Understanding coming to his face, Blake slumped slightly where he stood. "She is not with relatives, is she."
"Nay," Little George admitted unhappily.
"Where is she?"
"Taken." That one word was filled with a wealth of grief. "We were on our way to Eberhart. An hour from the castle she asked me to stop so she might relieve herself. She went a little ways into the woods. She never returned. A stranger came instead. He said they held her and would kill her should I try to find her. He said she would be safe . . . so long as I did as I was told."
"What did they want?" Amaury asked when he grew silent.
"Very little at first. I was simply to wait and listen and tell what I learned when asked."
"Who were you to tell?"
"I did not know at first. So I watched and listened, and then de Lascey and his women came."
"Sylvie." Blake murmured on a sigh.
"Nay. Gytha."
"Gytha?" Emma peered at him in horror. It had been bad enough when she had thought it was the young girl Sylvie, but Emma had liked Gytha.
"Aye." Little George nodded. "She used Sebert to find out things I could not tell her."
Amaury's eyebrows rose at that. "What would Sebert know that you do not?"
"A great many things just lately, it seems," Little George told him with a brief flash of amusement that soon died. Sighing, he shook his head. "Sebert has been spending his time since your wedding bouncing between doing his duties and trailing Lady Emma about, trying to be privy to any and all conversations in which she partook. 'Twas at your order," Little George added when Emma began to look upset at that.
"Mine?!"
"Aye. He told Gytha that you ordered him to listen at doors and make himself privy to any and all conversations so that you did not have to waste time explaining things to him."
She nearly groaned aloud as she recalled her panic on the day of her wedding and the stupid orders she had been bellowing about.
"You did that?" Amaury stared at her wideeyed.
Waving the question irritably away, Emma turned back to Little George. "So she was the one to put the poison in Amaury's tankard?"
"Aye."
"Why did she kill Sylvie?"
"The girl saw her put the potion in the tankard. That morning when they went down to break fast, Gytha slipped some into her ale. I do not know what happened after that, but when I went up to fetch de Lascey and his women, Gytha trailed behind to speak to me. She slipped an empty vial to me and told me to put it in the girl's hand. She must have already put the other in her bag."
"Did you know that we would be attacked when we went to the river on the first day of our travels?" Amaury asked now.
"Nay. Not until I was approached in the woods standing guard," he admitted reluctantly.
"Who was it approached you in the woods?"
"Gytha."
"She was there?" Emma asked in dismay.
Little George nodded. "Edsel had stepped a little distance away to . . . er . . . relieve himself." He grimaced apologetically at Emma as he said that. "I heard him cry out and started to follow him. Gytha stepped into my path. She told me my wife was alive and well, so far, but would only stay so if I continued to do as asked. Should her men fail this time, I was to kill you before we reached court, else my wife would die. Then she koshed me over the head."
"So you planned to kill me to night," Amaury murmured.
"I tried," Little George said grimly.
"And could not."
His first shrugged uncomfortably. "As Blake said, you have been good to me. We have been friends for years. And I do hot know if my wife still lives or if they have already killed her. I simply could not bring myself to--"
"Who is Gytha working for. Is it Bertrand? If so, we can go find your wife right now," Blake said urgently, but the other man shook his head.
"I do not know. I have never known. Had I known, I would have gone to get her long ago and refused all their orders."
Silence filled the tent. When it had stretched out as taut as a bow, George shifted uncomfortably. "What will you do now?"
Amaury shrugged unhappily. He had been awakened by the faint breeze that had entered the tent with Little George. Had heard the faint rustle as Little George had approached the bed, and had stiffened in preparation of defending himself, only to freeze when his eyes had adjusted and he recognized his first. It had taken a few moments for him to recognize the weapon he had then unsheathed and stood over him holding. Hardly able to believe what he was witnessing, Amaury had waited tensely to see if the man could really go through with it. After a good ten minutes had passed w
ith Little George simply standing there, seemingly unable to do the deed, and at the same time unable to walk away, Amaury had been about to speak up and let him know he knew of his presence. Unfortunately, his wife had awakened and preceded him, he thought wryly, recalling the boot to the behind that had sent him sprawling into his would-be attacker.
"I will do nothing, Little George," he said now with a sigh. "I am sure had I been in your position, I would have plunged the knife home for Emma."
Little George shrugged. "I thought I could too until I stood over you."
Grimacing, Amaury moved to peer out the entrance of the tent. The first faint rays of dawn were streaking across the sky in ribbons of pink that underlined the inky black of night. " 'Tis almost dawn. We will reach court today."
"And they, whoever they are, will know I failed," George said unhappily, misery taking shape on his homely face.
"Not if Amaury is dead."
All three men turned on Emma in horror at her words. She rolled her eyes at their expressions. "Not really dead. We shall pretend he is. No one but the three of us know what happened in this tent. Who is to say that Little George did not succeed?"
"Well . . ." Blake shifted uncomfortably. "There are more than the three of us," he admitted wryly after a moment. When Emma raised her eyebrows at that, he grimaced. "Half the camp followed me in here when you started screaming. I sent them away when I realized you were . . ." He gestured to where she now sat wrapped in the bedclothes and Emma flushed. It appeared as if half the camp had seen her thrashing about naked on the floor with her husband and Little George. A damned embarrassing bit of knowledge, but she really did not have time to worry on it overmuch.
"Did they get enough of a look to see if he was wounded or nay?"
Blake thought on it a moment, then shook his head slowly. "Nay, I do not think they would have."
"Well, then, 'tis settled. You are dead, husband." Emma smiled at her own cleverness. "That will keep Little George's wife safe until you can save her."
His eyebrows rose at that. "I am to save her, am I?"
"Surely. Being dead gives you a great deal of freedom. We can put you in a disguise. You can sneak into Bertrand's castle, snoop about, find out where she is and . . . Why are you shaking your head at me?"