Fearsome Brides

by Kathryn Le Veque

  Gart grinned and looked at Emera, who was also smiling. There was humor in Juston’s voice, the reflections of a grateful man.

  Gart eventually cleared the chamber, leaving Emera to resume rubbing Juston’s scalp with more of her oil. She felt as if she had accomplished something today, helping a man who very badly needed it. And by doing so, she had hopefully eased any animosity or hard feelings between them. She sincerely hoped so. That was really why she’d jumped at the chance to help Juston; perhaps she wanted to ease over the difficulties that seemed to have been between them since the beginning.

  “You did not have to tend me.”

  Juston’s quiet voice broke into her train of thought. Emera wasn’t entirely sure what he meant. “Gart asked me to,” she said. “You are in pain. I could not refuse to help you.”

  He was greatly soothed as she rubbed his forehead. “I would not have blamed you if you had refused,” he said. “All I have done is harass you and make demands. That you would be kind to me after all of that speaks well of your character.”

  It sounded suspiciously like an apology. Because he was willing to admit his boorish behavior, she was more than willing to forget about it.

  “I am your prisoner,” she said simply. “You are only doing what comes naturally to you.”

  “What is that?”

  “Taking command of a situation and ensuring those beneath you carry out your will.”

  “Mayhap that is true, but you were correct when you said my behavior was… unacceptable.”

  She smiled faintly. “I do not believe I used those words. You have not always been unacceptable. Right now, you are quite acceptable.”

  She saw a flicker of a smile cross his lips. “Nay.”

  His answer confused her. “What do you mean by that?”

  He sighed faintly. “Nay, I would not be very happy if someone was brutalizing my daughter,” he muttered. “In fact, I had two. They did not survive past early childhood.”

  His words brought instant melancholy. Emera heard her own words in his unexpected reply followed by something quite startling – I had two daughters. Now, that pain she had sensed from the man was suddenly starting to make some sense.

  “Oh… my lord, I am so very sorry to hear that,” she said softly. “I did not know.”

  “I know you did not,” he replied. “But you made me think about them the other night when you said that. I had not thought about them in many years but you brought those memories back to me. I do not welcome them. But know that I do not blame you for the fact that they have returned. You made me think of my children again and how I would feel if a man, a man of conquest, was attempting to brutalize them. It is a helpless feeling, you see, because my daughters, along with my wife, were murdered and I was not there to protect them. In your quest to stop me from brutalizing you, you forced me to understand your perspective by putting it into context. Now, I understand.”

  Emera closed her eyes tightly, briefly, against the horror of his admission. Murder! Most definitely the feeling of pain was making a great deal of sense.

  “Forgive me,” she murmured. “I was callous in what I said. I did not mean to be cruel and cause you to relive a terrible memory.”

  He opened his eyes, looking up at her as she stood over him. “In truth, the remembrance of their deaths is a terrible memory but I found myself wondering what they would have looked like at this age,” he said. “Blossom was four years of age and Cedrica was three years of age. That was about nine years ago which means they would have been thirteen years and twelve years, respectively. They would have been young women. I wonder what they would have loved and what they would have dreamt of. What did you dream of at that age? I have never been in conversation with a woman long enough to ask.”

  Emera could sense that his guard was down. That staunch and powerful shield that he kept up in front of himself all of the time had fractured somehow, fading away and leaving him vulnerable. She was quite certain it was the medicine causing it, but it was still an astonishing thing to see. It would seem that Juston de Royans had a bit of a philosopher’s soul within him, something deeper than she could have imagined.

  “I am not entirely sure,” Emera said thoughtfully. “It seems like such a long time ago.”

  “How long ago was it?”

  “Six years.”

  “You are nineteen years of age and have yet to marry?”

  She gave him a wry expression. “We have already discussed that, if you recall.”

  He blinked. “We did. I called you foolish for refusing to let de la Roarke wed you off.”

  “I know you did.”

  “I was wrong.”

  “Why would you say that?”

  “Because a woman like you is exceptional. Not any husband will do.”

  It was a flattering thing to say. First he’d called her beautiful, now he was telling her that she was exceptional. A faint mottle crept into her cheeks.

  “I am glad you see my point,” she said quietly. “I could not marry simply any man Brey thrust at me. Besides… I do not think I shall ever wed.”

  “Ridiculous. Every woman should wed.”

  She shook her head. “Unlike most girls, I did not dream of marriage and a family when I was younger,” she said. “You have asked me what I dreamt of as a young girl. I dreamt of helping the poor and tending the sickly. I believe that it is what God wants me to do. He has given me a talent for such things. I cannot use it if I have a husband who demands all of my time or children who hang upon my apron strings.”

  He watched her for a moment before his eyes slowly closed. “If you feel that way, why not become a nun?”

  She thought on that. “I suppose because I do not want anyone telling me what to do and when to eat and how to dress or what to think,” she said. “I do not need a nasty Mother Superior ordering me about.”

  He did grin, then. “You are a strange and unusual woman, Emera la Marche. You think too freely for my taste.”

  “Do I offend thee, my lord?”

  He could hear a slightly mocking tone and it made him grin. “Nay,” he replied. “But you are very unusual. Who do you get that particular trait from?”

  Emera was smoothing his forehead, enjoying the feel of his skin beneath her fingers very much. “My mother, I am sure,” she said. “She was English, you know, but she married my father, who was French, yet she refused to move to France. She insisted on raising her children as English. My father spent most of his time in France fighting Henry’s wars, but you already knew that. To be truthful, I had, mayhap, seen him ten times in my entire life before he died. When he passed away, it was as if I had lost a distant relative. I did not even really know him.”

  “Your family is related to Lusignan?”

  Emera nodded. “It is.”

  Juston fell silent for a few moments, lulled by her rubbing hands. But the medicine she had given him was making him a bit giddy, a bit sleepy, and it was loosening his tongue as Emera had suspected. That carefully-held control he employed was drugged.

  “I do not know why I should tell you this, but I shall,” he said, sounding very sleepy now. “I have sworn to hate the House of Lusignan. Even though I knew you were Lusignan from the beginning, I supposed I thought I was being quite benevolent by not throwing you out of Bowes on your ear, or worse. Now that I have come to know you over the past few days, you are not like any Lusignan I have ever known. You are compassionate and kind. It was a Lusignan who killed my family.”

  Emera gasped and her hands came away from his forehead. “Is it true?” she breathed. “I… I do not know what to say!”

  Juston’s eyes were open now and he was struggling to sit up, reaching out to grab her hands before she moved too far away.

  “There is nothing to say,” he assured her, holding on to one of her oily hands. “As I said, I do not know why I should tell you that. I suppose… I suppose because I wanted you to know that you have changed my mind about the family somewhat. I hav
e never met a kind Lusignan. It may not seem like an important revelation, but from someone who has hated the mention of the name for the past nine years, I feel as if something in me has been healed, if only in the slightest. It is difficult to describe… I fear I am only sounding foolish as I make the attempt.”

  Emera was looking at him, greatly distressed by what he’d told her and struggling not to feel that way. He was trying to pay her a compliment and she endeavored to focus on that.

  “You are not sounding foolish,” she said. “But if I could apologize for what happened on behalf of every Lusignan and la Marche, I would. We are not a bad family, my lord, but there are those who bear the name that have done some unsavory things, I am sure. From the bottom of my heart, I am truly sorry for your loss.”

  Juston could see the sincerity in her eyes. As he’d come to see, she was a woman of deep feeling. He smiled faintly and pulled her back towards the bed.

  “It was not your fault,” he said quietly. “But I thank you for your gesture. It means a great deal.”

  “Does it? I am glad.”

  He was lying back down again, realizing the throbbing in his head was lessening. He thought he might actually be able to sleep a bit now. So much about his body and spirit had been eased that he truly felt more relaxed and at peace than he had in a very long time. Perhaps it was the drug, perhaps not. Perhaps it was simply Emera and her soothing presence. He laid his head back onto the mattress, flat.

  “If you would not mind continuing to rub my head with the oil, I would be grateful,” he said softly. “I think I may be able to sleep now.”

  Emera simply nodded and resumed rubbing his forehead, smoothing it, feeling as if this entire conversation had been some sort of milestone between them. Juston had been more open with her than he’d ever been and her attraction to him was beginning to grow. She’d been fearful of it before, reluctant even, but at this moment, she wasn’t fearful or reluctant at all. When he began to snore again, she dropped a tender kiss on his forehead simply because it seemed like the thing to do. She wanted to do it. The man had been through so much; it was the very least she could do.

  Juston thought he’d dreamt the kiss.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  At dawn, the wind was blowing and fat clouds scattered across the sky, but there was no rain or snow in sight, fortunately. The weather was clear as three big wagons were brought around to the inner ward of Bowes, next to the keep, so the loading of turnips could begin.

  Emera had to admit, it was both an impressive and intimidating sight to see several soldiers, as well as a few knights, bringing basket after basket of turnips from the vault and dumping them into the wagon beds. She and Jessamyn had already been up, tending the wounded, when Juston’s men started filtering into the vault with baskets, loading them up and taking them to the waiting wagons.

  Leaving Jessamyn with the wounded, surprise and curiosity prompted Emera to follow the men up the spiral staircase, through the hall, and back down into the inner bailey where there was quite a bit of activity surrounding the wagons. She stood there, watching the activity, thrilled and relieved that Juston had kept his word. After everything that had happened, she was certain he’d forgotten about it.

  “Good morn to you, my lady.”

  Emera turned to see Christopher standing next to her, dressed in heavy layers against the cold weather. She smiled politely.

  “Good morn to you, my lord,” she said. “Are you in charge of our trip to the market this morning?”

  “Aye,” he said, running an eye over the loading that was going on. “I will be your escort along with my brother, Sir Gillem, Sir Erik, and Gart. By my estimation, it should not take more than an hour to reach town if the weather holds.”

  Emera nodded. “Indeed,” she agreed. “I hope the road is passable. Sometimes it becomes great hills and valleys that are impossible to get a wagon through.”

  Christopher’s gaze moved off to the east. “Having considered that, I have already sent a few men out to see to the condition of the road. They’ve taken shovels with them should they need to fill in holes.”

  “That was excellent thinking.”

  He gave her a humorless smile. “One does not succeed within de Royans’ ranks if one does not think excellently.”

  She laughed softly simply from the way he had said it; there was humor in his manner. In fact, the past few days had seen these knights, her initial enemies, relax their harsh stance around her tremendously. It was almost as if they were on the same side these days, united English instead of men for Richard and men for Henry. As Christopher walked away to supervise the situation, a smaller figure took his place.

  “Lady Emera!” It was Tristan, who had run all the way up from the vault. Having not been outside for several days, the boy winced in the sunlight. “Lady Jessamyn says to tell you not to forget the apot… apotic….”

  Emera grinned. “Apothecary?”

  “Aye!”

  She laughed softly as the boy grinned, embarrassed. “I will not forget,” she said. “There are things we need for the wounded now that we are able to go outside of the castle walls. It should be a short trip today but I intend to see to the apothecary before we leave town.”

  Tristan nodded, standing close to her as knights and soldiers moved all around him. He could see Erik, the man who had brought him to Bowes, as the man tried to right the weight load on one of the wagons. The sight of Erik gave him an idea.

  “Can I come to town, too?” he asked. “I promise I will be no trouble. I should like to go and see the market. I have never seen one before.”

  Emera knew there was a hierarchy with Tristan when it came to his well-being. It had been made clear to her that Sir Erik was his guardian. She, too, could see Erik over on one of the wagon beds.

  “Ask Sir Erik,” she said. “If he agrees, then you may come.”

  Thrilled, Tristan ran off towards the wagon that held Erik, nearly getting run over by men bearing baskets of turnips in the process. Emera smiled as she watched him dodge the men. He was a cute little fellow, extremely helpful and wanting to please. She had enjoyed having him assist with the wounded over the past few days because he’d truly been a help. He was not afraid of work.

  Emera saw as Tristan approached Erik, asked the question, and she saw clearly when Erik frowned and shook his head. But Tristan didn’t give up; he continued to ask, finally pointing at Emera, who nodded her head to Erik’s dubious expression. She wanted him to know that she was in favor of the boy going along. Finally, Erik rolled his eyes and waved the boy away, but Tristan was very gleeful. He came running back over to Emera.

  “He says that I may go!” he said excitedly.

  Emera nodded. “I am happy for you,” she said. “But you must dress warmly. Go and put on your traveling clothes and tell Lady Jessamyn that you will be going with me to town.”

  The happy boy raced off, dashing into the forebuilding of the keep and plowing into Juston in the process. Juston was just emerging from the forebuilding as the boy was running in and the child bounced off the big knight, nearly losing his balance. But Juston set the boy to rights, looking at him with some curiosity as the child then raced past him and disappeared into the keep.

  Emera was surprised to see that Juston was up and about. She’d stayed with him long into the previous night as he slept, rubbing his head with lavender oil until her fingers hurt. Somehow, she just couldn’t bring herself to leave him. So she remained until she was exhausted herself before retreating down into the cold vaults and climbing into the pallet beside her sleeping sister. When she finally slept, fitfully, it was with dreams of a long-haired knight.

  He’d never been out of her mind and now here he was, not only out of bed but evidently dressed against the cold weather as if resuming his normal duties. As he approached Emera, she could even see that it was possible the man had combed his hair and even shaved. He appeared cleaned up and shiny, like a new coin.

  Her heart began to f
lutter, just a little.

  “My lady,” he greeted as he approached. “The weather gods have smiled upon us for this morning’s trip.”

  His voice, smooth and deep, flowed over her like warm honey. The fluttering in her chest turned into a mad frenzy. “Indeed, they have,” she said, struggling not to sound breathless. “I would thank you again for doing this for us but, truthfully, you do not need so many knights with us. A few men, perhaps armed, and we can make this trip just as well.”

  Juston shook his head. “My men have purchases to make in town as well,” he said. “In truth, this is a fortuitous venture. I have an army to feed so there may be things in the market that we can purchase – grains, staples for the horses, things of that nature.”

  Emera grinned. “I can sell you wagonloads of turnips very cheaply.”

  Juston smiled, a lopsided grin, but it was especially important because it was the first time Emera had ever seen him openly smile at her. “I was going to speak to you about that, in fact,” he said. “I would discuss keeping at least one wagonload. How much will you charge me?”

  Emera had been jesting with him but now she saw a business opportunity. The man’s army needed food and she had it. She didn’t know why she didn’t think of it before. She turned to look at the last wagon that Erik was still fussing over.

  “It is usually sold by weight,” she said. “In the winter market, if the crop is good, it is usually a shilling for five pounds.”

  Juston glanced at the wagon she was looking at as Erik tried to even out the load so the imbalance of weight wouldn’t harm the axles. “Is the crop good?”

  “I believe it is.”

  “Then a shilling for five pounds would be reasonable.”

  “I believe it is very reasonable, my lord.”

  He headed over to the wagon and Emera followed, sensing a deal in the air. For the past two years, she had been a very good saleswoman for the goods from Bowes, mostly because Brey didn’t care and Jessamyn didn’t have business sense. So she’d stepped in and filled the void. She watched closely as Juston picked up a big turnip, dirty, and looked it over. Then, he looked at Erik, who was standing in the wagon bed amidst the turnips.