The Deed (19 page)

Emma started to follow him across the clearing, but paused and glanced down when her foot
hit something in the grass. It was her basket. Bending, she picked it up and peered
blankly at the drops of blood on the top leaves inside. Quite suddenly she felt rather
faint. Emma had never been this close to battle before. Oh, aye, she had seen the men
practicing at mock battle in the bailey and then of course there were the few occasions
when she had used her bow to save a life by taking one. But letting an arrow fly from a
distance was nothing like what she had just witnessed. She had stood a mere foot away,
privy to the sounds and smells of death. She could smell it in the air, taste it on her
lips, and still heard the sound of a sword crashing through human flesh.

Perhaps it was not surprising then that she felt sick, or that she felt sure today was not
a day she would soon forget.

Amaury gave his explanations and orders quickly, commandeered one of the horses, then
mounted and walked the beast to his wife to lift her up before him on the saddle. Leaving
his men to deal with the bodies, he then headed for home, frowning frequently and
worriedly down at his wife as they went. She was oddly silent; not surprising perhaps, but
it worried him just the same. Even the news he relayed that her mare had been injured, but
not badly, did not elicit a response and that increased his anxiety. It was not like her
not to fuss over such things.

Sure that it was shock that was ailing his little wife.

Amaury could only think she should rest. It was the only salve he could think of for what
ailed her, and as her husband it was his duty to see that she received it. He had just
decided that as they rode into the

bailey.

Waving the people with their questions away as he dismounted, Amaury lifted her gently
into his arms and carried her up to their chamber. There he set her down beside the bed,
took the basket she still held, set it on the floor, and then set about stripping her of
her clothes.

Emma stood silent and still as he fussed over her, neither assisting nor deflecting his
efforts, and that simply worried him more. Once he had her naked before him, Amaury turned
to strip back the bed linens, but when he straightened and turned to urge her into the
bed, she suddenly threw herself into his arms. For a moment he simply stood there, his
arms at his sides, his expression stunned as she sobbed against his chest, but then he
regained himself enough to raise one hand to awkwardly pat her back.

He stood there for what seemed to him to be hours, simply letting her cry as he racked his
brain for something he could do to soothe her. Then she suddenly began tugging at his
clothes. At first he had no idea what to make of it. She was still sobbing hard enough to
make him think her heart was breaking, but she was also setting out most aggressively to
strip him of his own clothes. He let her do as she wished, thinking to wait and see what
she was about.

Despite the fact that he was positive she could not possibly see through the blur of her
tear-filled eyes, Emma made short work of his clothes. When she finished, he was standing
at the side of the bed with his chest bare and his hose tangled down around his boots,
revealing a rather large erection to her view. Circumstances notwithstanding, having his
wife rubbing naked against him as she had worked at his clothes had managed to raise his
interest.

He had just opened his mouth to ask what she was attempting to do when Emma gave him a
gentle push toward the bed. With his legs tangled up in his hose as they were, that was
all the effort it took to send him flat on his back on the bed. His wee wife immediately
set about climbing on top of him, impaling herself on his shaft with little warning and no
preparation.

Amaury simply lay there for a moment, his eyes wide and shocked. His wife was not shy in
their bed, but this was beyond anything so far. Besides, there was no evidence of pleasure
or desire on her face, just a grim determination as she continued to sob and ride him.
Frowning, he caught her hips and held her still, waiting until she opened her eyes before
speaking. What do you?

Emma simply blinked at him, her surprise finally stopping the flow of tears she had been
unable to halt since they had started. It seemed perfectly obvious to her what she was
doing. I am bedding you. She began to move against him again, but Amaury tightened his
grip, impatience flashing across his face.

Aye, I can see that. Why?

Emma blinked again. She really had no idea why. She simply felt a need to mate. She wished
to feel him in and around her. She wished to share those moments afterward when he held
her and cooed sweet words in her ear. She wished to feel alive again. She supposed it had
something to do with being so near death that afternoon, but did not see how. She did not
feel dead, yet felt a horrible need to feel alive. It made no sense and she knew that. And
if it made no sense to her, she felt sure it would not make sense to her husband, so she
briefly sought in her mind for a viable reason to give him and ended up with, We need an
heir.

An heir? Aye.

Now? He looked thoroughly flummoxed by her words.

Aye, now. Afore you go a-dying on me. Anger rose up in her suddenly, and she did not
understand that either. She did not truly blame him for the bandits attack, or for this
latest fight. Neither had been his fault and yet she still went right ahead blaming him
for both. I swear, my lord, never in my days have I known a body who landed himself in so
much trouble! Do I not milk your seed and get with child now, you are sure to get yourself
killed afore I can! Then I shall be left in the clutches of Bertrand.

Amaury stared up at her blankly for a moment, several feelings rushing through him. Anger,
however, was uppermost. Rolling suddenly on the bed, he put her on her back and rose above
her, driving a little deeper into her before muttering, Well, wife, as God is my witness,
I have never had so much trouble in my life afore marrying you. Tis the truth I begin to
think you are accursed!

Accursed! Emma gasped at that.

Aye, accursed! You have already put one man in his grave, and the way things are presently
traveling along, I have no doubt you shall put me there as well!

When she opened her mouth to respond to that, Amaury covered it with his own. It was no
gentle kiss he gave her, however. It was rough and hard and demanding. Emma gave as good
as she got, biting viciously at his lip and bucking her hips upward as he drove ruthlessly
into her.

As violent as it was, this mating could not last long. It was only a matter of moments
before Amaury stiffened against her, cursing before collapsing atop her. He lay still for
less than a heartbeat, then forced himself to rise.

Emma bit her lip as she watched him tug his hose up, then climb into the rest of his
clothes. He did not look at her until he was leaving the room. Pausing at the door, he
peered back at her, his expression grim. Let us hope that this time my seed took, wife,
for I will not play stud horse for anyone. Not even the king.

Mercenaries? Blake frowned at him. Who the devil would send mercenaries out after you?
Amaury shrugged, a surly expression on his face. Any number of people. Aye. You do have a
fair share of enemies, do you not?

Tis the nature of our business. Our previous business, he corrected himself. Being a
hired sword meant always fighting a war against someone, for someone. Not his own war, of
course, and that only seemed to anger whoever he was battling even more. He had made many
enemies over the years. Any one of them might have set those dogs on him that afternoon.

Tis lucky Lady Emma was not hurt.

Aye. Amaury frowned as he glanced toward the castle where his wife was no doubt boiling
her herbs that very minute.

Ill have Little George increase the guards, Amaury said almost to himself. And Ill tell
him Emma is not to leave the castle grounds without at least ten men as escort.

What about you? Whether I am with her or not. Ten men. Nay, I meant that you should take a
guard with you as well. Amaury frowned over that, then sighed and nodded his agreement.
Aye.

Blake was silent for a moment. He had expected more of an argument over that. The fact
that he did not get one made him as curious as the fact that Amaury had returned in a dark
mood from escorting Emma upstairs. He was dying to ask what had occurred to cause it, and
was just working his way toward doing so when Amaury suddenly turned to him.

She thinks I am a stallion! A stud! Good for nothing more than breeding! he roared.

Blakes eyes widened at that. Who?

My wife! Who the devil did you think I would speak of?! He glared at his friend for his
obtuseness, before continuing. All she wants me for is to beget a babe. I am no better
than a bull to her! She thinks to have me service her at her whim. To spill my seed til
she is as full as an overflowing tankard.

It sounds a horrible chore. Blake grinned his amusement.

Amaury frowned at him for his less than sympathetic attitude. You may laugh. Tis not you
she expects to service her night and day, day and night.

Mores the pity.

When a storm began swirling on his face, Blake shook his head. I do not understand what
you are complaining of, my friend. Twas just a matter of days ago that you were
complaining that your wife enjoyed the joining, which you were sure was not right. Now you
are telling me that she thinks of you as only a vessel that holds the seed, which is what
the church says is proper for a wife to think, and yet you seem distressed by this as
well. Oh... aye... oh, I think I comprehend.

When Amaury merely scowled at him, Blake nodded. Aye. It has hurt your manly pride to
think that your wifes attentions are based only on begetting an heir and saving herself
from Bertrand. He nodded again. Aye, tis. And that suggests to me that your own attentions
go beyond thinking of her as just wife.

Amaury looked as if he had been punched by that suggestion, then he immediately began
shaking his head.

Aye. Blake nodded. Mayhap you even love her. Love?! Amaury looked horrified at the very
idea. She is my wife! Aye, but

Men do not love their wives, he pointed out grimly. They save that for their lovers. Wives
are forborne.

I do not see you taking a lover, Amaury.

Nay, but

And while it may be the fashion for lords and ladies to save such flowery emotions for
their lovers, Emma is not the average Lady. She would be an easy woman to love, he added
sympathetically.

Amaury scowled over that sentiment. You leave my wife alone. She will not be taking a
lover. With that, he turned and stormed across the bailey, leaving Blake staring after him
in amazement.

Emma glanced up from the pot she was stirring and smiled at Gytha as she entered. She was
the oldest of de Lasceys workers. Old enough to be Emmas own mother. She even reminded her
of the deceased Lady Kenwick somewhat. It was in her soothing smile and quiet dignity as
she had nipped and tucked the material of one gown after another around Emmas body during
the fittings. Emma liked her, and she wasnt the only one. Sebert liked her, as well.

De Lascey and his people had been here no more than four days, and already Gytha and Emmas
steward were inseparable. They sat together at mealtimes, and disappeared together after
the sup, and Gytha was forever finding some excuse or other to come below stairs during
the day in the hopes of catching a glimpse of or a moment alone with Sebert. Emma had come
across the pair in lusty clutches all over the castle. The maids and kitchen staff were
beginning to giggle about it whenever the pair passed.

Emma herself was not sure what to do about the situation. She found it a bit surprising
that a pair of such an age could enjoy the intimacies they seemed to be dabbling in. She
also found it touching and a bit amusing as well. Add to that the fact that she had never
seen Sebert so happy, and Emma was loath to reprimand them for their behavior, so she had
let it go up till now. However, this couldnt continue indefinitely. Something had to end
it. She was just afraid of what that might be. Emma was rather hoping that she could
persuade Gytha to stay, for she very much feared that should Gytha return to London with
de Lascey when he left, her steward might very well choose to follow her. That was not a
problem Emma wished to address at the moment. There seemed to be quite enough excitement
and difficulties occurring at Eberhart Castle just recently.

Ever since her wedding, in fact, she thought. Then she corrected herself. Nay, everything
had started before that. With her husbands death? Or even with her audience at court?

Is Lord Amaury ailing, my lady?

Emma gave a start and flushed at the question as Gytha moved to stand beside her, peering
curiously into the pot. N-nay, Emma answered. Her voice came out in a hoarse stutter.
Clearing her throat, she forced a smile and shook her head. Nay, he is well.

Then why do you tonic his ale every night? I... Tis a new refreshment I am experimenting
with, Emma lied, avoiding looking at the woman. Gytha frowned slightly now. But is this
not butchers broom and You know your weeds, Emma cut in, eager to change the topic.

Aye. My mother taught me. Gytha turned back to the various herbs laid out on the table
beside the fire. Brushing a hand gently over the larger bundle of plants, she appeared
surprised, and picked up one of the leaves to peer at it carefully. Is that not damiana?

Tis a general tonic. Emma heard the defensiveness in her own voice and winced inwardly.
It keeps the body regular.

Gytha raised one eyebrow slightly, amusement plucking at her lips as she set the
aphrodisiac back down. Oh aye, twill keep a body regular right enough.

Emma flushed pink at the suggestion in the womans tone, but was saved from responding when
the door beside her opened and Sebert peered in and smiled with gentle pleasure at Gytha.
The French ferret is kicking up a fuss about yer prolonged absence, Gytha. Mayhap ye should

Aye. Gytha sighed and moved toward the door, her irritation giving way to an intimate
smile. See me back up?

Emmas eyes widened with surprise at the suggestive tone, then widened even further at the
way Sebert flushed, swallowed, then nodded at the suggestion.

Gods gorge, she muttered, shaking her head. She would have to do something about Gytha and
Sebert soon. Very soon, she thought dryly, turning back to the pot she was stirring. It
was another batch of damiana. She did seem to be boiling up a new batch nearly every other
day. That was because she put so much in his tankards. Emma had hoped that she might soon
start cutting back on the amount she gave her husband, but after his threat earlier that
afternoon...

Not that she truly believed that he would refuse to bed her. He did seem to enjoy it.
Besides, she was not quite sure of the reasons for his irritation earlier that day. Still,
she was taking precautions. Rather than cut back on the damiana mixture she put into his
tankard, she intended to double it. She would stop giving him the other herbs, though. She
had to, else there would be no room for his ale. Emma thought it better to be safe and
dose him so... just in case he had been serious.

Emma opened her eyes, peered at the empty bed beside her and sighed. It appeared Amaury
had been serious about his determination not to bed her again. He had taken to drinking at
sup the night before, and had not stopped until his head had dropped onto the table- top
and great snores had erupted from his chest. Emma had left him sleeping there when she
retired to the room they shared.

Despite the fact that she had not only doubled the dosage of damiana in his ale, but
doubled that again as well, he had not come to her. Mayhap the effects of the potion
lessened as the body adjusted to it. Or mayhap the amount of ale her husband had consumed
had merely counteracted the effect. Whatever the case, it had not worked, and she had
spent a long, cold night tossing about in their bed alone. It was odd how one could get
used to having another about. So much so that his presence was missed when absent.

Sighing, she finally moved herself to get out of bed and set about dressing, considering
as she did the idea that her husband might truly intend to refuse to bed her now. It was a
concept she did not even wish to consider. Twas not just her wish for a babe that made the
idea unpalatable either. Twas the truth she would miss his very presence.

Amaury had kept to his word, and now consulted her on most matters. He had also taken to
actually talking to her of a night, holding her in his arms after loving her and
discussing the days events. It had

been awkward at first. She had been more than aware that he had been uncomfortable doing
so. Still he had continued and it had become a sort of nightly ritual. A ritual she had
missed last eve, Emma admitted to herself as she left their room.

The Great Hall was alive with noise when she reached the bottom of the stairs and headed
for the trestle tables where servants and soldiers alike were breaking fast. Her gaze
sought out Amaury where he sat hunched at his normal place. He was eyeing the people with
discontent, as if resenting their easy smiles and laughter. It seemed his mood had not
improved overnight.

Sighing inwardly, Emma dredged up a bright smile to grace him with as she approached, but
her steps faltered halfway across the room as her gaze fell on the dogs by the fireplace.
Curiosity mingling with worry to pluck at her smooth forehead, she hesitated, then turned
her steps in their direction.

The dogs had a pattern to their behavior just as everyone else in the castle did. During
the day they hung about outside, either playing with the children or aiding in a hunt were
it needed. On rainy days they could be found lolling in the kitchen itself, following the
cook with mournful eyes and soft mewls of sound produced in the hopes he might throw them
a tidbit. At night they settled before the fire and slept by its warmth, only to awake as
the first person entered the Great Hall to break fast. Then they too moved to the tables,
where they could be found at every mealtime, snapping up bits of food dropped or tossed
down to them.

That was where they should have been now. Yet they appeared to still be sleeping and that
made Emmas concern deepen as she neared the beasts. It was almost inconceivable that they
could sleep through the noise the diners were creating. Unless they were ill.

Amaury knew the moment his wife entered the room. His body told him with a small tingling
sensation that buzzed across his back and up his neck. He always had that sensation when
she came around him, though not always across his back. Most often it hit him in front and
quite a bit lower. Damned if her very presence wasnt enough to set his nether regions to
tingling life. Her smile was enough to make him as hard as the rocks atStonehenge . The
problem was it turned his mind to mush. Blake was right to a certain degree. Amaury was
not making any sense. First it had bothered him that his wife enjoyed the bedding; now it
bothered him that she seemed mostly interested in the bedding to gain a babe. His feelings
were such a mess even he did not understand them. Mush. His mind had become a great mass
of cow dung.

His wife was probably just as confused by his behavior as Blake was. No doubt it seemed
perfectly reasonable to her that they mate for the purpose of children alone. Enjoying it
aside, that was what the Church said the purpose for marital relations was. But... he
wanted more. He did not simply want to be the one who stood between her and Bertrand. He
wanted... hell, he did not know what he wanted exactly, and that was the problem.

Mayhap you even have love for her. Blakes words rang in his mind and Amaury shuddered at
the very thought. He had scant experience of that emotion. There had been very little of
it in his life. Still, as much as he had lacked the emotion in the past, he did not relish
suffering under it now. Especially not for a woman who thought of him as simply a bull in
the barn that would save her from Bertrand.

Grimacing, he peered down into the murky liquid of his tankard. His friend was right,
however, Emma was a special lady. Amaury had been witness to the actions of many a
so-called lady. His fathers wife, for instance. A pretty woman, always ready with a
friendly smile so long as there was someone she deemed worthy around to see it. To the
unworthy, such as the servants and her husbands bastard, she was a cruel, heartless,
virago.

Then there were the ladies at court, he thought cynically. It had seemed to him that the
women there ran their pursuit of a husband much as the men ran their wars. Coldly,
brutally, and with much plotting and sneakiness.

He saw none of these qualities in his wife. Her people, whether servants or men-at-arms,
seemed to truly like and respect her. That was made obvious by the way they responded
promptly to her softly spoken requests. Even to the point of seeing that every article of
cloth in the castle was blackened when she wished it, including their own clothes. When
Amaury had asked the steward, Sebert, why they all wore such bleak raiments, he had
answered simply, Her ladyship requested it. She is in mourning. Or she was. I suppose that
ended on her remarriage. As he had stood contemplating the etiquette of the matter, Amaury
had asked, And you did it?