"Hmm." Shifting against the pillows, he frowned slightly and turned back to the window, wondering what the men were doing right then. No doubt they were lazing about, growing fat and sloppy. He would have to see to correcting that once he was up and about. He would also have to tend to the bandits, he thought grimly.
"Husband?"
"Aye." Amaury growled the word, then tried not to look so fierce when he saw his wife's uncertainty. Truly, she appeared an odd mixture of bossy and timid.
"Can you not rest?"
He was about to deny that, then sighed and shrugged.
"Would you like to talk, perchance?" she asked then, and Amaury turned to her with some surprise.
"Talk? To who, wife? There is none other here but you."
Emma's gaze narrowed at that. "Aye, husband. 'Tis true I am all that is available. So mayhap you would care to talk to me?"
Amaury hardly noticed the snap to her words, he was too caught up by the question. Amaury had never "talked" to any woman. His mother had died at his birth, and he had been raised for the first few years of his life by his grandfather, a surly old man to be sure. Then he had been sent off to foster. The lord he had fostered with had had a wife, of course, but had rarely seemed to address her except to give her orders. He certainly had never seemed to see a necessity to "talk" to her of anything of interest or import, so Amaury had followed suit and done little more than nod her way in passing as a show of respect.
The only other women who had been in his life were camp followers. He had spent a great many years fighting this battle or that, trying to earn the money needed to purchase a home of his own. During those various battles, he had hardly had the time to make proper use of the ser vices of those women, let alone waste time "talking" to them. Truth to tell, it had never occurred to him to bother. What would he have said?
"My lord?"
Catching the impatience in his wife's voice, Amaury turned his eyes back to her, brows rising slightly at her expression. His little wife looked quite fraught with anger at the moment. Clearing his throat, he considered what he might say to her, then remembered his intention to rebuild her confidence. "You are pretty."
Emma blinked at his words. They sounded more like an accusation than a compliment. Truly her husband was odd, she decided. That thought brought her mind around to the other oddity he had displayed for her on their wedding night, and her eyes dropped surreptitiously to his lap. Of course, she had realized by now that it wasn't truly an oddity, not after what he had done with it. If that was the consummation, then all men must surely have such an extra limb. A disquieting thought that. Had Fulk had one? And if so, had his been quite so large when grown? She doubted it, for Fulk had been small and well formed everywhere from what she had actually seen of him.
"Wife?"
"Aye?" Emma flushed guiltily as she raised her eyes quickly back to his.
"I said you were pretty," he reminded her now. "Have you nothing to say?"
"Nay, I do not believe I am."
Amaury stiffened at that. "If I say you are pretty, then you are."
"Aye, husband," Emma murmured dutifully.
Amaury grunted, but continued to frown. He suspected she was simply agreeing because it was her place to do so, not because she had realized the truth of his words. "I said you were pretty," he repeated once more.
"Aye, husband. 'Tis kind of you to say so."
" 'Tis not kind. 'Tis the truth."
"If you say so husband. Tell me of how you saved the king." When he merely scowled at her, she prodded, "Rolfe told me you saved the king from assassins in Ireland?"
Amaury nodded reluctantly. "Aye."
Emma waited for him to expound on the subject, but he simply sat there pursing his lips with displeasure.
"Who were they?" she asked finally.
"Irish."
She rolled her eyes at that. "Aye, surely they were Irish, but--"
"Wife, 'tis not fitting for a man to discuss war with a lady."
Emma peered at him suspiciously at that announcement. Rolfe discussed war with her. So had her father before him. They saw nothing wrong with it. Surely he was jesting? Unfortunately, she had seen little evidence so far that her husband ever jested. "Why?" she asked finally.
"Why what?"
"Why is it not fitting for a man to discuss war with a woman?"
Amaury scowled over that, trying to recall what he had heard on the subject of war and women. The truth was he had never heard anyone discuss the merit, or lack thereof, of discussing war with women. He had simply assumed it was unacceptable. After all, by all accounts, women were delicate creatures, swooning and weeping at the least provocation. He had even heard that they suffered occasionally from heart palpitations.
"You would most likely swoon and palpitate," he informed her now, then nodded to emphasize his words when she peered at him doubtfully.
"Swoon and palpitate?"
"Aye. 'Tis well known women are weak of disposition, wife," he informed her knowledgeably. " 'Tis why you are resting now."
" 'Tis?"
"Aye. Women are the weaker gender. They are weaker physically, weaker willed, and even weaker in the mind. 'Tis why they must be taken care of, first by their fathers and then by their husbands."
Emma's eyes were mere slits as she glared at him. Never before had she heard such rot. Certainly her father and cousin had never said such things to her. They had treated her as an equal, except when it came to the issue of practice with the sword. Still, she knew what he said was a common belief, so tried to remain reasonable. "I grant you that men are generally stronger physically than women," Emma said.
"And mentally," Amaury insisted quickly.
"Nay."
"Aye, and in character, wife. Women, if not guided with care, are the most treacherous of creatures."
"Nay. Surely you cannot believe that!" She stared at him aghast.
Amaury shrugged. "Consider Eve."
"Consider the Virgin Mary!" Emma snapped back quickly.
He paused over that. " 'Tis true that the Virgin Mary was an exceptional woman; however--"
"And look at Judas or King Herod as examples of men!"
"You cannot count them for they were evil men," he protested at once.
"Just so, then we cannot count Eve or her flawed decisions."
Amaury looked briefly confused, then he regained some of his arrogance. "My lady, according to Thomas Aquinas--"
"Oh, aye. By all means let us hear what he has to say. A celibate who most likely detested women. Aye, his judgment would be untarnished."
Amaury's frown darkened. "You--"
"He is also dead," Emma added dryly.
"I think 'twould be a good idea to change the subject, wife."
"Why?"
"You are beginning to palpitate."
Emma opened her mouth to argue, then thought better of it. She was not getting palpitations, but she was becoming very angry. She did not wish to argue with her husband, however, so she decided a change of subject might be the best of all possible options. "Who is Little George?"