"Emma had everything blackened," her cousin explained, suddenly finding the situation amusing.
"Everything?"
"Even the linens."
"Even the . . ." The bishop's voice faded away.
"It seemed appropriate," Emma said uncertainly now, feeling a bit foolish. She supposed it was going a bit far to include the linen, but truly, it had seemed appropriate at the time. After all, it was not just the mourning of her husband that had caused her to do so. It had been in honor of the mourning of her hopes of having children as well, all chance for which she had thought dead along with her husband. She was more than aware that at two and twenty, no man would have offered for her hand. Even now she was sure that had it not been for Rolfe's favor with the king, she would have been left to wither in this old castle as a childless widow.
Sighing, she shook her head. "It matters not. My husband, despite his neglect, deserves at least a short mourning period. I simply cannot remarry for at least three months," she announced firmly.
Frowning, Rolfe glanced at the bishop who murmured, "Mayhap this would be a good time to explain the difficulties to Lady Emmalene."
"Aye. Indeed," Rolfe said with a sigh, then turned back to his cousin. He opened his mouth twice to begin these explanations, then sighed and urged her to sit in the seat before the fireplace, positioning himself with his back to the mantel so that he could see the empty hall and all its entrances. It would not do for anyone else to hear what he had to say.
"Understand you, Em, this is a delicate situation. You see, due to your request of the king . . ." He hesitated, forehead furrowed, then caught his hands behind his back and paced before the fireplace some before turning again to where she sat patiently. "You see, Em, by requesting that the king order Fulk to . . . er . . ."
"Attend to his conjugal duties," the bishop supplied.
"Aye. Well . . . by doing that, you see, you made it public knowledge that your marriage was ne'er . . . er . . ."
"Consummated," the bishop murmured.
"Just so," Rolfe agreed, tugging at the top of his tunic and clearing his throat. "That being the case, there is the problem of Fulk's family. You see, Fulk's aunt and cousin are claiming that the marriage is null and void because it was ne'er . . . er . . ." His gaze slid to the bishop.
"Consummated."
"Just so."
Emma's forehead puckered. "But Rolfe, it was consummated."
Rolfe froze and turned to her in surprise. " 'Twas?"
"Aye." She scowled slightly. "I explained my wedding night fully to the king. My husband and I shared a bed."
Recalling the king's words to him that Lady Emma was so naive she had not even realized the marriage had not been fully consummated, Rolfe shook his head. He briefly wondered how to explain things to her, then decided it was beyond him. Duty to the king notwithstanding, no man could be expected to--
" 'Tis true," Emma said, interrupting his thoughts. "That my husband ne'er repeated his . . . duties. Truth to tell, he neglected his . . . er . . . duties horribly. However, only the king knows of this, and he is aware that I did not wish it so. I cannot think that he would punish me because of my husband's lack of attention."
"Nay, Emma, he is not trying to punish you, he is trying to protect you. And himself. Fulk's aunt and cousin know of your husband's neglect. There is no heir. They know that. They are a bold, greedy pair. They can cause much trouble for the king, and trouble is the last thing he needs just now. They are claiming Fulk's neglect makes the marriage invalid, and are requesting that the land and title be turned o'er to Fulk's cousin Bertrand."
"Bertrand?" Emma frowned over that. She was not terribly surprised to hear that Bertrand sought Fulk's home and title. She had met him at her wedding and had not cared overly much for him. It was not anything he had said or done that had caused her dislike. He had not been rude or mean. In fact, if anything, he had been very gracious to her. Gallant even. Too much so. There had been something almost oily in the man's ingratiating manner. And his apparent chivalry had not hidden the avaricious gleam in his eyes. He had peered at the castle, everything in it, and even at herself, with an oddly greedy glitter in his eyes that had made her feel like a chest of gold he coveted. "He seemed overly ambitious," she murmured to herself at last.
"More than you know," Rolfe muttered, catching her words.
Emma glanced at her cousin curiously. "What mean you?"
His gaze slid warily around the empty room. Then he said quietly, "The king suspects Bertrand and a few other lords of plotting to depose him."
Emma gaped at that, and Rolfe nodded grimly. "He suspects the lord chancellor is involved as well."
"Archbishop Arundel?" Emma gasped, recalling the grim-faced man who had stood at the king's side throughout her audience.
"Aye."
"But why? What would they hope to gain?"
Rolfe sighed. "I cannot know what the chancellor hopes to gain. We are not even sure if he is allied with Bertrand, but Bertrand, I suspect, hopes to gain power."
Emma frowned at that, and the bishop explained, "As a boy, Bertrand squired and became quite close friends with Henry of Bolingbroke."
"The king's cousin," Emma murmured, her frown deepening.
The bishop nodded. "Should King Richard be deposed, Henry would be the most likely person to succeed him."
"And as a friend of the king's, Bertrand would be well positioned," Emma realized grimly. "So, Henry wishes to take his cousin's throne?"
The two men exchanged glances; then Rolfe shrugged uncomfortably. "There is no evidence of that, Em. Bertrand and the others may simply be using the king's cousin for their own gain. Henry has always shown himself loyal to his cousin."
"I see," she murmured, her gaze moving to the fire thoughtfully.
Rolfe allowed Emma her thoughts for a moment, then added, "Knowing of Bertrand's greed for power, His Majesty does not wish to give him any means with which to increase it. Bertrand has a small holding which he inherited from his father, but 'tis nothing in comparison to the wealth and power he would wield should he gain this holding. Hence, Richard has arranged this marriage. On marrying you, de Aneford gains the title of Lord Eberhart with all it includes."
Emma grimaced at that. "That will not please Bertrand."
Rolfe shook his head. "Nay. No doubt Bertrand and his mother shall be quite displeased with this turn of events. However, by the time they approach the king with their complaint, it shall be done. Or at least that is his hope."
"By the time they approach?" Her eyes narrowed. "Have they or have they not made a complaint to the king?"
"Well . . ." He looked uncomfortable for a moment, then sighed. "Nay. They have not had a chance. The king heard gossip about their plans before they made a request to see him and he managed to delay seeing them until after arranging everything. We left the day before the appointed audience with the Fulks, which means they will be one day behind us."
"They?" Emma frowned.
"Lady Ascot and Bertrand."
"Lady Ascot is heading here as well? Oh, dear Lord, of course she is. She seems to go everywhere that Bertrand does, doesn't she?" Emma stood up, anxiety on her face. She could very well recall her husband's aunt from the last time she had suffered her presence. While his cousin had seemed as oily as a greased pig, his aunt had been a harridan of a woman, terrifying the servants. Emma had never met a more unpleasant woman. Cold, complaining, and just plain mean, the woman had actually started to beat one of the serving girls with her cane because she had not served her quickly enough. The last thing she wished was to see that woman return here, let alone have any power over the people who had served Emma so well. She would never enjoy another heartbeat of peace knowing that the people she had once led were suffering under Lady Ascot's rule. That being the case, she could only be grateful that King Richard had vexed their plans. But if he had, why would Bertrand and Lady Ascot be heading for the castle? Emma asked that now, and watched with suspicion as her
cousin's discomfort grew.
"The king intends to tell them that he was unaware of their discontent and--"
"Lie."
Rolfe winced at her accusation.
The bishop looked disapproving. "Lie is a strong word, my lady."
Emma waved that away impatiently. "What else is he going to tell them?"
Rolfe hesitated. "He is intent on keeping the peace."
"Of course," Em agreed dryly. "And?"
"He intends on telling them that as it was so obvious to the court that you were more than willing to . . . er . . ."
"Do your duty," the bishop supplied.
"Aye. That being the case, he had not thought they would bring such a petty claim."
"He hopes to shame them into recanting their claim," the bishop pointed out with satisfaction.
"However, should greed win out o'er honor . . ."
Emma rolled her eyes at that. There was no doubt-- in her mind at least-- that given a choice between saving their pride and getting their hands on Eberhart Castle, greed would win out.
"Then he shall tell them that ne'er having considered such a problem and having been concerned for the safety of the castle, its occupants, and yourself now that there is no lord, he commissioned the marriage between yourself and Lord Amaury. However, he will supply them with a letter to the effect that should they arrive before the wedding is accomplished and . . ."
His gaze swam anxiously to the bishop again, who sighed and supplied, "Consummated."