Emllyn giggled. “You do not want a man with bastards,” she said. “Who else?”
Elyse was carefully shading something. “There are a couple of lesser knights,” she said. “My father has an entire stable of knights, but only a few I would even look at more than once. I suppose the reality is that Christopher is the only true marital candidate for me.”
Emllyn looked up at her. “And this displeases you?”
Elyse shrugged. “It would be nice to have more of a selection,” she said. As they giggled, her focus on Emllyn grew more intense. “And what of you? Do you have any prospects for marriage?”
Emllyn was careful in her answer. “Nay,” she said softly. “I have told you of the man I thought to marry, but he was killed.”
Elyse had heard the story of Sir Trevor, Emllyn’s one and true love, and how the man had been killed in the battle at Black Castle those weeks ago. She had tried to get more of the story out of her but Emllyn didn’t seem to want to talk about it. Although Elyse was trying to be tactful when discussing Emllyn’s recently lost love, it frustrated her to no end that the woman wouldn’t elaborate. She was very curious.
“I am sorry for you, of course,” Elyse said quietly. “But shouldn’t you think of your future, or do you plan to pine away for a dead man? You are young and beautiful, but you will not be that way forever. You must marry while you are still attractive.”
It was a harsh way of putting it but she wasn’t far wrong. Still, Emllyn shook her head. “Mayhap,” she said. “But I am not thinking of marriage now.”
“But you will someday?”
“Of course I will.”
Elyse sighed dreamily, thinking on Emllyn’s future lover. “Will you at least invite me to your wedding when you do marry? I should like to see the husband you finally choose.”
Emllyn had a mental picture of Elyse at her wedding to Devlin and it almost made her laugh. “If you will come, of course I will invite you.”
Elyse was thrilled. She went back to her drawing. “My father would chastise me if he heard me say this,” she said, “but I have seen many handsome Irishmen since I have been in Ireland. I swear that the country is overrun with handsome men. It is unfortunate that I cannot marry an Irishman, for I would dearly love to have a handsome and exotic husband.”
Emllyn grinned at her. “Connaught is not handsome or exotic enough?”
Elyse waved her off. “He is very handsome,” she said. “But he is so… English. To hear a man say my name in an Irish accent… ’tis heavenly!”
Emllyn giggled at the woman’s silly romantic notions. They were sweet. As she focused on her work again and took another stitch, she heard Elyse’s soft voice upon the air.
“John is a very handsome man,” she ventured. “He told my father that his wife and daughter died. Do… do you know much about him?”
Emllyn’s good humor fled and jealousy filled her veins. She could tell just by the woman’s tone that she was interested in Devlin and it was an effort not to fly over the table and wrap her hands around Elyse’s neck. But she remained calm and cool, reminding herself that Elyse had no true knowledge of who Devlin was or of his relationship to Emllyn. Moreover, she couldn’t fault the woman for her excellent taste; he most definitely was a big, handsome man.
“He is a farmer,” she said, avoiding the question. “Your father would never allow you to marry an Irish farmer.”
Elyse sighed. “I know,” she said. “But he is still devilishly handsome. What do you know of him?”
It was the same question; Emllyn realized that the woman wasn’t going to let it go. She had insatiable curiosity, more than likely because she really hadn’t had any female companionship to talk to before Emllyn had come along. It was as if she was making up for all of those lonely days with no one to pass the time with.
“Not too terribly much,” Emllyn replied, focused on her needlework. “He was very kind to me and helped me a great deal.”
“He cares for you.”
Emllyn shrugged. “It is only normal concern, I am sure.”
Elyse had stopped drawing; she was gazing intently at Emllyn. “To dream of a man like that with his arms around me, in my bed,” she murmured. “It makes me warm all over.”
Emllyn’s head shot up, looking at Elyse with a mixture of curiosity and shock. “God’s Blood, Elyse,” she said; she had long since stopped addressing her formally as “lady” since they had become fast friends. “What a deviant mind you have.”
Elyse cocked an eyebrow at her before breaking down into giggles. “I have a healthy curiosity for men in general,” she admitted. “Christopher may be handsome but he is a boring lover. I’ve had better.”
Emllyn nearly choked. “Better lovers?” she repeated. “Surely you do not mean…?”
Elyse nodded swiftly, cutting her off as she returned to her drawing. “The young, strong ones are usually more exciting in bed, but often with them it is over too soon,” she said. “Older men can control themselves better but they are usually so unimaginative.”
Emllyn’s eyes widened. “Elyse!” she gasped. “You… you are shameless!”
Elyse giggled. “Do not play coy with me,” she said, a knowing twinkle in her eye. “Merradoc told me what you and John did. He said the entire chamber smelled like rough and sweaty mating. Tell me – was his manhood big and full? Did he use it wisely?”
Emllyn almost fell out of her chair. She could hardly believe the twist the conversation had taken, shocked to the point of giggling uncontrollably. Elyse giggled right along with her. Emllyn covered her mouth, giggling so hard that she could barely breathe.
“But… but your father,” she gasped. “He is a very proper and moralistic man. How do you… what if he…?”
“I am very careful,” Elyse said. “But the truth is that my father does not come near my chamber. His chamber is on the second floor and he leaves me well enough alone.”
Emllyn was still struggling with the thought of a reckless and sexually active Elyse; she’d never heard anything more astonishing because the woman, for all appearances, seemed like a properly prudish lady. After having sat with the woman for hours each day for the past two weeks discussing all manner of subjects, this was the first Elyse had mentioned her carnal pleasures. The realization was therefore a shock.
“God’s Blood,” Emllyn finally hissed. “You are full of surprises, my lady.”
Elyse nodded as she continued to titter in a maidenly manner. “Let us speak of John again,” she said. “Was he wonderful? He is such a big and strong man, I imagine it would rather be like mating with a bull.”
Emllyn’s giggles diminished as she considered Elyse’s question. She certainly didn’t want to discuss it but she had a feeling Elyse wouldn’t understand that. The seemingly pure and pristine English lady evidently had a nasty streak. So she tried to form an answer that would satisfy her.
“Merradoc has a wild imagination,” she said. “John is a complete and utter gentleman and we enjoy a fine friendship.”
Elyse looked confused. “Then… then he did not bed you?”
“I have already told you my heart lies with another,” she said. “To take another man to my bed would be wrong at best. How much plainer can I be?”
Even though Emllyn’s fine English knight was dead at Black Sword’s hand, in Elyse’s mind, there was no reason why the woman couldn’t immediately focus her attention on another man, especially one as big and handsome as John. Elyse cocked her head curiously.
“Then mayhap I can find out what John is like, then,” she said. “My father said he should be returning soon. Mayhap I can coerce him into my bed. I will let you know what you have missed.”
Emllyn clamped her lips together, wanting very much to tell the woman that Devlin was her property and to leave him alone, but she had a feeling that Elyse already suspected that and was simply trying to get a reaction from her. So she shrugged her shoulders.
“I wish you luck,” she said, returni
ng to her sewing. “It may be quite a task. Mayhap he doesn’t even like women.”
Elyse grinned slyly. “I will find out.”
Emllyn didn’t like that reply at all. She stabbed at her sewing with increasing frustration, irritated at Elyse and her wanton ways. But any word out of her mouth would find its way into the rumor mill; she knew that now. Between Elyse and Merradoc, all of Glenteige seemed to be full of gossips. She’d certainly come to discover that, too, in the past two weeks. As she sat and fumed in silence, Elyse began to speak of a stable boy she once shared her bed with. It was rather ribald talk that was fortunately interrupted by a knock on the solar door.
Elyse rose to answer the door, permitting a few serving women entrance. Their arms were laden with trays and pitchers.
“It must be time for the nooning meal,” Elyse commented as the servants moved to put the items on a pretty carved table. “I had completely lost track of time.”
Emllyn was grateful for the distraction. “It is easy to lose track of time when you are focused on your task,” she said, gesturing towards Elyse’s drawing table. “What marvelous thing are you working on? May I see it?”
Elyse grinned and went over to her drawing table as the servants spread out a beautiful meal on the other table. Picking up the rather large piece of yellowed parchment, she blew any remaining grains of loose charcoal off of it as she brought it over and presented it to Emllyn.
“There,” she said. “What do you think?”
Emllyn found herself looking at a perfect likeness of herself, skillfully sketched in charcoal. Elyse had drawn her looking over her right shoulder with her hair flowing and curled, and flowers woven into it. It was astonishing and life-like, and so very beautiful. Emllyn’s jaw dropped.
“Oh… my,” she breathed. “Elyse, you drew an image of me. I have never seen anything so remarkable. It’s magnificent!”
Elyse beamed. “I am not done with it but it is a good start, don’t you think?” she inspected her drawing carefully. “You are an excellent subject because your features are so fine. Do you like it?”
“I love it,” Emllyn exclaimed. “I have never seen myself like that before, ever. May… may I have it when you are finished?”
Elyse nodded. “Of course,” she said as she headed back over to her drawing table and deposited the parchment. “I made it for you.”
“You are incredibly generous,” Emllyn said sincerely. “I am very touched.”
Elyse continued to grin, pleased by her friend’s reaction, when another maid servant entered the room and headed directly for her. The girl in rough linen clothing and a torn apron curtsied quickly as she extended what looked like a piece of parchment to Elyse.
“M’lady,” the servant said. “I have a message for the Lady Emllyn.”
Elyse eyed the girl. “Who is it from?”
“I have been sworn not to tell, m’lady.”
Elyse took the parchment from her and dismissed her. She promptly went to Emllyn, extending the parchment to her.
“Another note,” she said knowingly. “That makes three notes in the past five days. Who are they from, Emllyn?”
Emllyn could sense curiosity and jealousy from Elyse. It wasn’t surprisingly considering Elyse had been the only fine lady in the castle until thirteen days ago. Now, others were noticing Emllyn. Although Elyse pretended to be excited and thrilled for her, there was something in her tone that suggested otherwise.
Reluctantly, Emllyn took the note and popped open the wax seal. There was no signet ring in the wax, nothing to indicate who had sent it, but the note itself was short and brief. It was the third note asking for Emllyn to meet her secret admirer in the ward of Glenteige near the well at sunset. There was no signature other than: “Your Devoted Servant”. With disinterest, she passed the note to Elyse.
“See for yourself,” she said. “Whoever it is never signs it.”
Elyse read the note with great relish. “How romantic!” she exclaimed softly. “You should meet him, Emllyn, by all means. Mayhap you shall fall madly in love with him!”
Emllyn shook her head. “God’s Blood, Elyse, I am surely not interested,” she said with some exasperation. “I told you once that my only true love was a knight who was killed when Black Sword destroyed my brother’s war armada. I have no interest in another, not a man who writes me notes or a farmer named John. Why can you not accept that?”
Emllyn had told the story about Trevor to throw Elyse off when the woman began prying into her personal life at the beginning of their acquaintance. Certainly, the conversation had never reached the bawdy levels that it had reached this day because the day’s conversation had indeed been enlightening. Elyse had let her prim façade down to reveal the tigress beneath. And the gossip. Emllyn was very glad she’d never confided in her about anything critical or personal, and she knew now that she never would.
Elyse, however, did not share her friend’s sense of reserve. She pressed the note against her breast in an amorous gesture.
“You must meet the man and put him out of his misery,” she said, still holding the note as she went to the table where a fair amount of food was laid out. “It has taken much courage for him to write to you, Emllyn. It would be polite to meet him for his troubles.”
Emllyn eyed her, cocking an eyebrow. “And thank him by bedding him?”
“If he is handsome enough.”
Elyse burst out laughing and Emllyn grinned, shaking her head reproachfully. Elyse began eating the fruits that were upon the table and Emllyn was just finishing up her final stitch when a serving woman approached her from behind, a pewter plate of apricots and apples in her hand. She extended the plate to Emllyn, nearly blocking her vision of her loom.
“Food, m’lady?” the woman rasped.
Annoyed, Emllyn’s head came up with the intention of chasing the woman away when her gaze fell on a set of familiar features. It took Emllyn a moment to realize that she was looking at Eefha. Startled, she dropped her needle but recovered quickly, stabbing herself in the process. All the while, her gaze barely left the gnarled old woman. She could hardly believe her eyes.
When her mouth popped open, a sure sign of realization, Eefha shook her head faintly as if to admonish her to be silent. Emllyn remained silent but she had never been so astonished, by anything, in her entire life.
“Emllyn?” Elyse called to her, mouth full. “Will you come and eat with me?”
Emllyn stood up on shaking legs. “Of course,” she said, trying not to stare at Eefha as she moved past the woman. She desperately wanted to say something to her but wisely kept silent. She forced herself to focus on Elyse. “What delicious dishes do we have today?”
Elyse had her mouth full. “My favorites,” she said. “Brined beef with cabbage and carrots, and duck with honey sauce.”
Emllyn pretended to be very interested in the dishes but the truth was that her mind was still on the shock of seeing Eefha. She didn’t want to lose sight of the woman, not for a moment, so she popped a piece of cheese into her mouth and turned around to see if the old woman was still in the room. She, lingering by the chamber door. Emllyn called out to her.
“You, there,” she said, pointing. “Can you please go to my chamber and bring me my wrap?” she asked. “My chamber is on the top floor at the end of the corridor behind the pillar. There is a red shawl on my bed.”
Eefha didn’t say a word; she simply disappeared from the door. Given the woman’s speech habits and patterns, Emllyn wasn’t even sure if Eefha understood her but she couldn’t have very well sung the request or delivered it via an anecdote about ancient Irish myths. Her entire purpose of sending Eefha to her chamber was so the old woman would know where she slept and, hopefully, would return to her at some point. But, then again, as Devlin once said, Eefha did what she wanted to do, when she wanted to do it. Who knew why the old woman was here or what she was doing? Emllyn pondered the mystery as she returned to the lovely meal.
“Emllyn,” Elyse
said thoughtfully after Eefha had fled the chamber, “do you not think that you should at least meet the man who has been writing you such notes if only to tell him that you are not interested?”
Emllyn sighed with frustration as Elyse went back to the subject of her secret admirer. She was getting rather tired with the woman’s pestering and it was a struggle not to become short with her.
“I do not plan to meet him,” she said as she put food on her plate.
Elyse wasn’t happy with the answer. “But why?” she pressed. “Surely you should tell the man that he is wasting his time.”
Emllyn stopped what she was doing and faced the woman. “Elyse, if you are so concerned, then you meet him by the well tonight,” she said with strained patience. “Tell him that I am not interested in his notes. Mayhap he will start writing them to you instead.”
Rather than refuse, Elyse saw it as an opportunity. Her face lit up. “May I meet him?” she asked happily.
Emllyn waved her off and returned to her food. “You have my permission,” she said, disinterested. “Tell him I have no time to spare his nonsense.”
Perhaps she didn’t, but Elyse certainly did. She was very much looking forward to meeting Emllyn’s lover by the well, if only to see who it was and, if he was acceptable enough, to make another conquest. Emllyn might not have been interested in men but Elyse certainly was. As they sat down to the feast before them, the solar door opened again and Merradoc appeared.
He had been a fixture in Emllyn’s life, sitting with her when Elyse wasn’t, telling his frank and brutal and terribly funny stories to keep her entertained. Even after her leg healed completely, he still kept coming back because he enjoyed her company so much. When he marched into the solar and saw what the women were doing, he threw up his hands.
“Excellent!” he exclaimed. “Let us do what the Romans did; let us become ragingly drunk and then tell our fortunes from our own vomit.”
Emllyn burst out laughing. “God’s Blood,” she said. “You certainly know how to have a good time.”
Merradoc nodded vigorously as he poured himself a large cup of wine and went to sit next to Emllyn.
Brides of Ireland Page 57
