The Chase (27 page)

Seonaid's eyebrows flew up. “I thought Amaury was yer husband?”

“Aye, but I was married 'ere him, only my husband died and the king arranged my marriage
to Amaury to keep me safe from” She paused with a grimace, then said, “ 'Tis a long story.”

“Aye.” Seonaid smiled slightly as she recalled Blake's telling her all this. “Blake told
me. I but forgot for a bit.”

“Oh.” Emmalene smiled, then excused her. “ 'Tis not a very interesting story.”

Seonaid snorted. “It sounded verra interestin' when Blake told it,” she countered, and it
hadmurder, a race to get the lady bedded, kidnaping, and a grand escape, it had been a
very entertaining tale.

Emmalene flushed, but then her gaze dropped to the trestle tables and a small sigh slipped
from her lips. “Oh, dear. Lady Ardeth is up.”

Seonaid glanced at her hostess with curiosity. The woman didn't sound pleased to see the
woman in question.

“She's a right bitch,” Aeldra growled under her breath so only Seonaid could hear, and she
raised an eyebrow at the words. Aeldra's only answer was a slow nod.

Deciding she would have to remember later to get her cousin to explain that remark and
what the woman had done to so obviously anger her, Seonaid let the subject drop for the
moment and accompanied Aeldra to the practicing field.

It felt good to get some fresh air and exercise after so long trapped in a room with an
unconscious man. Seonaid stayed longer than she had intended because of it, and when she
walked back into the keep and Lady Emmalene caught her and insisted she should stop to eat
before going abovestairs, Seonaid gave in to the request, telling herself that it would
only take a minute and would save the servants work. She supposed she hadn't been a very
considerate guest, making Eberhardt's servants trudge up and down the stairs, bringing her
food and drink when she wasn't the one ailing.

It wasn't quite time for the nooning meal yet, so the hall was empty, but Aeldra
accompanied her to the table, and Lady Emmalene joined her as well. The three of them were
just finished eating and were talking quietly when Lady Ardeth approached the table. It
was only then that Seonaid recalled her intent to find out why Aeldra didn't like the
woman. It didn't take her long to figure it out. She gave the woman the once-over as Lady
Ardeth settled herself at the table, noting her fine facial features, voluptuous curves,
expensive gown and head dress, and the artistically styled blond hair. She was a lovely
woman.

Until she opened her mouth. “I saw you out practicing with your swords,” the woman
announced without preamble. “Oh?” Seonaid said mildly.

“It must be... interesting for a man as refined as Blake to have such an Amazon of a
wife.” Her voice was full of derision and her pretty face was made ugly by the sneer
pulling at her lips as her eyes slid over Seonaid's braies and tunic with scorn. “Tell me,
does he substitute swordplay for foreplay to accommodate your unladylike tastes?”

Seonaid went still, aware that Lady Emmalene had released a little gasp beside her, while
Aeldra had reached instinctively for hersgiandubh . Reaching to the side, Seonaid put a
restraining hand over Aeldra's to keep her from removing the weapon. At the same time she
patted Lady Emmalene's arm with her other hand, distracting her hostess, who had just
opened her mouth, no doubt to rebuke the woman for her rudeness.

“Blake indulges in swordplay with me on occasion,” Seonaid said calmly. “However, while
he's a most accommodating lover, the only sword he brings to our bed is one I doona mind
sheathing... again and again.”

The fury mingled with envy that flashed across the other woman's face told Seonaid she'd
struck her mark. But she couldn't resist twisting the knife. Aeldra had pointed out Lady
Ardeth's husband to her while they were out practicing. The man was a tiny, fat, old man
with a mean, squirrel-like face. Her first thought on seeing him had been that he was no
doubt the sort who beat his wife and abused his servants. She would bet he was not a
caring and considerate lover like her husband.

“I hope that ye were as lucky in yer marriage bed as I am,” Seonaid continued pleasantly.
“I realize how fortunate I have been and am grateful me father didna marry me off to one
o' those sour-faced, wife-beatin' men like other women have been unfortunate enough to be
forced to marry. Such a husband often makes the most lovely woman age before her time as
she grows ugly with her bitterness.”

Lady Ardeth's head snapped back as if she had been slapped, then she snapped, “Bitch!” as
she got to her feet and whirled away.

Seonaid watched her storm off, trying to subdue the guilt that wanted to claim her. She'd
hit her mark, all right. There had been no mistaking the misery and pain that had flashed
across the woman's face before she'd controlled it and cursed at her. It was difficult to
blame her for being bitter. Seonaid had noticed the faded bruises peeking out from beneath
the woman's sleeves and had no doubt her life was an unpleasant one.

“I am sorry, Seonaid. Lady Ardeth is a most unpleasant woman. I blame it on her husband. I
think he”

“I think so too,” Seonaid interrupted. “And ye've naught to apologize for. I should have
been kinder.”

“Nay. You were kinder than she deserved,” Emmalene assured her. “And mayhap your comments
will make her temper her behavior in future. She and her husband were at court at the same
time as we, and while there I saw her reduce several ladies to tears with her cruelty.”

Seonaid accepted this news with a nod, some of her guilt easing, then she stood. “I should
return abovestairs.”

Much to her relief, Aeldra let her go without protest.

Blake was still asleep when Seonaid got to their room. She hadn't seriously thought that
he might wake while she was gone, but some part of her had hoped. She thanked Maude, then
reclaimed her seat as the woman left to tend to whatever chores she had. Then Seonaid
simply sat and stared at her husband's handsome face.

Refined, Lady Ardeth had called him, and her husband fit the description. He was
intelligent and handsome and... refined. She could imagine him strutting around court. He
had the manners, the grace... he probably even knew how to dance. He was nothing like her.

Seonaid blew out a little sigh. She would be a disaster at court, just as she had been in
the abbey. Large and clumsy, she would knock things over and break things and embarrass
Blake. Unlike Lady Ardeth, who no doubt wouldn't put a foot wrong at court. Or Emmalene.

And the woman's jibe about substituting swordplay for foreplay had come uncomfortably
close to the mark. Though it was tickling and wrestling and Seonaid usually instigated it,
and Blake definitely did not leave out other forms of foreplay for it. Still, she supposed
other women were not so unladylike as to roll around on the ground with their husbands,
laughing and squealing like children. She couldn't see Lady Ardeth doing it, and Seonaid
didn't doubt for a minute that the cruel blonde was one of the women Blake had bedded in
the past. The woman had been too smug and familiar. She also suspected he had bedded the
well-endowed blond servant who had wept at the sight of his wound the night they had
arrived. Then there was Emmalene. Seonaid didn't think he had bedded hershe was positive
he hadn'tbut when he had spoken of her it had been with great admiration and affection.

All three women were blond, voluptuous, and most definitely feminine in looks and
behavior: the complete opposite of Seonaid.

Her gaze slid to her husband again and she felt unhappiness tug at the corners of her
mouth. She'd done a lot of soul searching the last two days while sitting here alone with
him. The idea of his dying had shaken her up terribly. It was the idea of being alone
again... which was a foolish thought, really. One was never alone in a castle, and Seonaid
had always had Aeldra, Duncan, her father, and even Allistair before he had turned on them
all. But it had been different with Blake. When they made love, when they lay alone
together of a night talking, and even when they had traveled together and worked together
to set up camp, it had felt almost as if they were a unit. One. During the attack, they
had even moved as one, putting their backs to each other to face their enemies.

Seonaid supposed somewhere deep down inside she had hoped that eventually that ease of
interaction, that oneness, would seep into other parts of their lives. She'd even gone so
far as to admit to herself that she'd started falling in love with her husband; with his
honor, his good humor, his strength, his consideration. She wanted him to love her too.
But how could he love a great clumsy Amazon who knew nothing about being a lady or a
proper wife?

“God's toes,” Seonaid muttered to herself. She was sounding like one of those weak,
whining women she hated.

If she wanted her husband to love her then she should do what it took to ensure that
happened. She could do little about her height, or the fact that she wasn't a well-endowed
blonde as he seemed to prefer, but she could dress more like other women and learn some of
the skills they all seemed to take to so naturally. Once she set her mind to a task, she
could do anything.

Buoyed up by these thoughts, Seonaid contemplated how best to go about what was necessary.
Clothing seemed the easiest problem to tackle. She would approach Lady Emmalene and see if
she could not aid her in that area. Blake had said the lady had ordered in a dressmaker
and tons of material after marrying Amaury. Perhaps she had some cloth left over that
could be made into a gown. And then perhaps the lady would be good enough to help her
learn some of the skills she would need. Aye, Emmalene seemed her best bet.

A glance at Blake showed that he still slept the deep sleep that worried her so, and
Seonaid stood to move toward the door. It would only take her a minute to have a word with
Emmalene.

She was just reaching to open the door when it did so on its own, and Seonaid was forced
to step back to avoid it hitting her.

“Oh, Seonaid,” Aeldra said with surprise on spying her so close to the door. Then her eyes
widened and her gaze shot to the bed. “Is he?”

“Nay, he's the same,” Seonaid said quickly. “I was just...” She hesitated, reluctant to
reveal her plans to Aeldra. Her cousin would probably think she had lost her mind if she
caught wind of them. Instead, she asked, “Is there something yer wantin'?”

“Oh.” Aeldra hesitated, then blurted, “Lord Amaury just suggested that as Blake will be a
while recovering He seems sure he will, by the by,” she interrupted herself to say, and
Seonaid knew it was an attempt to cheer her. “He says Blake is too damned stubborn no to,
but as 'twill no doubt be a while 'ere he does...”

“Aye?” Seonaid prompted when Aeldra hesitated.

“Well, he seems to think Little George and I should go visit his family in the meantime so
they can meet me,” Aeldra blurted out. “He seems to think Blake will want to head home the
moment he is better and we will probably no be in this area again for a while, and”

“Go,” Seonaid interrupted, and Aeldra peered at her uncertainly.

“Go?”

She nodded firmly, thinking this was perfect. For some reason she felt better about
attempting changes to herself without her cousin here. Besides, Emmalene had said the
first night they were here that Little George had suffered much tragedy lately, and
Seonaid knew from the nightly conversations she'd indulged in with Blake since their
wedding that the tragedy was the murder of the man's wife. He wasn't the only one to have
suffered tragedy lately. Aeldra had lost her brother and surrogate mother in one fell
swoop. Here was her chance to be welcomed into Little George's family. Seonaid was happy
for her.

“Ye wouldna mind?” Aeldra asked. “'Cause if ye would, we could stay and”

“Nay. Go and have a nice visit. There's no sense yer sitting around here awaitin'. I'll
send news when Blake wakes up.”

“Thank ye.” Aeldra gave her a quick hug, and Seonaid frowned. “What're ye thankin' me for?
'Tis no as if ye needed me permission, Aeldra.”

“Aye,” her cousin countered. “We did.”

When Seonaid started to shake her head at the nonsensical claim, Aeldra gently pointed
out, “Little George is Blake's first. He serves him. With Blake unable to give permission,
we needed yours to go.”

Seonaid stared as she realized it was true. She didn't like the idea at all, but it was
the truth. Frowning, she shrugged uncomfortably. “When are ye leaving?”

“Right away, most like.”

“Well, go on with ye then.” She gave her a push toward the door. “Have a good time.”

“Aye.” Aeldra started out the door. “Send a messenger if ye need me.”

“Aye. Oh!” Seonaid said, and her cousin paused at once to glance back.

“Aye?”

“Could ye ask Lady Emmalene to come speak to me when she has a moment?”

“Aye.” Aeldra grinned, then pulled the door closed, and Seonaid turned and walked back to
the bed, considering all she had to do and learn.

The first thing Blake was aware of was a terrible pounding in his head. It was bad enough
that he nearly groaned, butsuspecting it would merely add to his painhe managed to
restrain the urge. Then he noted the unpleasant, pasty taste in his mouth and wondered
what the hell had happened to him. He hadn't felt this bad since shortly after earning his
spurs. Blake had celebrated the occasion with wine, women, and songfor three days. The
agony he'd suffered afterward was enough to convince him that alcohol was a substance best
indulged in sparingly.

Had he forgotten that long ago lesson and overindulged again? He didn't recall. The last
thing he remembered...

Blake ran through the memories jostling about in his head. He'd traveled to Dunbar on the
king's order to marry Seonaid Dunbar, had chased her all over Scotland, managed to get her
back to Dunbar, wedded her and bedded herhe paused for a moment to allow those memories to
claim him. His wife was making him think that marriage would not be the boring burden he
had always feared it would be. She was not like other women; forever acting demure and
prissy. She was... fun.

Seonaid played with him; wrestling and laughing, not worried about her hair being
disturbed, or her gown getting torn, or her nails being broken. And when they had camped
out on the way to Sherwell, she had not fussed about the discomforts of travel, or stood
cowering when he fought off their attackers... Actually, he almost wished she had. Blake
had been distracted during the fight, worrying about her battling at his back. It was part
of the reason he'd not been able to keep his feet when she'd bumped into him, but had
stumbled into

Blake's thoughts came to an abrupt halt as he remembered the sword slicing into his side.
The ride afterward was something of a blur to him, but he did recall they had been headed
to Eberhardt. He suspected he had been sliding in and out of consciousness most of the way.

Well, that explained why he felt so awful, Blake thought, then blinked his eyes open and
glanced to the side as a softly muttered curse caught his ear. He recognized the room he
had slept in when last at Eberhardt. He didn't, however, recognize the woman who sat
sewing in the chair at his bedside. His first thought was that she must be a servant. Dark
hair peeked out from beneath a head dress, but the woman's face was hidden from him, her
head bowed, her attention on a bit of sewing in her lap.

The gown she wore didn't appear to be servant's garb, however. It was a plain style, but
of a cloth too rich to be a servant's. He wondered who she was, and then in the next
moment wondered where the hell his wife was. He had been badly injured. Would it have been
too much to expect her to tend to him rather than leave him in the care of a complete
stranger, lady or no?

Blake must have moved or made a sound, for the woman suddenly lifted her head to peer at
him. Her eyes immediately went wide, and she tossed her sewing aside to shift forward on
her seat, closer to the bed. “Ye're awake!”

Blake stared at her in amazement. It had taken him a moment to recognize the face framed
by the circlet and veil she wore, but he knew the voice at once. God's toes! The
dark-haired stranger at his bedside was his wife. In a dress. And she was sewing! Blake
opened his mouth, closed it again, then opened it once more, but no words came to mind. He
hadn't a clue what to say.

“Ye canna speak?” Seonaid guessed. “Doona try to, yer probably parched. Ye've had naught
to eat or drink for days. I'll fetch ye some broth. They've been keeping a pot of it on
the fire for days in case ye woke up. Doona go back to sleep, I willna be long.”

Blake stared after her as she stood and hurried out of the room, the dark blue gown
swaying with her movement. The only thought in his head was to wonder what had happened to
his wife. It was a thought that was to repeat itself often over the next few days.

Seonaid pulled the door closed and rushed down the hall to the stairs. Blake was awake!
She could hardly believe it. Her husband had finally woken up, and it had happened without
the least bit of fanfare. She had glanced up and there he was, eyes open.

“Lady Seonaid, what?” Lady Emmalene paused at the top of the stairs at the sight of a
flustered Seonaid rushing down the hall toward her. “Is he awake?”

“Aye.”

“Thank God!” Her relief was obvious but quickly replaced with an expectant smile. “How is
he feeling? What did he say? Does he like your new dress?”

Seonaid blinked. She'd forgotten all about the transformation she'd been working on these
last two days. Lady Emmalene had been more than enthusiastic in helping her. She'd set the
servants to work on a dress at once, suggesting a plain style so that it could be done
more quickly. The women had finished it but hours earlier, and Seonaid had donned the blue
gown, then sat patiently while Emmalene had dressed her hair and arranged a matching dark
blue circlet and veil on her head.

She felt uncomfortable in the garb but knew she would grow used to it in time. Seonaid
also missed her sword, but Lady Emmalene had insisted she should not wear it.

That was not all Lady Emmalene had done. The woman was training her in womanly pursuits,
such as how to direct servants, the ins and outs of managing a large estate, and sewing.
Seonaid had been practicing the last skill when Blake had awoken.

“Seonaid? Did he not like it?”

“I doona ken,” she admitted. “He canna speak. 'Tis his throat, I think; dried out from so
long without liquid.”

“Oh, aye, of course.” Emmalene turned on the stairs and started back down. “You stay with
him. I shall fetch some broth.”

“Thank you.” Seonaid whirled back the way she'd come and rushed to the bedchamber door,
only to pause once there. “Doona rush or stride about,” she reminded herself. “Walk like a
lady.” It was an oft-heard refrain as Emmalene had tried to help her become more ladylike.

Nodding, she opened the door and walked inside, forcing herself to take small, measured
steps. It was a bloody nuisance, but Blake deserved a proper wife, and proper wives did
not stride around with purpose like men.

Always try to smile serenely. Men have many trials and tribulations during the day and
appreciate a wife who has a soothing smile.

Her hostess's voice echoed in her head, and Seonaid plastered what she hoped was a
soothing smile on her face as she glanced to the bed. She was relieved to find he was
still awake and had not dropped back off into his deathlike sleep again.

“Lady Emmalene is fetchin' ye some broth,” she announced, trying to speak softly, as Lady
Emmalene did. Well, as Lady Emmalene did when she wasn't bellowing.

Blake stared at his wife, noting the way she was talking and the softening to her voice.
She looked beautiful, of course. The color of the gown suited her, but he did miss the way
her braies clung lovingly to her slender curves. His gaze slid to her face and hair, and
he thought she wore the circlet and veil well, though her hair looked just as nice pulled
back as it once was, and he really liked it best when it was down like it was every night
when they slept.

Aye, she looked lovely, but she didn't look like his Seonaid. And where was her sword? It
was a question he kept to himself for two days while he recovered. When he did finally
speak, Blake found that his throat was indeed sore. It took two days for it to get back to
normal. But that wasn't why he didn't, at first, speak. It was just the excuse he used.

Mostly, Blake didn't speak because he didn't know what to say. Everyone else was busy
talking most of the time anyway. Seonaid recounted their ride to Eberhardt for him, and
their arrival, as well as Emmalene's sewing him up. Amaury told him about his search for
their attackers and daily affairs at Eberhardt. And Emmalene chattered away about what had
happened at Eberhardt since his leaving the

last time.

No one explained, however, what had happened to his wife. The change in her had not been
confined to her dress. Her whole demeanor was different She no longer practiced swordplay
daily in the bailey as she had at Dunbar, but sat by him most of the day, insisting he
rest and sewing whatever it was she was working on. And usually with the most awful
grimace on her face. It alternated with a forced smile that she plastered on her lips
whenever she looked his way. She now walked in jerky little steps and spoke in a hushed
voice he had to strain to hear... when she spoke at all.

Blake fondly recalled holding her in his arms of a night, recounting tales of his youth,
then listening to the few bits and pieces she was willing to tell about her own. In truth,
he had done most of the talking, only occasionally managing to coax a story out of her.
But now she didn't talk at all. She just smiled the most horrid, unnatural smile he had
ever seen, and Blake watched her and wondered what had happened to his wife.

It wasn't until the third morning that he finally asked the question. Amaury stopped in to
talk to him, and Seonaid excused herself to go below and speak to Emmalene. Amaury had
started out telling him that they still had not found the men who had attacked them but
would keep looking, and Blake nodded, thenunable to stay silent on the subject any
longerasked, “What happened to my wife?”

The question came out sounding slightly gruff, but it no longer hurt to speak. Much to his
disgust, Blake had done little but sip broth for two days. But it had eased his sore
throat and he had even been allowed solid food that morning.

“What happened to” Amaury stared with bewilderment. “I do not know what you mean.”

Blake shifted impatiently in the bed. Amaury had not known her before her arriving here
and so might not realize there was a difference in her demeanor. Unfortunately, Aeldra and
Little George, who did know her, were not there to ask. Blake had been informed that the
couple were visiting Little George's family.

“Did my wife sustain a head injury in the attack?” he asked.

“Nay.”

Blake frowned. “Has she been hit in the head since our arrival here? While I was
unconscious?”

“Nay,” Amaury repeated, looking mystified at this line of questioning.

“I see,” Blake said. “Then what the hell have you done with my wife?”

Amaury stared blankly. “Inothing. What?”

“The woman is in a dress,” he pointed out. “Adress , Amaury. And she is sewing. Or trying
to, Dear God! What happened while I was unconscious?”

“IDid she not wear dresses before coming here?” “Nay,” he assured him. “She was not
wearing one when we arrived, was she?” “Nay, but I thought perhaps that was for travel,
and”

“We were not carting about a wagonload of trunks that might be full of gowns, were we?”

“Nay,” Amaury admitted with sudden realization.

“Well, there you are, then.” Blake nodded, then informed him, “Except for our wedding day,
she has not worn a dress in all the time since I met her in the chapel at St. Simmian's.
Until now,” he allowed. “Seonaid does not wear dresses. She does not sew. She does not
take mincing little steps, she strides. And where is her damned sword?”

“I do not know.” Amaury glanced around the room in search of the missing item. “What does
it look like?”

“Like a sword, Amaury,” Blake said dryly. “ 'Tis special made for her and slightly smaller
and lighter than a man's sword, but otherwise 'tis just like every other sword you have
ever seen.”

Amaury shrugged helplessly. “I did not notice it on the night you arrived; everything was
so rushed and worrisome. And I have not seen her much since your arrival. Your wife has
stayed up here most of the time, tending to you as she should.”

“Well, surely Aeldra was not up here all the time before she and Little George left for”

“Ah, yes!” Amaury exclaimed. “I did see Aeldra's sword. Very well made, and perfect for
her size.” He paused and eyed him with interest. “Do you mean to say Seonaid has a similar
sword?”

“She not only has a similar sword but normally dresses in braies like Aeldra, and walks
with strong, purposeful strides like Aeldra, andThe two are copies of each other, except
that Aeldra is small and blonde while my Seonaid is tall and svelte, with that beautiful
raven-colored hair.”

“Ah.” Amaury nodded slowly, then shook his head. “I have never seen her so. As I say, I
did not much notice her on the first night, what with my worry over you, and she has been
up here most of the time with you since then. She sounds fascinating.”

“She is fascinating. Or she was, before we got here. Since I have awakened in this bed,
she has been...” He sighed helplessly. She was turning into a girl. Like Emmalene.
“Emmalene!”

“What?” Amaury asked with alarm as Blake sat up in bed.

“Emmalene,” Blake repeated grimly. “Your little wife must be influencing her. She is
turning my Seonaid into a girl.”

Amaury's eyebrows rose. “Was she not a girl when you married her?” “Aye, butOh, you know
what I mean. She was a woman, but strong and fun.” “Emmalene is strong and fun.” Amaury
had begun to glare. “Aye, but Seonaid did not fuss overWhere did she get the dress?” Blake
interrupted himself.

Amaury frowned. “I think Emmalene had the servants make the dress,” he admitted, then
added reluctantly, "And I gather she had been spending time up here with Seonaid the last
two days 'ere you

woke.“ ”Ah ha!“ Blake tossed the linens aside and shifted to sit on the edge of the bed.
”What are you doing?“ ”Getting dressed. Where are my clothes?"

“Here.” Amaury picked up a bit of white linen from the chair by the bed and tossed it to
him. “Here is your tunic. Your doublet and braies should be here somewhere. But I do not
think you should be getting up just yet.”

“I have to.” Blake snatched the tunic from him and began to tug it on. “I have to get
Seonaid away from Emmalene before she completely ruins my wife.”

“Ruins her?” Amaury's eyes narrowed and turned cold. “My wife is notruining yours. Seonaid
can only benefit from Emmalene's assistance.”