by Shari Anton
An unwarranted prick of guilt prodded him into giving her the reassurance she seemed to need.
“You have naught to fear here at Hadone. We are safe. You will be treated well. Go eat. I will be in anon.”
She nodded slightly and glanced at where Gar waited for her. “What shall I tell him?”
“Of what happened at court? Might as well tell him the truth. Neither of us has aught to hide.”
She pursed her lips. “Nay, only a regret or two.”
She might, he didn’t. “I learned long ago that regret serves no purpose. One simply deals with what fate tosses one’s way and hopes all comes out right in the end.”
Looking into Emma’s upturned face, still seeing uneasiness, for the first time in a very long time, he hoped the end came out right for another person other than himself as well.
A hope he had no business harboring. What happened to Emma shouldn’t concern him. Their fates weren’t en-twined. He’d do well to save his concern for his own well-being, keep his nose well and clear of other people’s problems.
Only that way would he survive.
Emma tilted her head, watching Darian stalk off toward the stables.
“He has upset you,” Gar stated. “I fear Darian can be difficult. You should not take his lack of manners or hurtful comments to heart.”
She was beginning to understand why Darian disliked Gar, and to her chagrin, she found herself coming to Darian’s defense. “He said nothing hurtful. Why did you assume he did?”
“That is his nature, and your distress is most apparent. Mayhap a cup of wine will ease you somewhat.”
A cup of wine would ease her thirst, but not her worry over whether Darian would still be at Hadone when she awoke on the morn.
He certainly didn’t want to be here, and all during their journey the feeling had strengthened that he came to Hadone only because he’d told William he would see her safely delivered to the castle.
What would she do if he abandoned her to rush off to find de Salis’s murderer? The erroneous charge must be uppermost in his mind, nagging at him, eventually pushing him to take action. How soon? Would he even come in to supper as he’d said?
Perhaps she did need a cup of wine, so she allowed Gar to lead her up the steep stairway to the keep’s second floor and through the large oak doors that opened into the great hall.
A cold, damp hall, despite the fire in the hearth and several lit torches. No rushes softened the floor. Though three magnificent wolf hounds lounged by the fire, no hunting birds perched in the high rafters. No adornments graced the walls.
At Camelen her father had hung weapons and tapestries to tease the eye and arouse the imagination. At Hadone one was greeted with unembellished gray stone. Still, Hadone’s hall was akin in shape and size to Camelen’s, bringing a lump to her throat, which she quickly swallowed.
No dais had been built to support a high table for the lord and his favorites. The men who gathered for supper crowded around two trestle tables in the middle of the room, and silence descended as they began noticing the stranger in their midst.
Master craftsmen, she guessed, from the quality of their garb and other revealing clues. The thin man with sawdust sprinkled in his dark hair was likely the master carpenter. Another bore gray dust on his tunic. The master mason? The hulk of a man at the far end of the table could be none other than the blacksmith. The rest would be of their rank, though she couldn’t be sure of their crafts.
Emma kept her chin up, her expression passive. Darian was convinced she would be treated with consideration, but then, these people hadn’t yet heard why she’d come to Hadone. Once they found out what she’d confessed in court, and that she’d been forced to marry a mercenary because of her imprudence, many wouldn’t be inclined to friendliness.
Not that she would make friends among the craftsmen. Her rank set her above them, and she wouldn’t be here long enough for the barrier to lower.
Of more import to Emma was the only other woman in the room. Young and pretty, she stood near the stairway, obviously giving orders to the servants who bore Emma’s trunks. No veil covered the woman’s raven-black braid. Her brown gown might be simple and devoid of embroidery, but the fit was excellent and the wool of fine weave. When finished with the servants, smiling softly, the woman hurried toward the doorway.
“Lady Emma, my daughter, Maura,” Gar said, the fondness in his voice impossible to mistake.
Maura dipped into a curtsy. “My lady. I bid thee welcome to Hadone. I took the liberty of having your trunks sent up to my bedchamber, and ordered the serving wench to bring two more trenchers from the kitchen. You and Darian will join us at table, of course.”
Maura’s smile was so genuine Emma couldn’t help smiling, too. Perhaps being exiled at Hadone wouldn’t be too bad.
Emma removed her cloak; Maura took it and handed it off to a servant.
“I thank you, Maura. I would be honored to join you, as will Darian, I am sure.”
“Wonderful.” She looked to her father. “So where is he? Not staying away because he argued with you, I hope.”
“Oh, nay,” Gar answered in a casual tone that wasn’t casual at all. “He will be in shortly, I imagine. I should think he would wish to dine with his wife.”
Maura’s smile slipped, and then her eyes widened slightly as she caught Gar’s meaning.
“You and Darian are wed?”
Emma took a steadying breath, having hoped to avoid explanations so soon. And what was keeping Darian? He knew these people and should be here to tell the tale. He’d said to tell the truth, but sweet Jesu, how much of it?
“Aye. We were wed yester morn. I know it is unusual for a lady to wed a mercenary—”
“Outright unheard of,” Gar interrupted.
She contained her irritation for the sake of harmony, not knowing how long she would have to endure the steward’s arrogance. “The tale is rather confusing. If you do not mind, I would prefer Darian relate it.”
Maura fairly beamed. “Oh, this is intriguing. But come, you must be weary and hungry. Sit and eat and we shall await Darian with eager ears.”
As they approached the nearest table, all of the men stood. Gar took his seat at the head, and Maura waved a hand at where Emma should sit, on Gar’s left. A trencher already sat on the table, the gravy having seeped into the almost white bread.
This was Maura’s place and trencher, certainly. Emma bit her lip to keep from declining the seat so Maura could finish her meal in her accustomed seat. But as the steward’s daughter, Maura knew the rules of hospitality, which she’d already followed when giving up her bed. So Emma gingerly sat on the bench, acknowledging the men’s bows with a nod as if she were some important personage, which she wasn’t.
Maura then waved her hands. “Move down, all of you. We have guests.”
The hulk at the end of the table didn’t resume his seat. In a voice so quiet Emma strained to hear, claiming he had finished his meal, he begged leave of Gar.
With permission granted, Maura pouted. “I did not mean to rush you, Master Smith.”
“I rush myself, Maura. I have chisels to sharpen and trowels to straighten before the morning work begins.”
The men on the other side of the table accommodated Maura, who dragged her trencher over to her new seat. The men on Emma’s side slid down, leaving plenty of room for Darian.
As host, Gar felt obligated to make introductions. She’d guessed right about the master mason and carpenter. Then came the forester and bailiff, and, to her surprise, the falconer.
“Do you like the hunt, my lady?” Gar asked.
“I have not hunted in an age.” She again searched the rafters. “Have you hawks?”
“Earl William decided he preferred no feathers in his meals, so we built a mews. On the morrow, pray go have a look. The earl spared no expense for his hawks and falcons.”
Gar’s pride said he approved.
At the edge of her vision, Emma caught sight of
a lad with goblet and flagon in hand. The sound of more footsteps behind her meant her food had arrived and made her stomach growl.
To cover her noticeably loud appreciation for the upcoming meal, she continued the conversation. “I noticed the dogs by the hearth. Wolfhounds, are they not?”
Again more pride.
“They are. Great hunters, and excellent guard dogs, too. We turn them loose in the bailey at night. Since the darkness hampers their ability to tell friend from foe, everyone remains inside their quarters.” He leaned forward with a conspiratorial wink. “Keeps everyone in their place.”
Apparently Gar put great importance on keeping everyone in their place, which she’d already witnessed when the steward spoke to Darian. Was that why Darian took so long to come into the hall, because he didn’t want to deal with Gar?
One of the servants reached around her to serve the meal, and Emma looked down expecting to see a trencher. To her utter horror, there sat a washbasin, the water clear, the surface still and shining.
Caught off guard, Emma watched as her reflection wavered in the small but perilous pool of water. The water turned bloodred, and chilled her to the bone.
Terrified of what horrors might be revealed, Emma plunged her hands into the water basin and clamped her eyes shut. The entrancement broke, preventing the vision.
As always happened when she halted a vision, pain immediately pierced the base of her skull and spread swiftly upward and outward to encompass her entire head.
“My lady, is aught amiss?”
Emma couldn’t answer Maura, the pain too new and sharp to allow speech just yet.
Gar shouted an order at someone to fetch Darian, a hint of panic in his voice. As she took her hands from the water and placed fingers at her temples, she hoped everyone would just remain calm and Darian wouldn’t appear until the sharp pain subsided into the wretched ache with which she’d learned how to deal.
This wasn’t how she’d wanted to begin her stay at Hadone. Not with a headache that could force her to bed and darkness for several days. They would all think her weak, fragile, sickly.
Damn visions! Why must they make her life so miserable? What had she done to deserve their intrusion? Why was she so flawed?
On the verge of tears, Emma fought to control her emotions until the sharpness gave way to a throbbing ache. Careful not to look down at the washbasin, she opened her eyes to encounter Maura’s distressed concern.
Emma grasped hold of the first explanation for her distress that came to mind. “I beg your pardon, Maura, Gar. The journey must have been more trying than I thought. ’Tis merely a headache, but I think it best if I go up and lie down.”
“Want you aught to eat first?”
The thought of food churned her stomach. If she didn’t escape the hall soon, she might embarrass herself further.
“Nay, not now. Perhaps later.”
Eager to escape the stares of everyone in the hall, Emma rose from the bench. Too fast, too soon. She swayed.
Someone clasped her upper arms.
“I have you. Easy.”
Darian held her upright, his strong hands a counter to her dizziness. She leaned back for further relief and fell backward into his equally strong arms.
Chapter Six
Darian’s arms enfolded her, and though revealing her weakness wasn’t wise, Emma couldn’t help but lean back and lay her head on his solid shoulder.
Within moments her dizziness began to slowly subside, an unusual but welcome treat. She credited her speed in halting the vision for the rare luxury. Too often the water held her captive for longer spells. The longer the entrancement, the more difficult to break it, the more painful the headache.
His heat seeped through her garments, warming her clear through, including places where she shouldn’t be affected when in the throes of a headache.
Darian held her firmly but gently, as if she were fragile. Emma knew she was as durable as steel, but then, even steel succumbed to fire. If she remained unmoving, pressed against Darian, she might never be cold again.
“What happened?” His voice was soft, almost a whisper.
She dare not speak the truth, fearing Darian would be horrified, think her possessed of demons and let go. Surely she’d fall, and she’d embarrassed herself enough for the nonce.
“Headache. Came on so swiftly.”
“Let us get you into a bed.”
Oh aye, let’s!
Ye gods! How could she have amorous thoughts now? The dizziness had eased, but her eyesight was still blurred and sensitive to light.
Maura came around the table. “This way. Up the stairs.”
Distrustful of her balance, but well aware she should lie down as soon as possible, she tried easing away from Darian. He held fast.
“I need to follow Maura,” she said.
“You are not steady enough for the stairs.”
She’d done far more than climb stairs when enduring the throbbing in her head.
“I can manage.”
He actually chuckled. “So you have told me before. Manage or not, you are not climbing those stairs.”
How he accomplished the feat Emma didn’t know, but next thing she realized, Darian had picked her up and, with her cradled in his arms, was heading for the stairway.
“Wrap your arms around my neck.”
She didn’t even think to disobey.
’Struth, she should be mortified. Pride demanded she protest his heavy-handed ordering her about and carrying her around. She did neither. That he lifted her as if she weighed no more than a feather—and she knew her weight more likened to a boulder—astounded her to silence.
She hadn’t been carried since childhood, and even then not often. Her parents hadn’t believed in coddling, had insisted their children endure stoically whatever hardships came their way.
If this was spoiling, sweet mercy, she could too easily become accustomed to the spoiling.
Darian didn’t even breathe hard going up the stairs. Amazing. But more astounding was the scent she caught when he turned to head down the passageway.
Mingled with the scents of horse and leather and wool was an aroma that made her nose twitch. Not floral or herbal. Not sweet, but not sour. The dark, dusky scent hinted of something wild and dangerous. Of power and vigor.
Of Darian.
How odd his unique aroma, now intense in her nose and memory, didn’t set her stomach to churning as pungent scents sometimes did when she was in the grip of a headache.
Darian paused while Maura opened the bedchamber door and Emma shifted to whisper in his ear.
“Pray put me down. I give you my oath I will not fall.” He turned his head slightly, his intriguing hazel eyes narrowing.
“I do not like the look of your eyes. They shine strangely.”
Shine strangely? What might that mean? If her eyes had ever shone strangely on a headache’s onset, no one had mentioned it.
“Strange how?”
“Like pools of still, clear water.”
Pools of still, clear water were her enemy and she didn’t like the comparison.
“My eyes are brown. The water should be muddy.” He shook his head. “Clear and sharp, their color brilliant and shiny, as if you can see things no one else can.”
The observation veered too close to the truth for comfort. She turned her face into his shoulder to hide her eyes, so he could see no more, guess too much.
“Darian, you may put her down now.” Maura’s voice drifted into Emma’s hearing from some far-off place. “While you help her into bed, I will brew a potion of feverfew and willow bark.”
Emma knew whatever potion Maura brewed wouldn’t ease the pain, but she wasn’t about to stop Maura from leaving the bedchamber.
Darian slowly crossed the floor. Emma felt more than saw Maura rush out the door.
For the first time in her life, she was alone in a bed-chamber with a man, one she knew would become her lover. A wave of intense longing and need w
ashed through her, her vision of him as clear as the day he’d first come to her.
Would he make love to her today? Now?
He halted by the bedside. “You are still in great pain?” His voice was low and husky. If she told him no, he might well climb into the bed with her. But the dull throb at the base of her skull warned her to resist the temptation, no matter that she tingled all over. She dare not trust the headache to go away anytime soon, not to flare into pain so agonizing it hurt to lay her head on a bolster.
“Not so great. You will recall I told you that you need not carry me.”
“So you said.” Her senses reeled when he unexpectedly kissed her forehead, his warm, full lips so soothing she nearly moaned aloud with pleasure. “No idea what brought on the headache?”
She knew exactly, but couldn’t tell him, so answered with the shrug of a shoulder, wishing he would kiss her again.
“Perhaps rest and the potion will cure you quickly.” “Perhaps.”
Except right now she wasn’t interested in any potion. With brazenness she hadn’t known herself capable of, Emma unclasped her hands from around his neck and cupped the sides of his face. “Some cures cannot be found in a brew of herbs.”
Then Darian’s eyes changed color, darkening with what could only be desire. So clearly did she see his want of her that she trembled.
The corner of his mouth quirked upward just before he granted her wish and kissed her again.
Oh, mercy, his lips were warm, and the pressure of his mouth wonderful. And just when those delightful tingles sparked with renewed fervor and her hopes of a bed partner began to rise, Darian broke the kiss and swiftly set her down on the bed.
“If we continue this folly, we may rip asunder all hope for an annulment,” he stated before spinning around and leaving the chamber.
Emma groaned and she snuggled into the bed, a spot low in her belly aflame and yearning.
Damn, her head hurt, but her thoughts weren’t as muddled as usual, and she clearly understood Darian’s comment. He might want her, but he also wanted an annulment. Apparently he believed not consummating the marriage the best way to go about it.
