The Deed

  "Emma had everything blackened," her cousin explained, suddenly finding the situation amusing.

  "Everything?"

  "Even the linens."

  "Even the . . ." The bishop's voice faded away.

  "It seemed appropriate," Emma said uncertainly now, feeling a bit foolish. She supposed it was going a bit far to include the linen, but truly, it had seemed appropriate at the time. After all, it was not just the mourning of her husband that had caused her to do so. It had been in honor of the mourning of her hopes of having children as well, all chance for which she had thought dead along with her husband. She was more than aware that at two and twenty, no man would have offered for her hand. Even now she was sure that had it not been for Rolfe's favor with the king, she would have been left to wither in this old castle as a childless widow.

  Sighing, she shook her head. "It matters not. My husband, despite his neglect, deserves at least a short mourning period. I simply cannot remarry for at least three months," she announced firmly.

  Frowning, Rolfe glanced at the bishop who murmured, "Mayhap this would be a good time to explain the difficulties to Lady Emmalene."

  "Aye. Indeed," Rolfe said with a sigh, then turned back to his cousin. He opened his mouth twice to begin these explanations, then sighed and urged her to sit in the seat before the fireplace, positioning himself with his back to the mantel so that he could see the empty hall and all its entrances. It would not do for anyone else to hear what he had to say.

  "Understand you, Em, this is a delicate situation. You see, due to your request of the king . . ." He hesitated, forehead furrowed, then caught his hands behind his back and paced before the fireplace some before turning again to where she sat patiently. "You see, Em, by requesting that the king order Fulk to . . . er . . ."

  "Attend to his conjugal duties," the bishop supplied.

  "Aye. Well . . . by doing that, you see, you made it public knowledge that your marriage was ne'er . . . er . . ."

  "Consummated," the bishop murmured.

  "Just so," Rolfe agreed, tugging at the top of his tunic and clearing his throat. "That being the case, there is the problem of Fulk's family. You see, Fulk's aunt and cousin are claiming that the marriage is null and void because it was ne'er . . . er . . ." His gaze slid to the bishop.

  "Consummated."

  "Just so."

  Emma's forehead puckered. "But Rolfe, it was consummated."

  Rolfe froze and turned to her in surprise. " 'Twas?"

  "Aye." She scowled slightly. "I explained my wedding night fully to the king. My husband and I shared a bed."

  Recalling the king's words to him that Lady Emma was so naive she had not even realized the marriage had not been fully consummated, Rolfe shook his head. He briefly wondered how to explain things to her, then decided it was beyond him. Duty to the king notwithstanding, no man could be expected to--

  " 'Tis true," Emma said, interrupting his thoughts. "That my husband ne'er repeated his . . . duties. Truth to tell, he neglected his . . . er . . . duties horribly. However, only the king knows of this, and he is aware that I did not wish it so. I cannot think that he would punish me because of my husband's lack of attention."

  "Nay, Emma, he is not trying to punish you, he is trying to protect you. And himself. Fulk's aunt and cousin know of your husband's neglect. There is no heir. They know that. They are a bold, greedy pair. They can cause much trouble for the king, and trouble is the last thing he needs just now. They are claiming Fulk's neglect makes the marriage invalid, and are requesting that the land and title be turned o'er to Fulk's cousin Bertrand."

  "Bertrand?" Emma frowned over that. She was not terribly surprised to hear that Bertrand sought Fulk's home and title. She had met him at her wedding and had not cared overly much for him. It was not anything he had said or done that had caused her dislike. He had not been rude or mean. In fact, if anything, he had been very gracious to her. Gallant even. Too much so. There had been something almost oily in the man's ingratiating manner. And his apparent chivalry had not hidden the avaricious gleam in his eyes. He had peered at the castle, everything in it, and even at herself, with an oddly greedy glitter in his eyes that had made her feel like a chest of gold he coveted. "He seemed overly ambitious," she murmured to herself at last.

  "More than you know," Rolfe muttered, catching her words.

  Emma glanced at her cousin curiously. "What mean you?"

  His gaze slid warily around the empty room. Then he said quietly, "The king suspects Bertrand and a few other lords of plotting to depose him."

  Emma gaped at that, and Rolfe nodded grimly. "He suspects the lord chancellor is involved as well."

  "Archbishop Arundel?" Emma gasped, recalling the grim-faced man who had stood at the king's side throughout her audience.

  "Aye."

  "But why? What would they hope to gain?"

  Rolfe sighed. "I cannot know what the chancellor hopes to gain. We are not even sure if he is allied with Bertrand, but Bertrand, I suspect, hopes to gain power."

  Emma frowned at that, and the bishop explained, "As a boy, Bertrand squired and became quite close friends with Henry of Bolingbroke."

  "The king's cousin," Emma murmured, her frown deepening.

  The bishop nodded. "Should King Richard be deposed, Henry would be the most likely person to succeed him."

  "And as a friend of the king's, Bertrand would be well positioned," Emma realized grimly. "So, Henry wishes to take his cousin's throne?"

  The two men exchanged glances; then Rolfe shrugged uncomfortably. "There is no evidence of that, Em. Bertrand and the others may simply be using the king's cousin for their own gain. Henry has always shown himself loyal to his cousin."

  "I see," she murmured, her gaze moving to the fire thoughtfully.

  Rolfe allowed Emma her thoughts for a moment, then added, "Knowing of Bertrand's greed for power, His Majesty does not wish to give him any means with which to increase it. Bertrand has a small holding which he inherited from his father, but 'tis nothing in comparison to the wealth and power he would wield should he gain this holding. Hence, Richard has arranged this marriage. On marrying you, de Aneford gains the title of Lord Eberhart with all it includes."

  Emma grimaced at that. "That will not please Bertrand."

  Rolfe shook his head. "Nay. No doubt Bertrand and his mother shall be quite displeased with this turn of events. However, by the time they approach the king with their complaint, it shall be done. Or at least that is his hope."

  "By the time they approach?" Her eyes narrowed. "Have they or have they not made a complaint to the king?"

  "Well . . ." He looked uncomfortable for a moment, then sighed. "Nay. They have not had a chance. The king heard gossip about their plans before they made a request to see him and he managed to delay seeing them until after arranging everything. We left the day before the appointed audience with the Fulks, which means they will be one day behind us."

  "They?" Emma frowned.

  "Lady Ascot and Bertrand."

  "Lady Ascot is heading here as well? Oh, dear Lord, of course she is. She seems to go everywhere that Bertrand does, doesn't she?" Emma stood up, anxiety on her face. She could very well recall her husband's aunt from the last time she had suffered her presence. While his cousin had seemed as oily as a greased pig, his aunt had been a harridan of a woman, terrifying the servants. Emma had never met a more unpleasant woman. Cold, complaining, and just plain mean, the woman had actually started to beat one of the serving girls with her cane because she had not served her quickly enough. The last thing she wished was to see that woman return here, let alone have any power over the people who had served Emma so well. She would never enjoy another heartbeat of peace knowing that the people she had once led were suffering under Lady Ascot's rule. That being the case, she could only be grateful that King Richard had vexed their plans. But if he had, why would Bertrand and Lady Ascot be heading for the castle? Emma asked that now, and watched with suspicion as her
cousin's discomfort grew.

  "The king intends to tell them that he was unaware of their discontent and--"

  "Lie."

  Rolfe winced at her accusation.

  The bishop looked disapproving. "Lie is a strong word, my lady."

  Emma waved that away impatiently. "What else is he going to tell them?"

  Rolfe hesitated. "He is intent on keeping the peace."

  "Of course," Em agreed dryly. "And?"

  "He intends on telling them that as it was so obvious to the court that you were more than willing to . . . er . . ."

  "Do your duty," the bishop supplied.

  "Aye. That being the case, he had not thought they would bring such a petty claim."

  "He hopes to shame them into recanting their claim," the bishop pointed out with satisfaction.

  "However, should greed win out o'er honor . . ."

  Emma rolled her eyes at that. There was no doubt-- in her mind at least-- that given a choice between saving their pride and getting their hands on Eberhart Castle, greed would win out.

  "Then he shall tell them that ne'er having considered such a problem and having been concerned for the safety of the castle, its occupants, and yourself now that there is no lord, he commissioned the marriage between yourself and Lord Amaury. However, he will supply them with a letter to the effect that should they arrive before the wedding is accomplished and . . ."

  His gaze swam anxiously to the bishop again, who sighed and supplied, "Consummated."

  "Then they may call a halt to the wedding and reclaim the property."

  Emma's eyes narrowed at that. The very thought of those two vultures gaining power over her people made her blood boil. Then she noticed the way Rolfe was suddenly avoiding looking at her. "And? What else?"

  Rolfe turned his gaze unhappily away, and Emma found herself wringing her hands again as she waited impatiently. Finally, she took a step forward. "What else, Rolfe?"

  When he could only look at her pityingly, it was the bishop who filled the silence. "Bertrand also wishes to lay claim to you, my lady. As his wife."

  "What?" She turned on him in horror. "But I do not like him." A foolish argument indeed. Liking had little to do with duty and marriage. Besides, she had not even met Amaury de Aneford, but had not protested his possible suitability as a husband. Still, Emma was not thinking too clearly just then; she was a mite overset by the fact that Bertrand had even included her in his plans. It was astonishing to her. After all, Fulk had not been able to bear his husbandly duties, why would his cousin wish to saddle himself with her? Good Lord, this was a worry, she thought.

  "Bertrand claims 'tis the only fair resolution," Rolfe put in dryly. "That way you shall not be 'deprived', as he puts it. Though we all know it simply is not true. He's commented to one and all that he would like nothing better than to get his hands on your--"

  "Dowry," the bishop said with a sharp look at Rolfe.

  "Aye, that too," Rolfe muttered. Eberhart Castle had been falling apart when Emma had married Fulk. Without her wealth it would have fallen completely to ruin. No doubt Bertrand and Lady Ascot would not wish to have to return that. If there was any left.

  "The PIG!" Emma bellowed, surprising both men with her volume. She'd rather lie down with snakes than share her bed with Bertrand. Aside from that, the idea of having his mother here-- for she would no doubt move in should her son become lord of the castle-- gave her the vapors. The woman would take over. She'd run the place as if it were her own. She'd order Emma about like a servant, and most likely treat the servants like slaves. Emma could almost feel the beatings that would occur then. The spilling of a tankard of ale would probably bring about the breaking of bones. By God, she would not have it! "This will not do at all. We must . . . Where is my husband?"

  "Your husband?" Both men peered at her in confusion.

  "Amaury," she said grimly. "He is to be my husband, is he not? Well, where is he? Does he not realize the seriousness of the situation?"

  "He has not been apprised of the situation as I understand," the bishop said carefully. "However, the king sent him a message to make himself available here forthwith to be married." He glanced at Rolfe, then back. "We actually expected him to arrive before us as he was only--"

  "Well, where is he?" Emma demanded, then frowned suddenly as a thought struck her. "Mayhap he has been beset by bandits."

  Rolfe smiled slightly at her suggestion. "I do not think a couple of pesky bandits would even slow down, let alone stop de Aneford. He's--"

  "Then mayhap Bertrand had him assassinated."

  "My lady," the bishop said soothingly, but Emma was in no mood to be soothed.

  "SEBERT!" she roared suddenly, moving to the door.

  "She has quite a set of lungs for such a petite woman," the bishop murmured with a mixture of awe and horror to Rolfe.

  "Aye." Her cousin smiled crookedly. "I had quite forgotten about that aspect of her personality. She has not displayed it since our youth that I know of."

  "Aye . . . well . . ." the bishop murmured, then winced as she bellowed for her steward again.

  Emma had just reached the door when it burst open and the man presented himself. Alarm was written all over his face.

  "My lady?" He peered briefly around to see that all seemed in order, and confusion immediately covered his face.

  "Take a dozen men and ride out in search of my husband," Emma commanded at once. The steward goggled at her.

  "But, my lady--"

  "Now, Sebert. Or all will be lost."

  Sebert nodded and started to withdraw, then paused and turned back, his gaze moving helplessly to the two men by the fireplace, before flying back to Emma herself. "But my lady, yer husband is dead," he pointed out miserably.

  Emma rolled her eyes at that. "Sebert, why can you not be like other stewards and listen at doors?"

  "I . . ." Sebert drew himself up indignantly, but Emma continued.

  "Had you done so, you would be aware that I am to marry Lord Amaury de Aneford. Immediately. Before Lord Fulk's cousin and aunt can get here and Bertrand can lay claim to the manor and myself."

  "Lord Bertrand? And his mother?" Sebert looked horrified. He too recalled the wedding and Lady Ascot's cruelty to the staff.

  "Just so," Emma said dryly. "Now do as I say and fetch some men and search for my husband. He is lost or something. He must be brought here forthwith. And in the future, do please try to be privy to such serious conversations so that I do not have to waste time explaining things to you."

  "Aye, my lady," Sebert said at once, nodding and hurrying out the door.

  Rolfe opened his mouth to try to calm his cousin once her unfortunate steward had fled, but Emma gave him no chance. Moving to the bottom of the stairs, she peered up and bellowed again. "MAUDE!"

  The female servant presented herself at once, flying down the stairs as if demons were on her heels. "Aye, my lady?"

  "Flowers. I must have a garland of flowers and a veil. And a fresh gown."

  "A veil, my lady?" Maude's plain face became as blank as slate.

  "Aye, Maude, a veil," Emma said between her teeth with forced patience. "I am to be married. I need a veil."

  "Married?!" Maude gaped at her.

  "You do understand the word, do you not?" Emma asked grimly.

  "Aye. But my lady . . . your veils . . . all your clothes are--"

  "Black. Aye, I know. Bad luck that. There is little help for it. See to my instructions, Maude."

  Swallowing, Maude nodded, turned back toward the top of the stairs, hesitated, turned back, then threw her hands up. "Mavis!" she shrieked at last, and flew up the stairs. A moment later another female servant, a younger one, nearly as fair as the first had been plain, came flying down the stairs. Presumably, this was Mavis and she had been sent for the flowers while Maude apparently sought out the necessary clothes.

  "If you will excuse me, gentlemen, I must change," Emma said now, with a calm that was in direct contrast to the uproar sh
e had caused. "Go you to the church. We shall await my husband there."

  The bishop watched her move sedately up the stairs with something akin to amazement, then turned to Rolfe. "Quite a . . . lady," he pronounced at last.

  "Aye," Rolfe sighed, and moved to the table where a tray holding a pitcher of wine and three glasses sat. "A drink, Bishop?"

  The holy man started to purse his lips in disapproval, then changed his mind. "Aye," he said heavily, moving to join him. "It may be just the thing."

  Chapter 2

  MY God!" Amaury glared resentfully at the armed men surrounding his own as Castle Eberhart came into view. "See you the gall of the woman?"

  Blake hid a smile and shrugged. " 'Twould seem your bride would have you safely delivered."

  "Safely delivered?" Grimacing, he shook his head. "She sends her men out to fetch me as if I am a stray cow."

  "Surely she would not send so many for a cow?" Amaury glared at his laughing friend.

  Blake shrugged. "Well, I have said it afore and--"

  "If you say once more that I should refuse to marry her, I will strike you down right here."

  "You may try," Blake allowed with a small smile.

  Grunting, Amaury decided to ignore him. It was obvious that Blake had no concept of the situation. How could he? He was not a bastard son with no hope of coming into holdings by natural progression. He had a legitimate father who would pass the reins of his estate on at his death. He did not truly know how hard Amaury had worked all these years to gain a place in the world. Marrying Lady Eberhart would give him everything he had ever dreamed and striven for. A home to call his own. The very idea was like balm to his hungry soul.

  It was just a shame his soon-to-be-wife was a hag, he thought with a sigh. But then, perhaps he would get lucky and she would be too busy running after their children to pay him any mind.

  That being the case, he would see to it that she was pregnant as quickly as possible. If he could bear the chore, he thought grimly. Then his gaze slid over the outer wall of the castle and he sighed.

  It was the most beautiful castle it had ever been his pleasure to look upon. It was his. His! The thought made him straighten in the saddle. His.