"I told him he should not be about," Blake announced, trying to distract his friend's wife.
Not aware of what he was up to, Amaury glared at him for his tattling.
"But he would not listen," Blake added. "I fear he may be getting bedsores from his time abed."
Amaury's jaw dropped at the rude lie. Then he flushed slightly when his wife's gaze immediately went to his derriere, now resting in the chair. " 'Tis not true," he began, but paused, coloring furiously when Blake leaned closer to his wife to murmur.
"A delicate subject to a man, my lady. Makes them cranky too. Especially so when his head is no doubt paining him as well. Leave him in my care and I'll see him safely to the table. I am sure you had something you wished to do with the contents of that basket?"
"Oh, aye," Emma gasped, worrying about her husband anew. "The tea. I shall have some ready in just a moment, husband." She hurried off toward the kitchen, Alden and Maude rushing behind.
"Bedsores?"
Blake turned his attention away from watching Emma's voluptuous little behind sway across the hall to glance at his friend. "You may thank me later."
"Thank ye!" Amaury choked on his own anger, and Blake gave his back a sturdy slap before nodding.
"Aye. Since you seem to be sorely lacking in knowledge of this sort, my friend, allow me to inform you that you never tell a woman 'tis not her place to think."
"Well, 'tisn't. 'Tis my . . ." He paused as Blake rolled his eyes and began to shake his head.
"You know that, and I know that, but a smart man never lets his wife know that," Blake told him.
Amaury frowned. "Why?"
" 'Tis their feelings."
"Their feelings?"
"Aye, it hurts them. Women are tender creatures."
"Oh." Amaury scratched his head. " 'Tis the truth I don't understand her. When I ordered her to bed this morning, she asked me if I wished to 'talk'."
Blake shrugged. "Some women like to talk before--"
"Nay. My head was pounding too loud to bother with that. I wanted her to rest, but when she saw I was not asleep, she asked if I might wish to talk to her. I ask you, what would I talk to a woman about?"
Blake considered that briefly, then shrugged. "I usually give them compliments. That generally works."
"I did, but she was not much impressed," he confessed with disgruntlement.
"Perhaps they were not the right compliments. What did you say?"
"I told her she was pretty."
Blake waited a moment, but when Amaury simply peered at him, he sighed. "You cannot just tell a woman she is pretty."
"You cannot? Why?"
"Women like flowery words when you give them a compliment."
"Flowery words," Amaury muttered, scratching his head again.
"Aye. Say things like . . . your hair is the color of spun gold, your lips as sweet as a rose, your eyes like those of a deer's. But say them in your own words."
Amaury wrinkled his nose in distaste and grunted over that, then glanced away from his friend to see his wife crossing the room toward them.
"Here you are, husband. This should help your head."
Amaury stared at the mug she was pressing toward him, and nearly groaned aloud. By God's sweet knees! He swore that rot tasted like horse piss. It was bad enough to have to take it when his head did hurt, but he was blessedly free of pain just now and she was still pressing the rot on him. Thanks to Blake, he thought, throwing his friend a nasty look.
"I will see that he drinks it," Blake assured Emma suavely, taking the mug. "I am sure you have much more pressing matters?"
"Thank you, my Lord. I did wish to fetch some salve for his Lordship's . . . er . . . complaint." She whispered the last word, then hurried away.
Blake stared after her in befuddlement. "I wonder what she meant by--"
"My blasted non ex is tent bedsores," Amaury reminded him grimly.
"Oh, aye." Blake smiled slightly as he dumped the mug of tea into the fireplace. "I wonder what she'll think when she sees that there are none."
"What do you mean sees that there are none?"
"Well, I presume she means to apply the salve since she's gone to fetch it."
"Right here?" Amaury stared aghast at the thought, imagining her coming back and ordering him to disrobe right there in the middle of the busy Great Hall. He wouldn't put it past her. She had shown a distressing tendency to order him about now that she thought he was not well. He had thought he had taken care of that by enforcing his order for her to retire earlier, but the fact that she had snuck off as soon as he slept had corrected him on that issue. He would definitely have to put a stop to that tendency of hers.
"When she comes back with the salve, I will delay her until after dinner; then you can offer to help me apply it," he decided firmly.
"Me?"
"Aye, you," Amaury said dryly. "You would not wish her to know that you had lied, would you? It might hurt her tender feelings."
"Your hair is the color of gold, your lips as . . . er . . . red as a rose, and your eyes like a deer's." Amaury recited the words quickly as they sat at the table for dinner, then nodded his satisfaction as he awaited his wife's response.
Lady Emma stilled in the midst of raising her tankard to her mouth, gave her head a slight shake, then continued eating.
Amaury frowned. "Wife, I said your hair is the color of--"
"Gold. Aye, I know, husband. Lord Blake told me that earlier."
Slamming his ale back on the table, Amaury turned to his friend and glared.
"I told you to
use your own words," Blake said at once, having heard the exchange. "Those were just examples."
Muttering under his breath, Amaury turned back to his meal and began stabbing at food with his dirk.
"Is aught wrong, husband?" Emma asked, a hint of laughter marring her concern. "Is your head paining you? Shall I make more--"
"Nay!" Amaury reigned his temper in and sighed. "Thank you, but nay, I need no more tea." He shuddered just to think of it, then sighed and sat back slightly, having lost his appetite. He was also beginning to grow a bit tired after his short excursion. It probably had something to do with all the arguing and fretting he had done since coming below stairs. It had been quite a battle to get his little wife to leave off applying the salve until bedtime. She could be a stubborn little cuss when it came to his health. He wasn't sure whether he should be pleased by that or not. Perhaps he would be if Blake hadn't explained that she was probably worried so about him because she feared having to marry Bertrand if Amaury himself died on her. It wasn't much of a compliment to be preferred over Bertrand.
"I fear I grow weary from all this excitement. Mayhap I shall just retire to bed and have a sleep," he announced with an expectant glance at his friend.
Nodding, Blake continued to eat. It was Emma who stood up at once to offer her assistance. "Of course. I shall see you up and apply the salve."
Amaury glared at Blake at that, but when his friend merely continued to eat, he waved her back to the table. "Nay, wife. I can manage on my own."
"You cannot put the salve on on your own, husband," Emma argued sensibly.
"Blake will see to it," Amaury announced, elbowing him as he spoke.
"Oh, aye." Wiping his blade off, Blake stuck his own dirk back in its sheath and rose quickly, offering her a smile. "I shall look after him, my lady. You must eat to keep up your strength."
"But you have not finished your meal," she protested.
"Nay, but then I have stuffed myself well these past several days, while you have touched next to nothing as you fretted over your poor fallen husband," he pointed out.
Amaury frowned at his wife with displeasure on hearing this. "You have not been eating?"
Emma closed her mouth on the protest she had been about to give Lord Blake, and glared at him instead before turning to her husband. "Aye, my lord, I have." When he frowned even harder at the obvious lie, she added with a reluctant sigh, "Just not overly much. Worry upsets my appetite."