Blake was silent for a moment, his gaze thoughtful and considering as he peered at the
tankard in his hand. Emma knew instinctively that he was considering what he should tell
her, or what he could tell her without betraying his friend.
What do you know of your husband? he asked at last.
Emmas eyes widened slightly as she tried to recall what her cousin had told her the day
before. It was very little really. He is a hero. He saved our lord king from assassins
while at war in Ireland.
Blakes eyebrows rose at that. Is that all?
Aye.
Blake sighed and shook his head. I know not if I should tell you, but you will hear soon
enough, he muttered to himself. Then he took a gulp of ale and announced, Your husband, my
lady, is a bastard.
Emma gasped at his words; then anger entered her eyes again and she stood abruptly. You
should not speak of my husband so, sir! His behavior may have been surly this morn, but
that does not give you/eave to call him
Nay, my lady, Blakes eyes filled with laughter as he realized that his friends little wife
thought he was slandering her husband. Taking her hand, he urged her back to her seat.
Nay, my lady, I do not mean in temperament. Though truthfully, when angered, he can be so,
he added with amusement.
Emma frowned at him grimly, and he sighed. His father was the Duke of Stamford and his
mother the village blacksmiths daughter, he explained dryly.
Emmas eyes widened at that, her mouth making a perfect O.
Blake nodded slightly as he saw that she understood. His fathers wife was a noblewoman who
never bore fruit and resented the fact that someone else had with her husband. She made
Amaurys mother miserable until she bore the child and died, then made it her task in life
to make Amaury even more miserable. When he was about six, she tired of her torture and
demanded he be sent away. His father sent him to foster.
Emma was silent, her gaze fixed on her hands as they twisted in her lap. She knew about
bastardy, of course. She might have been foolishly naive when it came to what a husband
and wife did in the marriage bed, but she knew the ways of the world. Many men had
bastards. In her opinion, it was not the fault of the child, and the child should not be
punished for it.
As a child he never quite fit in anywhere, Blake continued now. He was half nobleman, half
serf, but belonged to neither, if you see what I mean.
Emma nodded silently, still avoiding meeting his gaze, and Blake sighed.
At any rate, he has never really had a home, and I fear he simply cannot believe his good
fortune in gaining this one. I suspect it was fear that made him behave so this morning.
Fear that he would lose you and all of this before he could even really enjoy it.
Emma stood abruptly and crossed the Great Hall. Blake hurried to follow, grabbing her arm
to stop her as she reached the door. He is a good man. His parentage is not his fault, he
said urgently, and Emma turned to him in surprise.
Nay, of course not.
Blake blinked, then released her arm and took a step back. You are not offended to know of
your husbands parentage? he asked uncertainly.
Fie, sir, you wound me by your thoughts.
Oh. He looked discomfited. My apologies, my lady. He cleared his throat. I thought... your
silence... Then you started to leave...
Emma smiled slightly and patted his shoulder as if reassuring a child. I thought only to
find my husband and see if he will not break fast.
Ah. He straightened a bit and nodded with a slight smile. Of course. Well, then, I shall
return to mine own.
The bailey was a beehive of activity when Emma passed through it. It was hardly
recognizable as the same place she had walked through with her cousin and the bishop only
moments before. Still, with all these people around, she had to ask four of them before
she found out where her husband was, and then it was only to learn that he had left the
bailey on horseback.
Thanking the stable master, the source of this information, Emma turned away and walked
slowly back toward the castle as she debated what she should do, then picked up speed as
she came to a decision.
Blake was the only one to notice her return as she crossed the Great Hall. Emma gave him a
small smile, but did not pause to answer the question in his eyes. Continuing on in to the
kitchen, she quickly packed a second basket full of food and a flask of ale for her
husband. It was a peace offering of sorts, she supposed, and a small gift of welcome.
Perhaps even a symbol of her gratitude for his gentleness the night before, for she was
aware that he had been as kind and thoughtful as the circumstances had allowed. He had had
no need to be. Husbands were not required to treat their wives with kindness. Her life had
not been so sheltered that she had not heard the stories of the women who had been given
in marriage to extraordinarily cruel men who beat them, or treated them poorly.
Emma was more than aware of her good fortune in the two husbands she had had to date. Her
father had chosen her first husband very carefully. She had originally been betrothed at
the age of nine. Unfortunately, her betrothed and his family had all been in London the
year before the wedding was to take place, and had been struck down by the plague, much as
her aunt and uncle, Rolfes own parents, had been several years before.
Emmas father had dallied about arranging another betrothal after that until she was almost
nineteen. Then he had set about it very carefully. Lord Kenwick had hired two rather
rough-looking fellows to investigate all the possible candidates. Lord Fulk had appeared
to be the best of the bunch. Castle Eberhart had been near enough for her to be able to
visit her father as often as she wished, and there was absolutely no hint of Lord Fulk
ever having shown signs of being abusive to women. Instead, he had appeared to be a
studious man who spent a great deal of time in intellectual pursuits, which kept him away
from home for great lengths of time.
That had most likely been the clincher for her father, Emma thought with a bit of insight
now. He had probably thought that fact most advantageous to his daughter, who was not used
to being under anothers rule, for while she had ever obeyed her fatherwell, most of the
timehis rule had not been overly firm.
In truth, he had chosen well, for except for the fact that her husband had never been able
to bring himself to the marriage bed, Emma had been relatively happy during the two years
of her marriage. In fact, her
life had continued much as it had run in her childhood home. Now, she had a second
husband, and no doubt she had her cousin to thank for the choice in this one. For Emma was
sure that Rolfe would have seen it as his duty to counsel the king on a choice now that
her father was dead.
Aye, she was very lucky to have had two such men in her life as her father and her cousin,
she thought as she detoured upstairs to collect her bow and arrow from her room. And now
she was lucky enough to have a third one. For surely her husband had already proven that
he was a kind and gentle lamb of a man by his tenderness the night before. In truth, the
picture she was beginning to get of him was of a strong and fierce- looking man who was
really just a small-injured boy inside. A homeless waif, looking for somewhere to call
home and the arms of a good woman to support him. Emma was just the woman for the job.
Damn and blast ye! Amaury roared, gutting the villain who had been brave enough to come
closer with his slashing sword and take a slice out of his arm.
The mans eyes widened in shock as the fire of the sword pressed through him. Then he
stared down in horror briefly at the lifeblood squirting from his stomach before he
collapsed to the ground. His comrades immediately backed off a step or two from the
warrior they had circled, watching for an opportunity to have at him.
Aware of their intentions, Amaury was grateful for the tree at his back, as well as his
forethought in putting it there when the bandits had jumped out of the woods and trees
around him, startling his horse into dumping him at their mercy.
Once again he cursed the sour mood that had made him so distracted that these knaves had
been able to take him so by surprise. Had he been paying attention, mayhap he would have
been forewarned of the attack. Or at least have managed to keep his seat rather than
having to scrabble through the weeds to the nearest tree to protect his back as he squared
off against half a dozen men... alone... with only his sword and a dagger in hand. He
could only be grateful that only three of them had swords, while two of the others had
clubs, and one waved a dagger menacingly. Well, there were only two with swords now, he
thought with satisfaction, cursing then as one of the five remaining men grabbed up their
dead comrades sword and dropped his club.
A muscle ticking in his temple, Amaury glared at his adversaries, watching for the first
sign that one of them was going to charge him. So long as they were foolish enough to
continue attacking him one at a time, he would walk away from this day. But should they
all charge at once, he would most likely be done for, though he would take at least two,
perhaps even three, with him. He should have known, of course, that his good fortune would
be short-lived. He had learned quite young that fortune was a fickle thing. It was just
his luck to gain a lovely wife and rich estate one day, then be killed the next.
A flicker of movement recalled his attention to the men surrounding him, and Amaury did
not even have the time to curse his inattention as he found himself set upon from all
sides. It seemed none of his attackers wished to suffer the same fate as their friend had
by attacking him alone. They were coming at him all at once.
** *
Er... my lady, perhaps ye should not... Eldrins raspy old voice faded into uncertainty as
Emma turned to him questioningly. Sighing, the stable master straightened his shoulders
and reminded her, His lordship said ye were not to leave the castle unguarded, he reminded
her now.
Emma frowned slightly, then smiled unconcerned. Aye, Eldrin, but I go in search of him.
Surely this time does not count?
Anxiety clear on his face, the elderly man hurried forward to catch her mares reins as she
mounted her. But my lady...
He can well guard me once I find him, she said reassuringly, taking the reins from his
hands and into her own.
Aye, but ye will be unguarded until ye find him and... He let his argument die without
truly attempting it again. There was no use; Lady Emma had already sent her mount striding
across the bailey away from him. Muttering to himself, Eldrin shook his head and walked
back into the stables. The new lord did not look to be someone one disobeyed. No doubt her
ladyship would learn as much soon enough.
Emma rode out in the direction her husband had been said to take, fully expecting to run
into him quite quickly. Unfortunately, it appeared her husband had ridden further than she
had anticipated, and had gone deep into the woods where the danger of being beset by
bandits was high. Emma stopped her horse and was debating returning to the castle when a
horse suddenly flew out of the woods before her and charged past.
Shifting in the saddle, she watched the frightened animal run toward the castle, then bit
her lip and glanced back at the deep woods before her. There was no doubt in her mind that
that had been her husbands stallion. Who else could it belong to? But now she was left to
wonder what had happened to Amaury.
The skin was beginning to prickle on the back of her neck with premonition when the sound
of clashing steel suddenly came from some distance in front of her.
Muttering an unladylike curse for her husbands stupidity in riding so far alone, Emma
pulled her bow from her back and urged her horse into a run.
Amaury truly thought this to be the last day of his life. With three swords, a dagger, and
a club coming at him, it seemed to him that his only choice was to be which of his
attackers to take to Hell with him. It was possible he could take two... or three if he
struck hard enough, he thought grimly. With that in mind, he threw his dagger into the
neck of the man with the sword on his left, even as he swung his own sword at the man on
the far right of him. His hope was to hit with enough force that he took down the one with
the sword on his right, and that it then continued on into the neck of the man next to him
who held the dagger. That, of course, left the man in front of him with the sword to kill
him, or the one with the club to bludgeon him to death. But at least he would have the
pleasure of knowing he had not gone down alone.
His aim was true and his anger such that his hopes were realized. He managed to take out
both men on his right with the one swing. Though the second man received the sword in his
shoulder rather than the neck, the wound was enough to disarm him. But the killing blow he
had expected from the bandit coming from straight ahead never struck. Turning to face that
danger, Amaury found his opponent staring back at him with wide-open, shocked eyes, his
sword raised to hack at him even as he sank to his knees and fell to his face, an arrow
out of his back. Amaury was so taken aback by this turn of events, he forgot entirely the
man with the club... until it struck.
A step ahead of his friend and unaware of the attack from the unseen archer, the last
bandit brought his club down on Lord Amaurys head with decided vigor, but his victory was
short lived. Even as his victim fell before him, he felt the bite of an arrow in his own
back.
Emma didnt even wait to see her second victim fall before urging her horse forward. As
soon as the arrow had left the bow, she grabbed up the reigns in her free hand and urged
her horse to run the fifty or so feet to the spot where her husband and his attackers lay.
The battle site was a gruesome mess. Emma did her best to ignore the gore all around her
as she hooked her bow over the saddle horn and slid from her horses back to kneel at her
husbands side. Amaury was lying flat on his face. Grabbing his far arm, she tugged him
toward her, scooting backward out of the way so that he lay flat on the ground on his
back, then looked him over. There was a wound on his arm, but it appeared to be only
superficial. In fact it had almost stopped bleeding. The wound on his head was another
matter, however. Raising his head gently in her hands, she turned him slightly to get a
better look. He had taken quite a blow there before she had managed to fell his attacker,
and the wound was bleeding quite freely.
Biting her lip, Emma glanced back the way she had come, but there was no sign of help yet,
though no doubt there would be soon. Once Amaurys horse reached the castle, the guard
would immediately send men to search for him.
She had just decided that it would be better to wait until they were back at the castle
where she had the items she needed to tend her husbands wounds properly when a rustle of
sound drew her attention.
The first thing Emma had seen on arriving on the site had been the bloodied man beside
Amaury. That had been enough to assure her that she truly did not wish to see more, so she
had avoided looking at anything but her husband after that. Now she realized her mistake,
for not all the bandits were dead, it seemed. One, a weasel-faced fellow with a serious
but not deadly shoulder wound, even now was on his feet inching toward a sword that lay
nearby.
Cursing her stupidity, Emma dropped her husbands poor head to the forest floor and lunged
for his sword. She was on her feet almost at once, sword at the ready to defend him. Still
a few inches from the sword he had sought, the bandit stopped, licking his lips as he took
measure of the situation. To cover the small distance needed for him to reach the nearest
sword, he had to come in range of Emma and the sword she held. For a moment she feared he
would go for the sword anyway, but apparently thinking better of it, the bandit spun
suddenly on his heels and disappeared into the woods.
Emma stared at the spot where the man had disappeared for a few precious moments, aware
that her heart was pounding so hard it seemed to be trying to break out of her chest, then
dropped the sword and turned frantically to her husband.
The only thing that kept going through her mind was that she was useless with a sword.
That was the one thing her father had been firm on. No daughter of his was going to train
with a sword. In his mind it was bad enough that he had allowed a Welsh retainer hed had
for a while to train her with the bow. Under no circumstances was he going to allow her to
train with the sword. Emma had tried everything she could think of to get him to relent:
begging, sulking, temper tantrums even, but he had stood firm on this one thing. There was
no need for her to learn to deal with a sword; she was well guarded, and the sword was
definitely too unladylike a weapon for her to be trained in, he had insisted. Even Rolfe
had thought her mad for wanting to learn how to use one, and had refused to help her in
that endeavor.
Bending down, Emma grabbed both of her husbands hands and tugged at him ineffectually.
There was no longer any question of tending his wounds here, nor of waiting for help to
arrive. It was too dangerous. The woods were full of bandits, certainly more than the six
who had attacked her husband here. If the fellow who had just fled into the woods came
across his comrades, they could return at any