Despite her constant worry and hope that he would awaken, Emma was not immediately aware of her husband's finally rousing when he suddenly opened his eyes as if he had just been napping. Emma saw it, but it took a moment for her brain to register what her blurred gaze had witnessed. When it finally made it through to her muddled mind, she leapt from her seat with a start and dropped to her knees beside the bed, whispering his name.
Wincing at the shaft of pain that went through his head as he turned it, Amaury stared at her through squinted eyes.
"Your head is paining you," she murmured, stating the obvious, then stood and moved quickly to the door. Pulling it open, she called for Maude and Alden, then paused and glanced at the bishop, who was passing just then. "My lord, bishop!"
"Aye, my lady, is there something I can do for you?" He shuffled to a stop before her, craning his neck slightly in an attempt to see into the room beyond.
"Aye, sir. If you would? Fetch Maude for me and have her bring up the tea I had her make this morning for his lordship's head. He is awake."
"He is?" The older man didn't bother hiding his relief over this news.
"Aye."
"I will fetch her straightaway," the bishop promised, turning on his heels, only to turn quickly back. "You had her prepare it this morning?"
"Aye, I feared his head would be aching when he came around."
"But . . . how did you know it would be today?"
"I did not. I have had her prepare a fresh batch every day," Emma informed him, then closed the door on his surprised face and moved back to the bed.
Her husband's eyes were closed again. She was not sure if he was sleeping or not, but decided not to disturb him until Maude arrived with the tea. It was a noxious brew. No doubt he would balk at having to drink it, but it would ease his paining greatly.
Biting her lip, she looked him over carefully as she regained her seat. There appeared to be just a tinge of color now to his pallid skin, but that was the only difference in his appearance.
The door opened following a light tap and Maude hurried in, Alden on her heels. Both of them looked eagerly over the man they had helped tend as Emma took the mug of tepid tea.
"Is it true, my lady?" the squire asked eagerly. "He awoke?"
"Aye."
"Oh, sweet Saint Vitus, thank you," Maude murmured fervently.
Bending to her husband, Emma touched his face gently, then smiled when his eyes opened. "Maude has brought you a drink to aid with your head," she murmured quietly. "If I help you, think you you could sit up to drink it?"
"Aye." Amaury frowned as he heard his own answer. He had meant to speak in his normally robust voice, yet it had come out as barely more than a husky whisper of sound. He then tried to sit up, only to find that he didn't seem to have the strength to do so.
Seeing the difficulty he was having, Emma ignored the scowl on his face and set the mug down on the table beside the bed, then moved to help him even as Alden hurried around to the other side of the bed to add his assistance. Both of them ignored the way he grumbled and muttered vexedly as they aided him into a sitting position, then lifted the mug to his lips.
Amaury took one sip of the brew before spitting it out across the bed in disgust.
"You live."
Emma turned the scowl she had produced at her husband's behavior to the door at the sound of that cheerful voice. Blake and her cousin were entering, the bishop directly behind.
"Not for long," Amaury gasped in a thin voice, not much stronger than it had been the last time he had spoken. "My wife is trying to poison me."
Emma turned her scowl back to her husband. " 'Tis not poison, 'tis--" Her words died in midsentence when a large hand suddenly seized her own much smaller one as she tried to press the mug back to her husband's lips. Head jerking up, she gaped at the man towering over her like death. He was at least a hand taller than her giant of a husband and easily twice as wide. He was also as ugly as sin, with a face that looked as if at birth God had covered it with a hand and pressed down, squishing his features almost flat for all time.
" 'Tis just tea," she whispered, intimidated by his size despite herself. "Made from white willow bark. 'Twill ease the pain."
Eyes so bright a blue they rivaled the beauty of the sky turned on her, and Emma found herself catching a breath. God's truth, it was a bit of a shock to find two such jewels in such a homely visage. Emma was still trying to get over her surprise, when the man suddenly nodded and leaned past her to tip the cup to her husband's lips.
"Plug your nose, 'twill help," Emma murmured when Amaury looked about to refuse the drink. "Ale will help kill the taste afterward," she added, grabbing up the mug of ale that had sat by the bed all morning in case he should awake and be thirsty. Muttering something under his breath, her husband allowed the stranger to feed him the liquid, then grimaced and reached immediately for the mug she held. Knowing he was really too weak to hold the drink, Emma moved it to his lips for him and tipped it up, helping him drink until he gestured that he had had enough.
Setting the mug back on the table, she watched him anxiously, doing her best to ignore the man who still loomed at her side like an avenging angel.
After much muttering and shuddering to show his distaste of the medicine Emma had given him, Amaury sighed and glanced at the man. " 'Tis glad I am to see you, Little George." His voice was raspy from disuse, but stronger at least than it had first been, he noted with satisfaction as his friend smiled at him. "I take it your task was successful?"
Turning to the newcomer, Emma saw him nod one brief nod.
"Good." Amaury turned his attention to Blake and Rolfe, who had moved around the bed to stand where Maude had been but a moment ago. "What happened?"
"You were attacked by bandits," Blake informed him.
Amaury nodded as memory returned. "Six of them," he muttered grimly.
"Aye."
"I was taken unawares. They startled my horse. He unseated me," he admitted testily.
Blake raised his eyebrows at this news, for it was a rare occurrence indeed for Amaury to be taken unawares, let alone unseated.
"I killed four . . . nay, three. The fourth I only wounded, I think."
Blake nodded. "He got away."
"And the other two?"
"Dead."
"The arrow," Amaury murmured, as he recalled his own brief surprise at the sight of the shaft sticking out of the one man's back. That distraction had cost him dearly, he realized now, raising a hand to prod gently at the bandage Emma had used to bind his head.
Remembering the pain that had seemed to explode through his skull as he had gaped at the man, he grimaced. It had only been then that he had remembered the last man and his club. No doubt his assailant had fallen under an arrow as well, probably mere seconds after landing his blow with the club. Were that not the case, Amaury had no doubt he would be dead now.
"Two were struck down by arrow," Rolfe said, verifying his thoughts now.
"Whose arrow?" Amaury asked, frowning.
"Lord Darion," Alden told him excitedly.
He blinked at that. "Who?"
"Lord Darion. Lord Rolfe says he's a spirit of the woods."
Blake grinned slightly at the boy's excited face. "It seems, aside from a serious problem with bandits, you also have a mysterious lord of the forest on your hands. And lucky you are that you do, else you most likely would have died." Blake's smile faded as he added, "You have been unconscious these last three days."
"What?" Amaury was stunned to hear this.
"Aye, my lord," the bishop announced, stepping up behind Emma now to join the conversation. "Three days. We have been sore worried about you."
Amaury finally allowed his gaze to drop to his wife. He had avoided looking at her since first finding her bent over him smiling. That smile had been so bright it had almost hurt his head. He had been hard pressed to see why she would smile at him so. So far in their illustrious marriage he had given her little reason to do so
. Unfortunately, now that he wished to see her expression, her head was bowed, her thoughts hidden from him.
"You should rest, my lord," she murmured now, still peering at the hands she was so busily wringing in her lap.
"I have slept for three days," Amaury responded irritably, peeved that he could not see her expression.
"Aye, but Lady Emma is right," the bishop murmured now, a hand dropping to her shoulder. "You needs must rest to continue healing, and so must you, my lady," the bishop added sternly, giving her shoulder a gentle squeeze as he spoke. "You have not slept these two nights and three days."
"He is right, my lady." Alden peered at her across the bed. "Ye've not left his Lordship's bedside since he was injured. You will make yourself sick do you not rest soon."
Amaury perked up slightly at that news, then frowned over it. "Aye, wife. You will rest. I will not have you sick."
Emma glanced up at that, but her expression was not what he had hoped for. Rather than being pleased by his recovery or his concern, she looked vastly annoyed. "Why is it that everyone is always ordering me to bed?"
Rolfe grinned at her disgruntlement. "Because, sweet cousin, you appear ne'er to have the sense to go there on your own."
"Why is he called Little George?" Emma asked the following morning as she joined her husband's friend at the table in the Great Hall.
Blake glanced up from the bread and cheese he had been breaking fast with to follow Emma's gaze as she took a seat beside him at the table. He smiled slightly when he saw the way the servants were giving the huge man a wide berth and nervous looks where he sat at the table with the other men. "Because he is so large."
Emma frowned at that. "That makes very little sense, my lord."
"Life makes very little sense, my lady."
Emma raised her eyebrows at that.
Blake shrugged. "Explain to me why your first husband did not see to his duty by you." He had meant the question as proof of little sense, for truly, anyone would wonder at a husband who did not find this woman attractive enough to bed. He realized the moment that her face flushed in shame, then paled, that he had made a mistake.
"Perhaps he found me ugly," she whispered unhappily, and Blake fairly goggled at her. Not for the words so much, for many was the time that women had said similar things to him in an effort to elicit compliments. His shock was due to the fact that this lady truly seemed to believe the words.
"My lady, has no one ever told you you are pretty?" he asked now.
Emma sighed again. "My father . . . and my cousin, of course," she murmured quietly. "But then they loved me and would say it because they thought it would please me." She obviously did not believe it was true.
"No one else?"
Emma shook her head, her eyes trained on the trencher before her as she played with a piece of cheese in it.
"Well." Blake straightened in his seat and gave her his most brilliant smile, despite the fact that she wasn't even looking. "Allow me to tell you, Lady Emma. You are quite a lovely creature. Your hair is the color of spun gold. Your lips as sweet as the petals of a newly bloomed rose. Your eyes as large and dewy as a deer's. Truly you are . . ." He paused uncertainly when she suddenly turned to him and patted his arm soothingly.
" 'Tis very kind of you, my lord, but you need not lower yourself to lie."
" 'Tis no lie," he returned quickly.
"Then why did Fulk not bed me?" she asked simply. Before he could answer that, she got to her feet and quit the table.
Emma was halfway across the room when her cousin met her. Smiling, he bent slightly to kiss her forehead in greeting.
"Good morrow, sweet cousin. I trust you slept well?"
"Aye," Emma sighed. "And you?"
"Like a babe."
" 'Tis good," Emma murmured, moving past him and toward the door to the kitchens.
"Where go you?"
"To get Lord Amaury some tea. His head is most like still paining him. The tea will ease the ache and help him sleep."
"He is already sleeping," Rolfe told her at once, falling into step beside her. "I have just left from seeing him. I stopped to tell him that the Lord Bishop and I intend to leave today."
"Today?!" Emma paused abruptly and turned back at this news, her expression dismayed. "But you have only just arrived."
"I have been here four days," he reminded her gently.
"Aye, but we have not yet had a chance to visit."
"Aye." Rolfe smiled wryly. "I had hoped we might have a chance to do so on the way back to court. However, with your husband being injured, it does not appear you will be able to travel back with us."
Emma blinked at that. "Why would Amaury and I have traveled to court with you?"
"He must pledge his fealty to the king as the new Duke of Eberhart."
"Oh, aye." She peered at the floor unhappily, then perked up. "Could you not delay your return until my husband is well enough to travel? We could--"
"Nay." Rolfe shook his head gently. "The king is no doubt already fretting over the delay. He most likely thinks that Bertrand succeeded in arriving before the wedding and disrupted his plans."
"Send a messenger."
"Nay. None but those involved must ever be trusted with this information, Emma. Bertrand must never find out that the king planned it this way. He would make much trouble." Smiling at her woebegone expression, he gave her a brief hug. "I shall give the king your greetings and your gratitude and tell him to expect you and your husband to follow us in . . ." He raised one eyebrow. "Two weeks?"
Biting her lip, Emma peered down at her hands uncertainly. She had only been to court the once, when she had gone to have her audience with the king. Her father had not cared for court life, calling it promiscuous and corrupt. He had refused to take her there as a child. On her first visit as an adult, Emma had found him to be right. She had arrived the day before her audience and planned to stay for two or three days after, but had changed her mind the first night. Truly, she had never thought to see so many peacocks in one room, and such spiteful birds they had been too. They had taken great delight in trying to humiliate Emma her first night at dinner, tittering loudly behind their hands about how dowdy and unsophisticated she was.
It was the truth. Next to them she had probably appeared a dull little wren in her plain unfashionable clothes. But then she spent most of her time in the country, and who had she to impress? Still, it had not been their comments and insults that had upset her and changed her mind on staying over. It had been Rolfe's furious reaction. He had been offended on her behalf by just one of the comments of a less cautious lady. Had Emma not stopped him, she suspected he would have replied scathingly to the unfortunate creature, but she had stopped him and soothed his temper with a slightly amused smile.
Emma probably had more wealth than all of them put together. That was what made the ordeal almost amusing. She could surely afford raiments ten times more fine than their own, or at least equal to them. Emma had not brought land or livestock to her husband as dower; those had remained behind for Rolfe. Emma had brought riches, all those she had inherited from her mother, plus more added by her father. She now suspected that that was the only reason Fulk had married her. Eberhart Castle had been in sore need of an influx of monies when she had arrived. It had not been far from crumbling down around the ears of its lord and his people. Some of that money had been put to good use on her arrival, rebuilding and refurbishing the estate until it once again resembled its former glory, but the amount of funds it had taken to do so had been a mere fraction of her dower. Which was no doubt why Lord Bertrand had been so eager to claim her along with the estate. Such riches were not easily turned away.
Sighing, Emma peered at her cousin, recalling the anger he had displayed at the slight at court. She had decided then that it was not worth it for her to remain after the audience. She'd had no wish to shame her cousin, or see him upset by such petty behavior. Now she had to consider her husband as well. She had no wish to shame h
im . . . Or to see him belittled and shamed as well, she thought suddenly as she recalled Alden informing her that his lord had only the two tunics: the one he had worn to his wedding and the one he had been wearing the day he was attacked, a worn old tunic that was even more worn now with its new rip at the arm.
Amaury was a duke now, and the Duke of Eberhart should not be so poorly garbed, she decided grimly. Aside from that, there was the worry that he would surely die of a chill if he slept unclothed every night.
"Make it a month," Emma told her cousin now. "And pray, do me a small favor when you reach London?"
Rolfe raised his eyebrows questioningly.
"Find the finest tailor in the city and send him out here. Tell him I will make it worth his while and tell him to bring his finest fabrics."
" 'Twas Fulk's doing, Amaury. The poor girl has absolutely no confidence thanks to his neglect. She thinks herself ugly. Did you know? I talked to Rolfe, her cousin, about it. I like him by the by, he seems a fine fellow. At any rate, he claims her life was much sheltered. There were few visitors to Kenwick. His uncle, her father, had little heart for company after the death of his wife, it seems. He lived his whole life from then on for Lady Emma and her cousin."
Amaury frowned as he watched Blake pace back and forth beside the bed. It was very rare that he saw Blake this worked up. Amaury had half a mind to tell him to shut up and sit down. He didn't like to see the man he had heard many a woman call as beautiful as an angel this worked up over his wife, even out of indignation for her hurt feelings.
Shifting against his pillows with disgruntlement, he tugged a wrinkle out of the bedclothes with a peevish flick. His wife had insisted he stay abed today to rest. He had blustered and fretted over it at the time, but given in in the end because he was frightfully tired. He had spent another restless night last night, tossing and turning as he avoided touching the woman in the bed beside him. She had intended on taking a guest room for the night when she had finally given in to his and everyone else's wish that she sleep, but he had forbidden that, ordering her to sleep in the bed with him. She had complied with the order most dutifully, waiting until everyone had emptied the room before quickly changing into that god-awful black nightgown again behind the screen and slipping into bed.