"In the woods?"
"Aye."
"You will take six men."
Emma grimaced, but nodded and turned to move away once more.
"Wife."
Pausing again, she peered back, only to mutter under her breath and return to stand in front of him once more when he raised one eyebrow grimly. "Husband, I do not have time for this. The day grows late."
Amaury merely peered at her thoughtfully for a moment, his head tilted to the side, before asking, "What do you with all these weeds, wife?"
"I--they are for medicines," she mumbled, flushing guiltily.
"Hmm." Amaury's head tilted to the other side. "Are you ill?"
"Nay, of course not."
"Then who is? You seem to use a great deal of them. You have gone out to collect them at least--"
"There are a lot of people within the castle, my lord," Emma blurted out quickly. "O'er a hundred and eighty including the servants and your men. Someone is always ill." Pausing, she took a breath, then asked nervously, "Was that all, husband?"
"Aye. Nay," he denied as he recalled why he had called her back. He had decided that now was as good a time as any to inform her he did not wish her to have the popinjay make a single dress in black. "About your gowns the French mouse is making . . ."
"Aye, my lord?"
Amaury hesitated. "I do not wish to see you in . . . You will refrain from having de Lascey make any in black. All your gowns are to be of bright colors."
When she raised her eyebrows at that, he reached out to rub a silky tress of her hair between his fingers, his expression softening and his voice deepening as he said, "Several gowns in that gold you wore the other day would be nice. 'Twas as radiant as the color of your hair."
"My hair?" Emma blinked at that, finding a slow curl of heat unfurling in her belly at the deep tone to his voice. It was the same one he used in their bed when he was murmuring what he wanted, either from her, or to do to her.
"Aye. And one or two in a shade of green like your eyes. As rich as the woods after a rain." His hand moved to feather across her brow by one of those eyes that was as wide as an apple right then, then slid to run gently across her bottom lip.
Emma breathed in deeply, then swallowed, feeling the touch on her lips as if it had been on her breasts. The Good Lord's liver, she thought dreamily. It seemed her husband need not even touch her there to touch her there.
"And at least a dozen in red."
"Red?" Her eyes widened.
"Aye, a red as luscious as your lips when I kiss them."
"Ohhh," Emma breathed, swaying toward him. The sounds of mock battle and men's yells faded in her head as she watched Amaury's face drift closer. When his lips finally found hers, she sighed dreamily. Only to gasp and pull quickly away at Blake's startled shout. A glance in his direction showed that he had stumbled over a pair of playing children, no doubt as he had tried to back discreetly away.
Emma shook her head as she watched him regain his feet. He looked quite embarrassed. Smiling, she walked to his side and patted his shoulder. "Thank you."
Blake's eyebrows rose at that. "For what, my lady?"
"For the lovely compliments you gave my husband to use."
He flushed bright red at that, his eyes shooting to Amaury, who was looking quite upset. They had practiced for hours exactly how to phrase the words, the tone of voice to use, and even the caresses to accompany them with. All to no avail, it seemed.
After searing his hapless friend with a fierce glare, Amaury straightened his shoulders and turned back to her.
"Blake may have aided me in phrasing them, but the words were true," he told her grumpily. "I do not wish to see you in black. You should only wear colors such as gold. You were. . . ." He frowned, searching for words of his own. "You fired my blood in the gold, and 'tis sure I am that you will please me in red or green as well."
Emma's eyes widened at that, and a slow smile started on her lips, but her husband was not finished. It seemed he thought a lecture was in order.
"As your husband, 'tis my place to recognize your needs and fulfill them. I have noticed that you are in sore need of esteem. The only way to build that up is to give you compliments."
" 'Tis?" Surprise was evident on her face.
"Aye. So . . . there you are. You are lovely, wife," he told her stiffly. "In fact, I have never set eyes upon as lovely a woman as you are. Fulk was a fool not to have recognized his good fortune in finding you. You are fair lovely."
Emma merely stared at him. Some part of her mind was daring to tell her that he must have some affection for her to be so concerned with issues such as her esteem. Another part was telling her not to be so foolish.
"Well?"
Emma blinked. "Well, what, my lord?"
"Have you nothing to say? I said you were lovely. You are lovely."
"If you say so, my lord," Emma murmured dutifully, then headed away again, her mind taken up with the possibility that her husband might have some real feeling for her. Not the dutiful love a husband must have for a wife, but one born of liking and respect. A husband need not see to a wife's feelings, yet Amaury concerned himself often with hers. That must mean something, she thought hopefully.
Amaury glared after her in vexation. "She agreed only to placate me."
"That would be my guess," Blake agreed. "Mayhap you should go convince her."
"What?"
Blake shrugged. "Everything is in hand here. We thought you would be in fi
ttings all day. Why not join her on this trip to the woods and give her a tumble? That should let her know you find her desirable."
Amaury scowled at him. "I do not tumble my wife. She is a lady. 'Sides," he added grimly, "none of my other tumblings seem to have raised her confidence in her looks." But even as he offered the protest, his mind had been caught by the image of making love to his wee wife in the woods. Emma, naked and natural with naught but grass for a bed, the sky for a roof, and trees as the walls of the room . . . And not a stitch of black anywhere to be seen. He would have to get her completely naked, he determined. He did not even wish to see a bit of black hose.
"Then compliment her while you tumble her."
Amaury's imaginings faded slightly at that. "Compliment her while . . . ?"
"Aye. Tell her what you like about her while you're loving her."
He considered that briefly, his gaze running down the length of her body as she paused to talk to the stable master just outside the stable doors. "She has a fine mind. The finest mind I have ever found in a woman."
Blake rolled his eyes at that. "I think you can leave that compliment out. Stay with things you find attractive about her looks. Tell her what you like and why."
His mind filling with all sorts of things he liked about her, Amaury murmured thoughtfully, "Aye, mayhap that will work." His eyes began to sparkle with something other than good humor as he inventoried each individual part of her anatomy, the reasons he liked them, and things he would like to do to them. "Aye, I will." Ignoring his friend's laughter, he headed off after his wife.
Amaury peered at his wife in repose and smiled. He had loved her well and thoroughly, revealing each inch of her body and explaining what he liked about it as he went. It had been most satisfactory. He was now positive he had gone a long way toward mending her esteem problem.
The snapping of a twig nearby drew his narrowed eyes to the surrounding woods, but there was nothing to see. Still, the memory of the attacking bandits was now brought to mind and Amaury frowned, wondering if he truly should have dismissed the guards that had prepared to accompany Emma on this trip. He had only been thinking of loving her in the woods, not of any danger there might be.