"A-aye," Maude agreed.
"She is?!" He looked ready to explode at that.
"N-nay, my lord!"
"Then what the devil is ailing her?!"
"I--it must be the hops, my lord," Maude blurted out.
"The hops?"
"Aye . . . and the white willow bark."
His bewilderment showed. "What about hops and willow bark?"
"H-her ladyship dosed herself with both before sitting down to sup," Maude confessed. "Mayhap they reacted with the ale from dinner."
"Is white willow bark not what she was giving Lord Amaury for his head?" Blake asked now, getting up from his seat to question the servant as well.
"A-aye, my lord." Maude nodded at the second man.
"What is hops?"
" 'Tis for pain too . . . or to ease belly problems. Some take it to calm their nerves."
"Is my wife ailing?" Amaury was furious at the very thought.
Seeing that, Maude immediately began shaking her head, then sighed and admitted, "I do not know, my lord. She has not said so. Mayhap she is just suffering from the gas." She shifted uncomfortably before him. "By yer leave, my lord. Might I not take this up to her ladyship? She will be sore disappointed should her bath grow cold ere I get these to her."
Expression grim, Amaury gave a sharp nod, then watched the woman flee the Great Hall before dropping back to his place at the table.
" 'Tis most likely she has gas," Blake told him reassuringly, catching Amaury's expression as he retook his own seat. "Surely she would have told her woman were she ailing."
"Aye," Amaury agreed, but he was worried.
"My lady?"
Emma opened her eyes at Maude's tentative voice. The servant had helped her with her bath, then wrapped her in a linen and sat her before the fire to brush her hair. Emma had almost been wooed into sleep by the warmth from the fire and the soothing stroke of the brush through her hair.
Reaching up, she felt her tresses, surprised to note that they were almost fully dry already. Mayhap she had dozed off a bit. It was probably due to the ale. She had double dosed herself with her herbs, then drunk every drop of ale the cook had put aside for her. It had taken her emptying and refilling her tankard three times to empty that pail, but it had had an amazing effect. Truly, she had never felt so. . . . free. So unaffected, unconcerned, relaxed. It was a wonderful tonic for the night ahead. That thought made her sigh as she recalled her first experience as wife. It would have gone much easier for her had she thought to prepare herself like this, she decided. But then, she had not realized what all it entailed.
"My lady?" Maude repeated.
"Aye?"
"Yer not ailing, are ye?"
Emma turned her head to the woman in surprise, then giggled. "Nay, Maude. Why would you think so?"
The servant was silent for a moment, then continued to brush her hair as she confessed, "I saw ye taking the hops and white willow earlier. I thought mayhap ye were ailing?"
"Nay." Emma stared into the fire and bit her lip, then sighed and admitted, "I drank some unwatered ale too. I thought mayhap 'twould help with the joining."
"Help with the . . ." The brush stilled in her hair.
"Aye," Emma murmured, flushing bright red. "My woman's time came. We did not conceive, so we needs must reconsummate."
Maude's brows drew together in worry briefly, then she sat back to brush Emma's hair again before murmuring, " 'Tis true the first time is a mite painful--"
Emma snorted inelegantly at that and Maude stilled the brush again.
"Well," Maude sighed. "His lordship was a bit rushed on yer wedding night. There was some need for speed. He most like didn't have the opportunity to prepare ye for it."
"Prepare me? Well, he did warn me and apologize afore he did it." Turning, she caught Maude rolling her eyes in dismay.
"That is not preparing, my lady."
" 'Tisn't?"
"Nay," she said heavily. "My lady, did no one teach ye about the bedding before ye wed Lord Fulk?"
"Aye--nay." Emma laughed as she recalled her naive thoughts. "My father told me my husband would share my bed."
"And that is all?"
Emma nodded.
"Oh, my lady!" Maude looked dismayed. "Ye should have told me. Mayhap I could have prepared ye for what was to come."
" 'Tis all right," Emma assured her with a wry smile. "I am prepared now. 'Tis why I took the hops and willow. All will be well to night. I will forbear. 'Tis the truth I hardly think I will even notice the discomfort. I am fair sotted."
"Nay! My lady," Maude started urgently, only to snap her mouth shut when the chamber door opened and Lord Amaury stepped in. Spying them by the fire, he frowned over the fact that the maid was still there. He wished to speak to his wife alone.
"Leave us," he said.
Maude hesitated briefly, then rose and reluctantly left the room.
Amaury watched her go, then turned to survey his wife. She looked fair lovely before the fire. Her hair shone as it tumbled over her shoulders and down her back. It was more than obvious to him that she wore nothing beneath the black linen wrapped around her either. It was damp and clung to her body.
Amaury felt his throat closing up as his gaze wandered over that body. He very distinctly recalled it lying beneath his. He also distinctly recalled the agony he had suffered
afterward when he had been denied release. He suspected that denial was the reason he was so easily aroused by his little wife now. It seemed to him he had spent almost every minute since their marriage, at least the conscious moments, in a state of arousal. Damned if he hadn't. And it appeared that he would not be gaining satisfaction anytime soon. Not if his wife was ailing.
"You are ill," he said.
Emma's eyebrows rose at that accusation; then she shook her head.
"Aye. You are, and I wish to know what is ailing you, wife."
"Nothing, husband."
"You will tell me what is ailing you. 'Tis your duty as my wife."
Emma frowned at him. She had no idea why he would think her ill, unless he had also somehow learned of her taking the white willow bark and hops. If that were the case, she definitely did not wish to explain her reasons to him. It would be fair embarrassing to discuss. Deciding that distraction was needed, she managed to gain her feet without losing her balance, then dropped the linen to the floor. "Do I look ill, husband?"
Amaury stood rooted to the spot. He could not believe she had done that. He had spent the time ever since his wedding night battling with himself over pestering her for his privileges, his body nearly ordering him to do so and his mind arguing that he mustn't rush her. He had suffered an agony of guilt over the pain he had unfortunately caused on his wedding night. Now, here she was, as much as offering herself to him. At least he hoped to God she was offering herself. He thought he'd die if he was misunderstanding her and she suddenly crawled into bed and went to sleep. Terrified that that was exactly what she intended to do, he stood where he was, counting out the passing seconds in his head. He would give her to the count of twenty-- nay, ten-- to get into the bed, else . . .
Dropping the linen had been one of the hardest things Emma had ever done in her life. Still and all, as a distraction it was mightily effective. Her husband looked as though he had not only lost his train of thought, he had lost thought altogether. He simply stood there gaping at her for the longest time, then suddenly strode across the room, swept her up into his arms and carried her to the bed. Dropping her there, he immediately began tearing at his clothes.
Emma watched him with something akin to amazement. It was not quite the reaction she had expected. She had hoped it might give him ideas, but had fully expected she would have to at least ask him before he would relent and agree to the joining. To see him ripping so impatiently at his clothes instead made her wonder if perhaps the joining were not much more enjoyable for the man, for truly it did seem he was eager. He already had his tunic off and was now hopping about the room on one foot, tugging at the boot on his other. The boot came off at last and he tossed it over his shoulder, then turned his attention to the second boot. A moment later that went flying over his shoulder as well. He then wasted little time in untying the stays of his hose and shoving them down.