The Deed (22 page)

Emma turned to arch one eyebrow at him, only to pause as her gaze was caught by his
sleeve. She had noted the overlong length of them earlier and thought nothing of it. She
had seen many men wearing them at court. In truth she had seen many men with crakows on
too, some even with toes as long as his, but somehow they had not appeared as amusing on
others as on her husband. Perhaps because the other men had had enough practice walking in
them not to appear to be fish-marching. She had not found the overlong sleeves amusing
either, but then none of the people at court had had theirs hanging down into her tankard
of mead.

Amaury frowned over his wifes response. At first she had simply peered at him with that
slightly arrogant tipping up of one eyebrow he was beginning to detest, but just now she
was beginning to tremble, her lips working in a way that gave him the very nasty suspicion
she was about to burst out laughing at him again. Following her gaze, he glanced down at
his arm, and jumped up from the table with a curse, grabbing at the sopping sleeve.

Here. Blake was at his side at once, helping him to wring the liquid out of his sleeve and
ushering him a little away to say, Tis not going well.

Nay. She thinks me the veriest buffoon.

Nay, his friend lied reassuringly.

Aye. She is laughing at me.

Nay. Stiffening, Blake straightened and held up the tip of his sleeve. This doublet is not
finished. The sleeves are unsewn.

Amaury sighed. Aye. I rushed de Lascey to have it done enough that I could wear it to
impress my wife, he admitted bitterly. Tis just the hem of the sleeve. He will finish it
later.

Hmm. Blake dropped the cloth and peered at him. Mayhap she would warm a bit if you
explained why you believed she had poisoned you.

Nodding, Amaury straightened his shoulders and turned toward the table, then paused and
turned back. What reason should I give? Blake rolled his eyes. Twas due to all the
potions she was putting in

Oh, aye. Turning abruptly, he stepped back up to the table and dropped onto the seat
beside his wife, careful to avoid dunking his sleeve this time as he faced her. I believed
you had done the poisoning due to the fact that you were forever sneaking those potions
into my ale.

Emmas amusement fled. Those potions were for your health.

Aye, he agreed soothingly at once. And tis sure I am the dogs have not been healthier...
until they died, of course. Amaury shifted uncomfortably, his gaze dropping. Then it
suddenly flew up again, brightening as he thought to add, And they did aid my health,
wife. Think on it. Had you not been sneaking those potions into my drink since my head
injury, I would not have been dumping my ale in the dogs bowl and might have been the one
to die last night of poison.

Emma opened her mouth on an angry retort, then paused and blinked. Would not have been
dumping... How long have you been dumping your ale out in the dogs dish?

Since the first night I was up from my sickbed, Amaury admitted after a hesitation,
bracing himself for her anger. Instead of anger, Emma looked completely bemused.

Then twas not the damiana that brought you to my bed?

Amaury frowned over her faintly spoken words. What? Damiana?

A commotion drew his gaze toward the stairs, and he sighed impatiently as he saw that
Little George was returning with de Lascey and his people. We shall finish this discussion
later, he announced, getting to his feet to face the group as they approached.

Catching the coldness in his voice, Emma glanced at him curiously, then at the people
moving toward them. She stood slowly. What is occurring, my lord?

Amaury glanced at her warily. His wife did not appear angry any more, simply concerned, so
he allowed himself to relax somewhat. Little George questioned the cook and his helpers
about anyone being near my tankard, and learned that two of de Lasceys women were the only
ones in the kitchen besides yourself yesterday before sup.

Emma nodded at that. Gytha and Sylvie. Gytha came in to fetch a beverage and spoke to me
while I made the potion, and Sylvie was entering the kitchen as I left. She peered up at
him. Surely you do not suspect either of them?

Amaury grimaced. I only wish to question them, wife. Tis the only clue we have so far. He
frowned as he glanced over the seamstresses. There are only five here. Which one is
missing?

Sylvie, Emma admitted reluctantly. Sylvie was the youngest of the seamstresses, a mere
slip of a girl, not yet sixteen. Emma could not imagine the girl poisoning anyone, and
feared her absence would make him judge her harshly.

Little George led the group to stand before them, then stepped aside. Amaury glared over
them, his gaze going over each face. The women looked confused and anxious, but nothing
more. De Lascey was doing his best to cower behind the women without appearing to. Where
is the one called Sylvie?

There was a moment of silence as the women glanced at each other; then de Lascey stepped
forward long enough to say, I zent her to zee kitchens to get me zome vine. Then he
stepped quickly back behind the women again.

Amaury turned a glance to Little George at that, but he neednt have bothered. His first
was already moving toward the kitchen door.

A moment later he was back with the news that she had been and gone, and was supposed to
have returned above stairs. A nod from Amaury then sent the man sprinting up the stairs to
seek out the missing girl.

Might I ask what ees appening, my lord?

Emmas surprise showed when the tailor found the nerve to step out from behind his women
long enough to ask that question. Amaury merely seemed annoyed. He glared at the man, then
continued his slow study of each of their faces as he awaited his firsts return. He wanted
to see if anyone betrayed guilt by expression. All of these people were strangers to the
castle and therefore any of them could have been the guilty party.

Emma nearly sighed in relief when Little George finally hurried down the stairs. The
tension in the Great Hall was unbearable. That relief turned to concern, however, when he
whispered something in her husbands ear that made Amaury take her arm and lead her toward
the stairs.

What is it, husband?

Little George found the wench. He paused at the top of the stairs and turned to her to add
grimly, She is dead. It appears to be poison. I wish to know if twas the same poison that
killed the dogs.

Emma nodded her understanding. He wished her to view the body and look for the same signs
she had found on the dogs.

Thank you, Amaury murmured, then led her down the hall to the room de Lascey had chosen to
store the fabric in. It was crowded with bolts of fabric stacked haphazardly in any space
not taken up by the two makeshift, blanket-covered straw beds on the floor and the large
draped bed in the center of it all.

It was the large bed where the girl in the plain homespun dress was. She was draped across
the bottom of it on her back, an empty vial clutched in one hand. Her legs hung off the
edge as if she had sat down to rest. She had never gotten back up. In this last sleep
Sylvie appeared even younger than she had in life.

Sadness welling up inside her at this waste, Emma moved to sit carefully beside the
reed-thin body and bent to peer on her eyes and mouth. She then lifted the hand holding
the vial, peered at her nails, then took the vial and gave a sniff.

Tis the same? Aye. Amaury grunted. Bring me de Lascey and his women.

Emma sat staring at the dead girl, wondering what had brought her to this pass in her
life, then glanced to the door as the rustle of clothing and several small gasps announced
the arrival of de Lascey and his women. Straightening her shoulders, she stood and moved
to her husbands side.

What is zis? De Lascey peered at his seamstress in dismay.

She is dead, Amaury announced grimly. Then, before they could quite accept that, he asked,
How long has she been in your employ?

I hired her just before coming here. He looked truly taken aback by these events... as his
missing accent suggested.

How did that come about?

De Lascey shook his head. One of my other women did not appear on the day we were to
leave. Sylvie arrived at the door just as we were about to depart. She claimed she was
accomplished at sewing. It seemed a blessing.

Amaury grimaced at his choice of words. De Lasceys blessing had very nearly been his own
funeral. Where are her belongings?

The tailor looked blank at that, then glanced to his workers questioningly, and one of
them hurried to one of the makeshift beds and retrieved a small sack. This was hers, my
lord.

Accepting the small bag, Amaury turned it over, dumping its contents on the bed. He and
Emma both stared sadly at the contents. A wooden comb with many teeth missing, a plain
brown gown with several holes, a small sack, and another vial. Picking up the vial, Amaury
opened it and took a whiff, then handed it to Emma for her to sniff as he reached for the
sack.

The vial was empty, but there was still the faint bitter smell she had noted in the first
vial, and Emma shook her head with a sigh.

Is it not also poison?

Aye, she admitted reluctantly. Tis the same as the one she held. But I do not believe it.
Why would she Her voice came to an abrupt halt when Amaury tipped up the sack he held and
poured out a handful of coins.

There is your reason, he said.

Twould seem so, Emma agreed, still with some difficulty. It was a paltry sum to her, but
she knew it would have seemed a fortune to the young girl on the bed. Still, it just did
not seem possible that the girl who looked so sweet in death had been capable of murder.
There were too many unanswered questions. Then why did she kill herself? Why take the
poison?

Shrugging, Amaury poured the coins back into the sack. Guilt. Fear of being caught. Who
can tell. His gaze lifted to de Lascey, who stood behind his women once more, an anxious
look on his face. When he noticed Amaury peering at him, he took a nervous step back.

I did not know, he babbled. Twas not my fault. I never would have brought her had I
realized. Emma grimaced at his pathetic words. You brought this wench into our midst,
Amaury accused. I should bring you up on charges. Nay! The tailor looked horrified at the
thought. But I did not know.

You should better check your people. Aye, of course, butI will make it up to you, my lord.
How could you possibly make it up? I will give you a discount on your wardrobes, he said
desperately. Amaury merely arched an eyebrow at that. Half the price I meant to charge
you. Half. And I will not charge you for my having to travel out here.

Amaury pursed his lips briefly over that, then nodded. De Lascey sagged in relief, then
stiffened once more when Amaury added, However, you will make no more of these
contraptions. Bending, he undid the chains at his knees and removed his crakows, throwing
them at the man with disgust. And you shall shorten the sleeves on this doublet and make
the others so as well. He shrugged off the doublet and tossed that across the room at the
man as well. And no more of those ridiculous feathers in my hats.

Aye, my lord. His relief was palpable.

And if I see anything so foolish on my wife... He let the threat trail away, leaving it to
the tailors imagination.

Aye, my lord. Thank you, my lord. Bowing repeatedly, he backed out of the room, gesturing
for his women to follow.

Amaury watched them go, then shook his head, muttering an unflattering description of the
man under his

breath.

Emma remained silent. She did not blame de Lascey for Sylvies actions, but was not going
to argue over his agreement to halve his fee. He had inflated the cost enough to begin
with that, at half the price, he was still getting a more than fair deal. Her gaze moved
to Amaury as he peered at himself with a frown.

I shall have to dress again. Taking her arm, he led her toward the door. Take care of the
girl, Little George, he ordered, then ushered Emma out as she added, Give her a proper
burial, please.

She then remained silent until they had reached their room. As sad as the mornings events
had been, she had hardly known the dead child and her mind was already turning to other
events. Her discovery, for instance, that Amaury had not been taking her potions in all
the time since their marriage. If it was true, then

What is damiana? Tipping her head, she peered at her husband wide- eyed. It was as if he
had read her mind. Wife? He frowned at her impatiently when she remained silent.

Emma hesitated as he dug his old green doublet out of the chest at the foot of the bed and
proceeded to put it on. Sighing, she sank down on the side of their bed. You said you have
been dumping your ale in the dogs dish since regaining your feet? she asked carefully.

Aye. He tugged the worn old doublet over his head, then glanced at her unhappy face and
sighed. I am sorry, wife. But those potions of yours are fair bitter in a mans mouth.
Sides, I did not need them.

Nay. Twould seem not, Emma said faintly, thinking of the active love life they had
enjoyed. Until last night.

Eyeing her thoughtfully, he moved to sit on the bed beside her. Tell me.

Emma peered up at him uncertainly, wondering if he would be angry at her for drugging him,
then decided to delay a bit longer. Why did you not come to bed last night, my lord?

Grimacing, he avoided her eyes briefly before admitting, Tis foolish.

Nay. Tell me.

Shrugging, he peered at the window of their room. My thoughts were confused. In truth they
still are.

You became angry with me when I said twas for an heir I was... She colored faintly,
unwilling to even think of her shameless behavior the day before, let alone put a name to
it.

Amaury nodded wryly.

And yet, is that not why a wife is supposed to wish to... you know? When he remained
silent at that, it was Emmas turn to sigh. In truth I did not tell all regarding why I was
so... aggressive. Twas not simply for an heir. I know not a better way to explain it than
that, after the violence in the woods, I wished to be held by you and to feel alive. The
joining with you makes me feel so.