"She is dead, wife," Amaury assured her at once.
Her gaze slid to the spot by the door where the woman had died. He added, "I had her taken away."
"Oh."
"You told me she had drowned," Rolfe accused her now. "You said her body was found."
"Nay," Emma denied at once. "I said Lady Ascot was recovered. We were interrupted ere I could tell you Gytha had not been." Sighing, she tried to push herself into a sitting position. "I should get up."
"Nay. You will rest," Amaury said firmly, pushing her back on the bed. "You are ill."
"I am not ill," Emma reassured him quietly as she sat up again.
Amaury pushed her back down. "You were retching this morning. Mayhap all this excitement these last weeks has weakened you."
"I am not weakened," she said with exasperation, once again attempting to sit up, only to be pushed back down, this time by Rolfe as he glanced at her husband sharply.
"She was retching?" Rolfe asked.
Amaury nodded grimly. "Aye. Retching and weaving. I thought she was fit to die. 'Twas why I came up here when I heard Maude order the stable master to saddle her horse." He turned to Emma now. "You will not go riding. You are ill."
"I am not ill!" Emma insisted, sitting up again.
"You are upsetting her, Amaury," Blake pointed out, worry on his face as well now. " 'Tis the worst thing to do if she is ailing. She should rest."
"He's right, my lord," Little George rumbled. "Rest'll mend her."
"Ye can see I am trying to get her to do so, can ye not?!" Amaury roared at them, then pushed his wife back on the bed again and snapped, "You are ill and will stay abed."
"I am not ill!" Emma roared.
"Do not argue, wife. You are ill and will stay abed until you are better."
"I will not," she said indignantly, imagining being confined to the bed for seven and a half months. That was how long it would be until the baby came and that was all that was wrong with her. A little morning sickness, dizzy spells . . . She was not laying abed for seven months.
"If I say you will remain abed, you will," Amaury told her firmly, a grim glare adding strength to his words. "Even do I have to set guards on you and--"
"I am pregnant," she confessed in desperation.
The people around the bed itself, the only ones who had been able to hear her confession, went quite silent and still of a sudden.
"What did she say?" the cook asked from the door.
Sebert craned his head slightly to peer over the crowd. "Lady Emma said we're to have a child among us soon."
"What was that?" one of Amaury's men barked from the hall.
The cook turned to beam on the man. "We're pregnant!" he shouted.
There was a mingled reaction to that of both pleasure and worry from the people on the fringe of the room and in the hall.
"Well, tell 'er she cannot be runnin' about and shimmyin' down walls anymore then," one of the men yelled back, drawing a nod from everyone in the room.
"She should rest," was another's suggestion.
Emma finally turned away from Amaury's stunned expression and peered pleadingly at Rolfe after that comment. Her cousin looked about as stunned as her husband, but caught her expression and understood it.
"Mayhap . . ." Pausing, he cleared his throat. "We should leave them alone," he announced firmly.
Cook was the first to move. Beaming at Emma from his position by the door, he clapped his hands and turned toward the hall. "I shall make a special meal to celebrate."
"I'll fetch some extra ale," the alewife announced, following on his heels.
"I need a drink," Blake muttered, moving toward the door.
"Aye," Rolfe, Little George, and Sebert agreed as one and followed him.
" 'Twould not go amiss, I think," the bishop murmured, moving after them.
Sighing as the door closed, leaving her and her husband alone, Emma peered down at the bed linens she sat on and began to pluck at them nervously. "You are not happy about the babe?"
"Aye." Amaury dropped weakly onto the side of the bed, a hand going to his head as if he were dizzy.
Emma frowned. "Nay. You are not."
"Aye. 'Tis just . . . You are so small," he complained worriedly.
"Oh, my lord." She reached to cover his hand with hers as she realized he feared for her health. Many women died in childbirth. " 'Tis true I am short, but 'tis not the height that is significant. 'Tis the width of the hips that are important for birthing babies," she said reassuringly.
Amaury's gaze dropped to her hips. His anxiety did not ease. "They are small hips, wife."
"Nay!" Sliding off the bed, she stood in front of him and brought his hands to rest on either side of those hips. "They are wide, husband. Certainly wide enough for a babe."
"You are sure?" He raised worried eyes to hers.
"Positive, my lord. All will be well." Leaning forward, she kissed him gently on the lips.
"Ah, Emma," he moaned, pulling her into his arms and holding her tightly for a moment. "You make me so happy I am afeared to lose you."
"You will not," Emma murmured softly against his chest, reveling in his embrace. At least he would not keep those from her during the pregnancy. It would have to be enough, she thought with a dismal sigh, then forced a smile when he pulled back slightly to peer at her before bending his head to plant a passionate kiss on her lips.
Winding her arms around his neck, she held him close and kissed him back, then quickly set about pushing him away in surprise when his hands began roaming over her body through her gown.
"What do you?" she asked in confusion.
His eyebrows rose at that. "Is it not obvious, wife?"
"But I am with child, husband," she protested at once.
Amaury stilled at that, worry crossing his features. " 'Twill not harm the babe, will it?"
"Nay, but . . ." She flushed uncomfortably. "The Church does say that the . . . er . . . marital act is to be performed only to gain children, and as we are already with child . . ."
Amaury smiled as her voice faded. Her choice of words in saying that "we are already with child" made him feel warm inside. It was their child. Theirs. Their child, their castle, their people. A whole world of things was theirs, he thought, and suddenly realized that the possession of those things was not really what he had wanted at all. He had wanted simply to belong. And he did. He belonged with Emma.