when his wifes gaze
immediately went to his derriere, now resting in the chair. Tis not true, he began, but
paused, coloring furiously when Blake leaned closer to his wife to murmur.

A delicate subject to a man, my lady. Makes them cranky too. Especially so when his head
is no doubt paining him as well. Leave him in my care and Ill see him safely to the table.
I am sure you had something you wished to do with the contents of that basket?

Oh, aye, Emma gasped, worrying about her husband anew. The tea. I shall have some ready in
just a moment, husband. She hurried off toward the kitchen, Alden and Maude rushing behind.

Bedsores?

Blake turned his attention away from watching Emmas voluptuous little behind sway across
the hall to glance at his friend. You may thank me later.

Thank ye! Amaury choked on his own anger, and Blake gave his back a sturdy slap before
nodding.

Aye. Since you seem to be sorely lacking in knowledge of this sort, my friend, allow me to
inform you that you never tell a woman tis not her place to think.

Well, tisnt. Tis my... He paused as Blake rolled his eyes and began to shake his head.

You know that, and I know that, but a smart man never lets his wife know that, Blake told
him.

Amaury frowned. Why?

Tis their feelings.

Their feelings?

Aye, it hurts them. Women are tender creatures.

Oh. Amaury scratched his head. Tis the truth I dont understand her. When I ordered her to
bed this morning, she asked me if I wished to talk.

Blake shrugged. Some women like to talk before

Nay. My head was pounding too loud to bother with that. I wanted her to rest, but when she
saw I was not asleep, she asked if I might wish to talk to her. I ask you, what would I
talk to a woman about?

Blake considered that briefly, then shrugged. I usually give them compliments. That
generally works. I did, but she was not much impressed, he confessed with disgruntlement.
Perhaps they were not the right compliments. What did you say? I told her she was pretty.

Blake waited a moment, but when Amaury simply peered at him, he sighed. You cannot just
tell a woman she is pretty.

You cannot? Why?

Women like flowery words when you give them a compliment.

Flowery words, Amaury muttered, scratching his head again.

Aye. Say things like... your hair is the color of spun gold, your lips as sweet as a rose,
your eyes like those of a deers. But say them in your own words.

Amaury wrinkled his nose in distaste and grunted over that, then glanced away from his
friend to see his wife crossing the room toward them.

Here you are, husband. This should help your head.

Amaury stared at the mug she was pressing toward him, and nearly groaned aloud. By Gods
sweet knees! He swore that rot tasted like horse piss. It was bad enough to have to take
it when his head did hurt, but he was blessedly free of pain just now and she was still
pressing the rot on him. Thanks to Blake, he thought, throwing his friend a nasty look.

I will see that he drinks it, Blake assured Emma suavely, taking the mug. I am sure you
have much more pressing matters?

Thank you, my Lord. I did wish to fetch some salve for his Lordships... er... complaint.
She whispered the last word, then hurried away.

Blake stared after her in befuddlement. I wonder what she meant by

My blasted nonexistent bedsores, Amaury reminded him grimly.

Oh, aye. Blake smiled slightly as he dumped the mug of tea into the fireplace. I wonder
what shell think when she sees that there are none.

What do you mean sees that there are none?

Well, I presume she means to apply the salve since shes gone to fetch it.

Right here? Amaury stared aghast at the thought, imagining her coming back and ordering
him to disrobe right there in the middle of the busy Great Hall. He wouldnt put it past
her. She had shown a distressing tendency to order him about now that she thought he was
not well. He had thought he had taken care of that by enforcing his order for her to
retire earlier, but the fact that she had snuck off as soon as he slept had corrected him
on that issue. He would definitely have to put a stop to that tendency of hers.

When she comes back with the salve, I will delay her until after dinner; then you can
offer to help me apply it, he decided firmly.

Me?

Aye, you Amaury said dryly. You would not wish her to know that you had lied, would you?
It might hurt her tender feelings.

Your hair is the color of gold, your lips as... er... red as a rose, and your eyes like a
deers. Amaury recited the words quickly as they sat at the table for dinner, then nodded
his satisfaction as he awaited his wifes response.

Lady Emma stilled in the midst of raising her tankard to her mouth, gave her head a slight
shake, then continued eating.

Amaury frowned. Wife, I said your hair is the color of Gold. Aye, I know, husband. Lord
Blake told me that earlier. Slamming his ale back on the table, Amaury turned to his
friend and glared. I told you to use your own words, Blake said at once, having heard the
exchange. Those were just

examples.

Muttering under his breath, Amaury turned back to his meal and began stabbing at food with
his dirk.

Is aught wrong, husband? Emma asked, a hint of laughter marring her concern. Is your head
paining you? Shall I make more

Nay! Amaury reigned his temper in and sighed. Thank you, but nay, I need no more tea. He
shuddered just to think of it, then sighed and sat back slightly, having lost his
appetite. He was also beginning to grow a bit tired after his short excursion. It probably
had something to do with all the arguing and fretting he had done since coming below
stairs. It had been quite a battle to get his little wife to leave off applying the salve
until bedtime. She could be a stubborn little cuss when it came to his health. He wasnt
sure whether he should be pleased by that or not. Perhaps he would be if Blake hadnt
explained that she was probably worried so about him because she feared having to marry
Bertrand if Amaury himself died on her. It wasnt much of a compliment to be preferred over
Bertrand.

I fear I grow weary from all this excitement. Mayhap I shall just retire to bed and have a
sleep, he announced with an expectant glance at his friend.

Nodding, Blake continued to eat. It was Emma who stood up at once to offer her assistance.
Of course. I shall see you up and apply the salve.

Amaury glared at Blake at that, but when his friend merely continued to eat, he waved her
back to the table. Nay, wife. I can manage on my own.

You cannot put the salve on on your own, husband, Emma argued sensibly.

Blake will see to it, Amaury announced, elbowing him as he spoke.

Oh, aye. Wiping his blade off, Blake stuck his own dirk back in its sheath and rose
quickly, offering her a smile. I shall look after him, my lady. You must eat to keep up
your strength.