"Aye." Emma nodded. "Perchance he was still a bit tipsy from the night before? What ever the case, he wiped the blood on the sheets. I was about to get him a cloth, for I knew the blood would surely ruin the sheets, but then there was a knock on the door."
"And who was at the door?" the king asked in a world-weary voice that suggested he already knew the answer.
" 'Twas my father, Father Gumpter, and Lord Fulk's cousin, Bertrand."
"What did they do?"
Emma shrugged. "They simply wished us good morrow. Oh, then my father saw the sheets and ordered them taken away and hung above the hall. I think he thought that airing them would save the stain from setting, but of course it did not work. My lord, why are you shaking your head? Have I angered you?"
"Nay, my lady," the king said grimly before turning to his cleric. Unfortunately, he was otherwise engaged in ogling Emma at that moment. It seemed by his suggestive leer and the way he was waggling his eyebrows at her that he found her husband's neglect not the least bit detrimental to her attractiveness. In fact, Emma was getting the distinct impression that he would be most willing to offer himself up as sacrifice in place of her husband "to pick the ripe fruit."
All of his posturing and posing disappeared like smoke in the wind when the king snapped his name sharply.
"Aye, my lord." The cleric's head dropped at once to the book he held, his hand at the ready to write.
"Send a message to the effect that His Majesty the King desires Lord Fulk to see to his . . . er . . ."
"Conjugal duties," the archbishop murmured.
"Aye, conjugal duties, else . . ." He hesitated, seemingly at a loss.
"If I might suggest," Emma murmured, and the king turned to her hopefully. "You might fine him . . . oh . . . say . . . sixty sheep? His lordship is quite fond of sheep. At least there are hundreds of them around the castle. Though we have yet to have any served up to dinner," she added with a perplexed frown.
"A hundred sheep!" the king snapped. "Nay, every last blasted one of them will be taken should he not attend his wife forthwith."
Emma beamed at the man, relief adding to her gratitude. "Oh, thank you, my lord. I will name our first child after you," she announced, grabbing his hand and kissing it swiftly. A glance at the archbishop as she did showed him looking alarmed and shaking his head feverishly. Flushing again, Emma released the king's hand at once and dropped into a deep curtsy.
"Aye, well . . ." King Richard cleared his throat and straightened in his seat. "That's very . . . nice, Lady Emmalene. Now, if we have dealt with everything?"
"Aye, Your Majesty. That was all." Emma said at once, glancing up from her curtsy.
"Very good." He gestured toward the men by the door, and Emma glanced back to see them opening the doors for her exit.
Biting her lip, she hesitated as the picture of the steward backing out in a bow came to mind.
"My lady?"
Emma took in the king's raised eyebrows and sighed. Forcing a smile, she began to scoot backward still in a curtsy. It was a very awkward move to perform. Much more awkward than a backingout bow, she was sure. Emma was rather proud of how well she was succeeding, when she managed to get halfway to the door before stumbling, and that was just a small stutter in her step.
"My lady!"
Emma paused and glanced up at the alarm in the voice. The king looked torn between dismay and laughter, the cleric looked flabbergasted, and the archbishop was definitely amused. Coughing suspiciously into his hand, the prelate gestured for her to get up.
Flushing, Emma straightened slowly, hesitated, then bowed as the steward had done and backed out of the room so that she was facing the doors as they closed.
Chapter 1
DAMN ye, Alden! Go give your ears a shake! Did I not say my green tunic?!"
"A-aye, my lord." Alden cringed and took a nervous step backward.
Dressed only in hose and braies, his wide chest bare, Lord Amaury de Aneford looked just as fearsome as he did in full battle dress. Especially now in the foul temper he was in.
Alden had only been with the warrior for a matter of two weeks. Despite this short length of time, he did not think his lord's present mood was natural. At least not to de Aneford. He based his judgment on the reactions of the other soldiers and the exasperated amusement Lord Blake had been showing over the man's behavior. Alden wasn't exactly sure what had brought about the man's displeasure, but knew it had something to do with the king's message. A courier had brought it to Amaury as he had been concluding his business with Lord Chesterford the day before. The warrior had paled as he had read the missive, then crumpled it into a ball, tossed it into the fire, and stormed out of the keep bellowing for his horse to be saddled. Seconds later he had cancelled the order, stormed back indoors, and proceeded to get drunk.
He had been behaving thusly ever since. Storming and rushing about, then pausing to get drunk and dally. His antics were beyond Alden's young comprehension, and made him terribly anxious in the man's presence.
The slap of material against his face as the tunic was tossed back at him in disgust drew Alden out of his thoughts and sent him stepping backward to trip over a boulder. Scrambling quickly back to his feet, he began sidling away. "I-I will f-fetch the g-green one, my lord. Forthwith."
Amaury watched his squire go with narrowed eyes, then turned back to peer at the cold lake he had just left.
"You should not vent your anger on the boy."
Amaury glanced over his shoulder at those laughing words, his displeasure obvious as he eyed his friend. "He is a clodpole."
"He is afraid of you," Blake countered, smiling easily as he clapped his friend on one bare shoulder. "He will be less clumsy once he is more confident."
Amaury grimaced at that. "He will ne'er become more confident."
"Not if you continue to take your anger out on him."
The warrior frowned over that but remained silent, his gaze returning to the placid lake.
Blake followed his gaze, then sighed. "Refuse to marry her," he suggested for the hundredth time since this trip had begun.
Amaury snorted at that, just as he had every time the suggestion had been made. "And give up the opportunity to be lord of mine own estate?"
Blake smiled slightly and shook his head. "Fine. Then marry the wench, but if it is what you want, why be so surly with everyone about you?"
" 'Tis not what I want," Amaury countered at once. "It is what must be done to get what I want. Who in his right mind would wish to be married to an ugly old hag?"
"You have not even met her yet," Blake protested at once, and Amaury turned on him in disbelief.
"Are you not the one who told me that she had to petition the king to get her husband to sleep with her?"
"Aye, that is the gossip at court, but no one knows what she looks like save the king, and he refuses to discuss it. 'Sides, her husband died on the way home to perform his . . . er duty."
" 'Twas probably suicide," Amaury muttered grimly.
Blake hid a smile at that. "Then refuse to--"
"Nay!" Amaury turned on him, frowning. "You know I cannot." He sighed unhappily. "It may be my only chance to gain a home."
Blake nodded solemnly, then glanced to the side as Alden returned, a green tunic in hand. Smiling slightly at the boy, he strode forward and relieved him of the item. "That will be all, Alden. Mayhap you could have your lord's horse prepared. We ride shortly."
"Aye, my lord. Thank ye, my lord." Relief shone on the boy's face as he turned and charged back to camp.
It had only been midday when they had stopped the night before, a mere hour's ride from Eberhart Castle. Amaury had used the excuse of wishing to clean up from the trip before presenting himself to his new bride for the delay, but after making camp he had promptly set about getting dead drunk. For the first time since Blake had known the man, he had had to be carried back to his tent. Then he had woken late this morning and dallied as long as possible about his breakfast and
bath. Now it was noonday again and he had yet to complete his dress.
No doubt he would insist on pausing for lunch before leaving as another stall tactic, Blake thought as he returned to his morose friend and held the tunic out.
"Thank you." Amaury accepted the tunic and shrugged into it quickly before walking to the rock where he had left his sword and vestments. "Mayhap we should have lunch ere we go on," he suggested with a frown as he belted the tunic. At Blake's burst of laughter, he turned to him with a frown. "What?"
"Lord Rolfe!" Sebert hurried down the steps of the keep as he recognized the fair-haired man dismounting at the front of the party baring the king's colors.
"Sebert!" Rolfe tossed his reigns to one of his men and clapped the steward on the back in greeting. "How do you?"
"Fine, my lord. And all is well with you, I hope?" he responded, his gaze moving curiously over the bishop and the king's guard that had accompanied him.
"Fine. Where is Em?"
"In the kitchens, my lord."
Nodding, Rolfe gestured toward the mounted men behind him. "See to the bishop's comfort, please, Sebert. I'll find my cousin."