Blake stared at his wife, noting the way she was talking and the softening to her voice. She looked beautiful, of course. The color of the gown suited her, but he did miss the way her braies clung lovingly to her slender curves. His gaze slid to her face and hair, and he thought she wore the circlet and veil well, though her hair looked just as nice pulled back as it once was, and he really liked it best when it was down like it was every night when they slept.
Aye, she looked lovely, but she didn't look like his Seonaid. And where was her sword? It was a question he kept to himself for two days while he recovered. When he did finally speak, Blake found that his throat was indeed sore. It took two days for it to get back to normal. But that wasn't why he didn't, at first, speak. It was just the excuse he used.
Mostly, Blake didn't speak because he didn't know what to say. Everyone else was busy talking most of the time anyway. Seonaid recounted their ride to Eberhardt for him, and their arrival, as well as Emmalene's sewing him up. Amaury told him about his search for their attackers and daily affairs at Eberhardt. And Emmalene chattered away about what had happened at Eberhardt since his leaving the last time.
No one explained, however, what had happened to his wife. The change in her had not been confined to her dress. Her whole demeanor was different. She no longer practiced swordplay daily in the bailey as she had at Dunbar, but sat by him most of the day, insisting he rest and sewing whatever it was she was working on. And usually with the most awful grimace on her face. It alternated with a forced smile that she plastered on her lips whenever she looked his way. She now walked in jerky little steps and spoke in a hushed voice he had to strain to hear ... when she spoke at all.
Blake fondly recalled holding her in his arms of a night, recounting tales of his youth, then listening to the few bits and pieces she was willing to tell about her own. In truth, he had done most of the talking, only occasionally managing to coax a story out of her. But now she didn't talk at all. She just smiled the most horrid, unnatural smile he had ever seen, and Blake watched her and wondered what had happened to his wife.
It wasn't until the third morning that he finally asked the question. Amaury stopped in to talk to him, and Seonaid excused herself to go below and speak to Emmalene. Amaury had started out telling him that they still had not found the men who had attacked them but would keep looking, and Blake nodded, then--unable to stay silent on the subject any longer--asked, "What happened to my wife?"
The question came out sounding slightly gruff, but it no longer hurt to speak. Much to his disgust, Blake had done little but sip broth for two days. But it had eased his sore throat and he had even been allowed solid food that morning.
"What happened to--" Amaury stared with bewilderment. "I do not know what you mean."
Blake shifted impatiently in the bed. Amaury had not known her before her arriving here and so might not realize there was a difference in her demeanor. Unfortunately, Aeldra and Little George, who did know her, were not there to ask. Blake had been informed that the couple were visiting Little George's family.
"Did my wife sustain a head injury in the attack?" he asked.
"Nay."
Blake frowned. "Has she been hit in the head since our arrival here? While I was unconscious?"
"Nay," Amaury repeated, looking mystified at this line of questioning.
"I see," Blake said. "Then what the hell have you done with my wife?"
Amaury stared blankly. "I--nothing. What--?"
"The woman is in a dress," he pointed out. "A dress, Amaury. And she is sewing. Or trying to. Dear God! What happened while I was unconscious?"
"I--Did she not wear dresses before coming here?"
"Nay," he assured him. "She was not wearing one when we arrived, was she?"
"Nay, but I thought perhaps that was for travel, and--"
"We were not carting about a wagonload of trunks that might be full of gowns, were we?"
"Nay," Amaury admitted with sudden realization.
"Well, there you are, then." Blake nodded, then informed him, "Except for our wedding day, she has not worn a dress in all the time since I met her in the chapel at St. Simmian's. Until now," he allowed. "Seonaid does not wear dresses. She does not sew. She does not take mincing little steps, she strides. And where is her damned sword?"
"I do not know." Amaury glanced around the room in search of the missing item. "What does it look like?"
"Like a sword, Amaury," Blake said dryly. " 'Tis special made for her and slightly smaller and lighter than a man's sword, but otherwise 'tis just like every other sword you have ever seen."
Amaury shrugged helplessly. "I did not notice it on the night you arrived; everything was so rushed and worrisome. And I have not seen her much since your arrival. Your wife has stayed up here most of the time, tending to you as she should."
"Well, surely Aeldra was not up here all the time before she and Little George left for--"
"Ah, yes!" Amaury exclaimed. "I did see Aeldra's sword. Very well made, and perfect for her size." He paused and eyed him with interest. "Do you mean to say Seonaid has a similar sword?"
"She not only has a similar sword but normally dresses in braies like Aeldra, and walks with strong, purposeful strides like Aeldra, and--The two are copies of each other, except that Aeldra is small and blonde while my Seonaid is tall and svelte, with that beautiful raven-colored hair."
"Ah." Amaury nodded slowly, then shook his head. "I have never seen her so. As I say, I did not much notice her on the first night, what with my worry over you, and she has been up here most of the time with you since then. She sounds fascinating."
"She is fascinating. Or she was, before we got here. Since I have awakened in this bed, she has been ..." He sighed helplessly. She was turning into a girl. Like Emmalene. "Emmalene!"
"What?" Amaury asked with alarm as Blake sat up in bed.
"Emmalene," Blake repeated grimly. "Your little wife must be influencing her. She is turning my Seonaid into a girl."
Amaury's eyebrows rose. "Was she not a girl when you married her?"
"Aye, but--Oh, you know what I mean. She was a woman, but strong and fun."
"Emmalene is strong and fun." Amaury had begun to glare.
"Aye, but Seonaid did not fuss over--Where did she get the dress?" Blake
interrupted himself.
Amaury frowned. "I think Emmalene had the servants make the dress," he admitted, then added reluctantly, "And I gather she had been spending time up here with Seonaid the last two days 'ere you woke."
"Ah ha!" Blake tossed the linens aside and shifted to sit on the edge of the bed.
"What are you doing?"
"Getting dressed. Where are my clothes?"
"Here." Amaury picked up a bit of white linen from the chair by the bed and tossed it to him. "Here is your tunic. Your doublet and braies should be here somewhere. But I do not think you should be getting up just yet."
"I have to." Blake snatched the tunic from him and began to tug it on. "I have to get Seonaid away from Emmalene before she completely ruins my wife."
"Ruins her?" Amaury's eyes narrowed and turned cold. "My wife is not ruining yours. Seonaid can only benefit from Emmalene's assistance."
"Seonaid does not need assistance. She was perfectly fine the way she was. I liked her the way she was!" Blake tugged the tunic into place, then stilled as he noted that one arm was longer than the other. One sleeve stopped midway between elbow and wrist, while the other hung past the tips of his fingers. Then he spotted the needle dangling by a bit of thread from the unfinished hem.
"Ha!" Amaury pointed to the needle and thread. "This is her work, is it not? See! She needs proper training. You should be grateful my Emmalene deigned to take the time to do so."
Blake glared at his old friend, then moved closer on legs that were so weak still that they were shaking. Ignoring that, he poked a finger into Amaury's chest and snarled, "I have servants to sew for me. My wife is perfect just the way she is."
"Blake?"
He glanced to the side to find Seonaid and Emmalene standing in the open doorway, staring at the two of them. He felt a moment's panic, worrying over how much of the argument she had heard, but judging by the smile trembling on her lips, he was guessing she and Emmalene had only just arrived.
"What are ye doing up?" She moved forward around the bed, her steps faltering as she took in the tunic he wore. A frown claimed her lips, and he thought he heard her mutter something about having more work to do on the top, but then she stepped between him and Amaury and urged him back to bed. He let her. It seemed better to get back into bed willingly than to have his legs give out under him.