"Ye must build up yer strength. Ye're recovering from a mighty wound."
"Aye." Amaury's voice was cold. "The sooner you recover the sooner you can go home."
"That will not be soon enough for me," Blake growled in response. The two men glared at each other for a moment; then Amaury turned and stomped out of the room.
Seonaid and Emmalene exchanged bewildered glances, then turned their attention to the matter at hand and saw Blake back to bed.
"Have ye been able to find out why they are so angry with each other?" Seonaid asked. She and Emmalene stood at the top of the steps of Eberhardt keep, watching their husbands stubbornly refuse to acknowledge each other below.
Blake sat his mount, expression grim and back stiff, deliberately not even looking in Amaury's direction, while Emmalene's husband stood grimly at the bottom of the stairs, arms folded over his chest, steadfastly refusing to look Blake's way. The two hadn't spoken to each other since Emmalene and Seonaid had walked into the room as Blake had snarled, "My wife is perfect just the way she is."
Seonaid had been too pleased with the compliment to notice that the men were glaring at each other until Amaury had spoken in such cold tones about Blake's needing to recover. Her husband's answer had sounded no more cheerful, and she had realized something was wrong, but not the extent of it.
At least, not then. But Blake had spent the last four days in their room as he recovered, insisting that she stay there with him. When she had tried to discover what the men had been discussing, he refused to answer.
During the few snatches of conversation Seonaid had managed with Emmalene since then, she had learned that Amaury was equally as grouchy and angry as Blake but would not say why. The women had vowed to figure out what was about, but the way Emmalene was now shaking her head suggested that neither of them had succeeded.
"Nay. He is being very unreasonable and will not even discuss Blake."
"Hmmm." Seonaid heaved a sigh. She and Blake were leaving for Sherwell today. Blake felt six days was long enough to recover and insisted they leave. Emmalene and Seonaid tried to argue for another couple of days at least before he risked the journey, trying to sway him by reminding him of his weakened state and the fact that Little George and Aeldra had not yet returned from their visit. But he would not be moved. And Amaury had not helped, pointing out that most of the warriors were back from the free time Blake had given them and so could escort them to Sherwell and see him safe. He had also pointed out that one of the men could be sent to Little George to let him know Blake was on the way home and to meet him there, rather than return to Eberhardt.
"Seonaid!" Blake scowled in their general direction. "Finish thanking Lady Emmalene and let us go. We have a half day's ride to reach home."
Seonaid turned to Emmalene. She considered hugging her but had never been very comfortable with emotional displays so only smiled. "Thank ye for everything."
"You are more than welcome, Seonaid." Emmalene patted her arm and walked down the stairs with her. "If you should find out what the men are so angry about ..."
"I'll do what I can," Seonaid promised.
Smiling, Emmalene nodded, quickly caught Seonaid up in a hug, then stepped back to let her mount her horse. It was a tricky business for Seonaid. Used to riding astride her beast, she was clumsy and awkward trying to ride sidesaddle. Blake watched grim-faced, then tossed Amaury an accusing glare once she was settled and turned his mount toward the gate.
It was a long ride for Seonaid. Not only was she uncomfortable seated as she was, but Blake was silent and morose the whole way. Seonaid was quiet too. This was the last leg of the journey; within a short time she would be meeting Blake's father, and she was suddenly nervous at the prospect. What if he didn't like her? What if she forgot to hold her skirts up and tripped and fell on her face as she walked up to meet him? What if he hated her as much as he was reported to hate her father?
Seonaid tortured herself with such concerns the entire way so that it was almost a relief to arrive. Even if it was to be bad, it would at least be over.
Blake ordered the men to ride to the stables but led Seonaid directly up to the keep doors.
She glanced up warily as the doors opened and an older, slender man appeared at the top of the steps. Seonaid guessed by his pallor and frail appearance that this must be the ailing Earl of Sherwell. She was just screwing up her courage to meet him when her father appeared next to the man and took his arm to help him down the stairs. He was followed by Lady Wildwo--Lady Dunbar, she corrected herself--then Little George, Aeldra, and the bishop.
Most of Seonaid's nervousness left her. She no longer felt so alone and anxious. Besides, she was distracted with the questions running through her mind. There was no sign of animosity between the two older men, which suggested they had sorted out their differences, whatever they had been. And she wanted to know how the trip to court had gone, and how the English king had taken the news of Lady Wildwood's marrying her father.
She also wanted to know how Aeldra had found Little George's family. She hoped her cousin had liked them and that they had been kind to her.
Blake dismounted and moved to help his wife off her horse, but she slipped off before he could reach her and rushed to meet her cousin and new stepmother as Aeldra and Lady Margaret bustled around the more slowly-moving men to greet her. He watched the women hug, then clasped Seonaid's hands and turned to introduce her to his father. She greeted the old man politely, nodded to her father, then allowed herself to be dragged off by the women, who were both chattering away about what had happened while they were apart.
Blake sighed as the castle door closed on them. They looked like any three normal women. Even Aeldra was presently wearing a dress. His fascinating bride was gone. He had hoped that by keeping her away from Emmalene the last four days she would revert to her old self. Unfortunately, that had not been the case. Instead, she appeared to have redoubled her efforts to be more ladylike in his presence. She hardly even cursed anymore, which she had done on occasion during the first two days after he'd awakened.
Sighing again, he turned to glance at the four men still standing at the foot of the stairs. All four of them were staring after the women with differing expressions. His father looked curious, Little George looked bewildered, the bishop was smiling benignly, and Angus Dunbar looked horrified. Since that was something like what he had been feeling since awakening after his injury, Blake could sympathize.
He moved forward to his father.
"Father." Blake clasped the man's arms briefly in a half hug and found himself frowning at the weight his sire had lost. The claim of being unwell had not simply been a way to avoid riding to Dunbar. The man had definitely been ill, and was still recovering by the look of it.
"She is lovely," the Earl of Sherwell said.
"Aye." Blake shrugged, resisting the urge to tell him he should have seen her in braies. "She--"
"What in the bloody hell have ye done to me daughter?"
Blake turned to find Angus glaring at him furiously. Shifting with irritation at being blamed for something that was none of his fault, and that he didn't even like, Blake scowled at him. "I did nothing. That is how she was when I woke up after the injury." He grimaced his distaste. "I think Emmalene influenced her."
"Emmalene? Lady Eberhardt?" the bishop asked with surprise.
"Aye."
"Nay." Angus considered Blake's obvious displeasure as he shook his head. "Nay. She has been around ladies afore without their turnin' her like this. It must be something else."
"Amaury admitted that Emmalene had put servants to the task of making the dress--dresses," he corrected himself, for Seonaid had left Eberhardt with three dresses and the promise that the others would be sent when they were finished. "And he even admitted that Emmalene had spent a good deal of time with her 'ere I awoke. It must be Emmalene." His expression turned grim as he added, "Though Amaury did not like my saying so. He took it as a personal slight that I was upset th
at Seonaid was turning into a taller, dark-haired version of his wife."
"Really?" Angus asked with interest.
"Aye. We almost came to blows over it." He grimaced. "We were not talking by the time Seonaid and I left."
"Hmm. It sounds no unlike the argument we had some twenty years ago," Angus said to Blake's father.
"Aye." The earl nodded. "And we waited far too long to clear it up. Do not make the same mistake, Blake. Sort things out with Amaury quickly; do not let the anger fester. He loves his wife, just as you obviously love yours, and you are both defensive when it comes to possible slights to them."
"I do not--" Blake began to deny he loved his wife, then paused and simply stared at his father. He liked her, respected her, and had from the beginning. He had also enjoyed her company very much since the wedding. Not just the bedding, but talking to her and playing with her, their wrestling and tickling and her cleverness and wit and ...
Dear God, he was wearing the lopsided tunic. Seonaid had done her best to repair her handiwork, but it was still lopsided and he--who refused to wear garments that were not presented to him in perfect form--was wearing it. He was falling in love with his wife. Or, as his father suggested, he loved her already. And he wanted her back.
"I fear someone will have to explain how Seonaid was before this trip," the earl said. "She seems perfectly fine to me."
"Aye. She would," Angus muttered. "But then, ye've never met the lass before, have ye? She was very like yer Elizabeth 'ere today. She wore braies, no dresses, and she rode astride, no sidesaddle. I thought I'd fall over when I saw them ridin' up."
"Like Elizabeth?" Blake asked, starting at his mother's name.
"Ye willna recall her much, I'm sure," Angus said. "But yer mother was very like our Seonaid and Aeldra. She was a warrior. Beautiful and strong."
The Earl of Sherwell nodded. "Aye, she was. Beautiful and strong and still every inch a woman."
"That sounds like my Seonaid," Blake said. "At least, the way she used to be." He glanced at Angus. "I want her back."
The bishop cleared his throat, then asked, "Have you asked her why she has suddenly changed?"
"Nay. I did not wish to hurt her feelings."
"When did she change exactly?" the earl asked.
Blake shrugged. "She was wearing a dress when I woke up after the injury."
"So sometime while ye were unconscious," Angus murmured.
"She was still the same Seonaid 'ere Aeldra and I left to visit my family," Little George offered helpfully.
"So it was during the last two days 'ere I awoke," Blake said with a nod. "During the time that Amaury says Emmalene was spending a lot of time with her."
Angus Dunbar shook his head again. "I canna see it, lad. As I said, plenty o' ladies visited Dunbar over the years, including Iliana, and she tried to turn Seonaid into more o' a lady at my request, but Seonaid would have none o' it. It must be something else."
They were all silent, considering the matter; then Little George said, "Mayhap it has something to do with Lady Ardeth."
Blake's head shot up at this comment. "Lady Ardeth?"
"Aye. Aeldra was telling me that Lady Ardeth tried to insult Seonaid, but she put her in her place," he explained, then shrugged. "Mayhap something she said affected her after all."
"What did she say?" Blake asked.
"She said she had witnessed their practicing with their swords, then said something about it being interesting for you to be married to an Amazon and did you substitute swordplay for foreplay to accommodate her."
"Bitch," Angus said with distaste.
"Aye," the earl agreed, then murmured thoughtfully. "Ardeth ... Did you not dally with her 'ere she married? You came home for Christmas the year you earned your spurs and she was here. She and her family stopped in on the way to her marriage, and I felt sure there was something between the two of you."
"Aye," Blake said and nearly groaned aloud. Lady Ardeth had a vicious tongue. "She is a viper."
Angus Dunbar shook his head again. "Plenty o' ladies have taken their talons to Seonaid over the years. She's always put them in their places an' gone about her business. Why would this be any different?"
"Mayhap because she loves Blake," Little George said, and Blake found himself turning to him sharply. "The way she reacted when you were injured was pretty telling. She would not leave your side, but sat up staring at you day and night as if willing you to live. She cares for you."
"And you think her loving Blake would make her change?" the earl asked.
Little George shrugged. "Amaury tried to be more like Blake to please Emmalene when they first married. Mayhap Seonaid thought being more like Emmalene would please Blake."
"Aye." Angus Dunbar nodded. "That may be the way o' it. In fact, 'tis the only explanation that seems likely so far."
"Well, there you are, then." The earl took Blake's arm and turned him toward the stairs. "All you need do is talk to her and sort the matter out. Tell her you love her just the way she is and she need not change. All will be well."
Blake helped his father up the stairs, his mind whirling with what he should say to his wife. By the time they reached the keep doors, the matter was settled in his mind. He knew exactly what he would say; he just had to find the chance to talk to her.
It was a task easier said than done. It seemed a number of their relatives had descended on Sherwell on hearing of his father's illness. With several aunts and uncles and cousins under the roof, as well as the bishop, and Lord Dunbar and his new wife, Blake found he did not even have his room at the moment. He and Seonaid had been relegated to sleeping in the hall along with the lesser guests and the servants.
*
"You are becoming very good at sewing, Seonaid. But would you not prefer to go practice in the bailey with Aeldra?" Lady Margaret asked gently.
Seonaid forced a smile for her new stepmother. "Nay. I am content to sit here with the ladies and sew," she lied. In truth, Seonaid was so sick of sitting around with the women sewing that she felt sure she would scream. Unfortunately, she found it hampering to practice with swords in a skirt. The stupid thing tripped her up at every turn.
"Seonaid," Lady Margaret said quietly, "your father is very worried about you. He thinks you are not happy."
Seonaid stared at the cloth she was practicing stitches on and grimaced. Her father was not wrong; she was miserable. But every time she considered giving up this ladylike business, she recalled Blake's yelling "My wife is perfect just the way she is," and her determination to be what he wanted was renewed. She had been behaving this way for two days when he made that claim and was obviously well pleased with the change. It gave her hope that he might come to love her.
"Wife?"
Seonaid gave a start as Blake suddenly appeared at her elbow, then managed a smile for his benefit. "Aye, husband?"
"Come." Catching her arm, he urged her to her feet and began to lead her out of the great hall.
"Is somethin' amiss?" Seonaid asked, eyeing his determined expression warily.
"Nay, but I wish to talk with you," Blake answered. "I have wished to talk with you since arriving at Sherwell. Howbeit, we have not had a moment alone since we arrived here, and as it does not appear that any of the guests intend to leave any time soon ..." He shrugged. "I have decided we shall have to find someplace we can talk."
By this time he had led her out of the keep. Seonaid spied the saddled horses waiting for them and frowned. "Where are we going?"
"To a secret spot I know where we can be alone."
"Outside the walls?" Seonaid asked the obvious. They would hardly need the horses if this spot were within Sherwell's walls. "Do you think that's wise? What if Greenweld's men attack again?"
"There is little chance of that. Surely they have heard that Greenweld is dead and will have moved on by now." He didn't sound the least concerned, so Seonaid let the subject drop and concentrated on mounting and keeping her seat on the sidesaddle as he led her o
ut of the bailey.
The secret spot was a little glen awash with buttercups. Seonaid smiled at the sight of the lovely yellow wildflowers carpeting the ground as she slid off her mount and into Blake's arms.
She almost protested that he shouldn't strain himself as he caught her and lowered her to the ground, but his strength had much improved in the days they had been at Sherwell. His color was completely back to normal, and Seonaid knew that he had been practicing with the men in the bailey, rebuilding his strength.
"Nice, is it not?" Blake asked as he retrieved a blanket and a small sack that hung from his saddle.
"Aye," Seonaid agreed as he took her hand and led her to the center of the small clearing. He released her then and spread out the blanket, then gestured for her to sit. Settling next to her, he opened the sack and pulled out some cheese, bread, fruit, and a skin of wine. He obviously intended on putting the talk off until after they had eaten, and Seonaid found herself growing nervous at the idea. He had sounded so grim and determined on approaching her in the great hall. ...
"I thought ye wanted to talk to me," she prompted.
Blake lifted his gaze to Seonaid and noted the anxiety tightening her face. She looked much as she had on their wedding night, as if expecting something unpleasant was coming and wishing to get it over with. He hesitated only a moment, then nodded and set the food and wine aside. They might as well get the hard part over with first.
After briefly considering how to start, he asked, "Seonaid, why do you not wear braies any more?"
She looked startled, then opened her mouth, closed it again, and asked, "Do ye no prefer me in gowns?"
"In truth?"
She nodded.
"Nay," he answered firmly. "I prefer you naked."
Seonaid's eyes widened, then she grinned, and he continued. "Second to naked, I prefer you in those tight old braies that show every curve of your body."
She chuckled at his frank admission.
"I also prefer you happy," he said. "And while you may think you have a smile pasted on your face the day through, in truth it looks more like a determined grimace. You are not happy. I want you happy."