Hold! The king ordered when he turned his horse to chase Bertrand.
Amaury hesitated. By law he could not ignore an order by the king, but he wanted to just
then. Frustration churning inside him, he paused.
You do not know where they head, Richard pointed out calmly. You cannot race about
heedlessly. We must think on this.
There is nothing to think on. They went in this direction. I will catch them up afore they
go far... if I hurry.
The last few words definitely carried a message for him. King Richard thought with
amusement. What if they did not go straight? What if they turned in one direction or
another soon as they were under the cover of the trees? Do you not think they would have
realized they could be seen from the castle by anyone who cared to look? Do you not think
they know they would be the first under suspicion when twas discovered Lady Emmalene was
missing?
Aye, Amaury admitted bitterly, recognizing the wisdom behind the words and the fact that
he himself should have thought of that himself, and most likely would have had he not all
but panicked. Panic was what got men killed. Not panicking was why he had survived so long
as a warrior. Odd that he had lived with himself for twenty some years, yet had never
panicked over his own health, but now that Emmas was in jeopardy, he could seem to do
little else.
He could be headed for his demesne, Blake suggested. Tis not that far from here, though
as I recall, tis in that direction. He gestured to the north.
Aye, but he may have cut off that way as soon as he hit the trees, Richard commented
thoughtfully.
Aye, Amaury decided after a moment. Tis most like he headed for there. Tis the only land
he holds, and he could not risk taking Emma elsewhere when he holds her against her will.
Turning to one of his men-at-arms, the king gestured, bringing the man immediately to his
side. Return to the castle. Gather a hundred men. Nay, two hundred, then follow us. Bring
Amaurys men as well.
If we hurry we will not need the men, Amaury muttered impatiently as the soldier rode back
toward the castle at once.
His keep is only a days ride from here and he may know a shortcut we do not, the king
pointed out. If so, we are prepared. Ride on, de Aneford.
Turning his horse with relief, Amaury set out after his wife.
Emma awoke to find that she could not breathe or see, her head pained her something
horrible, she was hot and sweaty, and she seemed to ache everywhere. She was also wrapped
in something decidedly old and dusty and hanging over what she guessed was a horse by the
way she was being bounced about so.
Ten minutes later she was still soundly berating herself for getting into this mess when
the jarring motion beneath her halted abruptly. A moment later, she felt hands grasp her
through the thick, hard material about her as she was shifted, jostled and carted about
briefly. Then the covering about her was ripped open and she found herself lying upon a
bed in a small stone room.
You are awake.
Emma was having some difficulty seeing after the sudden change from dark to light, but did
not need her eyes to recognize the speaker: Bertrand. And he sounded damnably pleased. She
opened her mouth to share her feelings on the subject of being cracked over the head and
kidnapped, but all that came out was a disappointing croak before her throat closed up
with dryness.
A beverage. Bertrand got to his feet and moved toward the door. I shall fetch you one. You
just rest now. Twas a long ride.
Emma glared at his departing figure, then sighed unhappily and eased to sit on the edge of
the bed and peer around. There was not much to see. The cot she sat on was the only piece
of furniture in the room. Aside from that, her prison boasted one window and a small
fireplace. Grimacing, she eased herself forward, got awkwardly to her feet, and staggered
toward the window. It was not very far, but it seemed she had traveled miles by the time
she reached the square opening.
Sagging against the ledge, she drank in deep breaths of the sweet fresh air coming through
the window, then tipped her face up to the kiss of the afternoon sun. Both of natures
blessings were energizing after the hours she had spent in what she now saw had been a
tapestry. Within moments her aches and pains began to ease, and she was able to
concentrate on the problem at hand.
She was being held captive in a tower by people who wished to see her husband dead. And
her child dead as well, if she were indeed carrying one.
Moving a hand to her stomach, Emma probed it gently. There was no pain or tenderness.
Surely there would be both if she were with child and the ride had knocked it loose? And
surely that ride had been enough to knock the most determined baby loose? Mayhap she was
not with child after all. She grasped at that possibility eagerly, then shook her head.
She could not be sure either way just now. Looking back, she saw that she had had a couple
of the symptoms, but they might have simply been due to stress. She could not discount the
possibility that she might be however, and that if she was, she had put that child in
grave jeopardy by her words to Bertrand. His mother now wished to see her miscarry.
She had to get out of here, Emma thought grimly, focusing her gaze on the landscape
outside the window. It was an old keep. Much smaller than Eberhart. The window of the
tower she was in looked out of the side of the keep.
Leaning out and turning her head to the right, she could see the side of the wall that
surrounded the bailey and one of the watchtowers that stood on either side of the
drawbridge. The watchtower was manned by two men. She eased her head back inside lest they
spot her peering about, then turned to glance at the ground below her window.
It was a long way down. A great long way. There was one thin ribbon of dirt in front of
the wall, then a moat that presumably surrounded the whole keep. Beyond that was a
clearing that stretched for a good hundred feet before the trees began. She would not
escape this way, she decided grimly. She could not fly.
Sighing, she turned and peered about her prison. Dull stone walls, bare stone floor, the
cot, and the door. It seemed the door and the window were the only two exits. If she could
not leave through the window, then she must escape through the door. Only, she already
knew the door was locked. She had heard Bertrand bar it on leaving.
Then she must get him to unbar it, she thought determinedly. Mayhap she could even get him
to take her below stairs. She would have to gain his trust first, of course. The easiest
way to do that was to convince him that she would prefer marriage to him over marriage to
Amaury. It would not be a difficult task, she thought.
Bertrand, from what she could tell, seemed to have a rather high opinion of himself. She
had witnessed it both at her wedding to Fulk and at court this last day or so. Aye, he
would be easily convinced. If she could stomach the convincing.
You shall have to, she told herself firmly. Else they kill your husband and the child you
may be carrying.
Amaury slowed his horse, then stopped and turned to peer at Blake and the king as they
reined in their animals beside his. They cannot be headed for their keep. Bertrands horse
is carrying two people. He could not possibly outrun our animals. Were he heading home, we
should have overtaken them hours ago.
The king was silent for a moment, his gaze moving over the forest ahead of them before he
turned to peer at the path they had already traversed. Squinting slightly, he could just
make out a long red stream flowing over a small hill some distance back. It was his men.
With the speed Amaury had been traveling, the army he had sent for had not been able to
catch up to them yet. From this distance, they looked like one long body. A bright red
caterpillar creeping over a bump in the lane. Mayhap he knows of a shortcut that saves
time, Richard said.
Think you tis possible? Amaury frowned at the idea.
King Richard shrugged. As I recall on the map, his demesne is closer as the crow flies,
but a deep river causes a detour of several hours.
Blake nodded at that. Aye. I recall a sharp turn to the path when we reached the river.
Twas several hours back.
Richard turned to Amaury now. There may be a spot near there that can be forged during
some parts of the year. If so, only someone who traveled this way often would know of it.
Amaurys face creased with worry. But what if tis no such spot? What if he simply did not
go this way, but headed somewhere else?
The king frowned impatiently at him. He had ridden into battle with this man several
times, and had never known him to be so indecisive and uncertain. What the hell was the
matter with the man? His keep is only about an hour from here, Amaury. There was a decided
snap to his voice as the king pointed that
out. Why do we not finish what we have started, make our way there, and find out?
Aye, of course you are right.
Hmm. Richard peered at him narrowly for a moment, then shook his head. The man was in no
state to think clearly. Should they arrive at Bertrands demesne to discover Lady Emmalene
there, he would no doubt charge right up and get himself killed. If given the chance. He
would not give him the chance then, Richard decided. You will follow me from here, he
announced abruptly, and urged his horse forward again.
She was seated on the bed again when Bertrand returned. A servant followed him in,
carrying a tankard of mead. Emma smiled gratefully at the woman as she accepted the
refreshment, doing her best not to wince at the scars and marks she also carried. Lady
Ascots treatment of her retainers showed well.
Drink, Bertrand urged her as the woman left. You must be parched.
Forcing a smile, she raised the tankard, only to pause with it at her mouth as she
recalled the poison in her husbands ale. She did not fear being killed by poison, but
there was always the possibility that one of those ways Lady Ascot had thought Gytha might
know of to get rid of a child was through a potion of some sort. There were potions for
everything else. Why not for miscarriages?
When she saw Bertrand frown over her hesitation, Emma continued to raise the tankard,
taking a surreptitious sniff of its contents before pretending to sip from the container.
She did not smell anything out of the ordinary in the liquid, but decided it was better to
be cautious.
Faking a swallow, she lowered the tankard and smiled at him. You look fair pleased with
yourself, my lord.
Bertrand broke into a grin, his body visibly relaxing at her winsome smile. I should be. I
am this far from gaining everything I dreamed of. He held his thumb and forefinger a hairs
breadth apart before her.
Emma felt herself flush from the tip of her forehead to her toes. She knew it was from
anger, but could only hope Bertrand thought it a blush as she ducked her head in feigned
shyness and murmured, I must look awful.
Aye.
Charm was not one of his failings, she decided, raising a hand to try to straighten her
hair somewhat. She could feel that it had fallen loose and now lay in curly ringlets about
her face. Her gown too had suffered, she saw with irritation, taking in its dusty wrinkled
state. The gold material looked more of a mustard color now. No doubt her face was a sight
as well, she thought impatiently. If she wished to succeed at her plan, she must look
attractive to him.
Bertrand watched Emma straighten her appearance, and knew it was for his benefit. Women
always primped when around him. Most often it annoyed him, but it had quite the opposite
effect just now. His heart took flight. Lady Emmalene wanted him. He had thought she must,
for most women did, but to have his hopes proved true was just wondrous. He wanted... he
wanted... her.
Emma was taken by surprise when Bertrand suddenly launched himself at her. She was so
unprepared, all she managed was a small squeak of protest as he tumbled her backward onto
the bed, knocking the tankard from her hand.
They surveyed the castle from the cover of the trees in the dim twilight.
They hold her here.
Aye, Blake agreed with the king. Just look, they have the drawbridge up. The keep is
locked up tight as a drum.
Amaury started to urge his horse forward at that, but Richard and Blake both caught his
reins and held him back. Nay, Amaury. Wait, Blake urged him.
Wait?! They hold my wife.
What would you? Ride up and knock at the gate? Blake asked grimly.
Blake is right. We must wait for our men. Their size will aid us. Come. Richard turned his
horse, then paused to glance back at Amaury where he hesitated. We shall rest and plot our
course as we wait.
Slumping in his saddle, Amaury nodded at that. It made sense. One never went riding
heedlessly into a fray. One planned and plotted, and in the end won. He knew that. It was
why he had never lost a battle... and yet he had nearly rushed headlong into this one. It
almost made him sick. He could have gotten himself, or worse yet Emma, killed. He had been
rushing about so since seeing her crakow drop from the tapestry. He had known it was
something of his wifes before he had even seen it properly. Amaury had never had such
premonitions before, but then no one he had loved had been in danger before.
Then he swallowed as he heard his own thoughts. Love. Damn! There was that word again.
Such a little -word for such a strong and tormenting emotion. Did he really love his wife?
He certainly felt lust for her. His blood had seemed to be bubbling for weeks now, always
threatening to boil over with his want of her. Mayhap he even liked her. She was fair
smart. He liked that. She was charming too. Many was the time she had made him laugh in
the last month, sometimes without even meaning too. It was hard to recall what his life
had been like before marrying her. It seemed to him to be just a mass of gray days.
Just as his future would be should she die, he thought suddenly and felt pain stab through
him. Nay, he could not lose her. Love or not, he liked having her around. In truth, he
might even need her. He would give his life to save her, but would rather not have to. He
looked forward to many long years with the temperamental wench. She could not die.
Amaury peered toward the keep again. Where was she? And what was happening to her? If
Bertrand or his old witch mother harmed Emma, he would kill them both. Slowly.
De Aneford!
Sighing, Amaury turned his horse to follow the king. He must settle down some. Calm
himself enough to come up with a plan. His wife would not die. Nor would he. Bertrand
could not have her.
Nay, my lord! Prithee, control thyself! Emma muttered, pushing at Bertrands chest as his
lips slobbered a passionate circle by her ear. We cannot!
We cannot? He pulled back to frown at her. You do not wish to?
Emma blinked at that. She would ratherwell, it was of no matter. Just then she could not
afford to be honest. She needed his favor were she to escape. Aye, of course, but Ipray,
my Lord, forbear. We must forbear.
Why?
Why? Biting her lip, she thought frantically. Itis my womans time.
Your... He swallowed at that, distaste flashing across his features briefly, then he
suddenly frowned. But you are with child.
Oh, well, I... Emma stared at him blankly for a moment, then saw a way to save the child
that might be growing within her, and smiled at him coyly. Now my lord, do not tell me
that you believed that?
What? Well... Clever as you are, you must have realized that that was all a ploy? A ploy?
Aye. My husband thought twould get you to leave him be. His eyebrows rose slightly at
that. He did?
Oh, aye. But surely you realized that? That last attack near killed him. He was lucky to
survive. He fears that the next might succeed. She silently sent up a quick prayer that
her husband would forgive her such slander.
He does?
Aye. So he insisted I say I was with child. I did not wish to, of course.
You didnt?
Oh, nay, my lord. What? And give up the opportunity to have you for husband? A fine...
er... handsome... intelligent man such as yourself?
He preened briefly, then narrowed his eyes. Then why did you lie? Why? Aye. He was not in
the garden. You could have told me the truth there. Um, well... Aye, tis so, but had he
found out he would have beat me. Beat you? His eyes widened.