LordoftheKeep (20 page)

“Take care, Emma. I have sent William to oversee the
strengthening of one of my properties near Selsey. He’ll be gone far longer
than I, and needn’t trouble you. Mark Trevalin and Sarah will see to your care.
Do not hesitate to seek their advice.”

“Gilles, don’t go.” Emma clung to him. “I have had a dream—a
fearful dream.”

“I wondered what made you so restless.” Gilles patted her
back. “Now, hush. A dream is not truth.” He turned the subject. “You will think
of me every day, will you not?” In truth, Gilles was as loath to leave Emma as
she was to have him go.

“My dream, Gilles, I must tell you.” She searched his face
for impatience or derision. She found only concern.

Gilles drew her to an alcove and sat her down on a long,
padded bench. “Tell me.” He held her hands.

“It was very dark. I thought mayhap the fire had died as
there was no light. Then I realized that I was dreaming. I was in a dark room,
no fire, no lamp, just darkness. I was so cold.” She clutched Gilles’ hand
until hers hurt. “I woke in darkness, pain in my throat, cutting off my air,
strangling me. Then it was gone. You were gone. ‘Twas agony.”

“Emma, it is but a dream. You are worrying about our
future.” He gathered her in close and held her fiercely. “I love you. I will
return to you a free man and we will wed. You must put aside your fears.”

“I love you, too.” Emma did not pursue her fears. He needed
to go. She wanted him to stay. She was afraid.

Gilles rose, drawing her up. He stepped away and turned to
Angelique, who’d pursued them to their private alcove. He held her tightly and
breathed in her innocent scent. “Be good, my child.”

It felt wonderful to call her his child, for in his heart
she was.

Together they went to the bailey. Just as Gilles mounted,
William drew to his side on a magnificent gray stallion and bid Gilles good
journey. Emma was heartily grateful that Gilles had seen fit to send William
away. Seeing him as he now was, armored, trailed by his own men, she feared him
anew.

A familiar figure darted between the great horses. “Sir
William,” cried Beatrice. He half turned in the direction of her voice. “I
packed this jest fer ye.” She held up a napkin Emma had seen her preparing that
morning. Emma smiled, remembering the care with which Beatrice had selected
fruit and cheese for her parcel.

William’s gaze swept over the woman’s offering. Without a
word, he turned back to Gilles, bowed, and kicked his mount into motion.

Emma cried in dismay as mud splattered Beatrice’s snowy
apron. She hastened forward to help her, for Beatrice stood in the midst of the
horses, arms upraised, frozen like a statue. “Come,” Emma urged her as Gilles
scowled, then drew his horse about to lead his men from the bailey. ‘Twas
another ill omen, Gilles leaving with a frown on his face.

Beatrice’s body stiffened in Emma’s arms as she awkwardly
lowered her gift. “‘E dint see me.”

Distracted by her last glimpse of Gilles riding out, Emma
spoke half to herself. “He saw you.”

With a wrench of her shoulders, Beatrice tore herself from
Emma’s grasp. “Ye know naught! ‘E gave me a token last night. A token! A lock
o’ ‘is ‘air. ‘E’d a spoken if’n ‘e’d a seen me.” Her eyes narrowed. “Ye
flaunted yerself ‘ere afore all ‘is lordship’s men, so they’s eyes fer only ye.
‘Ow’s William to see me,” she thumped her chest with her fist, “if’n yer
twitchin’ yer skirts?”

The ire and bitterness of Beatrice’s attack stunned Emma.
Her clenched fist seemed poised to strike. Emma backed away, clutching
Angelique close against her chest.

* * * * *

Sarah and Emma walked slowly about the bailey taking the
air. Trevalin trailed them at a discreet distance.

Sarah sighed. “It has been a sennight and I don’t mind
admitting I am missing my Roland. ‘Twas necessary he ride with Lord Gilles, but
still, I miss him.”

Emma turned to her friend. “I have had my dream again. I
want Gilles to come home.”

“Aye. Dreams are powerful things.” Sarah shook off her own
shiver of fear. Anxiety had etched itself on Emma’s face. Her eyes were
shadowed and her skin pale. “Come, let us see what you might accomplish on the
loom ere they return. You may tell me of your dream, and we will banish it from
your mind. Mayhap we may lose this shadow.” She jerked her thumb over her
shoulder in Trevalin’s direction.

Emma cared little who followed, watched, or heard them
speak. She had little enthusiasm for any activity save caring for Angelique.
They finally settled in with the spinners. May came to them and begged a few
moments’ privacy, leaving Angelique with the two women. They sat in silence,
Sarah’s spindle moving in a smooth rhythm, Emma knotting and twisting the silks
she was using to weave a trimming for one of Gilles’ tunics. Finally,
frustrated with the tangled mess, she threw it aside and hoisted Angelique into
her lap. She rested her chin on her daughter’s head.

“I cannot shake this foreboding.”

“Then tell me the dream again and purge yourself of its
poison.” Sarah set her spinning aside.

“‘Tis always the same,” Emma began. “I am in a dark, dark
place. Night or day—I can’t say, I just know ‘tis dark and I am sleeping. It is
pain that wakes me each time. A pain so piercing, so terrible, I need to
scream, but fast on the pain I lose my air. No screams escape my throat because
I can’t breathe. I try, I grasp my throat, I struggle, but ‘tis all for naught.
Then, just as suddenly as the pain comes—it goes. In my dream I lie on some
hard surface and know that this pain means something terrible, something
fearsome. I’m so afraid, Sarah. I want Gilles.”

Angelique thrashed in her Emma’s arms, responding to her
mother’s agitation.

“Be calm,” Sarah warned, reaching for Angelique and pulling
her from Emma’s lap. “Do not let others see you so overwrought. You don’t want
to be an object of gossip. You’ll be Lord Gilles’ lady soon.”

Lord Gilles’ lady
. Emma nodded, saw the curiosity
around the weaving room, and choked back her fear. She plucked up the silks and
bent her head over them, fussed at the snarls.

“This dream is disturbing, I’ll grant you that,” Sarah said
when Emma had regained her composure. “But I see naught in it that would bode
ill for our men. So try to put it aside.”

Emma knew the subject was closed. She looked about the room
at the other women spinning. There was no one to help her. She was alone.

Chapter Eighteen

William Belfour had made several quiet visits to Hawkwatch
over the three weeks since Lord Gilles had sent him to see to the inspection of
the outer walls at Selsey Manor. Lord Gilles had no wish to have the same
tragedies repeated there as at Hawkwatch. The fortifications were of a like
age.

Once William had determined the builders knew their task
well, he saw no reason to breathe down their necks, and, in truth, Selsey quite
lacked in maidenly diversions.

This day, loath to bestir himself from his horse, William
Belfour leaned his arms on his saddle and waited patiently for his horse to
drink from the pond behind the mill that served Hawkwatch Manor. The day
stretched lazily before him, pleasure only on his mind. A quick movement in the
shadows cast by the morning sun caught his eye. Ah, she was early, eager. It
boded well.

A woman walked from the copse of trees edging the pond. He
frowned. Then a short, jeering laugh caught in his throat. Dismounting and
flipping his reins over a branch, he crouched behind some low hedges and
watched.

He remembered well another day when he’d seen Emma searching
among roots and reeds for plants to enhance her dyes. That she still came here
amused him. Shouldn’t a future lady of the keep be ordering jewels and ribbons,
not grubbing in the dirt?

Emma slipped her heavy pack from her shoulder and settled
herself on the hard ground. Painstakingly, she examined her finds.

“May I help?” William rose from concealment.

“William! You startled me.” Emma scrambled to her feet,
thrusting her gatherings into the pack.

“Did I? Startled is not the reaction I used to get when we met
here.”

Emma shouldered her pack and stepping back, widened the
space between them, her eyes going to the silent mill.

“Surely, you aren’t leaving, Emma. You just arrived.” He
caught her arm as she turned to go.

“Why aren’t you at Selsey?” she retorted. She snatched her
arm away, watched him warily. He was resplendent in the morning sun, blond hair
gleaming, fur-lined mantle folded back over his broadly muscled shoulders. It
was the ripple of those muscles that frightened her when she remembered their power.

Suddenly, the brilliance of the sunlight was concealed by
the dark foreboding of William’s contemptuous smile. “I know my duties,” he
said. “‘Tis none of your concern how I choose to perform them.”

Emma edged along the frost-hard bank of the pond, trying to
distance herself from him.

“Were you waiting for me? Is this not where I first had you?
Mayhap you have improved your skills under Lord Gilles’ tutelage. Of course, he
is not so young as to be a very demanding lover…or are you here to ply your
trade? Exchanging favors for a reduction in millage costs for the keep?” he
asked with a quick laugh.

His words were softly spoken. Their import was ugly. William
stalked her, step for step along the bank. He swept out an arm and encircled
her waist. Quick as a snake striking a mouse, he grasped her breast and
squeezed.

“Leave off!” Emma struggled in his grasp. “You wretched
knave,” she gasped as he pushed her to the ground and straddled her body.

“I want to see your soft, white thighs.” He shoved her flat
with a hand spread on her chest and dragged up her skirts.

Emma went wild. She thrashed beneath him and pummeled him
with her fists, to no avail. She only succeeded in making him laugh.

“Aye, fight me. Fight me, you haughty lord’s whore.” He bent
his head and took her nipple in his teeth and, as if swatting a fly, flung her
hands away.

When his teeth closed on her tender nipple, she knew he
meant her harm, for this was no caress, but a vicious bite. He stretched
himself atop her, effectively ending her struggles. His tremendous weight stole
her air. With little way to defend herself, she tried words, scraping strands
of his hair from her lips to beg him.

“William, stop, please. Gilles will never forgive you.
Please.” Emma’s last words were barely audible amidst her sobs, for William had
pushed her skirts to her waist.

He thrust his thigh hard between her legs.

Emma’s terror was complete. She struggled as William lifted
his hips to free himself.

“Did he fill you as I did, sweet Emma?” he jeered, crushing
his lips to hers, groping to find his way.

Emma flung her arms out to her sides, seeking with her hands
for dirt to fling in his eyes. Her fingers dug, but the cold earth, impervious,
yielded nothing. Then her fingertips met, encircled, and hefted a stone.
Unthinking, she slammed it to William’s shoulder. It was like hitting a boulder
with a pebble.

The air filled with her sobs of anguish and his grunts of
erotic anger as her struggles prevented him from seating himself. With a brutal
push of his hands and hips, he laid her open. Emma smashed the stone to his
brow.

Precious air gusted into her lungs as he rolled off her.
Gasping, weeping, she struggled to gather her torn skirts about her.

“God curse you, William.” Emma scrambled away on her hands
and knees as William staggered to his feet, his brow dripping blood onto his
tunic.

“You bitch.” William’s anger was very personal as he lunged
for her, but she twisted away, raised her skirts, and ran for her life.

He swore as she ran into the woods. “I’ll have you soon, I
promise,” he shouted. “You think you’ve won, well think again. Next time I’ll
have you in his bed. Aye,” he muttered to himself, straightening and wiping the
blood from his face with the back of his hand. “Aye, I’ll make you beg for it.”

She disappeared into the trees. He stared after her, then
shrugged. Carefully, he fastened his clothing, pulling his tunic down,
muttering at the smear of blood on his hand when he smoothed back his hair.

He tore a strip from an old shirt in his saddle pack, then
knelt and dipped it in the icy pond. He dabbed at the cut on his brow and
vented his ire in a stream of colorful words.

A shadow fell across his. He half turned. Pain exploded in
the side of his head. He fell to his back in a tangled sprawl of limbs.

The jagged rock came down on his face again and again and
again. He didn’t struggle; he didn’t protest. As the stone obliterated his
features, he felt nothing, for the first blow had killed him.

Chapter Nineteen

Emma blocked the memory of William’s curses as she ran. She
was too intent on escape, running as swiftly as she could, stumbling over
insignificant stones. She tripped on a root and fell headlong into a rotted
pile of muddy leaves. Her headcovering came off, and her braids tumbled over
her shoulders.

Frantic, she snatched up the muddy cloth, looked over her
shoulder just once, then forced herself to run even harder. Her legs wobbled as
she made her way through the winding alleys that separated the dwellings at the
castle wall.

She could barely stand when she reached the gate, and needed
to sit and gather her wits. Her skirt was torn and there was mud splashed
across her bodice. Shame painted her cheeks red. Shame that she’d given herself
to William Belfour so willingly without first seeking to know the man inside his
godlike face and body.

“Mistress, are ye ill?” the gatekeeper shouted down to Emma
from his high perch.

Emma couldn’t answer, she just gathered her ripped skirts
and ran through the gate, swept up the keep’s steps and, avoiding all eyes,
stumbled up the stone stair to Gilles’ chamber.

She shot the bolt and tore off her gown. Shivering and
naked, she took up one of Gilles’ daggers and shredded the gown, reduced the
ugliness of the day to tiny tattered scraps of wool that she flung into the
fire. She searched out Gilles’ robe and wrapped it tightly about her.

As she watched the gown turn to ash, she became aware that
her right breast throbbed. Shaking off her fear, she rose and bathed William’s
touch from her body, and then curled in Gilles’ bed, wrapped in his scent,
surrounded by her memories for comfort, praying he would soon come home.

She bit the cuff of the sleeve to keep from weeping.

* * * * *

“Hungry.” Angelique tugged at Emma’s hair, waking her.
“Hungry! Angelique hungry!”

“Oh, my child. I’m sorry.” Emma roused herself, rose and
dressed, muttering to herself. “Hiding will gain us naught. I must face him,
for surely he is below awaiting us.” She dug in a coffer and sheathed one of
Gilles’ daggers beneath her gown. “If I hide here, he’ll have won. He’ll know
he has frightened me.”

Why didn’t I take someone with me to gather my plants?

Emma clutched Angelique to her breast as she paced the
rush-strewn floor of Gilles’ chamber. She resisted the urge to climb onto the
high bed and hide in its soothing depths. “I will be strong. I’ll not let him
take my peace from me.”

“Peas, Mama. Angelique wants peas.”

Emma looked at her daughter. How could William have scorned
such beauty and innocence? She pressed her face into Angelique’s neck, and her
throat worked as she stemmed her anger and grief. “I can’t hide until Gilles
returns. I must face William now.”

Shifting Angelique to her left hip, Emma groped in her skirt
for the knife she’d strapped to her leg. Then, squaring her shoulders, Emma put
her hand to the iron latch.

With but a moment’s hesitation, she lifted it. She nodded to
the sentry who stood guard at the base of the stair. When she rounded the last
spiral of the stairs, she paused, then forced herself to enter the hall. She
searched the many tables crowded with retainers, but did not see the one she
sought. Heaving a sigh of relief, Emma made her way to an empty seat by Sarah.

“May I take her, Emma?” May asked, stopping at Emma’s side.
Emma handed a hungry Angelique to May, and then helped herself to a partridge
from a long wooden platter of birds.

“How quickly I’ve become accustomed to such bounty.” Emma
tore a piece of bread from a loaf at her place and slathered it with drippings
from the partridge platter. Chewing rapidly, she kept her eyes on the various
doorways, anticipating William’s arrival at any moment.

“You seem ill at ease this evening. Are you feeling well?”
Sarah asked, selecting a plump bird for herself.

Emma avoided Sarah’s eyes. “I don’t feel quite myself.”
What
a lie,
she thought.

She felt frightened and anxious.

“You must take care of—”

A cacophony of sounds in the bailey cut Sarah’s remarks
short. The two women rose and, with the rest of the gathered company that
surged to the great doors opening into the bailey, they sought the source of
the tremendous wailing and screaming they could hear from without.

‘Twas a scene of turmoil that met their eyes. The miller had
drawn his cart close against the steps that led to the great doors of the keep.
He was instantly thronged with people. Men were pushed aside by wives and women
servants as the form stretched out in the cart was glimpsed.

Women tore their hair and sobbed. Men were struck silent at
the macabre scene. One old man with poor vision raised his voice above the
noise of the crowd.

“What is it? What has happened?” he quavered, frightened and
bewildered.

“Murder. William Belfour has been murdered!” cried the
miller. He stood on his cart seat and addressed the crowd. As he spoke, the
people fell silent, though weeping continued unabated. “I found him by my pond,
his face bashed in, his blood staining the earth. Great evil this is!”

Emma pushed forward, shocked and dismayed. She’d seen
William but a few hours ago in that exact spot. She reached the side of the
cart. Placing her hands on the rough wooden edges, she looked over, then reeled
back, choking down the vomit that threatened to spew from her lips.

‘Twas beyond ghastly, the sight of him. If not for his blue
mantle and well-known form, it could have been any fair-haired man. There was
nothing of William Belfour’s beauty left. He was a pulpy mass of broken bone,
smashed teeth, and blackened gouts of blood.

The miller jumped into the back of his cart and lifted a
brown leather pack from William’s side. “Who recognizes this?”

Emma spoke before prudence could stop her. “‘Tis mine.”

“Were you at the mill today?” He spoke in an accusatory tone
and the crowd fell quiet around them, all eyes turning to Emma and the miller.

“Aye. I was. I was gathering plants for my dyes.” Emma
looked cautiously about her. The crowd was silent, not a listening silence, a
malevolent silence.

“I saw that one run in the gate today. She had blood on her
gown. Her gown were torn.”

Emma stared at the man who spoke. She recognized the
gatekeeper, didn’t miss the excitement that lit his eyes as he swiftly became
the center of attention, people parting to let him through to the cart’s side.

“‘Twas not—” Emma began.

“Murderess!” screamed a frantic woman’s voice. “Murderess!”

The crowd closed on Emma, and she stepped back against the
cart’s side to avoid them.

“Nay, I would never hurt anyone.” Hands reached for her
arms, clasped her and held her against the cart. Two women snatched at her
hair. Emma tried to raise her hands to protect her face, for the women in the
crowd had whipped themselves into a frenzy.

“Stone her as she stoned him,” a voice screamed above the
crowd. The men stood by in silence while the women sought stones and dirt,
flinging them in Emma’s face, pelting her breasts and stomach. She screamed and
bent to try to protect herself, but hands held her upright, tearing and
stripping her gown and shift, turning her to face the bloody mess that was
William.

Gasping with pain and blinded by the blood that dripped from
her own brow, Emma began to grow weak, too weak to fight them. Held against the
cart, her now naked body was pummeled with stones while hands clawed at her
arms, dirty nails digging furrows from her elbows to her wrists. Like a wounded
animal, Emma began to slide down the rough side of the cart.

Sarah ran into the keep and up the winding stair, gathering
the sentries she could find on her way. She had only to invoke Lord Gilles’
name and future wrath to gain their instant support. Accompanied by three
stalwart soldiers, Sarah forged a path to Emma, shoving men, women, and
children aside as she moved. The sentries shouted for order and used the flat
of their swords and the heavy edges of their shields to bash a path to the two
men who held a now unconscious Emma against the cart. Intimidated by drawn
blades, the men let Emma fall to the ground.

“Emma, Emma,” Sarah crooned to her friend, who lay in her
own blood at the wheel of the cart. “Please don’t die,” she sobbed. “Help me
with her,” she demanded of a nearby man. The armorer, ashamed of the behavior
of the crowd and most shocked at the women’s frenzy, welcomed the opportunity
to atone for his silent fascination as the crowd lost itself in bloody sport,
so he stepped up to help when summoned. He hoisted Emma into his arms and
ignored the screams of a crowd deprived of their vengeance. He stepped into the
protective circle of the three soldiers. As a body, Sarah leading the way, they
made their way to the keep.

* * * * *

At the first touch of a cold cloth to her bruised face, Emma
moaned and stirred, and threw up her hands to shield her face.

She shuddered and shook in reaction to the horror of what
had transpired. A shadow fell over her. Mark Trevalin bowed slightly at the
waist. She clung to Sarah.

“Mistress,” he spoke to Sarah rather than her, “I know this
is difficult for you, this woman being your friend, but I must hear her story.
The crowd is calling for her to be brought out, brought out to answer for
murder. I must speak to her if she’s able.”

“Lord Gilles will have you stripped of your rank, should you
hurt her!” Sarah spat. She bathed the blood and dirt from Emma’s face. “You’re
safe here, Emma. No one will harm you.”

Mark Trevalin’s face paled. “Tend her, then I must speak to
her, though you may remain while I question her. I will see to the dispersal of
the crowd.” He turned and left, and Emma could hear him shouting orders. She
heard the march of boots, she heard what sounded like a small skirmish in the
bailey, then silence fell.

* * * * *

Emma sat on a bench in Gilles’ chamber. Arrayed before her
were Mark Trevalin and three other men-at-arms.

“Aye, I saw him today,” Emma said. Her face was puffed and
bruised. Her eyes stung with unshed tears as she faced the men at the table.
Sarah patted her shoulder to reassure her, but nothing really helped. Life was
a nightmare. She prayed for Gilles to return and help her; she prayed to God to
send Gilles swiftly home.

Swallowing audibly, she continued. “I was gathering plants
when I met Sir William at the pond. We spoke a moment and then he tried to kiss
me. I tried to get away but he is…was very strong. He tried to force himself on
me.” With a trembling hand Emma reached for a cup of water on the table. When
she looked up she saw skeptical frowns on the men.

Mark Trevalin spoke in the silence. “Belfour had little need
to force his attentions on any maid.” His contempt for her words was barely
concealed.

“Yet he did!” Emma loathed the panic and fear that cloaked
her voice. “He did.” She fell silent.

“Continue your tale.” Trevalin waited for Emma to again
drink from her cup.

“He tried to force me.” This time she met Trevalin’s eyes,
defying him to sneer. “I found a small, small stone.” Emma cupped her hand to
demonstrate the size. “I hit him on the shoulder. When that did naught, I hit
him on the brow. He let me go and I ran. When I looked back he was standing and
shouting at me. I heard some of it. He was shouting that he would have me yet.
I was so frightened—”

“So you admit hitting him with a rock,” Trevalin
interrupted.

“Nay. I admit hitting him with a very small stone, but I
swear in God’s holy name, he was alive when I left him! He cursed me.”

“The gatekeeper says your gown was torn.”

“Is that not proof that William was forcing himself on her?”
Sarah interjected.

“Please, mistress, if you cannot hold your tongue, you must
leave.” Trevalin spoke sternly to Sarah.

“William tore my skirts, aye.” Emma’s face flamed red.

“And the blood the gatekeeper claims was on your gown?”

“There was no blood. It was mud. I fell on my face while
running in the woods.”

“May I see your gown, please?”

Silence reigned for a moment, and Emma felt her flush become
a heat that surely could be felt like a flame across the room. “I can’t show
you the gown. I burned it.”

Sarah’s gasp was the only sound in the room for several
moments.

“I see. Why did you do such a thing?” Trevalin spoke harshly
and with disbelief.

“I hated the sight of it. It would have always reminded me
that William tried to rape me. Even mended, it would have reminded me. I would
have had to tell Lord Gilles. I could not face that…telling him what William
had done.”

“You hated William Belfour, did you not?”

“Nay. I did not like him, but I did not hate him.”

“One of the weavers says he overheard you telling Mistress
Sarah that you could kill Belfour. Did you say that?”

“‘Twas not what it seems. It is an expression, spoken by
many who have no wish to harm. It is just an expression.”

“Yet, William Belfour is dead.”

Emma did not respond. She was suddenly lethargic and her
head pounded with pain.

“There are those here who say Belfour is the father of your
child, Angelique. Is that so?”

Emma looked up at Sarah. She’d not told anyone beyond Sarah,
yet as usual there were no secrets in the keep. When Sarah nodded and squeezed
her shoulder, Emma knew her friend would stand by her.

“Aye. William Belfour is…was the father of my child.”

“And you tried to make him responsible for you? I found in
the manorial records that your uncle brought you before Lord Gilles to ask you
to name your lover. You paid a sixpence fine for bearing a child out of
wedlock.”

“I never tried to make Sir William responsible. That was my
uncle’s wish, not mine. I wanted naught to do with William when I learned his
true nature.”