Freezing at that voice, she whirled, peering in the direction it had come from. But all she could see were the dark shapes of soldiers. Until one stepped forward. He had the vague outline of her husband and she truly wanted to believe that it was him, but it was so dark . . . Then someone lit a torch, holding it aloft as the men pursuing her began to slow in confusion. The man bearing the torch was Blake. Beside him stood Amaury, and beside him was King Richard. On either side of them stood a line of men that seemed to go on forever.
Sobbing her relief, Emma raced forward and threw herself against Amaury's chest.
Amaury raised his arms automatically to catch his little wife to his heart. He had never been more relieved in his life than when he had spotted her at the tower window. The soldiers who had trailed them all day had just caught up to them when she had appeared. They had all stood silent as they stared at her. His relief to know that she was at least alive had been nearly enough to make his legs collapse beneath him as he had recognized her gold gown in the candlelight.
Then she had leapt from that window and his heart had stopped dead. When she had been brought up short in her downward flight and he had realized that she was hanging from a rope, his legs had given out. Only Blake and the king's speed in catching his arms had kept him on his feet. The following few minutes had been sheer hell as they had watched her descend inch by painful inch toward the ground. All of them, every last man, had seemed to hold their breath as they watched his wife do what few of them would have dared. And all of them had felt completely useless from their position on the edge of the woods.
Sweat had beaded Amaury's brow and his hands had ached from clenching them by the time she had reached little more than halfway down and suddenly stopped. He had known right away there was a problem. Still, none of them had been prepared for her sudden plummet down into the moat. They had all stood frozen to the spot briefly. Then she had pulled herself from the water and charged across the grass as if nothing had happened. At first she had headed straight for them. Almost as if she knew they were there. It wasn't until she had suddenly changed her course that he had realized that she did not know it was them.
Now, he lowered his face to press a tender kiss to the top of her head, only to stiffen, dismay crossing his features as he got a whiff of her. A glance to the side showed the king taking a hasty step back, waving one hand frantically before his nose as he too caught a sniff. Blake had taken two decidedly large steps to the side, taking the torch with him and nearly casting them in darkness again.
The sound of hoofbeats drew Amaury's attention to Lady Ascot as she crossed the bridge on a horse, her son behind her on another. The men who had stopped in their pursuit of his wife, and now hesitated uncertainly a few feet behind their quarry, immediately made way for their mistress as she rode up before them.
"Ah, de Aneford. I see you saved us the trouble of hunting down both your wife and yourself," she drawled, then glanced toward her son. "Kill him."
Bertrand looked nonplussed for a moment, then turned to the men standing on the ground before his horse. "Kill him. But do not harm Emma."
The men simply stood there with expressions of uncertainty. They had seen the king. They had also had time for their eyes to adjust to the darkness, and now saw the number of men they faced. None were willing to act.
"Did you not hear my son?" Lady Ascot snapped impatiently. "Why do you hesitate? Kill the man!"
"I fear it may have something to do with my presence." Richard stepped briefly back into the torchlight, wrinkled his nose, then hurriedly moved around to Blake's other side, as far from Amaury and his aromatic little wife as he could before relaxing again and smiling at Lady Ascot. A smile that became decidedly predatory as his soldiers made their numbers known by circling Lady Ascot's men.
To her credit, the woman paled, but retained enough of her wits to try to protect herself. "Your Majesty, what a . . . lovely surprise. We were just . . ."
"Attempting to recapture your prisoner?" Richard finished for her archly.
"Nay. Never. Nonsense. Lady Emma was our guest."
"Do many of your guests leave by the window?" Blake asked dryly.
"Only the more adventurous," Lady Ascot snapped.
Thinking he had most definitely comforted his wife more than enough, Amaury barked over his shoulder for his squire. "See your lady to the horses."
"Nay," Emma protested, pulling back to peer at him, "Amaury--"
"Aye, wife. We will tend to Bertrand and his mother," he insisted, grimacing as a fresh whiff of moat reached his nose.
"But I must tell you, Gytha is her maid. And they knocked me out and held me captive. And Arundel was supposed to poison you at court. Then they were going to force me to marry him." She gestured toward Bertrand, who was doing his best to appear invisible at the moment.
"Aye, wife. Now go with Alden. You are barely dressed." He gave her a gentle push toward the boy, then turned back to face Ascot and her son.
Emma frowned at his back, then turned reluctantly toward the squire.
"Come, my lady." Alden stepped forward to take her arm, then immediately stepped back as far as he politely could and still lead her by the arm into the woods.
Bertrand watched the woman he had coveted disappear into the woods, and took a moment to
wonder at the unfairness of a bastard son of a village maid having gained everything he sought. Then he sighed and slid off his mount. It was apparent to him what he must do now.
Both Amaury and Blake drew their swords, crossing them before their king when he suddenly hurried toward him. The action brought him to an abrupt halt, but did not stop his saying, "I beg your leave. Your Majesty. It must be obvious to you that I had nothing to do with this? 'Twas all her doing."
"Bertrand!" Lady Ascot roared furiously when he waved vaguely in her direction, but her son ignored her.
"I was a mere pawn! A victim as surely as Lady Emmalene herself!"
Blake and Amaury glanced at each other, sharing a look of amused disgust at this display. The king was less than entertained, however.
"Quit your sniveling, man! Yer in this up to your neck." A quick gesture was enough to bring two of his men forward to collect Bertrand as the king faced Lady Ascot. Blake and Amaury lowered their swords and turned to glare at her as well.
She lasted a moment or two longer under their combined accusing scowls than her son, but it was only a moment or two.
" 'Twas Gytha!" she screeched at last. " 'Twas all her idea. I only told her to get her cousin, that fop de Lascey, to take her with him so that she might spy on you. She took it upon herself to poison you. 'Twas she who knocked your wife out as well. She caught her listening to us--" Lady Ascot's panicky babbling came to an abrupt end when the servant she was accusing pushed her way through the horses and yanked the woman off her horse by the skirt. Before anyone could move, the maid had her mistress before her, a dirk at her throat.
" 'Tis glad I am that loyalty works both ways in our relationship," she muttered bitterly to her betrayer, then pressed the knife closer until a bead of blood appeared at its tip when Amaury made to move forward. "Nay, de Aneford. While you may have nine lives, I much fear her Ladyship here does not."
Amaury stopped, but shrugged at the intended threat. "Kill her then."