"You have read too many books, wife," he told her grimly, then shared a glance between Blake and Little George. "I do not think it a good thing that some fathers allow their daughters to read now. It does seem to addle them somewhat."
Emma narrowed her eyes on him and snapped, " 'Tis a sound plan!"
"Mayhap if we were characters in one of Chaucer's--"
"Husband!"
Amaury sighed. "You forget one thing, wife. Should I be considered dead, 'twould leave you unprotected. Bertrand would force a marriage."
Emma frowned over that, then brightened. "I shall claim that I am pregnant. I would be safe then."
Amaury shook his head at that. Rather than keep her safe, such a claim might simply put her in graver danger. He had no doubt that to Bertrand, a child would simply be an inconvenience. He'd either arrange for her to suffer a miscarriage or kill her outright, depending on how great his desire was for her. Amaury tended to think he would try to cause her to miscarry, for in his eyes, his wife was a very desirable woman. He did not bother to mention this to her, however, for his thoughts were taken up with plotting of his own.
"Nay, I will not be dead," he announced, moving to finally don his braies. "But I shall be dying."
Chapter 13
OH, my lady. 'Tis so unfair!"
Putting a hand to her maid's shoulder, Emma patted it soothingly. "Aye, fate is a fickle witch," she murmured, adding a dramatic sigh for good measure.
Amaury grimaced slightly at his wife's poor acting, then silently cursed his forgetting himself when Maude gasped.
"Look, my lady! He appears to be coming around. He is in pain."
Emma glanced down with a start, and frowned at her husband as she caught the expression that Maude had noticed just before he eased it back into the expressionless mask he had been feigning since shortly after explaining his plan that morning. It was to look as if he had been attacked in his sleep and stabbed. He was to be at death's door, but lingering before stepping over the threshold. The official story was that Emma had awakened as her husband was stabbed and thrown herself at the adversary, so that she and her husband became tangled up with him, but when Blake had arrived with the torch, they had found Little George.
Amaury's first was to claim he had arrived before Blake and, unable to see in the dark, had joined the tussle, but that the villain had somehow escaped before the others had arrived. Bertrand and Lady Ascot, however, would know that they had commissioned no one else to attack her husband, and would assume that Little George had simply done the deed they had set before him. Her husband was hoping this plot would keep both Emma and Little George's wife safe until they could figure some way to find the woman.
Emma thought her plan would have worked better, but the men had not agreed, so she had had to bow to the majority. And had fretted over it ever since. There had been a myriad of problems that day. First they had had to convince the others that they had not raised a hue and cry and set them to searching the woods for the phantom attacker because they had been busy trying to save her husband's sorry hide. Then there had been the problem of Maude. Amaury, being near death, had had to lay, supposedly unconscious, in the wagon for the remainder of the trip. Her husband had not handled real illness well, so she should not have been surprised that he bore this feigned illness even worse. He had whined and complained over the need to ride in the wagon like a baby at every opportunity.
He had gotten that opportunity often. To prevent Maude from trying to change Amaury's bandages or do something else that would allow her to learn that he was not injured after all, Emma had been forced to ride in the wagon as well, playing the concerned wife. She had spent most of that last day of traveling attempting to keep Maude from overhearing her husband's complaining. Especially at the nooning meal when all she could offer her deathly ill and supposedly unconscious husband was an apple. It would not have done for her to be taking food to her supposedly weak and dying husband, but try to explain that to a hungry man who had had naught but a corner of bread that she had managed to sneak away for him to break fast with.
It had got worse after that, for it had begun to drizzle. In an attempt to keep her "poor" husband dry in the uncovered wagon, Emma had taken up a blanket and crouched over him for the remainder of the ride. That had merely allowed him to complain more, for they were sheltered somewhat by the blanket. Between his complaining and the fact that her back had felt near to cracking from being in such a bent position for so long, Emma had been ready to stab her husband herself.
It had been a great relief when they had finally arrived at Leicestershire, where Richard was holding temporary court. Amaury too had seemed relieved. At least he had stopped his infernal complaining for a bit as they had seen to carrying him up to this room where they were to remain during their stay. But then, there was no longer the creak of wood and the whirring of the wagon wheels to cover any complaints he might have made, and Maude was no longer separated from them by the length of the wagon and a blanket. Emma suspected that was the only thing that kept him silent, and was in no rush to see the servant go. However, she was beginning to think she might have to. For her husband was obviously having difficulty maintaining his role. All he really had to do was lie silent and rest, yet it seemed even that was too difficult for him to accomplish.
Emma was about to give in and send Maude away when a knock sounded at the door. The servant immediately hurried to answer it, and stepped aside with a small gasp when the king entered followed by Blake.
Moving directly to the bed. King Richard peered down at his fallen warrior, his shoulders immediately slumping. "So 'tis true," he murmured glumly, and Amaury issued a low moan.
As she glanced at him, Emma's lips tightened vexedly. He was to be at death's door, for goodness sake. Did he keep moaning and frowning, people would think him on the mend. Damn! It was his own plan. He could at least have the decency to keep to it.
Richard took in the glare she was gracing her husband with and frowned. "I think he is trying to say something, madam," he snapped sharply.
"Nay," Emma murmured, managing a mournful look. "Nay, Your Majesty. He is beyond words now. Death is his companion, and has ever demanded silence of those he courts. He will linger some, I am sure, but 'tis all a matter of-- ouch!" Glancing down, she scowled sharply at Amaury. He'd pinched her, the bloody ogre! He'd slid his hand out from beneath the blankets and pinched her! He was just lucky no one saw him.
"Is something amiss?" Richard asked.
Emma glanced sharply at the suspicion on the king's face and shook her head. "Nay, Your Majesty. I just--'tis my new shoes," she prevaricated. "They are new enough to pinch." Her gaze happened to slide to Blake then, and noting the fact that he was making faces at her and nodding toward Maude, she hesitated, confusion covering her expression. She was just grasping the fact that he thought she should have Maude leave, when the door burst open and Little George stormed in with the king's guard on his heels trying to catch his arms and drag him back.
"She is dead!" he roared disconsolately. " 'Twas all for naught! She is dead." The last word sank away on misery as he came to a halt. The guards immediately caught him and tried to wrestle him from the room.
"He is Amaury's man," Blake explained quickly to the king, who nodded and turned to the three men struggling at the door. In truth, only his guards were struggling. Little George was slumped where he stood, not fighting, but as immovable as a castle wall.
"Leave him be! Leave us!" As soon as the door had closed on his men, King Richard turned to survey the inhabitants of the room. He could feel a storm of secrets flowing about him, and was beginning to suspect he was the only one who did not understand what was happening. "What is the meaning of this? What goes on here?"
There was silence for a moment. Then Amaury sat up in bed with a sigh. " 'Twas my idea, Your Majesty," he announced apologetically, rising from the bed.
"Oh, sweet Saint Christopher, 'tis a miracle!" Maude cried, dropping to her knees to offe
r a prayer of thankfulness.
Sighing, Emma moved to her servant's side. "Aye, Maude. 'Tis wondrous." Her voice hardly sounded pleased as she took the woman's arm and urged her back to her feet, but the servant did not notice. She was too busy sobbing with joy. Ushering her to the door, Emma patted her back. "No doubt his lordship would appreciate some refreshments and food after his illness. After you have refreshed yourself, mayhap you could bring him a repast."
"Aye, my lady. 'Twill be good for him."
"Aye," Emma agreed, and closed the door.
Amaury turned to where Little George stood so stiff and silent, despair his only expression. "Tell me," he ordered.
King Richard opened his mouth to countermand that order and demand his own explanations, then decided against it as the man began to speak.
"I was helping Wesley to see to the horses at the stables when he struck up a conversation with Lord Woolsey's first," Little George told them dully. "I overheard him commiserating with him over your injury, and telling him that they too had suffered several misadventures on their way here."
Aye." King Richard nodded at that. "Woolsey told me all about it when he arrived at court earlier this month. His favored horse went lame and had to be put down, one of his men became ill, and they came across a woman floating in the river one of the nights when they made camp." The king paused to frown when Amaury's man winced over that last bit of information, his face transfixed with agony. "But they knew not who the woman was," he added after a moment.
"Nay, they did not. Nor did I, until he showed me this." Holding his hand out, Little George opened it to reveal a small circular band.