by Shari Anton
That the king intended to use a little girl as a political pawn wasn’t surprising, but to realize that girl might be Nicole disturbed Emma greatly.
“She is all of ten!”
“Emma, there is no immediate danger of the king marrying her off. The Welsh have not taken sides in this war, preferring to allow Stephen and Maud to wreak havoc on each other. And truly, this war could drag on for many years because neither side is strong enough to defeat the other, and Stephen and Maud refuse to budge from their positions each time they negotiate.”
All true, but at the moment Emma didn’t care about the damn war.
“But what harm for Nicole to go home to Camelen? Why must she remain here?”
And she knew the answer even before Darian said, “Because Camelen is too close to Wales. Some enterprising prince may take it into his head to seize her before she can be of use to King Stephen.”
Nicole slipped off Emma’s lap and faced Darian. “Have I no say in the matter?”
Darian put a hand on Nicole’s shoulder. “I fear not right now, little one. Much depends on the outcome of this war. Your fate will depend upon who sits on England’s throne when next there is trouble with Wales.”
“Then I must stay at Bledloe Abbey until... until the king decides who it pleases him I must marry.”
“So he says. Does that upset you overmuch?”
Nicole tilted her head. “Nay, truly it does not.” Emma supposed she should be glad Nicole took the news so well, but the whole thing still made her angry. “Perhaps, in a few months, I can again petition the king and—”
“Nay, Lady Emma, do not,” Mother Abbess interrupted. “Do nothing to remind King Stephen that Nicole is available for his use. If he intends Nicole for a Welsh prince, then he may put her out of his mind until that opportunity arises. As Darian says, much depends upon the war’s outcome, and the Welsh response to whoever occupies the English throne.”
Emma was tempted to race into the cloister, peer into the water in the fountain, and demand to know who would lay final claim to the throne.
But then, given the nature of her visions, she might only be more confused and angry than she was now.
Emma held out her arms and Nicole slipped into them. “Ah, dearest, I wish I knew what was best.”
“No decision needs be made immediately,” Darian said, his voice soothing. “If Nicole is amenable, perhaps this is the safest place for her to reside. She is well out of the reach of Welsh raiders and the king has too many other matters to settle to give Nicole much thought. What say you, Nicole?”
Emma felt her little sister’s sigh.
“I truly have no choice, do I?”
Mother Abbess pushed up from her desk. “Perhaps you will someday, but for now, your choice is whether to accompany me to the chapel for prayer or hie off to the infirmary.”
Nicole’s head popped off Emma’s shoulder. “The infirmary!”
“I thought as much. If you hurry, you can relieve Sister Enid so she might attend chapel.”
“As you say, Mother Abbess.”
“Walk.”
“How can I hurry—”
Mother Abbess pointed to the door, and with another sigh, Nicole obeyed.
The abbess shuffled out from behind her desk and patted Emma on the shoulder. “Worry not for Nicole for the nonce. The girl is both bright and resilient, and we shall help her weather the storm. Darian, men are not allowed to take meals or sleep within our walls, but there is a small priest’s house, currently unoccupied, a half-league south of here.” The nun fetched a key from a peg near the door and handed it to Darian. “You may spend the night there, if it suits you.”
Darian twirled the key in his fingers. “I am sure it will do me nicely, Mother Abbess. A roof over my head is always welcome.”
“Emma, I shall see you at supper,” the abbess ordered, then left her office.
Her emotions in upheaval, Emma could only stare at the door, numb, not knowing if she should feel angry or sad, relieved or resigned.
“Nicole took the news well,” Darian commented. “Better than I, I believe.”
“Since there is naught else you can do, might I suggest you fetch your cloak. You can help me decide if the priest’s hut is worthy of housing my exalted personage.”
He teased, of course. The priest’s hut was likely a lovely, well-kept cottage where a bishop could spend the night in comfort. Still, the walk Darian proposed sounded wonderful, and they had so many other things to talk about.
“I will meet you at the gate.”
Darian set a slow pace. Now that he was in Emma’s solitary company again, he wasn’t in any hurry to give it up.
“Did you have a nice visit with Nicole?” “We had some wonderful talks.”
“So your mind is more at ease?”
She sighed. “It was until you brought news of the king’s intentions.”
“Apparently, when the king reached Wallingford, the earl of Chester berated him for allowing you to marry. I do not think the king had decided on either your fate or Nicole’s until Chester pointed out how valuable you two could be when dealing with the Welsh. If we obtain an annulment, I fear the same fate for you.”
Emma merely shrugged a shoulder. “Kings use their wards to make alliances. If my father had not wanted a love match for me, he would have done the same for himself.”
She spoke true, and he still hated how Emma might be used. He detested the thought of Emma being given in marriage to any man, a Welsh prince or no. Emma was his wife, damn it! Even if not for much longer, a few days or possibly weeks. But right now, she was still his!
“Unfair to the woman.”
“I doubt the men are much happier. Imagine being given a woman, being told you must take her to wife... but then you do, do you not? Fortunately for you, we intend to bring our marriage to an end.”
Obtaining an annulment would free them both from this marriage, which neither of them had wanted. But only he would be free to go on with life as he chose. Emma should have the same freedom!
“I also had a few enlightening talks with Mother Abbess,” she continued. “She feels we should present the archbishop of Canterbury with our petition for annulment, citing forced consent as our reason. Hard feelings exist between Canterbury and Winchester, so the archbishop of Canterbury might be open to annulling a marriage blessed by the bishop of Winchester. So our marriage begins with a blessing from Henry and ends with a bit of revenge for his blessing. Is that not sweet?”
She didn’t sound pleased in the least, and he dared feel a spark of hope for the plan that had come into his head while on the ride from Wallingford to Bledloe Abbey.
His palms sweaty, he suggested, “Perhaps we should not annul our marriage.”
She stopped and stared at him with those wide brown eyes he’d missed becoming lost in. “Why?”
Because I love you. Fearful of her response, he instead gave her a sensible reason.
“You could do whatever you wanted, live wherever you please without worry over becoming snared in the king’s machinations.”
She still stared, peering inside him too deeply. He looked away before she could reach his heart, his very soul, and learn his secrets.
’Twouldn’t do for Emma to know of his selfishness. ’Twould be disastrous for him to reveal how much he loved her.
He’d wrestled with the emotion ever since realizing why the king’s plans infuriated him. Why snug cottages and welcoming kisses appealed. Why he wanted to keep Emma for himself.
Perhaps his affection for a wolfhound had weakened his defenses, but Emma had somehow found a key to the lock and flung the door wide open.
“Do I understand rightly that you are willing to sacrifice your freedom so I could not be forced to marry a Welsh prince?”
Somehow his noble offer no longer sounded so noble. “Aye.”
For what seemed an eternity, she stared off into the distance, and the longer her silence, the tighter the coil in his stom
ach.
Finally, she said softly, “I appreciate your offer, but fear I must refuse.”
The kick to his gut set him in motion again, the distress too deep that for several steps he couldn’t think much less talk. She walked silently beside him, not offering a reason for refusing, and sweet mercy he didn’t want to hear from her lips what he already knew.
Noblewomen did not marry commoners. Descendants of the legendary house of Pendragon did not bind themselves to Flemish peasants. So he would give Emma what she wanted and pray to God some Welsh prince made her happy.
Hoping his voice wouldn’t reveal his distress, Darian managed to say, “Then we should make for Canterbury.”
“Earl William will not mind?”
“He gives me leave to settle our affairs.”
“I suppose we should be grateful for his understanding.”
Darian decided Emma didn’t need to know everything that had happened at Wallingford, especially how harshly William had reacted to his disobedience.
“ ’Twill take some time for me to regain Earl William’s full respect and trust.”
And were he to be completely honest, his trust in his fellow mercenaries had been shaken, too. Even while they’d eaten together, gone out on patrol, shook dice, he’d wondered which one had taken his dagger out of his pack. All the while at Wallingford, he’d kept his boots on with the dagger securely tucked inside.
Had any of them noticed? He would wager they all did.
“Earl William will not take long to again give you his trust,” she stated with more confidence than he felt. “You are a man of your word, Darian. He knows this. He is also aware of your sense of honor and duty. I predict ’twill take little time for him to realize you are all that you were before I meddled in your life.”
Emma had no idea of what her meddling cost him. “You meddled me out of a noose. Have I thanked you for that yet?”
Emma smiled. “Not as yet. Oh, my, I expected the priest’s hut to be nice, but not this nice.”
The hut was actually a small manor built of stone nestled amidst a small copse of trees. Oak doors graced the entrance, and white shutters elegantly covered the windows.
Darian put key to lock and lifted the latch, opening the door to a graciously appointed room. A large table sat in the center of the plank floor, surrounded by four armed, beautifully carved chairs. Beside the stone hearth sat a full woodbox. Against the far wall was a large bed, the thick mattress covered in deep blue velvet to match the drapes on the rods supported by four thick corner posters.
“If this is the accommodation a priest enjoys, perhaps I should consider taking vows!”
Emma laughed as she looked around. “It is nice, is it not? Large but not grandiose, sizable but yet snug and inviting. You should be very comfortable here for the night.”
Snug cottages and welcoming smiles. Impossible yearnings.
Darian tossed the key on the table. “Better than a tent.” “I should think so,” she commented, then tilted her head. “You slept in a tent at Wallingford?”
“On a folded-up blanket, listening to Thomas snore. At least tonight I will have quiet—and heat.”
“But will you not miss the company? Having someone with whom to share your meals or... toss dice with?”
He’d prefer to share his meals with her. “Tossing dice helps pass the time on a rainy night. Not much else to do when trapped in a tent.”
“Do you often win?”
“Not against Thomas, which is why I rarely let him talk me into playing. Why?”
“Merely curious.”
Wondering why the devil she should be curious about his dicing habits, Darian scrunched down at the hearth and began to pull wood from the box, arranging it for a fire. Behind him, Emma pulled out a chair and sat down.
“Darian, when we apply for the annulment, if I must admit to lying about your being with me the night of de Salis’s murder, your neck might end up in that noose.”
“I think not,” he said, and finished building and lighting the fire while he told her of the conclusions he and William had reached.
With the tale over and the fire burning brightly, he dusted his hands and turned around to find her frowning deeply.
Hoping to reassure her, he said, “If William confirms his suspicion over who took my dagger, and we can prove Bishop Henry’s men killed de Salis, I need fear no noose.”
“That has been the key all along, has it not? To learn who took your dagger?”
“Aye, which means I should have focused on my fellow mercenaries instead of on de Salis. Problem was, I did not want one of them to be involved.”
“There is also the matter of the bishop’s dead soldiers. If any of the men we... disposed of in the clearing were returned to Winchester Palace, Bishop Henry may find a way to punish you for those deaths.”
“He is welcome to try, but for those deaths I have a trustworthy witness to what transpired. You. Now, if you are ready, I will walk you back to the abbey gate. The abbess expects you for supper.”
She glanced at the door. “I do not believe I am ready.” He’d seen that look in her eyes before, at Hadone, just before she’d begged him to take her with him to London, fearful he might leave her behind.
“I will be here on the morn, Emma. My horse is in the abbey’s stables. You can sleep in his stall, if you wish, to ensure I do not leave for Canterbury without you.”
She waved a dismissive hand. “That did not concern me. ’Tis just that I would rather spend the night here, with you.”
And there he went, flying up to heaven again. “Likely Mother Abbess would come marching out here herself to drag you back inside.”
“Well, we are married.” Emma got up and sauntered toward him. “Mother Abbess was also the one to point out to me that the Church does not approve of men who keep themselves from their wives, so she has no right to keep me from you.”
She moved with the grace of a swan, her hands clasped behind her back, her bosom firm and high and enticing.
He had no intention of resisting temptation if the woman persisted. Hellfire, if Emma had accepted his offer to remain married, he’d have had her in the bed and on her back by now. So why did he feel obligated to remind Emma she dallied with a man who couldn’t compare to a Welsh prince?
“We will not be husband and wife much longer. Canterbury is only four days away.”
Four days left to wish for that which he couldn’t have, to long for a life that couldn’t be.
She didn’t stop until she pressed up against him, her arms snaking around his waist, her eyes filled with desire.
“Then we have four days. You are still my husband in the eyes of the Church and king. I missed you, Darian. I missed you so very much.”
What could he do except enfold her, kiss a mouth ripe for his kiss. Over and over, he dipped into her sweet mouth, his passion rising, indulging in a fantasy he had no business entertaining.
She’d missed him, but not for the reason he might have hoped. She wanted him, not out of love but because she’d missed the pleasure he could give her.
And, damn, if that was all she wanted from him, then he’d make the coupling so memorable she would forever compare all other men to him and find them wanting.
Breathing raggedly, he removed her circlet and veil. “How much time have we before you must return for supper?”
She tugged the laces of his tunic. “Enough, if you hurry.”
He pulled off her bliaut and chemise as one. “I do not like hurrying with you. You are a morsel to be savored, not a quick tidbit.”
Her smile turned saucy. “I might like being a tidbit.” Darian toed off his boots; Emma eased her beautiful bare arse onto a chair to remove hers, then slowly, sensually, slid her fingers down her legs to remove her hose.
He couldn’t get out of his breeches fast enough to suit him, his male parts aching and his penis so hard it hurt.
Her approving inspection increased the pressure in his loins. Mors
el to be savored or no, he wasn’t going to last long if he didn’t rein in his nigh out-of-control desire.
Darian had almost regained domination over his passion when Emma stood up, all creamy skin and luscious curves, all his for the next little while.
She stared at the male part he strove to restrain. “I was right when I informed Mother Abbess of your prowess.”
Though stunned, he inflated, just a bit. “You talked to Mother Abbess of our affair?”
She padded toward him, the fire’s light flickering over her skin in an alluring swirl of light and shadow.
“One of the grounds for annulment is male impotence.” She wrapped her warm, cunning hands around his penis. “ ’Twas necessary to assure her you suffered no physical impairments. Indeed, were I to describe to her how long, and thick, and firm your phallus is, she would likely envy me its use.”
He cupped her breasts, which fit his hands perfectly, so willing to answer her siren’s call he turned a deaf ear to all but the sound of her voice and the silkiness of her skin beneath his fingertips.
“Too bad for the abbess, then, because I want no one but you.” Then she squeezed him gently, the pressure sublime. “Have a care, Emma, or you will be a mere crumb instead of a tidbit.”
She whispered, “Missed me, did you?”
“Can you not feel how much?”
In answer she opened her hand and swirled a fingertip around the tip. “Not wholly as yet.”
“Then allow me to show you.”
He swept her up and crossed the floor to toss her onto the blue velvet coverlet. The woman slithered back to the middle of the bed, her smile seductive.
Emma had refused his offer to remain married, but for at least four more days, she was his wife. This woman he would love forever would share what days and nights were left to them. How did one crowd a lifetime of memories into a mere four days?
With enthusiasm. Without regrets.
“You are no tidbit, Emma. You are the whole damn banquet.”
