"Aye, accursed! You have already put one man in his grave, and the way things are presently traveling along, I have no doubt you shall put me there as well!"
When she opened her mouth to respond to that, Amaury covered it with his own. It was no gentle kiss he gave her, however. It was rough and hard and demanding. Emma gave as good as she got, biting viciously at his lip and bucking her hips upward as he drove ruthlessly into her.
As violent as it was, this mating could not last long. It was only a matter of moments before Amaury stiffened against her, cursing before collapsing atop her. He lay still for less than a heartbeat, then forced himself to rise.
Emma bit her lip as she watched him tug his hose up, then climb into the rest of his clothes. He did not look at her until he was leaving the room. Pausing at the door, he peered back at her, his expression grim. "Let us hope that this time my seed took, wife, for I will not play stud horse for anyone. Not even the king."
Chapter 10
MERCENARIES?" Blake frowned at him. "Who the devil would send mercenaries out after you?"
Amaury shrugged, a surly expression on his face. "Any number of people."
"Aye. You do have a fair share of enemies, do you not?"
" 'Tis the nature of our business. Our previous business," he corrected himself. Being a hired sword meant always fighting a war against someone, for someone. Not his own war, of course, and that only seemed to anger whoever he was battling even more. He had made many enemies over the years. Any one of them might have set those dogs on him that afternoon.
" 'Tis lucky Lady Emma was not hurt."
"Aye." Amaury frowned as he glanced toward the castle where his wife was no doubt boiling her herbs that very minute.
"I'll have Little George increase the guards," Amaury said almost to himself. "And I'll tell him Emma is not to leave the castle grounds without at least ten men as escort."
"What about you?"
"Whether I am with her or not. Ten men."
"Nay, I meant that you should take a guard with you as well."
Amaury frowned over that, then sighed and nodded his agreement. "Aye."
Blake was silent for a moment. He had expected more of an argument over that. The fact that he did not get one made him as curious as the fact that Amaury had returned in a dark mood from escorting Emma upstairs. He was dying to ask what had occurred to cause it, and was just working his way toward doing so when Amaury suddenly turned to him.
"She thinks I am a stallion! A stud! Good for nothing more than breeding!" he roared.
Blake's eyes widened at that. "Who?"
"My wife! Who the devil did you think I would speak of?!" He glared at his friend for his obtuseness, before continuing. "All she wants me for is to beget a babe. I am no better than a bull to her! She thinks to have me ser vice her at her whim. To spill my seed 'til she is as full as an overflowing tankard."
"It sounds a horrible chore." Blake grinned his amusement.
Amaury frowned at him for his less than sympathetic attitude. "You may laugh. 'Tis not you she expects to ser vice her night and day, day and night."
"More's the pity."
When a storm began swirling on his face, Blake shook his head. "I do not understand what you are complaining of, my friend. 'Twas just a matter of days ago that you were complaining that your wife enjoyed the joining, which you were sure was not right. Now you are telling me that she thinks of you as only a vessel that holds the seed, which is what the church says is proper for a wife to think, and yet you seem distressed by this as well. Oh . . . aye . . . oh, I think I comprehend."
When Amaury merely scowled at him, Blake nodded. "Aye. It has hurt your manly pride to think that your wife's attentions are based only on begetting an heir and saving herself from Bertrand." He nodded again. "Aye, 'tis. And that suggests to me that your own attentions go beyond thinking of her as just wife."
Amaury looked as if he had been punched by that suggestion, then he immediately began shaking his head.
"Aye." Blake nodded. "Mayhap you even love her."
"Love?!" Amaury looked horrified at the very idea. "She is my wife!"
"Aye, but--"
"Men do not love their wives," he pointed out grimly. "They save that for their lovers. Wives are forborne."
"I do not see you taking a lover, Amaury."
"Nay, but--"
"And while it may be the fashion for lords and ladies to save such flowery emotions for their lovers, Emma is not the average Lady. She would be an easy woman to love," he added sympathetically.
Amaury scowled over that sentiment. "You leave my wife alone. She will not be taking a lover." With that, he turned and stormed across the bailey, leaving Blake staring after him in amazement.
Emma glanced up from the pot she was stirring and smiled at Gytha as she entered. She was the oldest of de Lascey's workers. Old enough to be Emma's own mother. She even reminded her of the deceased Lady Kenwick somewhat. It was in her soothing smile and quiet dignity as she had nipped and tucked the material of one gown after another around Emma's body during the fittings. Emma liked her, and she wasn't the only one. Sebert liked her, as well.
De Lascey and his people had been here no more than four days, and already Gytha and Emma's steward were inseparable. They sat together at mealtimes, and disappeared together after the sup, and Gytha was forever finding some excuse or other to come below stairs during the day in the hopes of catching a glimpse of or a moment alone with Sebert. Emma had come across the pair in lusty clutches all over the castle. The maids and kitchen staff were beginning to giggle about it whenever the pair passed.
Emma herself was not sure what to do about the situation. She found it a bit surprising that a pair of such an age could enjoy the intimacies they seemed to be dabbling in. She also found it touching and a bit amusing as well. Add to that the fact that she had never seen Sebert so happy, and Emma was loath to reprimand them for their behavior, so she had let it go up till now. However, this couldn't continue indefinitely. Something had to end it. She was just afraid of what that might be. Emma was rather hoping that she could persuade Gytha to stay, for she very much feared that should Gytha return to London with de Lascey when he left, her steward might very well choose to follow her. That was not a problem Emma wished to address at the moment. There seemed to be quite enough excitement and difficulties occurring at Eberhart Castle just recently.
Ever since her wedding, in fact, she thought. Then she corrected herself. Nay, everything had started before that. With her husband's death? Or even with her audience at court?
"Is Lord Amaury ailing, my lady?"
Emma gave a start and flushed at the question as Gytha moved to stand beside her, peering curiously into the pot. "N-nay," Emma answered. Her voice came out in a hoarse stutter. Clearing her throat, she forced a smile and shook her head. "Nay, he is well."
"Then why do you tonic his ale every night?"
"I . . .'Tis a new refreshment I am experimenting with," Emma lied, avoiding looking at the woman.
Gytha frowned slightly now. "But is this not butcher's broom and--"
"You know your weeds," Emma cut in, eager to change the topic.
"Aye. My mother taught me." Gytha turned back to the various herbs laid out on the table beside the fire. Brushing a hand gently over the larger bundle of plants, she appeared surprised, and picked up one of the leaves to peer at it carefully. "Is that not damiana?"
" 'Tis a general tonic." Emma heard the defensiveness in her own voice and winced inwardly. "It keeps the body regular."
Gytha raised one eyebrow slightly, amusement plucking at her lips as she set the aphrodisiac back down. "Oh aye, 'twill keep a body regular right enough."
Emma flushed pink at the suggestion in the woman's tone, but was saved from responding when the door beside her opened and Sebert peered in and smiled with gentle pleasure at Gytha. "The French ferret is kicking up a fuss about yer prolonged absence, Gytha. Mayhap ye should--"
; "Aye." Gytha sighed and moved toward the door, her irritation giving way to an intimate smile. "See me back up?"