"Aye, my lord," Emma murmured in what she hoped was a suitably dutiful voice as he drew the bedclothes up to cover her. Her husband seemed satisfied with that as he stood and moved around the bed to climb in from the other side.
Emma lay silently for a moment. Afraid to move and disturb the stranger in her bed, she let her gaze move around the room. It had been her bedroom for two years. It had always looked as it did now, and yet suddenly it seemed completely different. She could not really understand how. Nothing had changed . . . And yet everything had.
Concentrating on making her breathing slow and even, she listened to the sound of revelry floating up from the Great Hall below. Her people were celebrating the marriage and its consummation as well as being saved from toiling under the hand of Lord Bertrand's mother. That thought made her wonder why the old woman had not been at the door beside her son. Emma could only assume that in his effort to get here before the marriage was consummated, Bertrand had had to leave her behind and hurry on ahead. What ever the case, Emma was grateful for her absence. Truly the woman was formidable. Emma most likely would have shriveled under her cold fishlike eyes.
Emma's gaze slid to the window beside the bed and she sighed. It had been an unusual day. Quite taxing really, what with learning of her upcoming marriage, worrying that her husband would not arrive, awaiting him at the church, the ceremony itself, and then the exceedingly tricky business of the "joining" as Amaury had called it. She felt a bit foolish now that she realized just what consummating the marriage meant, and had to wonder what it would have been like with her first husband. As unpleasant as the chore was, she could well see why Lord Fulk had not seen fit to accomplish it. He had forever avoided anything unpleasant. Still, it was the only way to achieve children.
That thought startled Emma into laying a hand gently against her stomach. She knew enough to be aware that that was where the child would grow and be carried. Their child. Hers and Lord Amaury's. Aye, she must be carrying his child, for surely it only took one such painful joining to make a babe? Else she was sure people would have fewer babes.
Emma floated to sleep, a small smile playing about her lips as she daydreamed about the child she was probably already carrying.
"He's gone to lick his wounds."
Emma flushed and straightened from her slightly crouched position by the table in the Great Hall. She had been surveying the group of unconscious men lying about the floor, searching out Lord Bertrand. Now she turned to face her cousin as he reached her side. "Who?"
"Lord Bertrand. He departed as soon as we came back below stairs yester eve. That is who you were looking so cautiously for, is it not?"
Emma smiled wryly. "You know me too well, Rolfe."
Shrugging, he bent to press a kiss to her forehead. "Where is your husband? Still abed?"
"Aye."
"It must have been a wearing night."
Emma felt herself blush again at his teasing, and sought quickly to change the subject. "Do you wish to break fast?"
Rolfe grinned at her obvious tactics, but decided to let her off the hook. Turning, he raised one eyebrow at the Great Hall and its contents. "Aye, breaking fast would be nice. However, I doubt you shall have much luck in rousing this rabble."
"Aye." Sighing, Emma surveyed the previous night's celebrants. The Great Hall was a-clutter with people. All of them unconscious. Men and women alike were strewn across the floor like dropped chess pieces. It would be difficult to cross the hall, let alone make room at the table to dine. Turning abruptly, she strode toward the double front doors. "Come."
Eyebrows rising, Rolfe followed at once, the promise of food a strong lure. "Where are we going?"
"Around to the back door of the kitchen to find something to eat," Emma announced, tugging the door open and leading him out into the crisp morning air.
Rolfe grimaced at that. "I do not much care for the idea of eating in the kitchens, Em. Cook will have our ears."
"Cook is unconscious by the table beside his wife. 'Sides, I was thinking we might go on a picnic."
"A picnic?"
"Aye." Emma threw a grin at him over her shoulder as she led him around the building. "We have not had one for ages. And I have missed our little excursions." Emma smiled softly as she thought of those brief escapes from the castle when they had been children. They had collected bits of food while the cook wasn't looking, and then crept out into the woods surrounding her father's castle to feast on their stolen fare before playing hide and seek in the trees. "There is a lovely clearing just ten minutes away on horse back. It has a little brook running through it."
"Sounds charming." Rolfe smiled slightly, caught up in remembrances of his own. Emmalene had not been a proper lady then. She had been a hooligan of the highest order. And she had always insisted on being the dashing Lord Darion when they had played "Catch-me-if-ye-can," rather than the fair maiden as he had been sure she should. She had been as daring as any boy as she had flown through the woods, scrambling up trees and swinging from branches. Her skirts had never slowed her down, for she had hooked them at her waist to keep them out of the way. Or simply borrowed a pair of Rolfe's braies. If her father, his own uncle, had ever caught them at it, he would most likely have tanned them both.
Ah, who was he fooling, Rolfe thought wryly. Uncle Cedric had indulged them in all things, especially Emma. He most likely would have turned a blind eye. In fact, he more than likely had been aware of their games and had turned a blind eye.
"Here we are," Emma announced. Pushing through a door into the kitchen, she collected a basket from the corner and began filling it.
Shaking his mind free of thoughts of the past, Rolfe peered down at the food Emma was packing away. "Whoa, cousin, you do not need that much. There are only the two of us."
"I thought mayhap the bishop might like to join us. I saw him crossing the bailey as we came around the building."
Rolfe felt a brief shaft of jealousy at the thought of sharing their childhood ritual with the bishop, then shrugged and nodded. They were no longer children. And this was not his uncle's castle. In fact his uncle's castle was now his own.
"As you wish," he said easily, taking the basket from her and offering her an arm.
Amaury was not a morning person. He never had been, but this morning of all mornings he was feeling particularly black. He had passed the night fitfully, kept awake by the throbbing of his own poor manhood. It seemed that, while his mind was chivalrous enough to be determined not to put upon his poor young bride any further on her first night as his wife, his manhood was not nearly so sympathetic. It had not helped that he had found himself constantly sitting abed, lighting the candle beside it, and staring at her beautiful face in repose. Truly, his wife was a delicate flower in her loveliness. Even her snoring had been dainty.
Amaury had finally drifted off into unconsciousness as the sun began its journey across the sky. One short hour later he had awakened in his new home, his new castle, his new bed, to find his new bride conspicuous in her absence from that bed. Now, after a thorough search of the castle and bailey, he had yet to discover her whereabouts. The bailey was nearly as dead as a tomb. There were only two men guarding the wall. The rest of the castle population, along with a good number of the inhabitants of the attendant village, appeared to be in his Great Hall, snoring loudly enough to raise the roof. It seemed everyone had fully enjoyed his wedding celebrations. Except him, of course. Which only managed to irritate him more. They had probably gone through a lake of ale to drink themselves into the stupors they were all enjoying on the Great Hall floor. His ale and his Great Hall floor.
Anger rising with each thought crossing his mind, Amaury strode back into the cluttered hall, perched his hands on his hips, spread his feet, and bellowed, "Where is my wife?!"
The only response he got for his trouble was the stirring of one or two of the drunken louts at his feet. Furious now, Amaury marched straight out of the castle again. Gathering a pail along the way, he strode t
o the stables and filled it with water from the trough for the horses, then returned to the Great Hall.
While his first bellow had not garnered much attention, his second one, accompanied by a wash of water from the pail that he splashed across the floor's occupants in a wide arc, certainly reaped more attention.
The women woke up with squeals of protest and shock, the men with curses as they grabbed for their swords. Amaury waited until the hall had fallen back into near silence as everyone realized who had so rudely awakened them. Then he spoke in a deadly quiet voice. "Now, if yer all ready to listen. I would know where my wife has got to!"
The silence that met his words was emphasized by blinks of surprise that told him what he should have already known by their unconscious conditions. None of these people knew where his wife had gone.
Sighing, he frowned slightly. "Well, know any of you of something she does, or a place she goes every morning?"