Twilight Magic (13 page)
“Like at court.”
Her heart beat a bit faster on remembering those horrible remarks and intolerable looks.
“Most of them could not bear my presence. I fear once people begin noticing Maura’s distaste of me, all will follow her lead.”
He stared hard at her for a moment, then took a long breath.
“I understand. However, I cannot oblige you.”
Damn. She’d known Darian might balk at disobeying the earl’s orders, but she truly preferred making the journey in his company than going alone or in the company of guards she didn’t know. Not that she knew Darian well, but better his company than another’s.
“Did the earl order you to remain at Hadone or merely to stay away from London?”
“Both!” His answer was both sharp and final. Resigned, Emma asked, “Do you object to my asking Gar to provide a horse or cart and an escort?”
“Where is Bledloe Abbey?”
“South of Oxford.”
He shook his head emphatically. “So is Wallingford. The roads there are far too dangerous. You should remain here.”
She couldn’t do that. She needed to see Nicole. “I should be safe enough with guards.”
“Nay!”
The forceful refusal pricked her ire. “I did you the courtesy of asking you to accompany me. If you do not wish to, I see no reason why I cannot make other arrangements!”
“Did you not hear? ’Tis not safe to travel the roads near Oxford!”
“Are you saying Hadone’s guards are unfit?”
“Nay. They are well trained. However, ’tis foolish to put yourself in unnecessary danger!”
Emma tossed a hand in the air. “This journey
is
necessary. Nicole is a mere child, shut up in a nunnery where she loathed to go, and right now she needs assurance that I have not forgotten or
abandoned
her!”
An odd look came over him, and then was gone before she could grasp its meaning. And she was far too angry with him in that moment to decipher that unusual, swiftly banished show of his emotions.
“And what care you about my safety anyway?” she continued. “You intend to end this marriage as soon as it can be arranged. Were I to lose my life, you would be spared a good deal of trouble!”
He firmly grabbed her upper arms. “Never believe I wish you harm. We may not be a contently wed couple, but I would not wish you an injury, much less death. If I could take you to Bledloe, I would, but I cannot. Stay here. Be safe. When I return, we can—”
He closed his mouth abruptly, indicating he’d said too much, so he wasn’t merely making a trip to the quarry, which she’d understood he did on occasion. There was only one place she knew of where Darian would rather be.
“You are going to London, are you not?”
He looked around to see who might be nearby before he answered. “As my wife you are obliged to keep my secrets.”
So now he found the marriage convenient, when it suited his purposes. The wretch.
“Only if you take me with you.”
“The streets of London are more dangerous than the roads to Bledloe Abbey.”
“I trust you to keep me safe.” And she did, she realized, or she wouldn’t have asked for his escort to begin with. Urgently, she continued, “We can go to London. You can do whatever you must do. Then we can go on to Bledloe.”
He looked about to refuse again. She clenched fistfuls of his tunic.
“I beseech thee, Darian. Do not leave me here with naught to keep me occupied and no friendly person to talk to. I will go raving mad. I give you my oath to obey you without question. Perhaps I can even help. I swear, if you go without me, you will never have your annulment, because I will not be of sound mind when asked for my consent.”
An absurd threat and he knew it, for the corner of his mouth twitched in humor.
“What would I do with you?”
“I know not, and I care not, so long as you do not leave me behind.”
Heaven above, she sounded desperate. Perhaps she was—and her desperation seemed to have a convincing effect on Darian.
He sighed. “You will not be able to take many of your belongings, only what you can carry on your person.”
Relief nearly buckled her knees. “Allow me to fetch my cloak and we can leave right now. You will have no regrets, I swear.”
“I already do. We cannot leave so soon that we may catch up to William. Be ready to leave at first light on the morn.”
Slowly, she opened her hands, letting go of his tunic, but unable to remove her hands from his chest. She could feel his heat, and the steady, solid beat of his heart.
“My thanks, Darian,” she whispered, looking into his hazel eyes.
His anger, humor, and resignation had fled, replaced by a desire so intense that her woman’s places flamed in response. Heaven help her, becoming this man’s lover would be no hardship at all.
No matter that he tried her patience, could infuriate her in a heartbeat. No matter that he kept his emotions tightly controlled, gave naught of himself to anyone, not even a hound who adored him.
Heaven help her, if he smiled at her as he had in her vision, demanded a tumble right now in the upstairs bed-chamber or a stable’s stall, she would relent.
He made no such demand. Instead, his grip on her arms eased. “Do not give thanks so quickly. Perhaps you are the one who will have regrets.”
D
arian breathed deeply of the crisp, morning air, savoring it for a long time before releasing it.
Behind him, riding pillion, Emma laughed lightly. “I know how you feel.”
“Do you, now?”
“You feel as if you have been set free. The heavy weight on your shoulders has lifted, and the chains around your chest are melting away. You can breathe again and you relish the scent of freedom.”
A poetic notion, but she had the right of it. And there was only one way she could have known.
“You feel it, too?”
“The moment we passed over Hadone’s drawbridge. Your chains must be heavier than mine because they did not melt as quickly.”
Or he’d been burdened with an additional chain— Emma’s hands resting lightly at his waist, a warm, constant reminder of her presence.
They’d bid Gar—who wasn’t unhappy to see them leave—fare thee well at sunrise and had been riding for over an hour with the morning sun at their backs. It had taken Darian all this time to become accustomed to the heat of Emma’s hands—and to stop debating the wisdom of allowing her to accompany him.
As she’d done on the trip to Hadone, Emma made no complaint now. Riding pillion couldn’t be comfortable. Though they didn’t travel as quickly as he could alone— he always knew by her grip on his tunic if he rode too fast for her peace of mind—they would make London by nightfall. Then he needed to find a decent inn where he could safely leave Emma while he visited Southwark.
He probably should have sneaked out of Hadone without her, but every time he decided to leave her there, he remembered her distress when she spoke of her little sister. Her anguish over the well-being of a younger sibling had overshadowed all.
“Tell me about Nicole.”
Emma was silent for a moment before answering. “She is now ten. Our mother died giving birth to her, and Gwendolyn and I did our best to raise her.” A deep sigh teased his ears, her breath warm on the back of his neck. “We were children mothering a child. Not the best of situations. I fear we spoiled Nicole beyond bearing, allowed her liberties our mother did not allow us. She grew head-strong and outspoken.”
“Like you?”
She huffed. “I am neither.”
If Emma believed she was demure and soft-spoken, she was mistaken. Deciding they might argue if he disagreed, and he loathed to argue on such a lovely morn, Darian stayed silent and she continued.
“After my father and brother died, the king gave Camelen to Alberic of Chester. When Nicole learned Alberic slew our brother, she sought revenge with a dagger, and was most upset when Alberic avoided injury. I do not condone her actions, but I must admit she was the only one of us to act swiftly and decisively on our feelings.”
He whistled low. “And the nuns at Bledloe Abbey allowed her into their cloister?”
“As King Stephen ordered, Alberic married Gwendolyn, sent me to court, and gave Nicole to the Church. I know of few abbesses who would disregard the king’s orders—or the hefty fee he paid for her admittance.” Her hands again tightened on his tunic, though not due to the horse’s speed. “Nicole has changed so much that I must learn why. Do you have family in Flanders?”
He almost refused to answer, but she’d been so open about hers, ’twould be churlish to say naught.
“No longer. I lost them all many years ago.”
“All?”
Everyone he’d loved, all in one unspeakable day. A day he strove not to remember too often. “Mother, father, and four siblings.”
“Illness?”
“War.”
“How horrible for you! You could not have been very old. Were you there?”
Her genuine sympathy touched his heart, and more, he could feel the wish to comfort in the slight movement of her hands.
As a man he didn’t need her compassion, and he saw no sense in her feeling sorry for the child he’d been so long ago.
“I was working in the fields when Bruges was attacked. I did not see them die, only had to deal with the grief and their burials.”
He’d required years to bury his guilt for not dying beside his loved ones. The grief was bearable now, but he doubted the sorrow would ever fully vanish.
He thought Emma’s silence meant she felt remorse for asking about his family, but apparently she’d been mulling over what he’d revealed.
“I remember my father speaking of a war in Flanders, when Charles the Good died without an heir of his body.”
“Much like when King Henry died leaving no son. So now his nephew Stephen and his daughter, Maud, wrestle for the throne.”
“William of Ypres was a contender for Charles’s throne, was he not?”
“An unsuccessful contender, but a kind one. His forces helped put out the fires another man started; then he bid me join his band. I have been with him ever since.”
“As a mercenary. I had wondered...”
He had to smile. “Wondered how a man takes up such a life? A soldier’s life is not a bad one and the work is steady. Some lord or another is always in need of menat-arms. At the moment the king pays for our services. When the war ends, well, for as long as men crave power and wealth, there will always be the need for mercenaries.”
“I hope you do not mind if I wish all disputes were henceforth settled by peaceful means and so end the need for mercenaries.”
His smile widened. “So long as you realize your wish is futile, you may engage in fantasy all you like. Do you need to stop, stretch your legs?”
“If you are ready to stop.”
“You need only tell me when you are uncomfortable and require a rest.”
“Have you ever ridden pillion? I do not believe comfort is possible.”
Darian pulled off the road and wound through the woods until he reached the stream he’d heard bubbling. He tossed a leg over the horse’s head to dismount, then reached up to aid Emma’s descent.
She took hold of his hands and slid off with such grace one would think her practiced in the art.
And there he stood, her hands in his, staring into the most lovely doe-brown eyes he’d ever seen. A man could drown in those deep, dark pools, escape his cares and worries, and become lost.
She tilted her head and wet her bottom lip. The flicker of pink tongue along her full, lush mouth sent his senses and imagination reeling.
He knew the taste of Emma’s mouth. Their one kiss had lingered on his lips for hours afterward, ruining his sleep, wishing he hadn’t retreated from the bedchamber.
He could kiss Emma now, and kiss her thoroughly, and she would let him.
And more. If he read her expression right, she would allow him liberties without hesitation, just as she might have the night before last. He could have her here, now, in the grass by the stream.
His loins stirred, urging him to take what he should not have, yearning for forbidden fruit. The temptation proved irresistible.
Darian leaned forward. Emma closed her eyes. Their breath mingled.
A rustling in the brush snapped his instincts to alertness, all thoughts fleeing except those of survival and protection. He dropped Emma’s hands and spun toward the sound while reaching for the dagger in his boot.
He never drew the dagger. Stunned by what he saw, he straightened up as Rose plopped down on her haunches a few feet away, looking damn pleased with herself.
“Sweet mercy,” Emma commented, a smile in her voice. “She must have escaped shortly after we left. I wonder how she managed to get out.”
He, too, wondered how Rose had slipped out the gate. More important, did anyone know she’d gone missing? Had Gar sent anyone to fetch her back? Not likely. Anyone riding at a quick pace would have overtaken him by now.
Hands on hips, he addressed the hound. “Did I not send you back to the keep to stay with Maura?”
Rose stood and took a few steps toward him, her head lowered in submission. She knew she’d disobeyed him and awaited a scolding—which she damn well deserved.
“You must go back. I cannot take you with me.”
The hound whined pitifully.
Emma touched his arm. “You cannot send her back alone. She might become lost.”
He raised an eyebrow, taking unwarranted umbrage on the wolfhound’s behalf. “You think Rose cannot find her way back to Hadone? Along a road where her own scent is yet fresh?”
Emma relented. “Perhaps she can, but trouble might find her. What if she were somehow captured by brigands, or if a well-meaning soul approached her and she felt threatened and attacked someone she ought not?”
Both were unlikely to happen. Surely Emma knew that.
He tossed a hand in the air. “If we take her back, then we waste an entire morning.”
“Then allow her to come with us. ’Tis obvious that is what she wants.”
He could hardly credit what he heard. “You would give in to the whim of a hound?”
Emma held out a hand, and Rose, no doubt sensing a champion, went straight to Emma.
“Her escape from Hadone is no whim. Someone must have turned her loose. I would wager Maura had a hand in it. She feels the hound belongs with you, and it is you who denies the hound her rightful place.”