"Aye."
"Good God!" Richard started after him at once, Blake, Little George and the king's liveried men-at-arms now following.
They had just reached the stables when Amaury came riding out.
The king raised a hand and opened his mouth to call him to a halt, but it was too late. Amaury rode out like the Devil was on his tail.
"Damn! He must be on to something. Where is the stable master?! I need horses, man! Bring me horses!"
It took only a few short moments for Amaury to reach the spot where he had seen the small golden item slip from beneath the tapestry, but to him it seemed to take forever. He recognized it as a tiny single slipper before he had even dismounted to pick it up, but once he held it in his hand, his fear became a reality and he was lost for a moment in grief.
"What is it, de Aneford? What have you there?"
Amaury gazed up at King Richard as he and the others reined in beside him. He was silent as he held the slipper up for them to see.
Blake immediately blanched. "Emma wore gold this morning."
"Aye." Hand closing on the slipper, Amaury quickly remounted. "Bertrand has her. I saw him ride away with his mother and another woman from my chamber window."
"And she left a slipper behind to let you know 'twas her!" the king guessed excitedly.
"Nay. Bertrand had a tapestry rolled up and strapped over the horse before him. This fell out of one end."
King Richard grimaced at that. Being carted off in a rolled-up old carpet was not nearly as romantic as riding away under force and dropping bits of clothing as a trail to a lover. Richard liked romances.
"Hold!" The king ordered when he turned his horse to chase Bertrand.
Amaury hesitated. By law he could not ignore an order by the king, but he wanted to just then. Frustration churning inside him, he paused.
"You do not know where they head," Richard pointed out calmly. "You cannot race about heedlessly. We must think on this."
"There is nothing to think on. They went in this direction. I will catch them up afore they go far . . . if I hurry."
The last few words definitely carried a message for him, King Richard thought with amusement. "What if they did not go straight? What if they turned in one direction or another soon as they were under the cover of the trees? Do you not think they would have realized they could be seen from the castle by anyone who cared to look? Do you not think they know they would be the first under suspicion when 'twas discovered Lady Emmalene was missing?"
"Aye," Amaury admitted bitterly, recognizing the wisdom behind the words and the fact that he himself should have thought of that himself, and most likely would have had he not all but panicked. Panic was what got men killed. Not panicking was why he had survived so long as a warrior. Odd that he had lived with himself for twenty some years, yet had never panicked over his own health, but now that Emma's was in jeopardy, he could seem to do little else.
"He could be headed for his demesne," Blake suggested. " 'Tis not that far from here, though as I recall, 'tis in that direction." He gestured to the north.
"Aye, but he may have cut off that way as soon as he hit the trees," Richard commented thoughtfully.
"Aye," Amaury decided after a moment. " 'Tis most like he headed for there. 'Tis the only land he holds, and he could not risk taking Emma elsewhere when he holds her against her will."
Turning to one of his men-at-arms, the king gestured, bringing the man immediately to his side. "Return to the castle. Gather a hundred men. Nay, two hundred, then follow us. Bring Amaury's men as well."
"If we hurry we will not need the men," Amaury muttered impatiently as the soldier rode back toward the castle at once.
"His keep is only a day's ride from here and he may know a shortcut we do not," the king pointed out. "If so, we are prepared. Ride on, de Aneford."
Turning his horse with relief, Amaury set out after his wife.
Chapter 14
EMMA awoke to find that she could not breathe or see, her head pained her something horrible, she was hot and sweaty, and she seemed to ache everywhere. She was also wrapped in something decidely old and dusty and hanging over what she guessed was a horse by the way she was being bounced about so.
Ten minutes later she was still soundly berating herself for getting into this mess when the jarring motion beneath her halted abruptly. A moment later, she felt hands grasp her through the thick, hard material about her as she was shifted, jostled and carted about briefly. Then the covering about her was ripped open and she found herself lying upon a bed in a small stone room.
"You are awake."
Emma was having some difficulty seeing after the sudden change from dark to light, but did not need her eyes to recognize the speaker Bertrand. And he sounded damnably pleased. She opened her mouth to share her feelings on the subject of being cracked over the head and kidnapped, but all that came out was a disappointing croak before her throat closed up with dryness.
"A beverage." Bertrand got to his feet and moved toward the door. "I shall fetch you one. You just rest now. 'Twas a long ride."
Emma glared at his departing figure, then sighed unhappily and eased to sit on the edge of the bed and peer around. There was not much to see. The cot she sat on was the only piece of furniture in the room. Aside from that, her prison boasted one window and a small fireplace. Grimacing, she eased herself forward, got awkwardly to her feet, and staggered toward the window. It was not very far, but it seemed she had traveled miles by the time she reached the square opening.
Sagging against the ledge, she drank in deep breaths of the sweet fresh air coming through the window, then tipped her face up to the kiss of the afternoon sun. Both of nature's blessings were energizing after the hours she had spent in what she now saw had been a tapestry. Within moments her aches and pains began to ease, and she was able to concentrate on the problem at hand.
She was being held captive in a tower by people who wished to see her husband dead. And her child dead as well, if she were indeed carrying one.
Moving a hand to her stomach, Emma probed it gently. There was no pain or tenderness. Surely there would be both if she were with child and the ride had knocked it loose? And surely that ride had been enough to knock the most determined baby loose? Mayhap she was not with child after all. She grasped at that possibility eagerly, then shook her head. She could not be sure either way just now. Looking back, she saw that she had had a couple of the symptoms, but they might have simply been due to stress. She could not discount the possibility that she might be however, and that if she was, she had put that child in grave jeopardy by her words to Bertrand. His mother now wished to see her miscarry.
She had to get out of here, Emma thought grimly, focusing her gaze on the landscape outside the window. It was an old keep. Much smaller than Eberhart. The window of the tower she was in looked out of the side of the keep.
Leaning out and turning her head to the right, she could see the side of the wall that surrounded the bailey and one of the watchtowers that stood on either side of the drawbridge. The watchtower was manned by two men. She eased her head back inside lest they spot her peering about, then turned to glance at the ground below her window.
It was a long way down. A great long way. There was one t
hin ribbon of dirt in front of the wall, then a moat that presumably surrounded the whole keep. Beyond that was a clearing that stretched for a good hundred feet before the trees began. She would not escape this way, she decided grimly. She could not fly.
Sighing, she turned and peered about her prison. Dull stone walls, bare stone floor, the cot, and the door. It seemed the door and the window were the only two exits. If she could not leave through the window, then she must escape through the door. Only, she already knew the door was locked. She had heard Bertrand bar it on leaving.
Then she must get him to unbar it, she thought determinedly. Mayhap she could even get him to take her below stairs. She would have to gain his trust first, of course. The easiest way to do that was to convince him that she would prefer marriage to him over marriage to Amaury. It would not be a difficult task, she thought. Bertrand, from what she could tell, seemed to have a rather high opinion of himself. She had witnessed it both at her wedding to Fulk and at court this last day or so. Aye, he would be easily convinced. If she could stomach the convincing.
"You shall have to," she told herself firmly. "Else they kill your husband and the child you may be carrying."
Amaury slowed his horse, then stopped and turned to peer at Blake and the king as they reined in their animals beside his. "They cannot be headed for their keep. Bertrand's horse is carrying two people. He could not possibly outrun our animals. Were he heading home, we should have overtaken them hours ago."
The king was silent for a moment, his gaze moving over the forest ahead of them before he turned to peer at the path they had already traversed. Squinting slightly, he could just make out a long red stream flowing over a small hill some distance back. It was his men. With the speed Amaury had been traveling, the army he had sent for had not been able to catch up to them yet. From this distance, they looked like one long body. A bright red caterpillar creeping over a bump in the lane. "Mayhap he knows of a shortcut that saves time," Richard said.
"Think you 'tis possible?" Amaury frowned at the idea.
King Richard shrugged. "As I recall on the map, his demesne is closer as the crow flies, but a deep river causes a detour of several hours."