Damn! He could lie with Medusa herself to make this his own. Amaury filled with determination as they rode into the bailey and his eyes slid across the towers, barns, and people hurrying this way and that. His people. His vassals . . .
A frown plucked at his mouth as he took a second look at those people. Then he turned to peer at the men escorting them.
He had not noticed before, but the men Lady Emma had sent to fetch him were all garbed in black. Amaury had been so angry at the action, he had not taken note of their garb. Now, however, he was hard put not to notice. It looked as if every single person within the walls was dressed in black, and he frowned at the oddity of it.
He had heard of castles where the people wore their colors, but usually it was reserved for only personal servants in the castle and men-at-arms. Here, everyone seemed to wear black. Even the very littlest babies wore their color as they played about the bailey. If they were their color. He hoped this wasn't a portent of things to come.
A glance at Blake showed that he too had noticed the odd dress. He was frowning as he took it all in. Still being peeved at him, Amaury merely shrugged and dismounted when his friend finally turned to him questioningly.
"Sebert!" A plain-faced maid rushed down the stairs as they started up them. "Yer to escort his Lordship to the church. The bishop, her lady, and Lord Rolfe are waiting there."
"God's teeth," Amaury muttered under his breath to his friend, forgetting his determination not to speak to him. "They be waiting at the church."
" 'Twould seem the bride is eager," Blake said drolly as Sebert turned to them.
Ignoring him, Amaury continued up the stairs, announcing, "I shall have refreshment first."
The little serving wench immediately threw herself at the door, barring his way. "Nay! Her ladyship said ye were to--"
"I am the lord here now," Amaury began coldly.
"Not yet."
Turning slowly at those grim words, Amaury stared at the man pushing his way through the group of men at the bottom of the steps. Tall and well-proportioned, the man had an air of belonging about him that immediately annoyed Amaury. This was to be his castle, after all. No one but he should be so comfortable here.
"You are?" Amaury drew the words out dangerously.
"Lord Rolfe Kenwick." He gave a slight nod. "Lady Emma's cousin. And soon to be your cousinin-law." He grinned slightly as he added that last sentence, knowing instinctively that while de Aneford hadn't refused, he most likely wasn't comfortable being ordered to marry.
"I have had a long trip," Amaury said now. "I wish refreshment."
"Plenty of time for that," Rolfe said cheerfully. "The servants are busily preparing a repast even as we speak. However, at the moment, the bishop and my cousin are waiting patiently at the church. You took longer than expected."
Amaury shifted guiltily at those words, aware he had dallied as much as possible. That guilt was the only reason he allowed Rolfe to urge him back down the stairs. "I came soon as I got the order," Amaury muttered, glaring at Blake as if daring him to refute his words.
Coughing into his hand to hide his amusement, his friend remained silent and fell into step on Amaury's other side as they crossed the bailey. The hundred or so men who had accompanied them, soldiers who had followed him into battle on countless occasions and had elected to remain with him on hearing that he was to have his own manor, fell into line behind them.
" 'Tis sure I am you did. Quite sure," Rolfe commented dryly, patting him once more on the back. "I, of course, reassured my cousin of this. Several times this afternoon as we waited," he added a bit archly, then paused and turned to face Amaury as they reached the crowd of black-bedecked servants crowded around the church. "Treat her well, or I shall be forced to kill you."
His tone was so cheerful as he added that last thought that Amaury was left gaping after him as he moved through the people who even now were parting to allow them a path to the church.
"I believe you have been warned," Blake commented dryly as he watched the other man join the bishop and the woman at the door of the church, then his eyebrows rose. "Good God, she looks all fit for a funeral."
Amaury peered at the woman in question, and his jaw dropped once more.
"Well, at least she is not large . . . or rake-thin, for that matter. She appears quite voluptuous, in fact," Blake commented, looking again at the petite, rounded woman, then grimacing at the black gown and veil she wore. "However, it does appear I was wrong about her being eager. Think you she actually loved Fulk?" He glanced at his friend. "I suggest you close your mouth, my friend. I fear you are in danger of swallowing a fly."
Amaury's mouth snapped shut and he uttered between clenched teeth, "What is this? A joke? Black to our wedding? Waiting at the church? Have I lost my--"
"My lord," the bishop called impatiently from the front of the church, frowning in disapproval. "Do not tarry."
The woman, who had stood with her back to them up until then, turned now to peer curiously at them, giving them a fleeting glimpse of her black veil before she turned swiftly away.
"She must be truly ugly, Amaury. Mayhap that is why the rush to wed you. This way you'll not get the chance to see her face before you are wed."
Amaury swallowed grimly and considered simply mounting his horse and riding away, then stiffened his shoulders. Get a hold of yourself, man, he ordered himself grimly. Think of the manor. Sighing, he straightened and moved through the crowd, feeling like a man on his way to the gallows.
Emma forced herself not to turn again. She had spied several strangers standing at the edge of the crowd. They had stood out next to her own people, who were in their solid black garb. Her husband could have been any one of them, but judging by their stance and carriage, she knew that he was one of the two who had stood in front. That knowledge had been enough to unsettle her. Neither of these men had been what she expected in a husband. Both were giants. She herself was a bit below average size. Well, all right, she was short. It was the bane of her existence. Rolfe had teased her endlessly about it throughout their childhood. She barely came up to the shoulders on her cousin, and both these men were taller still. She doubted she would reach halfway up either man's chest. Add to that the fact that both men also appeared to be nearly as wide as they were tall, and she found herself swallowing in trepidation and considering the alternative.
Bertrand. And a point in his favor was that, like his cousin, he was much more delicate of form. However, that was the only point in his favor.
There was no question of her choice. Giant or not, her soon-to-be-husband could not possibly be a worse choice than Bertrand and his mother.
As she waited for him to join her at the door of the church, she set her mind to trying to figure out which of the two men was to be her husband. One had been as fair as the other dark. They had been too far away to make out any individual features really, but she had been able to tell that the fair one had been smiling, his face lit up with lighthearted amusement. The other had been as solemn and glum as death. Surely a man would not be so glum on his wedding day? Therefore, she reasoned, her husband must be the blond.
Emma sensed his presence when he finally reached her side. Swallowing, she clutched her bouquet of flowers tightly and stared steadfast at the bishop. She was almost afraid to look at the man who was to be her husband. She feared what her reaction might be were he unbearably ugly. She didn't like to be shallow, but truly it had been a relief to her that her first husband had been pleasant to look upon. Should her new husband be horrendously ugly, she might offend him with a sour reaction. There being little choice but to marry him, it seemed much more sensible simply not to look.
"My lady?"
Emma blinked at the bishop when he called her name. His raised eyebrows told her that she had missed something important. When he repeated himself, Emma swallowed, then echoed the words in a breathless voice. Her new husband, despite his size, spoke his words in much the same manner. When the bishop came to the part about kiss