Noting her displeasure, Bertrand nearly clapped his hands with glee. To him it meant that truly she was not happy in her marriage. It was impossible that she might see through his words and be aware that it was he and his mother behind the many misfortunes her husband had experienced of late. His mother was too clever.
"Your husband is most fortunate to have you for a wife," he told her passionately now, with the first iota of truth he had spared in this conversation. He did think Amaury lucky, and it was a luck he hoped to have soon.
Emma's stomach rolled again at the covetous calculation in the face of the man before her. She knew he was savoring the possibility of gaining all he wanted once her husband was gone, was relishing the idea of possessing all he now held.
"Aye, he is fortunate," Emma agreed impulsively. "He is a grand duke now, with a large estate, many retainers, and an heir on the way."
Emma would forever savor Bertrand's reaction to that. He looked pole-axed. Taking advantage of his stunned state, she turned abruptly and moved back through the garden. Her headache was already easing, as was her anxiety. There would be no more attempts on her husband now. Lady Ascot and Bertrand would believe it a waste of effort. They could not force a marriage were there an heir. It was just a shame that it was not true, she thought with a sigh.
She had nearly reached the doors leading back into the castle when Lady Ascot stepped through them and started down the path toward her. Her steps faltering, Emma slowed as she came abreast of the woman, but other than a cold nod, Lady Ascot did nothing.
Walking at a much slower pace Emma continued forward through the doors, then paused and peered back. Bertrand still stood where she had left him. He stayed there until his mother reached him. Lady Ascot paused, and they exchanged a few words, then glanced furtively around before moving further along the garden path and disappearing from sight.
Biting her lip, Emma hesitated a moment, then cursed under her breath and moved back into the garden. Pausing on the edge of the trees, she glanced nervously around, then stepped cautiously into the trees, following the faint murmur of their voices.
"What do you mean?"
"Pregnant, Mother. Surely you know what that means," Bertrand snapped.
"Do not be smart with me, boy!" The words were followed by a sharp crack. Pushing a branch of leaves aside, Emma saw Bertrand holding one very red cheek. His mother was just setting her cane back on the ground.
"I am sorry." He peered at her woefully. " 'Tis just that I am distraught. All our work and planning has been for naught."
"Nonsense. We shall continue as planned."
"But she is with child. She cannot be forced to wed if there is an heir."
"She can if she miscarries," Lady Ascot said coldly. "And that should not be too difficult to arrange."
Emma's eyes widened in horror at that. Would they stop at nothing?
"Oh Mother, you are clever."
"And do not forget it."
Emma grimaced at that, but it was only a halfhearted effort. She was distracted by the thought that it was already the end of June. She had had her last woman's time directly after the wedding, over a month ago. It was late, was all, she assured herself, but with little belief. She was usually as regular as the sun's rising and falling. But then she had been under a great deal of stress of late and had heard that could affect such things.
You were nauseous this morning when you sat down to break fast, some nasty part of her mind reminded her, and Emma's hand clenched over her stomach. It was stress, she tried to reassure herself. Stress always affected her stomach.
What about the constant need to relieve yourself? Was that not a symptom? Emma winced. She knew the symptoms of pregnancy backward and forward. She had memorized them in the first month of her marriage to Fulk. A weak bladder was often a symptom and it was true that she had had to make water more often than usual lately. She had not noticed until they had headed for court, for it was when it was most inconvenient to stop and find a spot to take care of such matters that they had become most noticeable.
Good God! She could not be with child! It was ironic that the one thing she had yearned for for so long suddenly terrified the breath out of her. But if her foolish impulsiveness in claiming a pregnancy she had not thought to be real put the longed-for child in danger . . .
"How shall we do it? 'Twill not put her life in danger, will it?"
"Nay. Gytha will know a way. Where the devil is that woman anyway? You did tell her to meet us here, did you not?"
"Aye, of course. She is probably late a purpose. She is an arrogant bitch. I do not know why you put up with her as lady's maid."
Emma stiffened at that. Gytha was Lady Ascot's maid? The one said to be her lover? It was the proof they had been looking for. She must tell Amaury. The king would have Bertrand and his mother in the tower before the nooning meal. Emma had straightened to hurry away with this news when pain exploded inside her head. Stumbling under the blow, she turned shakily, and just managed to make out Gytha's coldly smiling face before darkness rushed in on a roar to overtake her.
"Where the devil did my wife get to?" Tossing the bed linens aside, Amaury stood and began to pace the floor.
Little George raised an eyebrow at his lord's impatience, but had no answer.
Scowling at him for his silence, Amaury moved to the window and stared blindly out. He detested this inactivity, and he detested the fact that his wife had to leave for meals. In his mind it put her in danger and he did not like it, but Blake and King Richard had agreed that she must leave. It was to give the assassin a chance to strike. Besides, they had assured him, Bertrand and his mother could hardly harm his wife in public. While he had agreed with that at the time, the fact that she was late now was gnawing at his innards like a pack of hungry rats.
He was about to send his first to search for her when a trio of riders leaving the bailey caught his attention. Distracted briefly, he narrowed his eyes on the man traveling with two women, suddenly sure it was Bertrand. The rider had the same carriage and diminutive shape. Added to that, one of the females with him bore a striking resemblance to Lady Ascot. Amaury's gaze slid to the last rider and he frowned. She looked familiar, but from this distance he could not see her face, all he knew was she was too big to be his wee wife.
His gaze slid back to the man, narrowing as he noted the tapestry across his lap. It was a damned strange thing to be riding about with. It was big too, overflowing his lap and hanging down both sides of the horse, Amaury noted. Then he stiffened, his blood running cold as he glimpsed a small gold item slip from the folds of the rolled material and drop to the ground.
Whirling away from the window, he grabbed his sword from beneath the bed linens and rushed to the door.
"My lord!" Little George cried, leaping from his seat to follow.
"What the devil?!"
Amaury heard that exclamation seconds before the man coming down the hall suddenly stepped into his path and caught his arms to stop him. "What are you doing? You risk everything!"
It took a moment for those hissed words to sink in enough to make Amaury peer at the face of his obstacle. Recognizing Blake, he grabbed the front of his doublet urgently. "Where is she?"
"Who?"
"Emma. Where is she? You were to return her to the room."
"The king wished me to . . ." He paused. "She should have finished breaking her fast at least half an hour ago," he admitted grimly.
Cursing, Amaury pushed past him and continued down the hall.
Muttering some unpleasant descriptive words himself, Blake hurried after him, whipping off his cloak as he did.
"At least put this on," Blake hissed, draping it over him and tugging the hood up to cover his face. Glancing back at Little George, he snapped, "Go back and close the chamber door, man! Would you let all and sundry know he is up?"
Skidding to a halt, the first retraced his steps to fulfill that order, then caught up to the two men again as Blake said, "You must not ru
sh about like this, Amaury. You will draw attention to yourself. Where the devil are you going?!" he added when they reached the bottom of the stairs and Amaury suddenly turned toward the outer doors.
"Lord Blake?!"
Sliding to a halt, Blake whirled quickly and made a bow as the king approached from a side door of the hall. A glance over his shoulder showed Amaury escaping out the door.
"Rise. What is happening?"
Straightening from his bent position, Blake glanced briefly around the empty hall, then murmured, "Lady Emma is missing."
"What?" King Richard stared at him in stunned horror for a moment. Then his gaze slid to the open door and the cloaked figure crossing the bailey toward the stables. "Is that--?"