The Deed

Leaping to the ground, he hurried across the clearing to her side. "Are you all right?"

  "Aye, but Amaury is not."

  "What happened?"

  "He was attacked by bandits," Emma answered. Turning quickly back to her husband, she frowned over the blood still pouring from his head.

  "Were you with him?" Rolfe's concern obviously was more for her than her husband. Could he not see how hurt the man was?

  "Nay, I came at the end of the battle. Help me get him up. We must get him back to the castle. He is bleeding badly."

  Nodding, Rolfe lifted the other man quickly into his arms with a grunt, then turned with him toward Emma's mare.

  "Nay, Rolfe, not like that," she protested at once as he slung the unconscious man over the saddle so that his head hung down one side and his legs the other. "Sit him up. He will be sore uncomfortable that way."

  "He is not even conscious," her cousin pointed out dryly, mounting his own horse and leaning down to catch her about the waist.

  "But--"

  "Hush." Rolfe settled her before him, then caught up his reigns in one hand and reached for the reigns of her mare with the other. "We'll get him back quickly and make him more comfortable," he muttered as he turned his mount to start back the way he had come. He paused, however, as he caught sight of the bows still quivering in the backs of two of the attackers. "Your work?" he asked quietly.

  Emma glanced down, then quickly away with a shudder. "Take us home, Rolfe," was all she said.

  Seeing the pale tinge to her skin, he nodded and urged his horse forward, leaving her the time she needed to regain her composure as he negotiated the path through the trees. He knew she was rallying when she sighed and glanced over her shoulder to ask, "Did no one else come with you?"

  "The stable master told me you had followed your husband alone, despite his order that you not leave the castle unguarded. I had him saddle up my horse. I thought to catch up to you before you caught up with him."

  Emma smiled slightly. "To spare me from his temper?"

  "A temper you rightly deserve. You should not have ridden out alone."

  "Neither should he," Emma countered with annoyance. It was very rare that her cousin chastised her so, and she didn't like it when he did-- usually because he was right.

  "Nay," Rolfe agreed, and Emma relaxed somewhat. One thing about Rolfe, he was always fair. "It appears the bandits are becoming brave," Rolfe added. "Fulk should have seen to that."

  "There was much my husband should have seen to," she muttered dryly.

  "Hmm." Rolfe grunted.

  "Did you see my lord's horse?" Emma asked now to change the subject.

  "Aye. No doubt help will arrive shortly." As soon as the words left his mouth, help broke from the trees ahead of them. There were at least twenty men, some of them from the castle, some men that had arrived with her husband, and all of them led by a grim-faced Blake.

  "Lady Emma." Blake looked her over quickly as he reined in beside them. Once assured that she was fine, he turned his attention to Amaury's inert form, frowning over the blood still dripping from his head.

  "He has an injury to his arm as well," Emma announced. "We must get him back to the castle quickly and tend his wounds."

  " 'Twas bandits." Rolfe gave the information Emma had neglected. "You will find five of them in a clearing back there a bit."

  "Be that all of them?"

  "One was injured but got away," Emma told them.

  Nodding, Blake assigned two men to accompany them back to the castle, then took the others and rode off in the direction Rolfe had indicated. No doubt they would collect the injured-- if there were any still alive-- and search out the one who had escaped.

  Amaury did not stir as he was brought down off the horse and carted above stairs to the bedchamber by two of the larger men. Emma followed quickly on their heels, shouting orders to Maude to bring boiled water and clean cloths.

  Moments later, her husband was lying sprawled on the bed and Emma was bathing his wounds. She tended to his head first. The arm wound was insignificant really, not much more than a scratch. The head wound was a worry, however. Such wounds always were. Injuries to the head could be the trickiest of wounds. A small one with hardly a bump could be enough to kill a man, while a great gaping one, like her husband's, could heal quickly with but a few headaches to show for its trouble. On the other hand, it could go the other way as well.

  Sighing, Emma set the bloodied cloth back in the bowl Amaury's squire had been holding for her, then accepted the needle Maude had threaded. She had just set to work on closing Amaury's head wound when Blake entered to join the half dozen people standing about the bed.

  "Did you catch the one that got away?" Rolfe asked quietly, a wince in his voice as he watched his cousin push the first stitch through her husband's skin.

  "Nay. I left the men still looking and came back with the dead. There were five of them as you said." The gruff tone to his voice when he spoke told Emma that he had been distracted by watching what she was doing as well. It was odd how squeamish men could be about closing a wound. They weren't nearly so shy about causing one.

  Rolfe grunted ac knowledgment. Then there was silence for a moment before Blake went on. "Two of the men had arrows in their backs."

  Emma stopped midway through a stitch, her gaze shooting a warning to her cousin. His eyebrows rose at the silent message, and he appeared uncertain for a moment. Then he sighed and muttered, "Aye, I saw that."

  "The battle was over when you and Lady Emma arrived?" Blake's words startled Emma. It had not occurred to her that her husband's men would assume that her cousin and she had left the castle together, but then she supposed he just assumed that she had asked her cousin to accompany her for protection until she met up with Amaury. Giving one last silencing look to her cousin, she turned her attention back to her husband's wounds.

  "Aye," Rolfe said finally. " 'Twas well over by the time I arrived."

  She could almost hear Blake frown as he digested that. "Then who is it that shot the two men?"

  Emma held her breath. She did not want it known that the bandits' blood lay on her hands, and neither did she wish her skill with the bow to become common knowledge. Rolfe was the only one aside from the Welshman who had taught her who knew of her skill. Her father had known, of course, but he was dead. As was her first husband.

  Emma sighed as she recalled telling him of it. It had been the day after the wedding. She had thought to impress him with the knowledge of her skill. She had been desperate to impress him somehow. He had seemed hardly to notice her presence either at the wedding feast, during the breaking of fast on the following morn, or throughout the day.

  Unfortunately, rather than being impressed, Fulk had appeared quite horrified by this knowledge of her unladylike skill. She still wondered if that were not part of the reason he had turned away from her. He had left for his house in London shortly afterward without a word to her. Perhaps he had not found her womanly enough. What ever the case, that possibility was enough to make her shudder at the very idea of her second husband finding out about it. She did not wish to see him turn from her as well.

  "Perhaps it was Lord Darion," Rolfe said at last, and Emma sagged with relief.

  "Lord Darion?" Blake stared at him in confusion. "I have not heard of him. Does he have a keep around here?"

  Emma glanced over her shoulder to see her cousin shake his head. There was a sparkle of mischief in his eyes as he met hers. "Nay. Darion is a spirit of the woods. And a defender of the weak. He has been known to protect unwary travelers who are set upon . . . always with a bow and arrow."

  "Have you seen this Darion?"

  "Oh, aye. Lord Darion saved my life a time or two. The first time I was a mere boy."

  Emma grimaced as she recalled the occasion her cousin was speaking of. It had been a year after Rolfe's arrival at the castle and perhaps a month or two into their training with the bow. They had been running through the woods like ragamuffins, p
laying at being grown-ups. As usual, she had insisted on being the dashing Lord Darion, leaving her cousin little choice but to be a dastardly evil villain. They had been pretending that she had come upon the villain in the process of being very mean to a small helpless child. Then, of course, the chase had begun with the two of them running wild through the woods. Her cousin had been in the lead, with her following a goodly pace back, hampered by her skirts, which she so rarely wore, her bow slung over her shoulder. Emma had carried that bow with her everywhere as a child, she had been so pleased at being allowed to learn to use it.

  A sudden cry from ahead had warned of trouble. Slowing at once, Emma had crept quietly forward, following the sounds of a small scuffle. A small and very short scuffle. She had ended perched behind a tree, staring wide-eyed at a pair of large, rather mean-looking real villains who had accosted her cousin. One of them had been holding him none too gently by the arm as they had debated what to do with him. Ransom had been an option, but they had decided by his dress that he must not be very rich. Emma and Rolfe had always been admonished to wear their most common clothes when playing in the woods lest they ruin perfectly good ones.

  Deciding that he was just a village brat, they had determined between them that it would be best simply to kill him so that he could not tell of having seen them. Then they had begun discussing how they should accomplish the task. That was when Emma had realized that she had to save her cousin. She had been the only one capable of it at the moment. With very little thought, she had notched her bow with an arrow, aimed carefully at the nearest of the two villains, and let her arrow fly. The second arrow had been quivering against her bow before the first had hit its mark and had then quickly been released as well. A mere second later Rolfe had found himself standing between two dead men. He had known at once who his savior was and had called her name, but Emma had been too busy throwing up in the bushes to answer.

  "And you never saw your savior?"

  Emma heard Blake's question, and realized that even as she had been remembering the incident, her cousin had told of it, obviously leaving out mention of her. As she listened, he continued to do so. "Oh, aye, I have seen Lord Darion. On that day and many others."

  "What did he say to ye?" one of the men who had helped to carry Lord Amaury to his room asked now, all of the men had listened with deep interest to the story.

  "Ah, well, he was a bit too busy at the time to say much, as I recall."

  Emma rolled her eyes at the laughter in his voice. He had teased her endlessly ever since over her losing her stomach that day.

  "Too busy?" Blake frowned slightly.

  "Aye, and then he was gone and Emma was there."

  "Ah," another man said. "He didn't have time to even hear yer thanks. He fled afore anyone else should see him." His gaze turned to Emma, who was now busily stitching up her husband again. "Have ye ever seen him, my lady?"

  "Oh, aye. Lord Darion saved her life once too," Rolfe answered for her.

  "Really?" Blake glanced at Emma curiously.

  "Would you tell us the story, my lady?" Alden asked shyly.

  Emma glanced at the boy. He had been silent and resolved throughout this endeavor, ready and willing to do what ever was necessary to help. There was not a sign of squeamishness on his face now as she pushed needle through flesh, just curiosity and interest. She wondered briefly if she might have a budding healer on her hands as she shook her head. "Mayhap another time. However, I think my cousin can tell the story better. Perhaps down in the Great Hall," she added pointedly.

  "Oh, aye. 'Tis best to let her tend his lordship. No doubt we are just in the way here." Rolfe moved toward the doorway and waited for the others to follow.

  Alden hesitated, then stayed where he was as the rest of the males in the room immediately filed out.

  Pausing at the door, Blake peered back. "Will he be all right?"

  Emma stopped after pushing another stitch through the unconscious man's skin, then sat back to peer at Blake's pale face unhappily. "I do not know. He took a hard knock."

  Blake was silent as he accepted that, then sighed wearily and turned away. "Call me if he wakes, if you would, my lady."

  "Aye," Emma murmured as he closed the door. Then she turned to finish stitching up the wound on her husband's head. "Alden? Mayhap you could fetch Lord Amaury's bedclothes. We will change him into them after I finish here."

  "His lordship has no bedclothes, my lady."

  Emma paused, her head raising at that. "No bedclothes?"

  "Nay. He only has the two tunics as well. He says that a warrior has no need for more than the two. One to wear while the other is laundered." His young brow furrowed. "Is that true, my lady?"

  "Well . . ." Emma had no idea how to answer the boy. She had never known anyone in her class to have only two tunics before, but then she had never known a warrior before. "I am not sure, Alden, but if my husband says 'tis so, then it must be."

  "Aye." Alden bit his lip unhappily. "But my father is a warrior and he has many tunics. Fine ones. Some with jewels bedecking them and his crest."

  Emma's eyebrows rose at that. "And who is your father, Alden?"

  "Lord Edmund Northwood, he is the Earl of--"

  "Aye. I know," Emma interrupted. Pursing her lips, she shook her head. "If your father is an earl, why do you train with Amaury?"

  "He is the best." He said it with such pride, one would think he were responsible for Amaury's reputation and abilities. "My father said so. Lord Amaury turns out the best-trained knights. Father said, should I be trained by him, I would live to a ripe old age and garner many titles and fine tales along the way. Father said he would trust me to no one else."

  "I see." Emma glanced at her husband with new respect. Not only was he a savior of kings, he was considered first among trainers of knights. Even by earls.

  "Truly my father is a good warrior as well," Alden told her now.

  "I am sure he is," Emma agreed soothingly.

  "Yet he has many tunics as well," Alden pointed out fretfully, and Emma smiled gently at his obvious distress.

  "Your father is an earl as well as a warrior. He must dress accordingly."

  Alden nodded with relief. "Aye. 'Tis so." Then he perked up. "Now that Lord Amaury is a duke, he shall have to gain more vestments too."

  "Aye, I suppose he will," Emma agreed with a frown.

  "Dress is very important."

  Her eyebrows rose at his serious tone. "Is that so?"

  "Aye. I heard the king say so."

  "Ah." Emma sighed over that. 'Twas true. Even Rolfe told her their king was most concerned with fashion. No doubt she had been a great disappointment to the king with her plain clothes. Probably to her previous husband as well. Easing back in her seat, she peered at her present husband closely for the first time since they had been wed the day before.

  She had managed a peek or two, first at the church, then at the reception, and once or twice after, but this was her first real chance to look her fill and allow her eyes to run over his strong features slowly.

  He was a handsome man, she supposed. Not handsome as Fulk had been. Fulk had been almost pretty in his attractiveness, like a deer perched on slender legs. This man was a more rugged sort. Stronger and dark, he made her think of wolves and bears.

  Leaning forward, she brushed a strand of hair off his face. Even in sleep he held on to his strength, a fearsome scowl on his face. Her father had had a strong face too, as did Rolfe, but on the few occasions when she had caught them in slumber, it was to find their features softened and almost boyish. There was nothing boyish about her husband. That told her more than Blake's words could have that his childhood had been full of hurt and sorrow. Even in repose he was afraid to let down his guard.

  She would change that, Emma determined without even really knowing why she wished to. She would give him a good home that he could be proud of, and a wife he could be proud of as well. If he lived long enough to allow it, she thought suddenly with a frow
n.

  Chapter 5

  IS he awake?"

  Emma took in her cousin's hopeful expression as she joined the table at dinnertime, then sighed as she shook her head. She had been sitting with Amaury throughout the day, watching him until her eyes blurred with the effort, but he had not even turned in his sleep. His silent stillness was beginning to worry her greatly. "Nay, he hasn't stirred a bit," she admitted reluctantly. "Alden is watching him. He will call if there is any change."

  Rolfe frowned, his gaze meeting that of the bishop, who sat on his other side.

  Catching the exchange, Emma raised her eyebrows. "What?"

  Both men turned to her then, their expressions pitying.

  "What are you thinking?" Emma asked warily. "You look at me as though I were doomed."

  "I believe your cousin and the bishop are fretting over what will become of you should your new husband die," Blake told her quietly, and Emma turned to the man on her left sharply.

  "My husband will not die," she said more harshly than she had intended. " 'Sides, nothing would happen to me."

  "Do you not think that should your second husband die so soon after the wedding, Bertrand would not be knocking once more at the door?"

  Emma stiffened at the suggestion. "Nay. I . . ."

  "You would be a widow again, just as you were yesterday. Still in control of the land Bertrand wants."

  Emma paled sickly at his words, her gaze flying worriedly to the servants moving about the room. The thought of how these people she had grown so fond of would suffer under the hand of Lady Ascot made her stomach turn. Perchance she herself might even be at risk under her rule. Then too, there was the matter of the king and the danger Lord Bertrand represented to him should he gain more power. And she did not even have the hope of an heir to hold that possibility off with. Her woman's time had made its arrival that very afternoon.

  He could not die. It was that simple. He could not die . . . Because she would not marry Lord Bertrand.

  Reaching out, Rolfe covered her hand with one of his own to comfort her, but Emma shook it away and stood quickly. "I must see to my husband," she murmured, slipping away from the table.

  Amaury remained asleep for more than three days, three days during which Emma stayed steadfast by his bedside waiting and watching. No amount of worry or arguing from Rolfe, Blake, or her servants would move her from that spot. Even the bishop had a go at her, but gave up when he saw it was hopeless.