The Deed (25 page)

Grimacing, Amaury moved to peer out the entrance of the tent. The first faint rays of dawn
were streaking across the sky in ribbons of pink that underlined the inky black of night.
Tis almost dawn. We will reach court today.

And they, whoever they are, will know I failed, George said unhappily, misery taking shape
on his homely face.

Not if Amaury is dead.

All three men turned on Emma in horror at her words. She rolled her eyes at their
expressions. Not really dead. We shall pretend he is. No one but the three of us know what
happened in this tent. Who is to say that Little George did not succeed?

Well... Blake shifted uncomfortably. There are more than the three of us, he admitted
wryly after a moment. When Emma raised her eyebrows at that, he grimaced. Half the camp
followed me in here when you started screaming. I sent them away when I realized you
were... He gestured to where she now sat wrapped in the bedclothes and Emma flushed. It
appeared as if half the camp had seen her thrashing about naked on the floor with her
husband and Little George. A damned embarrassing bit of knowledge, but she really did not
have time to worry on it overmuch.

Did they get enough of a look to see if he was wounded or nay?

Blake thought on it a moment, then shook his head slowly. Nay, I do not think they would
have.

Well, then, tis settled. You are dead, husband. Emma smiled at her own cleverness. That
will keep Little Georges wife safe until you can save her.

His eyebrows rose at that. I am to save her, am I?

Surely. Being dead gives you a great deal of freedom. We can put you in a disguise. You
can sneak into Bertrands castle, snoop about, find out where she is and... Why are you
shaking your head at me?

You have read too many books, wife, he told her grimly, then shared a glance between Blake
and Little George. I do not think it a good thing that some fathers allow their daughters
to read now. It does seem to addle them somewhat.

Emma narrowed her eyes on him and snapped, Tis a sound plan!

Mayhap if we were characters in one of Chaucers

Husband!

Amaury sighed. You forget one thing, wife. Should I be considered dead, twould leave you
unprotected. Bertrand would force a marriage.

Emma frowned over that, then brightened. I shall claim that I am pregnant. I would be safe
then.

Amaury shook his head at that. Rather than keep her safe, such a claim might simply put
her in graver danger. He had no doubt that to Bertrand, a child would simply be an
inconvenience. Hed either arrange for her to suffer a miscarriage or kill her outright,
depending on how great his desire was for her. Amaury tended to think he would try to
cause her to miscarry, for in his eyes, his wife was a very desirable woman. He did not
bother to mention this to her, however, for his thoughts were taken up with plotting of
his own.

Nay, I will not be dead, he announced, moving to finally don his braies. But I shall be
dying.

Oh, my lady. Tis so unfair!

Putting a hand to her maids shoulder, Emma patted it soothingly. Aye, fate is a fickle
witch, she murmured, adding a dramatic sigh for good measure.

Amaury grimaced slightly at his wifes poor acting, then silently cursed his forgetting
himself when Maude gasped.

Look, my lady! He appears to be coming around. He is in pain.

Emma glanced down with a start, and frowned at her husband as she caught the expression
that Maude had noticed just before he eased it back into the expressionless mask he had
been feigning since shortly after explaining his plan that morning. It was to look as if
he had been attacked in his sleep and stabbed. He was to be at deaths door, but lingering
before stepping over the threshold. The official story was that Emma had awakened as her
husband was stabbed and thrown herself at the adversary, so that she and her husband
became tangled up with him, but when Blake had arrived with the torch, they had found
Little George.

Amaurys first was to claim he had arrived before Blake and, unable to see in the dark, had
joined the tussle, but that the villain had somehow escaped before the others had arrived.
Bertrand and Lady Ascot, however, would know that they had commissioned no one else to
attack her husband, and would assume that Little George had simply done the deed they had
set before him. Her husband was hoping this plot would keep both Emma and Little Georges
wife safe until they could figure some way to find the woman.

Emma thought her plan would have worked better, but the men had not agreed, so she had had
to bow to the majority. And had fretted over it ever since. There had been a myriad of
problems that day. First they had had to convince the others that they had not raised a
hue and cry and set them to searching the woods for the phantom attacker because they had
been busy trying to save her husbands sorry hide. Then there had been the problem of
Maude. Amaury, being near death, had had to lay, supposedly unconscious, in the wagon for
the remainder of the trip. Her husband had not handled real illness well, so she should
not have been surprised that he bore this feigned illness even worse. He had whined and
complained over the need to ride in the wagon like a baby at every opportunity.

He had gotten that opportunity often. To prevent Maude from trying to change Amaurys
bandages or do something else that would allow her to learn that he was not injured after
all, Emma had been forced to ride in the wagon as well, playing the concerned wife. She
had spent most of that last day of traveling attempting to keep Maude from overhearing her
husbands complaining. Especially at the nooning meal when all she could offer her deathly
ill and supposedly unconscious husband was an apple. It would not have done for her to be
taking food to her supposedly weak and dying husband, but try to explain that to a hungry
man who had had naught but a corner of bread that she had managed to sneak away for him to
break fast with.

It had got worse after that, for it had begun to drizzle. In an attempt to keep her poor
husband dry in the uncovered wagon, Emma had taken up a blanket and crouched over him for
the remainder of the ride. That had merely allowed him to complain more, for they were
sheltered somewhat by the blanket. Between his complaining and the fact that her back had
felt near to cracking from being in such a bent position for so long, Emma had been ready
to stab her husband herself.

It had been a great relief when they had finally arrived at Leicestershire, where Richard
was holding temporary court. Amaury too had seemed relieved. At least he had stopped his
infernal complaining for a bit as they had seen to carrying him up to this room where they
were to remain during their stay. But then, there was no longer the creak of wood and the
whirring of the wagon wheels to cover any complaints he might have made, and Maude was no
longer separated from them by the length of the wagon and a blanket. Emma suspected that
was the only thing that kept him silent, and was in no rush to see the servant go.
However, she was beginning to think she might have to. For her husband was obviously
having difficulty maintaining his role. All he really had to do was lie silent and rest,
yet it seemed even that was too difficult for him to accomplish.

Emma was about to give in and send Maude away when a knock sounded at the door. The
servant immediately hurried to answer it, and stepped aside with a small gasp when the
king entered followed by Blake.

Moving directly to the bed. King Richard peered down at his fallen warrior, his shoulders
immediately slumping. So tis true, he murmured glumly, and Amaury issued a low moan.

As she glanced at him, Emmas lips tightened vexedly. He was to be at deaths door, for
goodness sake. Did he keep moaning and frowning, people would think him on the mend. Damn!
It was his own plan. He could at least have the decency to keep to it.

Richard took in the glare she was gracing her husband with and frowned. I think he is
trying to say something, madam, he snapped sharply.

Nay, Emma murmured, managing a mournful look. Nay, Your Majesty. He is beyond words now.
Death is his companion, and has ever demanded silence of those he courts. He will linger
some, I am sure, but tis all a matter ofouch! Glancing down, she scowled sharply at
Amaury. Hed pinched her, the bloody ogre! Hed slid his hand out from beneath the blankets
and pinched her! He was just lucky no one saw him.

Is something amiss? Richard asked.

Emma glanced sharply at the suspicion on the kings face and shook her head. Nay, Your
Majesty. I just tis my new shoes, she prevaricated. They are new enough to pinch. Her gaze
happened to slide to Blake then, and noting the fact that he was making faces at her and
nodding toward Maude, she hesitated, confusion covering her expression. She was just
grasping the fact that he thought she should have Maude leave, when the door burst open
and Little George stormed in with the kings guard on his heels trying to catch his arms
and drag him back.

She is dead! he roared disconsolately. Twas all for naught! She is dead. The last word
sank away on misery as he came to a halt. The guards immediately caught him and tried to
wrestle him from the room.

He is Amaurys man, Blake explained quickly to the king, who nodded and turned to the three
men struggling at the door. In truth, only his guards were struggling. Little George was
slumped where he stood, not fighting, but as immovable as a castle wall.

Leave him be! Leave us! As soon as the door had closed on his men. King Richard turned to
survey the inhabitants of the room. He could feel a storm of secrets flowing about him,
and was beginning to suspect he was the only one who did not understand what was
happening. What is the meaning of this? What goes on here?

There was silence for a moment. Then Amaury sat up in bed with a sigh. Twas my idea. Your
Majesty, he announced apologetically, rising from the bed.

Oh, sweet Saint Christopher, tis a miracle! Maude cried, dropping to her knees to offer a
prayer of thankfulness.

Sighing, Emma moved to her servants side. Aye, Maude. Tis wondrous. Her voice hardly
sounded pleased as she took the womans arm and urged her back to her feet, but the servant
did not notice. She was too busy sobbing with joy. Ushering her to the door, Emma patted
her back. No doubt his lordship would appreciate some refreshments and food after his
illness. After you have refreshed yourself, mayhap you could bring him a repast.

Aye, my lady. Twill be good for him.

Aye, Emma agreed, and closed the door.

Amaury turned to where Little George stood so stiff and silent, despair his only
expression. Tell me, he ordered.

King Richard opened his mouth to countermand that order and demand his own explanations,
then decided against it as the man began to speak.

I was helping Wesley to see to the horses at the stables when he struck up a conversation
with Lord Woolseys first, Little George told them dully. I overheard him commiserating
with him over your injury, and telling him that they too had suffered several
misadventures on their way here.

Aye. Bang Richard nodded at that. Woolsey told me all about it when he arrived at court
earlier this month. His favored horse went lame and had to be put down, one of his men
became ill, and they came across a woman floating in the river one of the nights when they
made camp. The king paused to frown when Amaurys man winced over that last bit of
information, his face transfixed with agony. But they knew not who the woman was, he added
after a moment.

Nay, they did not. Nor did I, until he showed me this. Holding his hand out, Little George
opened it to reveal a small circular band.

Your wifes? Amaury asked reluctantly.

He nodded. It has our initials.

Amaury crossed the few feet that separated them and took the ring. Peering at it closely,
he looked for those initials, then sighed when he espied them. Handing the ring back, he
clasped his firsts shoulder. She has been dead all this time?

They found her two days after she was taken, but said she looked to have been in the water
for at least a day.

Thinking he had been patient long enough, King Richard crossed his arms and frowned on
them all. What goes on here? Amaury, explain yourself. You are obviously not injured. Why
was I told you were?

I am sorry, Your Majesty, and I do appreciate your forbearance so far, Amaury murmured,
squeezing his firsts shoulder before turning to face his king. It was a breach of
protocol, Emma was sure. One was not supposed to show the king ones back, but Richard did
not appear upset. In truth he was so tangled up in intrigue at the moment, she suspected
he had not even noticed.

We have had some difficulties since the wedding, her husband announced now. I was beset by
bandits, then mercenaries in two separate attacks, and my dogs were killed by poison meant
for me. My wife and I were attacked on the journey here. Then we learned that my firsts
wife had been kidnapped a few days after the wedding in an attempt to force him to aid in
seeing to my demise.

The king digested all of this, then quirked one eyebrow. Bertrand? That is my guess. And
this injury you supposedly suffered?

Amaury cast a glance at Little George, then sighed. Twas for Georges wife. He was ordered
to kill me if the last attack failed. At threat of her death. We hoped my being on deaths
door would protect her and Emma at the same time. There was also the hope that they would
grow impatient with my lingering, try again to kill me here, and be caught in the act.

And now?

Amaury hesitated, then shrugged. It may still work as a trap.

You forget your maid. By now she has no doubt told one and all that you are recovered. Up
and about, in fact.

Aye, Amaury agreed wryly. But that may be to our advantage. Aye, twill work, he decided.
You and Blake can explain that I am still weak, but definitely on the mend. Twill force
them to make another attempt.

The king considered that, then nodded. I will have my own men posted at the door and-

Nay! My apologies, Your Majesty, but I would not have you do anything to put off my
assassins. Guards may frighten them away entirely. Then I shall just have to deal with
them later. I need no guards. I have an advantage in that I am not ill. I shall be waiting
for them.

I will not have that, de Aneford. Bertrand may be a coward, but his mother is clever. They
may see right through this ruse of yours. I would have at least one guard with you. Here
in the room.

Amaury considered that, then nodded.

I will be that guard. When everyone peered at him, Little George tightened his hand on the
ring he held. I have an interest in seeing justice done.

It shall be so, King Richard decided.

Emma paused on the path and tipped her head up, closing her eyes as she inhaled the sweet
scent of the flowered trees about her.

It was the second morning after their arrival at the kings temporary court at
Leicestershire, and for Emma the last day and a half had been a nightmare of anxiety.
Waiting was not one of her favorite activities on the best of occasions, but waiting for
someone to try to kill her husband was unbearable. Even Amaury, who had seemed to relish
the idea at first, was beginning to show the wear of wasted hours lying abed awaiting
assassins who were definitely taking their time. It was one of the reasons she had delayed
returning to their room. Her husband was growing short-tempered in his impatience. A few
moments alone in the garden had seemed a lovely treat. It was so fresh here, clean. Truly,
court was foreign to her. Everyone seemed so cold, uncaring, and quite debauched. It made
her mind spin to think of how many wives were sleeping with other wives husbands. But that
was only one of the infractions going on here, she thought, grimly recalling a
conversation she had had at table.

Emma had been seated next to Lady Magdalyn, a rather cold and caustic creature who seemed
to delight in shocking people. When she had noticed Emma staring warily at Lady Ascot as
she had entered the hall, Magdalyn had leaned closer and murmured, She is a nasty old
bitch, is she not? Tis lucky you escaped marrying her son. Then after a silence, I wonder
where her maid is? I have never seen them apart until this visit.

Curious at the way Magdalyn drawled the word maid with such sarcasm, Emma had murmured,
Her ladys maid?

Hm. She is much more than maid. If court gossip is to be believed, she is Lady Ascots
lover. Though of course, for proprietys sake she is called maid.

Lover? Emma had gaped in amazement at the very idea. Being a woman herself, she was
positive the maid would not have that odd appendage that was needed for the joining. How
could they possibly be lovers then, she had wondered with confusion. But when she had
stated these thoughts aloud. Lady Magdalyn had laughed and shaken her head in amazed
disgust.