She looked at Giles then, eyebrows quirked in a frown.
“You were betrothed before?” he asked.
She nodded once. “Stephen. He followed his foster father on crusade and never returned.”
“What happened then?”
She smoothed the backs of her hands, not meeting his eyes. “Stephen’s mother died of a fever that next winter. His father—no longer cared about anything. He would have sent me back to Compton, but…”
“But Garley ruled there and didn’t want you?” The words were brutal but had to be said.
Emelin inhaled slowly and nodded. “He said I was good for nothing but to eat food he didn’t have. He sent me to the convent.”
“Were you to join the order?”
“He didn’t care what I did, as long as I didn’t bother him. I had no heart for the contemplative life, but Mother Gertrude gave me shelter. In return, I helped the convent raise funds. The nuns’ delicate embroidery pieces and fine lace are much in demand. I negotiated sales and arranged delivery of goods.”
Giles considered her words, then inclined his head and resumed his story. “This Sir Clifford, your Stephen’s father. He is ill now and prepared to die. To that end, he has made several legacies. One is for his son’s former betrothed. You are to receive the manor that would have been your dowry had you married. It is his to give. From what I overheard, it is a substantial holding with fine farms and good tenants. Yours, free and clear when he dies. Of course, it will be managed by your husband. You are an heiress.”
The silence was deafening. At last, Emelin whispered. “But I’ve had no contact with Sir Clifford for five years. The two deaths affected him greatly. I didn’t know he yet lived.”
Giles could almost see her mind review the information he had presented, saw when the realization hit.
“You’re saying Lord Osbert wanted to marry me for the land? But why would that place me in danger? As my husband, he would have my property.”
This was the part he hated to reveal. “Lord Osbert had not been told of the bequest. The notification went to the male who was your closest relative.”
She gasped. “Garley? But he would have no say in it, now that I am to marry.”
“But if you marry and your husband dies, Garley, as your brother would—”
“Assume he had control of everything,” she interrupted. “Me, this new land—and Langley.”
“Only if you had a child. Without an heir, Lord Osbert’s wife could be married off at the will of the king. Your brother could make payment to the crown to postpone that, but I believe he wouldn’t appreciate the outlay of coin.”
“Of course not.” She sighed again. “Is that all?”
“I wish it were.” Giles wasn’t certain how to phrase the rest. Subtle or direct, the last part would hurt his little warrior even more.
“With or without a child, there was always the chance you might remarry. So it would be more convenient for your brother if you were…” How could he say this? “Not around.”
“Garley intends to…kill me?” Emelin sounded remarkably calm.
“If the child were a boy, he would be able to petition for custody until the child reached his majority. Until then, all the income and property would be under Garley’s control.”
“There are too many ‘ifs’ involved in this story. I can’t believe it. It’s too preposterous.”
“However may be, that’s what I heard.”
“I can’t believe it,” Emelin repeated. There was a pause. “You’re sure it was Garley speaking?”
She didn’t look at Giles, but he nodded nonetheless. “During the conversation, the voices grew louder. I recognized your brother’s. When they rose to leave, I saw him clearly in the moonlight.”
“You said a couple. Who was the woman?”
“I never learned her name. One of those who chattered in the hall the day I arrived. Very showy. Preened like a mare in heat.”
“Lady Cleo,” Emelin pronounced, then gave a short chuckle. “Mare in heat indeed. I wish you wouldn’t make me laugh after I’ve just learned my brother wants me dead.”
“Your relationship to him is an accident of birth. He never behaved as a true brother to you.” All well and good for Giles to say, since he’d never had a brother by birth. He did, however, have brothers-in-arms, men he could trust to guard his back, not bury a dagger in it.
After a moment he said, “That’s why, when you appeared so conveniently in the garden after that, I had no choice but to take you. Whether you wanted me to or not.”
“But you know a formal betrothal is binding.” Emelin rose and paced the small space as Giles had done earlier. “I can’t simply announce I won’t marry Lord Osbert. Garley threatened to return me to the convent for good if I don’t honor the agreement. Is this a world where a woman can simply say, ‘I shall not’ and walk away? No.”
She stopped with a gasp. Her hands flew to her face. “The child, Margaret. I’d completely forgotten about her.” Emelin’s pacing resumed, her steps frantic, her breath shallow. “Garley will sink to any depths to have his way. I must return, or she’ll be in danger.”
Giles froze. His father had a daughter? He had a sister? Why had he not heard of this? “She’s just a babe of three years,” Emelin cried. “But it won’t matter to Garley.”
Giles forced himself to calm. It changed nothing. This child must have grandparents, from her mother’s side. They would raise her. “You can do nothing for the child. She is Lord Osbert’s to protect. Her father can see to her care.”
Emelin was so distracted she had forgotten the medallion at least. He was thankful for that. He’d prefer that tale not be told right now. But his lady would recall the pendant before long.
His lady. Hah! She could never be his. He had nothing to offer except a nomadic existence following the army, and he’d never permit her to suffer such a life. That left a lonely cottage where she’d wait for weeks, perhaps months, never knowing if he lived. And should there be children.
At the thought of her big with his child, he swallowed a moan. A sound must have slipped out, because she turned.
“Are you in pain?” She hurried to slide an arm around his waist. “Lie down. You’ve been up too long. You’ll do yourself harm if you don’t rest now.”
His arm came around her shoulders to anchor her at his side. So right, this closeness. Before Giles could draw her around, a quick knock interrupted. Davy slid in. Close on his heels was a knight Emelin introduced as Sir Thomas.
Giles was glad to meet the man who’d found them on the road. There was a question he wanted put to the captain of Granville’s guard.
“My lord said you want to send a message to Chauvere,” the captain said. “One of my men will go, if you’ll tell me it.”
Giles sat, then motioned him over. “Tell Lord Henry to remember what occurred on the king’s journey home. Ask him to meet me here at Granville as soon as possible.”
Sir Thomas repeated the words and assured Giles he’d pass them along to the man who knew the fastest route to Chauvere. As the knight turned to leave, Giles asked, “Why did you not go with the others to Scotland?”
Eyebrows lifted, the man paused and looked back. “I’m responsible for the protection of this castle. I could not desert my post.”
The knight’s quick blink gave Giles what he sought. “You don’t think the venture is a sound one?”
Sir Thomas grimaced. “I think I’m needed here more than I’m needed on that mission.”
Giles leveled the look he gave his men when they dissembled.
The captain’s throat bobbed as he swallowed. “I’m not saying we shouldn’t support the king, sir,” he ventured. “But the one who heads this undertaking, Lord Paxton, I can’t trust him. That’s a fact, and I hope you don’t hold it against me, seeing as how you fight alongside our Richard.”
“What’s your reason, man?” Giles approved of the captain’s sharp perception. He decided right then—t
he man could be trusted.
“Can’t put my finger on it,” the other admitted with a sharp shake of the head. “Except he talks too smooth, like honey. Lures you in and before you know it, you’re all stuck and can’t wade out.”
Giles knew exactly what Sir Thomas meant. He knew several men who seemed to think their ability to sway others made them superior, gave them the right to take what they wanted no matter who got hurt. Hadn’t Giles’ father done the same with his mother?
“There is another matter,” the captain added reluctantly. “He asked too many questions about Sir Daviess. Once he asked how a crazy man could manage a holding this size. I found two of his men snooping around our defenses the night before they left. One laughed when I told him they were none of his concern. Said we’d see about that.”
Giles rose and frowned, crossed his arms on his chest. He ignored the twinge in his side. Sounded as if Lord Paxton had designs on something besides a march to Scotland.
“How many of your men went with him?”
“Half. Two knights, four men-at-arms. Sir James wanted to stay here. A few of the village men went along. Not sure the number.”
“Sir Thomas, I don’t know what scheme is underway, but I believe it’s not what has been represented. That’s why Lord Henry must get here as quickly as possible. I’ll trust you to send the swiftest messenger.” Pray Henry hadn’t left for Scotland.
“That’s me.” Davy surged into the space between the two men. “I kin travel faster ’n anyone. ’N I kin find my way. Found you, didn’t I?”
Giles had forgotten about the youth, he’d been so quiet. “So you did. But we need someone familiar with the countryside for speed.”
“Sir James’ squire can go; he’s from Riverton, not far from Chauvere,” the captain offered.
“Good.” A tingle of anticipation coursed through Giles’ veins. He knew that bright tension, the promise of action, from his fighting days. Suddenly he was starved. “I’ll eat that stew, now.”
Emelin held out the bowl, her expression solemn. “You like this kind of thing, don’t you? The challenge of danger?”
Her question took him by surprise, but she was right. The energy of impending action was better than a pitcher of wine. He smiled.
With a sad shake of her head, she left.
Chapter Twenty-Three
He ate. He slept. He woke—caught himself listening for the sound of Emelin’s footsteps in the corridor. She didn’t return. Perhaps she regretted giving him her innocence. Perhaps she felt guilty. For whatever reason, she stayed away.
Her desertion didn’t matter. He’d been alone most of his life. He liked it that way. Responsible only to his king, his commander, his men. Women always came easily to him and left just as easily. No entanglements. Time he remembered that, and why he was on this island. His hand grasped the medallion around his neck. This should be his focus.
Still, the room seemed emptier than before. He paced the few steps allowed by the tiny chamber, restless to speed his healing. A soft sound in the hallway made his breath hitch. Emelin. He turned, anticipation filling him. It drained when a nun pushed through, carrying a packet, a pitcher, and a candle.
“I’m Sister Ressa.” Her voice was calm, her manner contained. She set the pitcher on the table and motioned. “Lie down, please. Let me see your side. And don’t look at me like that.”
Giles realized he’d been staring, but he stood his ground against the tiny whirlwind.
The one-sided conversation continued as she unfolded the cloth packet. “I’m the one who dug the metal out of your side.” She waved her fingers. “Sit, sit.”
God’s blood. Did all the women in England order their men around like queens? He sat. She moved the open shirt aside and untied the linen bandage.
“You’re up too soon,” she pronounced. “You must be still so you can heal.” But her frown smoothed as the examination proceeded. A finger poked his side, and her sparse gray brow arched. “Incredible. I’ve never seen flesh mend this quickly.”
Apparently she didn’t expect him to answer, because she continued to speak as she looked him over. “From the scars you bear, I’d say you’ve had much practice at recovering from wounds. Remember, there’s just so much the body can take. No one is invincible. Even our Lord Jesus faced mortal death. Take better care of yourself.”
With that order, she gathered her supplies. “Rest now. I must visit one of the men-at-arms who returned earlier. His arm I can set. It’s the arrow wound to his shoulder that gives me concern. It went without care too long.”
There had been an attack? Why had no one told him? Giles was on his feet before Sister Ressa could move out of his way. “Where did this happen, Sister? Is this castle in danger?”
“Be calm. There’s no threat to Granville. He is one of the soldiers who went with the king’s man. I believe they were set upon by raiders.”
Giles stepped around the nun and made the short distance to the door before her voice stopped him.
“No, no.” Her voice was quiet but its warning stopped him. “Everyone is asleep. It’s after matins, but I wanted to assure myself you’re recovering. Tomorrow I return to Lincoln. The Lord be with you.” She placed her hand on his arm as she passed, the touch surprisingly calming.
“Thank you for all your care, Sister.” Giles followed her to the corridor, watched the flickering candlelight. Blackness extended to the right and left. It was night. He might as well rest, prepare for the morrow when he’d investigate that injured man-at-arms.
Returning to the comfortable straw mattress, he stretched out and sighed. Conflicted thoughts and emotions roiled in his head; he’d never sleep.
The next he knew, something brought him awake. The night candle had gone out and coals in the brazier were too low to light the room. He squinted into the dark as he rose.
“Silverhawk?” Davy’s voice floated from the vicinity of the doorway just before he and his candle stepped inside. “The guard’s spotted an army comin’ this way. I think it’s soldiers from Langley. Want’a leave while we can?”
Would Lord Osbert send an entire army after Emelin? “I thought you said only two trackers followed the lady and me.”
“’S’all I saw leave,” Davy insisted. “Maybe they went back for reinforcements.”
Giles reached for a clean shirt folded on the floor beside a tunic. “Is Sir Thomas awake? Where’s Lady Emelin?”
“It’s mornin’. They’re all breakin’ their fast in the ’all. ’Cept Sir Thomas’s gone out to the gate. Thought you ought’a know.”
“You did right.” Giles nodded to the leather bag Emelin had left the day before. “Pack me those things on the table. Don’t forget the jar.” Davy scurried to obey.
“Merde.” The muffled curse escaped Giles as he pulled on the tunic. He’d been abed too long, lulled into a false sense of safety. Never before had he allowed physical comforts to interfere so totally.
“What’ll we do?” The lad sounded eager. Soon enough he’d learn danger wasn’t a game.
“I’ll see who comes. If it’s men from Langley, we’ll leave.”
Davy halted, his eyes wide in disbelief. “We’re not runnin’, are we?”
Giles didn’t spare him a look. “First you asked to go. Now you’re disappointed we might do so? Make up your mind.”
The boy chewed on his lower lip, a look of discomfort on his face. “It’s just…you’re Silverhawk ’n all. A famous mercenary don’t run.”
“A smart man knows when to retreat and gather reinforcements. He plans his attack; he doesn’t wait like a lamb for the butcher to arrive.”
The youth didn’t look convinced, but he followed Giles. As they made their way down the steps, Giles realized Davy didn’t know the real reason they must avoid capture. The boy thought Silverhawk had stolen a bride. He didn’t know about the mission. When they reached the hall, Davy streaked out the door into the bailey before Giles could stop him.
Emelin stood bes
ide Lady Clysta, face pale. She stared with wide eyes stark, unfocused. He strode forward, his first thought to take her in his arms, reassure her. She placed a hand on his. “You’ve heard that soldiers come? You must leave. I don’t know what Garley or Lord Osbert will do if they find you here.”
She paused, her expression pleading. “I must return with them, you know. But if you are gone, I can claim you brought me here for safety.”
“What happens once you’re at Langley?”
Color flooded her face. “What else can I do?”
Emelin’s unusual docility disturbed him. Where was the feisty woman who’d remained by his side these past days? Her presence healed him as much as Sister Ressa’s ministrations.
The nun, who was leaving. An idea unfolded. He didn’t like it, but it would serve for now. He grasped Emelin’s shoulders. “Go to Lincoln with Sister Ressa. You’ll be safe there. She hasn’t gone yet, has she?”
Emelin lifted her hands to clasp his. “She’s in the chapel. But what about you?”
Davy dashed in, calling out as he crossed the floor. “You better come. Sir Daviess says ’e wants you.”
Giles squeezed her fingers. “Get ready. You must disappear before they arrive.” He strode to the door and ran down the steps, any lingering discomfort in his side forgotten. Across the bailey, Sir Daviess and his captain stood at the bottom of the stairway to the wall walk. Both looked up at his approach.
“Don’t look like Langley’s troops,” Sir Thomas said. “I don’t see anything I recognize.”
He’d hardly finished when a shout rang out from the guard above. “Three comin’ in at a gallop.”
There was less time than Giles had thought. How would he get Emelin away? To Sir Daviess he said, “Is there a postern gate? Sister Ressa and Lady Emelin must leave undetected.”
The old man nodded. “I’ll see to it. But we can’t afford to lose a man escorting them.”
He was right. The garrison was pitifully small to mount a defense. Even one less fighter would make a difference.
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