It was disheartening, really. He’d thought he’d discouraged Lady Emera sufficiently, but evidently what he had said to her was of little matter. In spite of his warning, she was falling into Juston’s web most willingly, knowing full well what had happened with Sybilla and their child. That meant that the lady had no respect for Sybilla if she was willingly falling under de Royans’ spell.
And that realization was a catalyst for Gillem in that he knew simple discouragement wouldn’t chase the lady away. She would not leave willingly. She had the interest of a wealthy and powerful man and had no interest in discouraging him. If she was infatuated with Juston, or even in love with the man, then she would forgive him anything.
All of this meant that Gillem had to step up his means of removing the woman from de Royans’ temptation. Since he had been ordered to remain at Bowes while Juston took the army out into the field and the lady was to remain behind at Bowes, also… well, anything could happen while the army was away. All Gillem had to do was call it an accident and no one would be the wiser.
If the lady would not remove herself, then Gillem would do it for her.
While Gillem simmered in his deadly thoughts, the lady in question made an appearance. With her sister by her side, Emera moved in with pitchers of warmed wine and a platter of small cakes that smelled strongly of cloves and cinnamon. They headed straight for the end of the table where Juston sat, distracting the men from their wine and conversation.
“Good eve, my lords,” Emera said as she set the cakes down in front of the knights. “The cook has made these for you. She says they will bring you luck in your endeavors tomorrow.”
The knights all leaned forward to inspect what she had brought them; they were little oat cakes flavored with honey and cloves and cinnamon. They even had walnuts in them and the knights immediately plowed into the sweets. Emera had to laugh as David nearly shoved her over in his haste, bumping her straight into Juston, who was sitting back in his chair. He was the only one not grabbing for the cakes. His attention was on Emera.
“My lady,” he said, his voice deep and soft. “How kind of you to join us.”
Emera smiled at the man, not even thinking that anyone looking at her face would see how smitten she was. Even if she had known, she might not have cared.
“The wounded are tended and fed,” she told him. “My sister and I thought to attend the knights in the hall. After all, you depart tomorrow. We might not have another opportunity for quite some time.”
She was speaking as if she was part of their group, not a captive. It was an interesting dynamic, and an unusual one, considering that she was, indeed, a prisoner of Juston’s conquest. But Juston didn’t see it that way; he hadn’t for a while. When he smiled sweetly at her, David happened to catch it. He elbowed Marcus, who saw the gesture as well. On down the line – Maxton, Kress, Achilles, Gart, Gillem, and even Christopher could see the expressions passing between Emera and Juston.
If anyone had been oblivious to the rumors floating around about the pair, the light in the eyes of Emera and Juston as they looked at one another was a bit of a shock. Even those who had been aware of the rumors were still caught off-guard, for the expression on Juston’s face was no ordinary expression.
The Lord of Winter, the man with the heart of ice, was in love with his captive.
Since no one had the nerve to comment, as it was safer not to, the oat cakes disappeared off the trencher with blinding speed as the knights simply stuffed them into their mouths, anything to keep busy and pretend they weren’t looking at Emera and Juston. It was difficult not to stare, however, purely out of morbid curiosity. No one really thought Juston was capable of such things, especially those who had known him the longest. It was truly a sight to see.
As the knights pretended not to notice the besotted pair, Jessamyn went around the table refilling cups and having a polite word for the men who had taken the castle from her husband. In truth, she harbored no ill-will and hadn’t for days. After the initial shock of Brey’s death, and the capture of the castle, Jessamyn had been resigned to her future. Emera seemed to be optimistic about it and some of that was rubbing off on Jessamyn, although she still wasn’t completely comfortable with the relationship between de Royans and her sister. But she, too, saw the looks between them and she had to admit that de Royans didn’t look like a man who was taking advantage of her sister.
Perhaps there really was something to it, after all.
Juston wasn’t entirely oblivious to the fact that his men were looking at him. They weren’t as clever in hiding their surprise as they thought they were. But for the first time since Lizette’s death, Juston’s heart was light and he didn’t much care what his men thought. It felt good, in fact, to be attracted to a woman. It was a warm, happy feeling he never thought he’d experience again.
“Have you eaten?” Juston finally asked Emera after staring at her for a few long, pleasurable moments. “If not, please join us. I realize you may feel uncomfortable joining men who seized your home, but today we are no longer enemies. Are we?”
Emera shook her head. “You never were,” she said. “When the first knight entered the great hall to announce the castle was now the property of the Count of Poitiers, Anjou, and Maine, I assured him that we would not resist. The first time I met you, I assured you of the same thing. Therefore, we were never enemies, my lord. I will ever be grateful to you for saving me from a hellish existence.”
She was correct; she never had resisted their conquest. Emera had always been cooperative. Well, for the most part. Juston didn’t blame her for not being cooperative on the day they met when he demanded she service him. In fact, Juston was rather glad she resisted. He never would have seen her strength otherwise.
He would have never realized just how sweet the eventual conquest actually was.
With a smile, he indicated for Emera to sit on the bench beside him and she did. While the knights lost themselves in conversation, knowing that Juston wouldn’t hear anything they said, anyway, with lady in his presence, Juston was predictably focused on Emera as if no one else in the room existed.
“There is music in the hall tonight,” he said to her. “Do you dance?”
Emera shook her head. “Sweet Mary, no!” she gasped, giggling. “It would be an abomination!”
He grinned. “I do not believe it. Not even a little bit?”
“Not even a little bit.”
He swirled the wine in his cup. “Do you sing?”
“I sing worse than I dance.”
“Then what do you do that is pretty and graceful, as befitting your beauty?”
He was flattering her again and she pretended to be thoughtful. “I can draw a little,” she said. “My mother would permit Jessamyn and me to paint when we were young. My mother also had a fine garden, which I tended after her death but I had to leave it when I came to Bowes. I have often wondered what happened to my garden. I was sad to leave it.”
Juston drained the remainder of his cup and sat forward, closer to her, and lowered his voice. “Netherghyll has a garden,” he said. “The castle has been built up over the years and the design of it is somewhat strange, but there is a garden in the middle of it that has had no one to tend it since my mother passed away. You are more than welcome to make it your own.”
Emera’s face lit up. “I can?” she said. “I do not know what to say. That is incredibly generous, Juston. You do not think your mother would mind?”
He shook his head, daring to reach under the table and put his hand on her knee. “Not at all,” he said. “She loved her flowers. She even had grapevines in the garden and pear trees. When my brother and I were younger, we would steal fruit from the trees. My mother would laugh but our nurse would chase us with a switch. I miss those days.”
Emera smiled. “I had forgotten you had a brother,” she said. “Quinton is his name, correct?”
“Aye.”
“Is he like you?”
Juston shook his head
. “Not much,” he said. “Quinton is shorter and uglier. But he is a very good knight.”
“Why does he not serve you, then?”
Juston snorted. “Because Richard could not bear to part with both of us. He had to keep one of us by his side, and that was Quinton.”
“Fortunate for me.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because I would not have met you otherwise.”
Under the table, Juston rubbed her knee affectionately. It had been so long since he’d sat in sweet conversation with a woman that he was nearly giddy from the joy of it all. He couldn’t even think of leaving her tomorrow and perhaps not seeing her for a very long time. It was the first time in his long and distinguished career that he found himself wishing he didn’t have to leave for battle. He wanted to stay here, with Emera, and have more conversations like this one. Already, he was looking forward to the night, eager to take her to his bed once again. His heart, that hard and cold thing, had been completely thawed by the lady and, in fact, it was far more than thawed. It was liquid now, hot and flowing, eager for more experiences with Emera. To her he owed the joy that he thought he’d lost. He couldn’t explain it any other way.
Before he could continue the conversation with her, however, Juston caught sight of people entering the smoky, noisy hall. Even though he was far from the door, he was facing it and he was the first one to see two of his soldiers enter, men that were coated with ice and nearly frozen half to death. The expression on his face caught Christopher’s attention and, very quickly, the other knights as well. Everyone was looking over at the entry with Maxton shooting to his feet. He stood up on the bench, waving the men over.
“Those men were part of a patrol I sent out earlier,” he said as he jumped off the bench. “They have returned far too quickly for my taste.”
Suddenly, the relaxed atmosphere of the table plummeted and the knights rose to their feet as the soldiers approached. With pinched-red faces and mail coated with ice, the first of the pair headed straight for Juston.
“M-my lord,” he said through chattering teeth. “We bear news of Durham’s approach.”
Juston didn’t like the sound of that at all. Something told him that the news was very, very bad. “Where is he?” he demanded.
The soldier was quivering so badly that David and Marcus began helping the man remove his gloves. Gart did the same for the second man because it was clear that both men were too frozen to articulate very well.
“We have been monitoring the road to Gainford,” the soldier said. “Earlier today, we saw some commotion within the castle and then people began fleeing the town. I caught one man and he told me that Durham’s army was entering the town from the east.”
Juston’s heart began to pump, just a bit faster. “How far behind you are they?”
The soldier paused as David pulled the man’s helm off, which was frozen to his head. In fact, ice from the helm and the man’s hair had become one, and they had to break off the ice in order to get his helm off.
“They are not behind me,” the soldier finally said as someone shoved a cup of hot wine into his hand. “That is what I came to tell you; de Balliol would not let de Puiset’s army come through Gainford and use the bridge. He turned them away and they had to go north. The next bridge to cross is north of Cotherstone and it should delay his army by at least a day if not more.”
Juston looked at his men, who were gazing back at him in various stages of concern. This was a most unexpected twist but it was actually a blessing; had Durham’s army not been turned away by de Balliol, then they would have descended upon Bowes already. Even Juston was surprised at the speed in which de Puiset’s army had assembled. Therefore, he viewed the situation as something good – Durham’s delay would be his victory. His mind began working quickly.
“Let us assume de Puiset is resting his army for the night,” he said to his men. “He’ll take the bridge in the morning and it will take him at least the day, if not longer, to make the trek south to Bowes.”
“That means we must depart tonight if we are to intercept him.” Christopher said what they were all thinking. “If he does not rest his army tonight, then we will have to stop him by morning.”
“Only an insane man would march his army at night, through a storm.”
“That is what we are about to do, isn’t it?”
Christopher had a point. Departing at night in a storm wasn’t exactly what Juston had hoped for, but they had no alternative. The familiar scent of battle began to fill his nostrils again and there was no hesitation in his decision.
They had to move.
“Assemble the army,” he told his men. “Every man in here, get them outside and into formation. We leave before the hour is up.”
The knights broke away, filtering around the room of men and shouting commands. Suddenly, the music stopped and the hum of conversation ceased as Christopher and Maxton shouted concise commands to the roomful of men, most of whom had had too much to drink. But that was of no consequence; plans had been altered and they had to adapt. Hearts pumping with the rush of battle, men struggled to sober up and grab what possessions they’d brought with them into the hall.
Soon enough, they were rushing from the keep in groups as the knights herded them out. As Emera and Jessamyn remained by the feasting table, wide-eyed at all that was going on, Juston found Gillem and pulled the man aside.
“You have been told that you have command of the castle, have you not?” he asked.
Gillem nodded. “Chris told me,” he said. “Have you specific orders, my lord?”
Juston nodded. “The western outer wall is still weak,” he said. “You cannot depend on it to hold in the event that Durham’s army is able to get past us and lay siege. Therefore, seal up the outer wall, the gatehouse, and the outer bailey as best you can but be prepared to fall back to the inner ward and the keep in the event of an attack. You will not open that gatehouse for anyone but me or any of my knights. Is that clear?”
“It is, my lord.”
Juston cast a glance over at Emera and Jessamyn, still standing by the table. “The Bowes wounded are down in the vault and you will keep them there, but Lady Jessamyn and Lady Emera have free run of the castle. Keep them to the keep and inner ward, but they have all due freedom. They should be able to help you with wounded or other tasks.”
“Aye, my lord.”
“And you will protect them with your life.”
“I will, my lord.”
“Go about your duties.”
Gillem departed, heading out of the keep, as Juston turned for the ladies. When Jessamyn saw him approach, she scattered, leaving Emera standing alone at a cluttered, dirty table that was once filled with men. She watched Juston anxiously as he drew near.
“Is the bishop nearly upon us, then?” she asked fearfully.
He shook his head, putting a comforting hand on her arm. “Nay,” he said quietly. “But he is coming. I knew he would be coming soon but this is sooner than I had expected. It simply means I must move my men sooner, ’tis all. He will be coming south on the road from Cotherstone and we shall be ready for him.”
He sounded confident, which made Emera feel some confidence as well. Still, she had seen what a battle could do. She’d seen three weeks of Juston’s siege on Bowes and it wasn’t pretty. But there was nothing she could do other than summon her bravery and bid him a farewell because, one way or the other, he was going to battle.
“Is there anything I can do for you before you go?” she asked. “Do you need any supplies or anything else I can help you with?”
He smiled faintly at her. “Nay,” he murmured. “But I thank you for asking. It is kind of you.”
Emera wasn’t sure what more to say. He was touching her arm, still, so she reached out to rest a gentle hand on his chest.
“Then Godspeed, Juston,” she whispered. “I shall pray for you.”
“It is appreciated.”
“And we shall hold
Bowes. I am not beyond taking up a sword.”
He laughed softly. “Somehow, I believe that implicitly. You do well with an ash shovel, too.”
He was referring back to the battle they’d had through the hearth, slapping at each other with ash shovels. She grinned. “If pushed, I can most definitely use the ash shovel.”
He just stared at her a moment, grin fading. Then, he reached out both hands to cup her face, gazing deeply into her brilliant eyes.
“I am not very good at finding the right words in a moment like this,” he said quietly. “I have said all I needed to say.”
“I know.”
He started to open his mouth again, hesitated, and then bent down to kiss her sweetly on the lips. It was a tender kiss, warm and soft and lingering. It was nearly enough to cause Emera to swoon.
“I will tell you that I will count the moments until I see you again,” he murmured. “I never thought I would feel this way again, Emera. To know that I have your heart… it means everything to me.”
Emera leaned into him, her forehead against his chin. “You have all of me, Juston. Not simply my heart.”
“I know.”
It was an arrogant statement in a tender moment. She looked up at him, then. “Have you nothing more to say to me than that?”
His eyes took on that impish twinkle. “Why should I?”
“Because I have asked you to.”
The arrogant knight swallowed his pride a bit. He was forever pressing her to tell him her feelings, always backing off when asked to fully tell her of his. He kissed her on the forehead and let her go.
“You have all of me as well.”
With that, he headed for the entry of the keep, leaving Emera standing by the table, her heart swelling with adoration and joy, everything she could possibly feel. He turned to her, once more, before leaving the great hall and she blew a kiss towards him. He flashed her a smile and was gone.
Fearsome Brides Page 30
