" 'Twould seem so," Emma agreed, still with some difficulty. It was a paltry sum to her, but she knew it would have seemed a fortune to the young girl on the bed. Still, it just did not seem possible that the girl who looked so sweet in death had been capable of murder. There were too many unanswered questions. "Then why did she kill herself? Why take the poison?"
Shrugging, Amaury poured the coins back into the sack. "Guilt. Fear of being caught. Who can tell." His gaze lifted to de Lascey, who stood behind his women once more, an anxious look on his face. When he noticed Amaury peering at him, he took a nervous step back.
"I did not know," he babbled. " 'Twas not my fault. I never would have brought her had I realized."
Emma grimaced at his pathetic words.
"You brought this wench into our midst," Amaury accused. "I should bring you up on charges."
"Nay!" The tailor looked horrified at the thought. "But I did not know."
"You should better check your people."
"Aye, of course, but-- I will make it up to you, my lord."
"How could you possibly make it up?"
"I will give you a discount on your wardrobes," he said desperately.
Amaury merely arched an eyebrow at that.
"Half the price I meant to charge you. Half. And I will not charge you for my having to travel out here."
Amaury pursed his lips briefly over that, then nodded. De Lascey sagged in relief, then stiffened once more when Amaury added, "However, you will make no more of these contraptions." Bending, he undid the chains at his knees and removed his crakows, throwing them at the man with disgust. "And you shall shorten the sleeves on this doublet and make the others so as well." He shrugged off the doublet and tossed that across the room at the man as well. "And no more of those ridiculous feathers in my hats."
"Aye, my lord." His relief was palpable.
"And if I see anything so foolish on my wife . . ." He let the threat trail away, leaving it to the tailor's imagination.
"Aye, my lord. Thank you, my lord." Bowing repeatedly, he backed out of the room, gesturing for his women to follow.
Amaury watched them go, then shook his head, muttering an unflattering description of the man under his breath.
Emma remained silent. She did not blame de Lascey for Sylvie's actions, but was not going to argue over his agreement to halve his fee. He had inflated the cost enough to begin with that, at half the price, he was still getting a more than fair deal. Her gaze moved to Amaury as he peered at himself with a frown.
"I shall have to dress again." Taking her arm, he led her toward the door. "Take care of the girl, Little George," he ordered, then ushered Emma out as she added, "Give her a proper burial, please."
She then remained silent until they had reached their room. As sad as the morning's events had been, she had hardly known the dead child and her mind was already turning to other events. Her discovery, for instance, that Amaury had not been taking her potions in all the time since their marriage. If it was true, then--
"What is damiana?"
Tipping her head, she peered at her husband wide-eyed. It was as if he had read her mind.
"Wife?" He frowned at her impatiently when she remained silent.
Emma hesitated as he dug his old green doublet out of the chest at the foot of the bed and proceeded to put it on. Sighing, she sank down on the side of their bed. "You said you have been dumping your ale in the dogs' dish since regaining your feet?" she asked carefully.
"Aye." He tugged the worn old doublet over his head, then glanced at her unhappy face and sighed. "I am sorry, wife. But those potions of yours are fair bitter in a man's mouth. 'Sides, I did not need them."
"Nay. 'Twould seem not," Emma said faintly, thinking of the active love life they had enjoyed. Until last night.
Eyeing her thoughtfully, he moved to sit on the bed beside her. "Tell me."
Emma peered up at him uncertainly, wondering if he would be angry at her for drugging him, then decided to delay a bit longer. "Why did you not come to bed last night, my lord?"
Grimacing, he avoided her eyes briefly before admitting, " 'Tis foolish."
"Nay. Tell me."
Shrugging, he peered at the window of their room. "My thoughts were confused. In truth they still are."
"You became angry with me when I said 'twas for an heir I was . . ." She colored faintly, unwilling to even think of her shameless behavior the day before, let alone put a name to it.
Amaury nodded wryly.
"And yet, is that not why a wife is supposed to wish to . . . you know?" When he remained silent at that, it was Emma's turn to sigh. "In truth I did not tell all regarding why I was so . . . aggressive. 'Twas not simply for an heir. I know not a better way to explain it than that, after the violence in the woods, I wished to be held by you and to feel alive. The joining with you makes me feel so."
"Truly?" He appeared bemused by her words.
"Aye. And more," she admitted almost with shame, then added in a hurried rush, "Damiana is an herb said to increase a man's ardor."
Amaury blinked over that. He had been about to pursue the "And more" she had mentioned, but now was thoroughly distracted by her admission. "Increase a man's . . . ?"
"Aye." Emma peered down at her hands, grimacing over the fact that they were now twisting a portion of her skirts into a crumpled heap. "I feared 'twas the only way to bring you to my bed."
"Nay!?" Amaury peered at her wide-eyed. Had he not shown the depths of his passion for her by his attentions? Good God, but he was like a dog in heat at every turn, even going so far as to jump upon her in the woods. Then understanding struck. She had most like thought that as a result of her potions, he realized and immediately began working at the lacing of her gown.
"My lord? What do you?" Emma grabbed at his hands to still them.
"Proving my ardor, wife. I have had no damiana this day, nor any other. God's truth, had I drank those potions, I most like would not have let you leave the bed this last week," he added wryly, undoing the last of her ties and pushing the gown quickly off her shoulders.
"But . . . what of my skill with the bow?" Fulk had turned from her in disgust on learning of that. Surely he would as well.
Amaury paused, irritation flashing across his face. "Oh, aye." Picking her up beneath the arms, he stood and held her before him until her gown slid off. Once it hit the floor, he sat back down, laid her across his lap, and gave her behind a sharp whack as he ordered in an almost bored voice, "You are never to shoot an arrow at me again, wife. 'Twas sinful of you to do so. I am your husband and lord." Shifting her again, he laid her on the bed.
"Is that it?" Emma asked with dismay as he came down on top of her.
Pausing, Amaury raised one eyebrow. "You wish more?"
Emma blinked. "Nay, but . . . I am fair skilled with the bow," she pointed out.
"Aye. I did notice, wife." Finishing with her ties, he tugged her into a sitting position and slid the tunic off her shoulders as well, his eyes lighting up when her breasts were revealed.
"You do not mind?" Emma watched his face doubtfully.
"Mind?" Pausing again, he glanced at her quizzically. "Nay, wife. In truth I am fair grateful for that skill. As is my manhood. Had your shot been even the littlest bit off, not even your potions could help my ardor."
"But--" Emma paused to gasp as he finally cupped the breasts he had worked so hard to disrobe.