Silverhawk (8 page)

“My sister, Lady Alyss, sends you greetings and good wishes,” she said in a bright and easy manner. “Alyss just became a mother for the second time. Her husband won’t let her travel, and he won’t leave her side. They remain at Windom.”

Alyss wed and a mother. Emelin and she had been friends when they were girls, although Alyss was a bit older. The family from Chauvere visited Emelin’s foster parents often before illness and war altered their world.

“I remember you. Little Evie.” Emelin caught herself. “I’m sorry. Lady Evelynn.”

Eyes sparking, Lady Evelynn squeezed Emelin’s hands. “Between ourselves, it’s Evie. I remember you, too. I used to wish I had your beautiful hair. Like the sunset.” She laughed again. “Stephen always said it was like the dawn. He teased that I couldn’t rise before the sun, so I was fated never to know the difference.”

Evie stopped short. Her smile evaporated, and her eyes grew sad. “Forgive me, I should not have mentioned him. I spoke without thought.”

The words had caught Emelin by surprise, but the pain in her chest had dulled after all these years. Stephen was the past. And like the past, dead and gone.

“That’s quite all right,” she assured Evie. “It was a long time ago. Much has changed.”

If ever words inadequately expressed another lifetime. Still Emelin curved her lips upward. As Mother Gertrude used to say, “Pretend to be happy, and it will be so.” Perhaps this once the saying would prove true.

As they moved up the stairway, Evie looked around. “Now life changes again. You are to be a wife. Tell me how you met Lord Osbert.” Her voice lowered, as if she anticipated a romantic tale.

Before Emelin could decide how to answer, the two reached the hall and were surrounded by the other ladies. By the time introductions were complete and a cup of watered wine provided for the newest guest, the men had arrived.

Lord Osbert led the way to the dais and called for food and drink. Garley shouldered in to sit at his side, while Lord Henry received the place of honor because of his ties to King Richard.

Next to him was the dark rider who had sent villagers scrambling when he rode in. His head turned, and her eyes flew wide. It was him. Her wounded knight.

How had she not recognized him immediately? Then she realized. The wounds were hardly visible on his sun-kissed forehead, the bruises mere shadows on high cheekbones and firm chin. Sleek, dark hair ended in curls that brushed the top of broad shoulders.

Although he lounged at ease, an air of inflexibility surrounded him, of impatience loosely caged. Then his eyes caught her gaze and one side of his wide, mobile mouth curved up.

Her stomach flipped. She stood as if she’d taken root in the floor. Oh, my. She felt her cheeks burn.

She sank down beside little Evie and turned her attention to the women. Lady Cleo questioned Evie about her brother, the others intent on any gossip that might slip out. As she had learned to do at the convent to mask her wandering mind, Emelin conjured up serenity and listened for a different conversation.

Discussion at the men’s table was loud, but the words indistinct. Osbert leaned forward. His gray head bobbed in emphasis to what he said. Although domineering and overbearing, he was not physically repulsive. He was not ancient. Her luck could have been much worse. But how would she face the marriage bed?

Unbidden, her glance flew to the dark knight. Sometimes at St. Ursula she had dreamed of being rescued, of finding love in the arms of a strong and handsome knight.

The marriage bed would not be objectionable shared with someone like him. Exciting, compelling, dangerous. Her pulse jumped as she remembered that fleeting kiss in the wagon, and her tongue flicked out to touch her lips.

She forced her glance to focus on one of the ragged tapestries along the back wall. This foolish tendency to think of him must end. She knew nothing of the man, really, except he journeyed to England to visit Henry.

Anyone might know Henry. That connection meant nothing, after all. He’d return home, wherever that might be, and she’d never see him again.

She must, must remember the facts. She, Emelin the Undesirable, was twenty years of age. In spite of her dreams, a life at the convent had been reality until Garley arranged this marriage. God knew it was not what she’d hoped for, but she accepted it. Well, she had pretty nearly accepted it.

Dear heaven, what thoughts. She wrenched her attention back to her new betrothed who pounded his knuckles against the wood slab table and shouted, “It’s our duty.”

This marriage was
her
duty. Perhaps it was Lord Osbert’s nature to be abrupt and dismissive. Perhaps he had cared for his wives and truly grieved their loss. Perhaps he would value her, grant her the respect and freedom she had come to believe important to a woman.

Perhaps.

Garley’s smirk caught her eye. He nodded smugly. He knew she dreaded the marriage, and he was pleased at her discomfort. But Emelin could grow accustomed to anything. Experience taught that.

Although her early plumpness had rearranged itself into surprising curves and valleys, and her youthful bright hair had matured into auburn, she knew her physical limitations. Chin too stubborn, mouth too generous, eyes too green. How her
loving
brother had tormented the young Emelin about all of those shortcomings.

She shook her head sharply to dispel the memory. Garley still watched. He glowered and tapped his cheek, a reminder of their earlier talk. For a moment, her childhood fear of him pulsed. Her gaze jerked away.

And slammed against silver ice. He glanced at her brother, then back. Dark brows rose, his mouth curved dismissively, and he flicked a long finger.

As if she could read his mind, she heard: “This man is not worth your concern.” His face remained impassive, the corners of his eyes barely moved, but she felt his smile. The power of their exchange in the wagon swept back, carrying with it her confidence that had wavered.

Emelin still didn’t know his name, but her body knew his touch. It tingled with memories of his kiss. She ought to have felt threatened by his embrace. Instead, she’d felt safe. Protected. Even the musky spice of his scent had been comforting.

As if reading her thoughts, his wide, expressive mouth twitched and one eyebrow lifted.

The nerve of the man. But she couldn’t look away.

“He’s dangerous.” Evie’s low voice broke her concentration.

Emelin’s gaze veered toward the ladies, where Lady Dulsie spoke in raptures of Lord Henry’s attributes as an unwed baron. Evie ducked her head to whisper.

“He’s Sir Giles of Cambrai. Silverhawk. He’s a notorious mercenary. Not someone a lady wants to know.” Then she giggled. “But isn’t he gorgeous? In a forbidden sort of way?”

Forbidden. Exactly. Everything Emelin could never have. Her lips throbbed.

“Yes,” she answered. “He seems very sure of himself, doesn’t he?”

“I think all warriors must be that confident, else they’d never survive.”

“Oh, my, Lady Evelynn. Do you know the dangerous mercenary with your brother?” Lady Dulsie must have overheard some of their private conversation and didn’t mind intruding.

“Come tell us all about him. Everyone has heard the stories.” The lady’s attempt at lowering her voice merely ensured it carried, caught his attention. “He doesn’t look like a slaughterer of innocents.”

His half-smile widened cynically. Black waves framed his lean face with its square jaw and glittering eyes. He did indeed look dangerous. He winked at Evie.

“Oh,” Evie sputtered, then giggled again. “If my brother saw that, he’d clip the Hawk’s wings.”

His gaze touched Emelin’s again, then flicked back to Garley. The knight’s face blanked, yet in that moment, she felt reassured. A dangerous mercenary indeed. Emelin could believe it. But she also believed in the confidence he gave her, irrational though it might be.

Drawing a deep breath, Emelin felt as if she could burst. She needed time alone, but it would have to wait. Duty first. She must see to Henry’s younger sister. The girl was vivacious, but her weariness showed in the tired slope of shoulders.

Emelin stood and smiled to the ladies. “Please excuse us. Lady Evelynn, you’ve had a long journey. Would you care to rest?”

Evie rose. “Oh, yes. That sounds wonderful.” She gave the others a pleasant nod and walked beside Emelin to the stairs.

“I’m sorry your chamber isn’t large,” Emelin told her, “but you’ll have privacy, at least. The keep is old. Whoever built it included several small areas on the upper floor. You get the smallest one.”

“By virtue of arriving last.” Evie chuckled.

Emelin turned to her. “I must confess, after sleeping on a hard, narrow bed for years, I often take more than my share of space now. However, you are welcome to share my chamber. The bed is considerably larger.”

“Thank you, but if you will not mind, I appreciate the solitude. Although you must find company enjoyable after the convent?”

“Depends upon the company,” Emelin murmured. “Yours would be most welcome.”

Laughing like old friends, they climbed the stairs.

****

The sound of laughter drifted to Giles as the two ladies retreated up the steps. He’d noticed immediately his little nun had lost the warrior tilt to her head. He traced some of her uncertainty to the large blond knight on Osbert’s right, the one whose glare upset her. He recognized the brother from the near-encounter earlier in the day.

But when she’d caught Giles’ gaze, a spark of understanding passed between them, and before his eyes, her shoulders squared and that dainty square chin raised confidently.

Given time and a friendly nudge now and then, she’d be all right.

Provided this almost-husband of hers didn’t play at treason. That’s what the talk amounted to, although Giles wasn’t sure the others were aware of that. Henry was. He shifted on the bench, sipped a cup of wine, and when he set it down, glanced up. The two men exchanged blank looks that said each knew exactly what was going on.

Osbert referred several times to information from Lord Paxton, the king’s man. Pity Henry hadn’t managed to reach Langley in better time, Osbert said. He’d missed the opportunity of hearing the lord’s news. As it was, Osbert tucked in his chin and shook his head. Paxton and his troops had scarcely disappeared from view before Henry’s party rolled through the gates.

So that’s who they’d seen leaving. The name Lord Paxton meant nothing to Giles. What the man said, however, meant a great deal. Collecting an army to repel an invasion from Scotland? Not likely. And not in the middle of country. That story clanged like lead. If Paxton served a country and a king, it wasn’t England and it wasn’t Richard.

Giles had no intention of allowing Langley to be branded a traitor, the land confiscated by the crown. He had another end in mind for the man
and
the land.

Chapter Six

“We got to be ready when the Scots’ king makes his move.” Lord Osbert thumped his fist on the battered wood in front of him. His eyes folded at the corners in satisfaction, and his gaze skimmed along the warriors at the table. It skipped Giles.

Did he think the strange knight had no interest in this fight? The old man was mistaken.

The scheme just outlined could be the very one King Richard suspected. If Giles thwarted a conspiracy against England, Richard would be pleased. That, in turn, would serve Mercadier. He owed his mentor that much—and more.

But God’s bones! He didn’t have time for this intrigue.

Lord Henry leaned forward, his lips pursed. “Are you certain Philip plots with King William to invade England? It doesn’t make sense. Richard plans to marry his nephew to the Scots’ king’s daughter.”

“Not any longer,” Osbert declared. “That arrangement’s long dead. And the king’s man said Scotland is looking for revenge.”

“So Richard has sent his man to the Scots to make certain that doesn’t happen,” Garley added. His attitude bordered on swagger. Giles didn’t like it. His opinion of the man dropped another few notches, if possible.

Garley was mighty confident of himself. It was obvious he coveted power, and as Langley’s brother-in-law, he would have it. Why the man’s ambition rankled so, Giles couldn’t say, but he’d enjoy quashing it.

Henry leaned back on the bench and crossed his arms. “It doesn’t make sense. Scotland’s been friendly for years. Even if the marriage won’t take place, why would William want to attack?”

Osbert opened his mouth to reply, but Garley cut him off. “Hah! Don’t you remember the problem when King Richard came home after he was ransomed? William wanted rights to the border land, but Richard refused him.”

Giles looked up and surprised Osbert’s stare. It jerked away when Henry posed the very question Giles wanted answered.

“This king’s man you say is Sir Paxton. Are you sure of him?”

“It’s Lord Paxton now. Done the king’s bidding for years. Says he was there when King Richard cleaned up the foolishness at Nottingham Castle three years ago. Don’t know, myself. I wasn’t at the Council.”

Henry’s jaw clenched. A look of pure hatred flared in his eyes before his face calmed into a mask.

“You were there,” Osbert said. Conversation died as the men focused on Henry. “It was your brother-in-law stood accused of treason.”

“I was there.” Henry’s voice was hard. “A man who called himself Sir Paxton named my brother-in-law, Sir Roark, a traitor. Wrongly, or he wouldn’t be Lord of Windom today. Sir Paxton. He was John’s man.”