"I can hardly wait to consummate our feelings. I will be a tender lover, my dear. You shall never suffer under great clumsy paws such as Amaury's again."
"I cannot say how that news affects me," Emma murmured archly, then forced a smile. "Might I have another refreshment, my lord? The last seems to have spilled." She picked up the fallen tankard for proof as she spoke.
"Oh, aye. Of course." Turning, he moved to the door and tugged it open to yell down the hall after a servant.
"I thought mayhap we could go below stairs to have one," she murmured as he closed the door.
"Oh, no. Mother said you must stay locked up until . . ." His voice died at Emma's frown. "I am sorry, my love, but Mother will have her way. 'Twill not be for long. As soon as Amaury is dead, we shall be married and you shall be free."
Emma tried to withhold the groan that rose to her lips at that. She had hoped to be allowed some free movement. At least enough that she might find a way to escape. It looked as if she had failed somewhat.
Sighing, she moved to the window, peering down at the forest beyond the clearing. It was not that far between the moat and the trees. If the room they had chosen for her prison were only a little lower . . . On the first floor for instance, she could have jumped down and . . . But it was not lower, she thought with a sigh.
Seeing her despondency, Bertrand frowned himself. "I am sorry," he offered after a moment. "Is there anything I might gain you that would make your confinement more bearable? A needle and thread to embroider with? Or a book?"
When Emma remained silent, he sighed unhappily, longing on his face as he peered at her outline in the dusty golden gown. Then he perked up suddenly. "Mayhap you would like a change of clothes? I had a gown made for you."
When she turned on him sharply, he shifted uncomfortably. " 'Twas in case something like this ever occurred."
Emma turned away with a sigh at his explanation, and sensed him shifting uncertainly behind her.
" 'Tis yellow," he tried. "You would look lovely in it."
She would look jaundiced in it, Emma thought with a grimace. Yellow was not a favored color on her, though gold was quite nice. It made little difference, however. Were she naked, she would not have worn anything he had had made for her. The arrogance of the action alone would have forced her to refuse it. She would rip any dress he brought her to shreds and make a meal of the strips before donning the thing. She would sooner make a rope of it and hang herself fr--
"Rope?" she breathed, her gaze dropping to the ground below the window.
"What?"
Turning abruptly, she smiled at him sweetly. "Aye. A change of clothes would be nice." But not nice enough to get her to the ground. What else could she ask for that they might supply? "Rags."
Bertrand blinked. "Excuse me?"
"I will need linens, my lord. A great many of them."
"Linens?"
"Aye. For my woman's time." When he frowned slightly, her smile widened. "I fear 'tis a terrible trial. It lasts a great length of time and flows as freely as the Thames River. I will need a great many linens. A great many."
"A great many." His gaze dropped below her waist briefly and he actually began to look a bit sickly. Emma was almost embarrassed by the enjoyment she suddenly experienced at his discomfort.
"Aye, I fear 'tis heavy enough I near drowned Amaury one night. Why, my maid says she has never known a woman to bleed so much. She is amazed that I do not bleed to death each time I . . . Is there anything amiss, my lord? You are looking fairly green just now."
"Nay. Nay." Swallowing, he backed toward the door. "Nay. I shall have some linens sent to you at once." Stumbling out the door, he slammed it heavily behind him, and Emma smiled widely as she turned back and leaned out the window to survey the wall of the castle and the surrounding area. It was not completely unguarded. There was a man posted on the corner, and another where the wall of the keep met the wall surrounding the bailey, but she hoped that a combination of darkness and boredom might work in her favor if she waited until night.
Moments after he left her, the door was opened again. The servant was returning with a beverage to replace the one spilled. She also brought a lit candle. It was only then Emma realized how late in the day it was getting. She would need the candle to work by soon, she thought as another servant entered carrying a yellow gown and the clean linens. As he had promised, Bertrand had sent a great many of the cloth strips. More than she had dared hoped for, she saw as the woman set the gown and linens on the bed.
Relaxing as the servants left and the door was barred once more, Emma picked the yellow gown up and examined it. It was a frilly, fluffy thing. Far too young for her and ugly as sin, but it would make good rope if ripped into strips. She turned to sort through the linens then, amusement quirking her lips as she counted them. It seemed Bertrand had taken her at her word. She really would have to flow like a river to need as many as he had sent her.
Shrugging wryly, she sat back upon the bed and set to work ripping the gown into long strips that she tied end to end. It took her much longer than she had expected, and her hands began to ache with the effort, but once she was finished, she turned immediately to the linens, unfolding, twisting, and knotting them to the end of her makeshift rope.
The sun was beginning to set when she heard the door being unbarred. Her heart skipping a beat, Emma scrambled to quickly stuff the evidence of her escape efforts under a blanket, then folded her hands in her lap as the door opened.
She was not terribly surprised to see Lady Ascot enter, but she was not terribly happy either. Bracing herself inwardly, she tried for a pleasant expression as the woman surveyed her.
"My son says you are not pregnant."
Emma tried not to wince at the hard words. "Aye."
"You lied."
"I already explained to Bertrand that Lord Amaury ordered me to--"
"He told me."
Emma fell silent and waited.
"He also told me that you love him. Bertrand."
She swallowed. This was the tricky part. "I fear I have not known him long enough to lay claim to that emotion, but 'tis true that I favor him over--"
"You lie again."
Emma went still at that. "I--"
"Gytha told me."
Emma raised her eyebrows, her body tense. "Told you what?"
"He fawns over you like a starry-eyed fool."
"Amaury? Nay. He--"
"He subjected himself to de Lascey's arrogance purely to please you."
She blinked
at that.
"He did not wish to shame you at court. Gytha heard him and Blake talking about it."
Emma's eyes widened at that. He had told her that he had decided to do it because his one tunic had been ruined in the attack by the bandits.
"She also said you enjoyed mating with him."
Emma flushed beet red at that. "I--"
"Set up a caterwauling every night and some mornings."
Her mouth dropped open. Good God, had they made so much noise? Had the whole castle heard them then? She would have to discuss this with Amaury. She would never be able to enjoy his touch again if she thought the whole castle was listening.
"Yet you told my son you loved him. Why?" Before she could even think of something to say to that, Lady Ascot continued. "No doubt you were hoping for a chance to use him to escape. He is conceited and foolish enough that it might work," she said thoughtfully, then stabbed Emma with a stare. "Were it not for me. But there is me, girl, so take heed. 'Twill not happen. You will remain right here until de Aneford is dead. Then you will marry my son."
"Not so long as there is breath in my body," Emma snapped furiously, giving up the pretense. It seemed useless anyway.
"Then you shall be killed."
She clamped her mouth shut at that.
"Either way, my son shall have Eberhart Castle. 'Tis only right. It belongs to him. It should have passed to him on Fulk's death." She smiled suddenly. "Now that we understand one another, I shall leave you be. I doubt you have much appetite just now, so I shall tell the servants not to bother with the tray they were arranging." Turning, she swept out of the room.
Emma glared at the door grimly for several minutes, then tugged the linens back out from under the blanket and continued determinedly at her work. Hours passed as she labored. She was about to attach the last of the strips of cloth when there was a light tap, followed by the scraping of the bar being removed once more.
Cursing under her breath, she quickly stashed her makeshift rope beneath the covers again as the door opened. It was Bertrand this time. Emma peered at him warily, unsure whether his mother had told him of discovering her ruse. When he smiled slightly before turning to close the door, she knew she had not.
Turning back to her, he opened his mouth, then paused as he took note of her dusty gown. "You are not wearing the gown I sent. Did you not like it?"
Emma froze at that, cursing her own stupidity and pride, then forced a smile and lied, "I am such a fright I feared I might sully the gown just now. I thought to wear it on the morrow after I bathe."