"Too busy?" Blake frowned slightly.
"Aye, and then he was gone and Emma was there."
"Ah," another man said. "He didn't have time to even hear yer thanks. He fled afore anyone else should see him." His gaze turned to Emma, who was now busily stitching up her husband again. "Have ye ever seen him, my lady?"
"Oh, aye. Lord Darion saved her life once too," Rolfe answered for her.
"Really?" Blake glanced at Emma curiously.
"Would you tell us the story, my lady?" Alden asked shyly.
Emma glanced at the boy. He had been silent and resolved throughout this endeavor, ready and willing to do what ever was necessary to help. There was not a sign of squeamishness on his face now as she pushed needle through flesh, just curiosity and interest. She wondered briefly if she might have a budding healer on her hands as she shook her head. "Mayhap another time. However, I think my cousin can tell the story better. Perhaps down in the Great Hall," she added pointedly.
"Oh, aye. 'Tis best to let her tend his lordship. No doubt we are just in the way here." Rolfe moved toward the doorway and waited for the others to follow.
Alden hesitated, then stayed where he was as the rest of the males in the room immediately filed out.
Pausing at the door, Blake peered back. "Will he be all right?"
Emma stopped after pushing another stitch through the unconscious man's skin, then sat back to peer at Blake's pale face unhappily. "I do not know. He took a hard knock."
Blake was silent as he accepted that, then sighed wearily and turned away. "Call me if he wakes, if you would, my lady."
"Aye," Emma murmured as he closed the door. Then she turned to finish stitching up the wound on her husband's head. "Alden? Mayhap you could fetch Lord Amaury's bedclothes. We will change him into them after I finish here."
"His lordship has no bedclothes, my lady."
Emma paused, her head raising at that. "No bedclothes?"
"Nay. He only has the two tunics as well. He says that a warrior has no need for more than the two. One to wear while the other is laundered." His young brow furrowed. "Is that true, my lady?"
"Well . . ." Emma had no idea how to answer the boy. She had never known anyone in her class to have only two tunics before, but then she had never known a warrior before. "I am not sure, Alden, but if my husband says 'tis so, then it must be."
"Aye." Alden bit his lip unhappily. "But my father is a warrior and he has many tunics. Fine ones. Some with jewels bedecking them and his crest."
Emma's eyebrows rose at that. "And who is your father, Alden?"
"Lord Edmund Northwood, he is the Earl of--"
"Aye. I know," Emma interrupted. Pursing her lips, she shook her head. "If your father is an earl, why do you train with Amaury?"
"He is the best." He said it with such pride, one would think he were responsible for Amaury's reputation and abilities. "My father said so. Lord Amaury turns out the best-trained knights. Father said, should I be trained by him, I would live to a ripe old age and garner many titles and fine tales along the way. Father said he would trust me to no one else."
"I see." Emma glanced at her husband with new respect. Not only was he a savior of kings, he was considered first among trainers of knights. Even by earls.
"Truly my father is a good warrior as well," Alden told her now.
"I am sure he is," Emma agreed soothingly.
"Yet he has many tunics as well," Alden pointed out fretfully, and Emma smiled gently at his obvious distress.
"Your father is an earl as well as a warrior. He must dress accordingly."
Alden nodded with relief. "Aye. 'Tis so." Then he perked up. "Now that Lord Amaury is a duke, he shall have to gain more vestments too."
"Aye, I suppose he will," Emma agreed with a frown.
"Dress is very important."
Her eyebrows rose at his serious tone. "Is that so?"
"Aye. I heard the king say so."
"Ah." Emma sighed over that. 'Twas true. Even Rolfe told her their king was most concerned with fashion. No doubt she had been a great disappointment to the king with her plain clothes. Probably to her previous husband as well. Easing back in her seat, she peered at her present husband closely for the first time since they had been wed the day before.
She had managed a peek or two, first at the church, then at the reception, and once or twice after, but this was her first real chance to look her fill and allow her eyes to run over his strong features slowly.
He was a handsome man, she supposed. Not handsome as Fulk had been. Fulk had been almost pretty in his attractiveness, like a deer perched on slender legs. This man was a more rugged sort. Stronger and dark, he made her think of wolves and bears.
Leaning forward, she brushed a strand of hair off his face. Even in sleep he held on to his strength, a fearsome scowl on his face. Her father had had a strong face too, as did Rolfe, but on the few occasions when she had caught them in slumber, it was to find their features softened and almost boyish. There was nothing boyish about her husband. That told her more than Blake's words could have that his childhood had been full of hurt and sorrow. Even in repose he was afraid to let down his guard.
She would change that, Emma determined without even really knowing why she wished to. She would give him a good home that he could be proud of, and a wife he could be proud of as well. If he lived long enough to allow it, she thought suddenly with a frow
n.
Chapter 5
IS he awake?"
Emma took in her cousin's hopeful expression as she joined the table at dinnertime, then sighed as she shook her head. She had been sitting with Amaury throughout the day, watching him until her eyes blurred with the effort, but he had not even turned in his sleep. His silent stillness was beginning to worry her greatly. "Nay, he hasn't stirred a bit," she admitted reluctantly. "Alden is watching him. He will call if there is any change."
Rolfe frowned, his gaze meeting that of the bishop, who sat on his other side.
Catching the exchange, Emma raised her eyebrows. "What?"
Both men turned to her then, their expressions pitying.
"What are you thinking?" Emma asked warily. "You look at me as though I were doomed."
"I believe your cousin and the bishop are fretting over what will become of you should your new husband die," Blake told her quietly, and Emma turned to the man on her left sharply.
"My husband will not die," she said more harshly than she had intended. " 'Sides, nothing would happen to me."
"Do you not think that should your second husband die so soon after the wedding, Bertrand would not be knocking once more at the door?"
Emma stiffened at the suggestion. "Nay. I . . ."
"You would be a widow again, just as you were yesterday. Still in control of the land Bertrand wants."
Emma paled sickly at his words, her gaze flying worriedly to the servants moving about the room. The thought of how these people she had grown so fond of would suffer under the hand of Lady Ascot made her stomach turn. Perchance she herself might even be at risk under her rule. Then too, there was the matter of the king and the danger Lord Bertrand represented to him should he gain more power. And she did not even have the hope of an heir to hold that possibility off with. Her woman's time had made its arrival that very afternoon.
He could not die. It was that simple. He could not die . . . Because she would not marry Lord Bertrand.
Reaching out, Rolfe covered her hand with one of his own to comfort her, but Emma shook it away and stood quickly. "I must see to my husband," she murmured, slipping away from the table.
Amaury remained asleep for more than three days, three days during which Emma stayed steadfast by his bedside waiting and watching. No amount of worry or arguing from Rolfe, Blake, or her servants would move her from that spot. Even the bishop had a go at her, but gave up when he saw it was hopeless.