The Dumont Bride (12 page)

Since the day he had discovered her secret, he had battled his lust for her. He had tried to spend himself on other women: women available to him because he was lord here and women who were pleased by his attentions and his desire for them. It had not worked, for they soon left his chambers with a coin for their unsuccessful efforts.

Wine did not work, either. He needed to drink enough to make him sleep and even then he was tormented by images of her as she had been that night in her chamber. Naked. Arching into his hand. Kissing him back with passion-filled eyes and a hot mouth. He shuddered now as his groin tightened and his cock hardened.

“You are frightening away all the females of the
place with that look, my lord.” His friend stood before him, laughing.

“Luc, I have been waiting for you.” Christian shifted his long tunic and resettled his belt on his hips.

“Waiting for me and lusting for her.” Luc laughed again as he smacked Christian on the back soundly. “Does she know you stand before her gate with desire for her in your eyes?”

He looked around and began walking away from his wife’s garden.

“I think mayhap you mistake me for you and your wife. I have heard stories…” Christian laughed now.

“I am a fortunate man, my lord. My lovely Fatin needs me to keep her warm on these terribly cold English nights.”

They both laughed. Christian had heard Fatin’s complaints over the cold weather—any place would be cold after spending so much of one’s life in the heat of the Holy Lands. Luc had revealed that she now scandalously wore breeches beneath her gowns to keep her legs warm.

“Come, give me your report.”

They walked a distance until they reached one of the stable yards. Leaning against the rails of the fence, Christian waited for the information Luc had gathered.

“It took some time and more of your coins to discover that your lady was correct. Both of Nyle’s wives died after brutal beatings.”

“Did you check the rolls? How were they listed?”

“As having died of lung fever. But apparently the damage done to both of them was so extensive that they contracted lung fever due to their injuries.”

Christian let out the breath he was holding. “Of
what age were they?” He didn’t know why he asked, only that he needed to know.

“The first was ten-and-three, the second was ten-and-five.” Luc added, “This new one he wants is ten-and-four.”

“How did she know?”

“How else, Chris? She tended their injuries.”

He stared across the yard at men working a new stallion. His ability to control his own warhorses was almost regained and then he would have them brought from his home.

“If she is given credit for one more good deed, I swear she will be nominated for sainthood even before her death.”

“Is there no way to heal this rift between you two?”

“No.”

“Would you tell me of it?”

“No.”

He could not bring himself to discuss his wife’s sin with anyone. Not even his lifelong friend, with whom he had shared danger and success and even a few women along the way, could know of this.

“There were three more fights this week between our men and hers.”

“And I have been doused with hot soup and bad wine and somehow the spoiled meat ended up on my platter at dinner last eve.”

“Are you getting their message yet, my lord?”

“I think the bedsheets still coated with lye were my first clue, Luc. And my tunics sewn together. And probably the several near-misses during training with the new bows.”

“Can you not call a truce in this? Lives are at stake.”

Luc did not know how close to the truth his jest was. Until Christian learned the name of the man involved and ascertained whether Emalie was a willing participant, nothing could be done. He shook his head. “No truce is possible, nor retreat.”

“You know that she intercedes on your behalf with her people?”

“What?” Another blow to his self-esteem. The wife he punished spoke for him?

“She has made it known that these changes are for the good of Greystone and that your assigning guards and a new maid to her were for her protection due to recurrent illnesses during her pregnancy.”

“Damn her!” Christian swore under his breath. “Anything else?”

“I fear that I am now one of her admirers, my lord. I will beg your pardon now.”

He wanted to smash his friend’s face into the dirt. The thought of knowing that someone had taken Emalie before he married her and not knowing the identity of the man was driving him insane.

In coherent moments, he knew his reaction was simple jealousy and envy and possessiveness, but that did not lessen the rage that exploded within him every time he thought about it. If she would simply admit to it and tell him the name, he could breathe again. He would be able to stop looking at every man in Greystone wondering if he were the one. Imagining her in bed with another man, writhing with the passion he knew was within her, was eating his gut.

“Why?” he said with a sigh.

“Simple, my lord. She defended my Fatin.”

“Fatin? Was there some problem?” Luc and Fatin had not had an easy time of it, since returning from the
East. A good Christian knight did not marry an infidel and bring her back to God-fearing Europe without some obstacles. Rescuing her from the massacre that had killed her master had been the easy part of their lives together. Living as man and wife under the watchful and invasive eyes of the Church had been more difficult.

“Your lady has banished one of her serving women from the solar. Lady Emalie heard her call Fatin an infidel and threw her out.”

Christian rested his head on his arm. He felt as though he were being pulled in two opposite directions. Part of him wanted to put this behind them and accept her and all she offered as a wife, even if it was a challenge to him to live with the thought of her bearing another’s child. But a darker part wanted to scream and roar in pure jealousy and not settle until his honor had been regained, until she acknowledged her error, her sin, and begged his forgiveness for her deceit. That part did not want to accept anything less than her complete acquiescence in all things—he wanted her unquestioning support for all he did within Greystone and he wanted her in his bed surrendering all that she was to him.

Raising his head, he laughed bitterly to his friend. Only something drastic could break this stalemate.

“Report to me if you hear anything more,” he said.

“Aye, my lord.” Luc bowed and left Christian there alone.

H
e was restless this night. The winds were high, telling of a storm brewing. Thunder rolled and crashed in the distance and spears of lightning flashed in the sky. No rain yet fell, but it would. The smell filled the air with the promise of it.

Christian paced the confines of his room for nearly an hour and then decided to seek out Luc for a game of chess. Walking down the corridor past Emalie’s chambers, he noticed that no one stood guard in the hallway. Checking her room, he found it empty. It was late for her to be wandering and he began to wonder where she could be.

As he walked through the great hall toward the wing where Luc and Fatin stayed, he saw Marie. Calling her over, he asked about Emalie.

“She is in her workroom, my lord. Your brother said you gave permission and that I was to meet her there in an hour.”

Completely at a loss, he nodded at the girl and she left. Looking around the huge chamber, he wondered where she could be. And why was Geoffrey involved?

Emalie was gone.

That dark part within him seethed in rage. Where could she be?

She was meeting her lover.

The accusation screamed in his thoughts and fed the anger that coursed below the surface in his veins. His hand slid down to feel the dagger he wore on his belt, as he knew he would kill them both when he found them and no one could gainsay him.

Turning, he fled the hall while trying to think of where a woman and man could meet without witnesses. Once those in the keep settled for the night, and they were nearly done doing so now, it would be easier to find them.

Remembering where he had found her unexpectedly, he went to the stairs and took them up to the battlements. If someone knew the pace of the guards on their tour of duty, it was easy enough to avoid being discovered in one of the many nooks of darkness along the wall.

He pushed through the heavy door and climbed out onto the walkway that encircled the keep. At once the winds tore at him, warning of the approaching storm. He smiled grimly, a storm, aye, but mayhap not the one expected from above. Nodding to the warrior stationed at the doorway, he decided on a deliberate pace and forced himself to it so that he did not become as obvious as he felt. Surprise would be his manner, the anger within him would serve as his weapon.

Following the path far above the ground, a niggling of rational thought teased him.

What if she were not with her lover?

But where else and with whom else could she be? Remembering her refusal to identify the man who had taken her, his stomach rolled and the bile within threat
ened to force its way up and out. The man who had taken his wife was there and his wife was probably with him right now. Fury surged, his vision narrowed and sweat gathered on his brow and dripped down his face. His honor demanded that he find her, now, before anyone else discovered her sin.

Finally completing his route around the battlements, he wiped his brow and tried to catch his breath. His heart hammered in his chest as he tried to make his thoughts more orderly, more full of sense and not the raging emotions that filled his body and his spirit. He had to find her.

Entering the stairway, Christian followed it all the way down to the main floor and the now empty great hall. Inspecting the area, he realized that another convenient area for trysts were the stables. He himself had spent many a passion-filled night, during the years leading up to his knighting, with a willing lass in his father’s stable. That must be where Emalie was meeting her lover.

Deciding that the quickest way was through the kitchens, Christian made his way through the darkened hallway and soon entered the series of rooms where all the food was stored and prepared. Seeing no one, he went through the back door and into the courtyard.

Once outside, he walked quietly and quickly to the stables, sneaking inside without making a sound. Listening for any noises, he heard none and found no one within the stalls. Rushing to the end of the row, he realized that he was alone but for the animals there. Then he heard their voices, outside next to the building.

“Geoffrey, you must go back. The storm approaches and you can not get wet and become ill once more.”
Her whispered words to his brother set his blood boiling.

“Emalie, come back with me. Mayhap he does not yet know you’ve gone.”

He? They could only be speaking of him. And it was too late for them to worry about discovery.

“I must do this. Please go back.”

Apparently his brother decided to obey her request, for Geoffrey walked away from her and passed by the alcove where he stood listening.

Emalie waited only a moment and then ran on, using the darkness for cover. He remained for a short time and then followed her around the chapel, through a gate and into a darkened courtyard. Then hearing her soft whisper again, he stopped and waited.

He had found her and, without thought or hesitation, he drew forth the blade from his belt and prepared to send her and her lover to hell for heaping more dishonor on his name. Taking a deep breath, he approached her from behind. The crackling of dead branches brought down by the winds informed her of his presence. Lightning lit the sky as he stalked her.

“My lord?” she asked as she turned to face him.

She paled as she spied the dagger in his hand, but when she looked into his eyes, her face lost all its color. He moved in closer, his sweaty palms and his pounding heart adding to the tension coiled within him.

“Move aside,
wife,
” he ordered as he advanced closer and closer. Did she still seek to hide her co-conspirator from him?

“Is there some danger, my lord?” Without regard to her safety, she came toward him. He turned the blade in his hand and waited to see who was with her. When
he was about to see past her, he took a breath and raised his hand, ready to avenge his honor.

No one was there.

Emalie stood before a grave site with flowers in hand. Pushing his hair back out of his eyes, he read the carving on the stone where she stood.

Gaspar Montgomerie, Earl of Harbridge

Beloved Husband and Father

Her father’s grave?

She looked at him with terror-filled eyes and stuttered out some words. “’Tis been a year.”

She had come out to her father’s grave to mark the anniversary of his death and he stood with knife drawn over her.

Christian staggered back away from her and fled. Horror at what he had planned to do filled him as he ran out of the enclosed cemetery and into the back courtyard. Overwhelmed, he sought comfort in the only place he could.

Her hands trembled as she placed them on the door and pushed it open, not certain of who or what would greet her. As she walked back to this chamber, Emalie had lost the battle to convince herself that her husband had thought her to be in danger. The hateful stare and expression of complete fury terrified her as she watched him enter the graveyard where her father lay buried. His eyes were like slits and his breathing labored. She had seen this anger in him only once before—the night when he’d discovered that she was pregnant. He had no weapon in his hand that night.

It had taken several minutes to calm herself down and several more minutes to convince herself that she
should return. As ever, duty won out and Emalie knew that she must face her husband.

Startling at a noise in the corridor behind her, Emalie pushed the door as quietly and carefully as she could and peeked into the room. It was empty and there was no sign that Christian had ever been here. She walked to the hearth, stooped closer and stirred the coals to life, hoping to remove the unseasonable chill from the room. As sparks flew, she rubbed her hands together and began to pace the room’s limits.

Why had she tried to sneak out now? She shook her head as she thought of her husband turned berserker. His manner toward her had changed over these past few days and he had even approached her and initiated conversations with her, something he had not done since that night. Mayhap he would have granted her request to visit the graveyard. Fearing his inconsistency of late, she had made her own plans and would now suffer the consequences.

For her people’s sake, Emalie prayed daily that his anger over being trapped into this marriage would lessen and his actions toward her recently had been a hopeful occurrence. Even though she knew he did not yet trust her, she still believed they could suit each other well and serve her people’s needs.

But the man who had followed her this night, knife drawn and on the attack, was not the one who would save her and her people from Prince John’s plans. He could not fill her father’s place and put those who served him first in his consideration. Emalie sighed and sat down on the bed, the squeaking of the ropes echoing in the room. What could she do now?

Shaking her head, she loosened her hair from its braid and dragged her fingers through its length. Alyce
already slept and Emalie saw no reason to wake her, when she was quite able to undress and ready herself for bed. Looking around the room, she spied her trunk and tried to decide if undressing and waiting for Christian’s return was the best idea. Her contemplation was cut short by the approaching footsteps outside her chamber. She held her breath as a knock sounded.

“My lady?” a voice called out softly. “Are you within?”

It was Sir Luc, her husband’s vassal and friend. She rushed to open the door.

“What is it?”

“Is all well?” He tried to peek over her to see into the chamber, making Emalie uneasy.

“Aye, all is well.”

“My lady, one of my men reported seeing Chris…my lord running through the courtyard. I thought—” He paused, coughing and clearing his throat. “I thought that mayhap something was awry.”

“I have just returned to these rooms myself, Sir Luc, and have not spoken to my lord husband since dinner. I know not where he is or what he does.”

Her voice trembled as she spoke the words. Had she revealed her own worry to her husband’s retainer? Perhaps Sir Luc was the very person to find Christian and determine what ailed him?

“If I might ask a service of you?”

“Anything, my lady,” he said, bowing slightly to her.

“Could you find my husband and make certain he is well?” At his nod, she continued. “Discreetly, of course.”

“Of course, my lady.” Luc stepped back and left without another word.

Now all she could do was wait. Either Luc would find Christian or Christian would reveal himself. Whatever happened, Emalie knew it would be a long, sleepless night for her. She closed the door slowly and looked around the empty room.

As soon as he returned, this would be her prison once more. Instead of adjoining chambers shared by lord and lady, she appeared destined to be this room’s only occupant. Her eyes burned with tears as she thought of her parents’ loving relationship. Certainly that was far different from most of their class, but one that Emalie had prayed she would find with her own husband when the time came. Now that dream and many others were in shambles because of the very thing that she fought to protect.

Could she have done it differently? Emalie sat once more on the bed and stared at the flames that flared now and again within the hearth. Had she been too ostentatious about the secure and successful circumstances of her estates and her people? Had her own pride in being able to keep her people safe and well fed brought the ravenous royal scavenger into their midst? She knew of so many estates and titles that had been plucked up and given to cronies of John Lackland. And women, too.

A shudder wracked her as she remembered his lecherous grin and the touch of his tongue on her hand, defiling something as simple as a greeting. His very presence in a room made her want to scrub herself clean of his taint, but at those moments when blurred images of
that night
crept into her consciousness, the urge to vomit became almost uncontrollable. Emalie lay back on the bed, trying now to ease the roiling within her and to clear her thoughts. Breathing deeply,
she closed her eyes and tried to picture something pleasant in her mind.

Dark eyes, glistening with lust and triumph, stared back at her. Gasping against the memory, she fought against the torrent of sounds and glimpses of John and William, the feelings of terror, the smells of wine, male sweat and spent lust. She tried to clarify them, separate, sort them, but was unsuccessful. As always, the blurry feeling of something put in her wine clouded the memories as it had muddled her senses that night. The bile rose in her throat and she scurried off the bed, finding the chamber pot without a moment to spare.

Some time later, exhausted from her physical condition and her emotional state, Emalie crawled onto the bed and collapsed. The tears that had threatened before now flowed freely as she mourned the loss of her parents, their dreams and hers. She would never know the same marriage bond that her parents had shared. She would be bound for the rest of her days to a man who thought that what had been done to her was her fault, her dishonor. She was wed to a man who would hold
that night
against her for the rest of her life. In this, and in his defense, she knew he was no different than other men, but she had hoped for more, had prayed for more.

As she felt the sleep of complete fatigue taking hold of her, she prayed in her thoughts as she did every night, as she did every morning at Mass. She begged the Almighty to let her gain some amount of love for the child she carried within. Emalie did not want to see her child as proof of her dishonor and to look on it with loathing when it was finally born. She prayed for
an acceptance of her circumstances. She prayed for love.

Surrendering to her exhaustion, Emalie drifted off to sleep.

“’Tis not the same quality as is served at your tables, my lord, but I believe it will do for our purposes this night.”

Christian dragged his hands through his hair and looked up from the corner where he sat. Luc carried two battered metal mugs and a large wineskin, obviously filled to the top.