He waved her off, feeling even more embarrassed now because she hadn’t thrown herself at his feet to beg his forgiveness. “I know what you meant,” he said. Then, he pointed to the boy beside him. “This is Tristan. He has just come from Canterbury, where he was a page. He has asked to help and I thought you could use him. Can you?”
Emera looked at the lad, standing next to Juston. He looked so very frightened. “Certainly,” she said hesitantly. “I suppose he can help with the compresses. We are still applying them, my lord. For the most part, they are doing a great deal of good with the men. Thank you for your suggestion.”
Juston motioned in the general direction of the wounded. “Then give him over to your sister or another servant so they can show him what to do,” he said. “I wish to speak with you.”
He really didn’t have anything to speak with her about but he didn’t want the conversation to end. He didn’t want to walk away from her again and then spend the rest of the day thinking about her until he could come up with another excuse to speak with her. So he watched as she took the frightened young boy with her, leading him over to her sister, who was bent over one of the wounded and applying the hot compresses. He could see the steam rising into the cold of the vault. After a few exchanged words, the sister smiled at the boy and immediately began to show him what she was doing, encouraging him to do the same.
The young lad jumped right in, helping with the compresses. Juston felt some relief that he’d found something for the child to do in order to occupy his time. He was still rather shocked with the turn of events for the day, the appearance of the lad, but his shock was of no consequence. He’d had a serious duty assigned to him and he intended to fulfill it flawlessly.
Henry’s bastard son was now under his protection.
With the boy busy tending the wounded, he could focus on his infatuation with Emera. Aye, it was infatuation, he’d decided. He was convinced it was only because she’d denied his advances. Surely such a woman would be intriguing to him, a challenge. She was heading in his direction now, returning to him as she’d been told to do, and all he could think of was taking her back to his new bedchamber and forcing her to service him. He would not take no for an answer. But he knew, instinctively, that he’d have a fight on his hands – again – and that wasn’t exactly the mood he wanted to set. He needed relaxation and a warm female body after weeks of battle, and he wanted all of that with a calm and attentive woman at his side. Forcing Emera to his will wouldn’t accomplish that.
But perhaps being kind to her would.
Aye, he could be kind when he wanted to be. And generous. He knew women responded better to sweetness than to force; any fool knew that. It had been a long time since he’d had to work for what he wanted but he supposed he hadn’t forgotten how. He knew he could be quite persuasive when the situation called for it. Therefore, he already had a plan in mind as Emera approached. If he couldn’t force her to his will, then he’d have his wants fulfilled another way. It might take more time, but he was willing to try.
For those brilliant blue eyes, he was willing.
“You wished to speak with me, my lord?” Emera asked as she reached him.
He couldn’t help but notice she didn’t ask if she could be of service again. Nay, that unfortunate choice of words had only caused her embarrassment. He simply nodded to her question.
“My men were supposed to collect your possessions and bring them to you,” he said. “Did they?”
Emera nodded. “They brought down two satchels,” she said. “To be truthful, I am not exactly sure what is in them but I did manage to pull out a few things that we needed, like a comb and soap. But…”
She seemed hesitant. He lifted his eyebrows expectantly. “But what?”
Emera cleared her throat softly. “I do not wish to be a bother, but we were only given two blankets, and not very warm ones at that,” she said. “I have fashioned a bed for my sister and me, but we could use more blankets. It is quite cold down here.”
Juston’s gaze lingered on her a moment. Then, he crooked his finger at her, silently asking her to follow. She did.
Up the spiral stairs they went, past the first level great hall to the second level above. It was very warm on this level because the hearth was still burning brightly, a haze of smoke in the room. Juston pointed to the chamber.
“I would assume that this was the master’s chamber,” he said.
Emera nodded. “My sister and her husband slept here.”
“And that small room beyond is yours?”
Again, she nodded. “Aye, my lord.”
He began to walk through the bigger chamber to the smaller one beyond. He unlatched the door, opening up the very warm and smoky bower. Emera was still beside him, watching him because she was uncertain of his motives. Juston knew that by just looking at her; she had no idea why he had brought her up here.
Truth was, he really didn’t either.
“If you see anything in your chamber that you would like to take with you, then you may do so,” he told her, his tone rather quiet. “Soon, there will be filthy knights sleeping upon this bed and if they see any trinkets, they make collect them. Make a sweep of your chamber and make sure you have everything you wish to keep.”
Emera’s gaze lingered on him a moment, perhaps in some confusion, before she entered the chamber. It was her own comfortable room, a room she’d had for two years. She was grateful for Juston’s show of benevolence but saddened when she realized there was so much in this chamber she wanted to take. The more she looked around, the heavier her heart.
“This is everything I have in the world,” she said softly. She pointed to the frame that contained the half-finished embroidery. “My mother gave me that frame. I do not wish to leave it to be smashed or stolen. It is virtually all I have left of her. And the looms… those were hers as well. My sister and I use them to refine wool to make fabric. Everything in this chamber means something to me. It is very difficult to choose.”
He could hear the sorrow in her tone. Certainly, he’d heard sorrow before, countless times, but he had the ability to ignore it in favor of his own wishes. Let no man – or woman – play upon his sensitivity. But hearing the sadness in Emera’s voice brought him to a pause. He sighed.
“Take what you can carry,” he said quietly. “If you truly are determined to go to a charity house once your duties at Bowes are complete, they will not let you bring your possessions, at least not things like looms and sewing frames.”
She turned to look at him. “I realize that,” she said. Interestingly enough, he didn’t appear hardened to her plight. In truth, he almost seemed sympathetic to it. “I am sorry to sound sentimental. But I suppose my possessions do mean something to me, especially where my mother was concerned.”
He was being sucked into those eyes. “Then mayhap it was a mistake to bring you here to choose what you wished to keep,” he said. “Mayhap it would have been easier not to give you the choice at all.”
Quickly, Emera shook her head. “I did not mean to sound ungrateful or as if I was trying to coerce you into letting me keep everything,” she said. “I simply meant that choosing what to keep is like trying to choose between your children. Each item means something to me. Do you not have possessions like that? Things that are of sentimental value?”
He tore his gaze away from her. He was uncomfortable with the way she was looking at him, as if she could look into his very soul, yet at the same time, there was something about her presence that he wanted to bask in. It was a very strange feeling that swept him.
“We are speaking of you,” he said, clearing his throat softly. “Take what you can carry, what you do not want to be taken from you.”
He sounded cold now, his manner freezing up. Emera realized asking him about sentimental value had been a mistake.
“I am sorry,” she said timidly. “I did not mean to ask you a question of a personal nature. I have always been that way, I suppose, wanting to know p
eople, know what they are thinking and feeling. That is why I like to tend those who are sick or injured. There is something in me that demands to be helpful. I cannot sit about and complete delicate tasks like most ladies. I must do something. What is broken, I must fix.”
He was back to looking at her again; he couldn’t help it. “Fine ladies are taught to sing and paint and sew,” he said. “At least, when I was fostering, that is what the female pledges did. I cannot recall them being taught to fix things.”
She grinned, a reluctant gesture. “Unfortunately, I am not a fine lady,” she said. “My mother believed our best education was in the church and in working at our home. I did not foster.”
He leaned against the doorjamb. “But your father was a knight.”
She nodded. “He was, but he was born in France. He did not have many allies here in England other than, at one time, King Henry. My father served Henry in France, so I suppose that makes me more of your enemy than you realized.”
Juston’s gaze lingered on her. “Your father was at Taillebourg.”
She looked at him, surprised. “How did you know that?”
He was evasive, but not in a negative way. He simply didn’t want to reveal his sources. “There is much I know,” he said. “There is also much I do not. But I will discover it, eventually.”
She could help but smile, reluctantly, at the way he said it. He wasn’t cold any longer, back to being rather neutral about the conversation. More than that, she realized she rather liked talking to him when he wasn’t intimidating her. He seemed excruciatingly arrogant, but there was some charm in that. She didn’t mind male pride, at least not really. Confidence was a good quality in a man and a man of Juston’s caliber had an abundance of it out of necessity and experience. She turned back to her bed, considering the coverlet she wanted to take with her.
“May I ask where you fostered?” she asked.
He saw no harm in telling her. “Winchester Castle,” he said. “Then I went to East Anglia for a time, to Thunderbey Castle, seat of the Earls of East Anglia. I fostered under du Reims. I finished my fostering at Warwick Castle under de Vini.”
She pulled the coverlet off the bed and lay it upon the wooden floor, spreading it out. “Is your family from East Anglia?”
“Nay,” he said. He was talking more than he should have but, quite honestly, he didn’t particularly care. “My home is Netherghyll Castle in Yorkshire. If you have not yet been told, I am the High Sheriff of Yorkshire, Baron Cononley by title. I have more men and more allies in the north than Henry does. And now I have Bowes Castle.”
Emera was listening to him with interest. He was announcing his title like it was something she needed to be very impressed with. She began to place things in the center of the coverlet, her meager jewelry collection, for instance, and more combs and a few phials of precious oil from a trunk next to the bed.
“You have a great deal,” she said, stroking his pride because it seemed that was the right thing to do with him. “Do you have brothers to share it with?”
“A younger brother who serves with Richard in France.”
“What is his name?”
“Quinton.”
“Is he a great knight, too?”
Juston couldn’t help but notice she was putting a great many things in the center of the coverlet. “Of course he is,” he said. “You mentioned that you also have a brother. What is his name?”
“Payne la Marche.”
“Is he a knight?”
She shook her head. “He trained as one but it was not a vocation he enjoys,” she said. “With my family contacts in France, my brother has become a wine importer. He imports wine to most of the south of England.”
“Is that where your family home is?”
“Aye, in Dorset.”
“That is a long way from Durham.”
“A very long way, indeed.”
He stopped talking because he was finding more interest watching her load possessions into her coverlet. It seemed that she was loading everything she could from the trunk and from a wardrobe against the wall onto the coverlet, arranging things carefully so they wouldn’t smash one another. She seemed to have a purpose although he couldn’t figure out what that purpose was. Finally, his curiosity got the better of him.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
With everything piled into the center of the coverlet, she carefully folded up the ends to make what essentially looked like a giant sack. Taking a satin hair ribbon, because she had no rope, she tried to tie up the four ends together.
“You said I could take whatever I could carry,” she said, pulling tight the ribbon. “I can carry this coverlet.”
Juston fought off a grin. “You cannot be serious.”
She turned those big eyes to him. “You said I could take whatever I could carry.”
Fact was, that was exactly what he said. He couldn’t dispute that. He should have been annoyed that she took advantage of his generosity like that but he found he wasn’t irritated in the least. He rather appreciated her ingenuity and her bravery. He pushed himself off of the doorjamb.
“You are correct,” he said. “I did say that.”
“Then you will not stop me?”
“I will not stop you.”
He stood aside and she began to drag the coverlet across the floor. When she reached the doorway, however, the width of the giant sack she was dragging was too broad and it got stuck in the doorway. She tugged and tugged, and tried to shift the load around, but still, it stuck. Juston stood there and watched the entire circumstance without lifting a finger to help her. Part of him wanted her to fail, but part of him was very curious about how she would figure it all out.
A narrow doorway didn’t stop Emera. She was creative as well as logical. She shifted the load inside of the coverlet enough so that she could pull it through the door. Once through, she dragged it across the floor, grunting under the weight of it, for it was quite heavy with all of the clothing and personal effects she loaded into it. Still, she was determined to follow through on her plan. She was not about to admit she may have taken on too heavy a burden. She wouldn’t give de Royans the satisfaction of knowing he had been right and she had been wrong. She was only wrong if she failed.
In fact, Juston strolled casually behind her as she heaved the coverlet across the floor. He hadn’t said a word about the difficulty of her task. He knew once she hit the stairwell that she was going to run into a problem, but he didn’t say a word. He rather liked watching her work it all out. She was not only beautiful to watch, she was smart and determined. More and more, he found great interest in watching her.
More and more, he was drawn to her.
Finally, Emera reached the most difficult part of her task. She came to a halt at the top of the steps, looking down the narrow spiral stairs and knowing, much as Juston did, that she was going to have a difficult time dragging the sack down three stories. But she refused to ask for help or even pretend there was an issue. She’d come this far and she had to see it through.
Stepping into the stairwell, she thought it would be best to simply drag the thing behind her and try to keep it from tumbling down the stairs using her body weight to block it. But once she started to pull, the weight of the sack tumbled forward and she lost her balance, falling down a couple of steps before ending up on her bottom, wedged against the wall. But she didn’t fall far. When Juston realized she was falling, he rushed forward and grabbed both her and the sack, preventing them both from rolling all the way to the level below. Trapped in the stairwell with the sack on her legs and lap, Emera pulled her arm from Juston’s grip.
“Thank you, my lord,” she said crisply. “I did not need your help. I was able to catch myself.”
He stood back as she tried to stand up, saddled by the weight of the sack. “Not much, you were,” he muttered. “Lady Emera, as much as I admire your determination, dragging most of your possessions down to the vault is not practical. You are goi
ng to break your neck falling down these stairs. It is simply too heavy for you.”
She looked at him, those big eyes sucking him in once more. “But you said I could take whatever I could carry!”
He nodded. “Aye, I did, but you are not carrying anything. It is carrying you, and it will do so all the way to the bottom. You are going to kill yourself.”
Emera was feeling some desperation. She didn’t like to admit failure. “Please,” she said softly. “I do not have great titles or lands as you do. I only have those things you saw in that small chamber. These are my things and I want them. Please let me try.”
He shook his head and yanked on the sack, pulling it up off of her and carrying it with ease back into the big chamber. Emera scrambled after him.
“Where are you taking my things?”
Juston hauled them back into the smaller chamber and set the sack on the floor. When he saw the panicked look on her face, he held up a hand to ease her.
“You can keep them all,” he said. “I dare not deny a woman who so cleverly used my words against me. On the contrary… if I do not let you keep everything, you are going to kill yourself trying to take it down those stairs and then your death would be on my conscience. I will not be made to feel guilty for your stubbornness.”
Emera’s face lit up. “You… you will let me keep my possessions?”
“I will.”
“Even if I cannot carry them?”
“Even if you cannot carry them.”
It was clear that she was quite surprised. “Oh, my lord,” she breathed. “I cannot tell you how grateful I am. With all of my heart, thank you!”
He simply stood there and looked at her. Here she is, telling me she is, once again, grateful. Grateful women could be most pliable, in his experience. Perhaps now was the time to push his advantage.
Not being a man with much restraint when it came to that which he wanted, Juston reached out and grabbed her by the arm, whipping her against his chest so hard that she grunted. Before he even realized what he was doing, his lips slanted over hers, hungrily. Now he was tasting her again and he’d never felt a greater sense of contentment.
Fearsome Brides Page 11
