Silverhawk

by Bettis, Barbara

  With Giles, perhaps? What would life be like with the infamous Silverhawk? Perhaps his only home was a tent beside a battlefield. She could make a home in a tent, provided he shared it with her. The nights would be magical enough to offset any inconvenience of the hard life.

  Her face burned, but her mouth twitched. Sister Ressa threw a glance, raised her eyebrows, then smiled in return. “He’s a fine young man,” she said. “He has his demons, but you can lay them to rest.”

  Emelin didn’t want to answer, but she lifted a shoulder in a half-shrug. “He’s a soldier. A mercenary. If he survives, he’ll return to the king.”

  “Hasn’t left yet, has he?”

  Sister was right. Much could happen before he sailed back to the war. Perhaps he’d ask her to go along. But he’d never mentioned love. Nor marriage. Passion sparked between them, but passion seldom provided a strong basis for marriage.

  What basis existed with Lord Osbert?

  Realization hit her like a rock. She was actually considering a future with Giles of Cambria. “I can’t.” The words rushed out on a gasp.

  “Of course you can.” Sister Ressa reined her mount closer to Emelin. “I’ve seen the way he watches you. He loves you. He simply hasn’t realized it.”

  “No. I mean, I can’t reject my obligation.” Panic drove Emelin’s voice higher. “I’m betrothed to another.” The story came out, then, words tumbling over each other. When she’d finished, she cast a wary glance at her companion. “You must think me depraved.”

  Sister chuckled. “Oh, my dear. To love a man is not depraved. The existence of a formal betrothal presents a problem. Yet if circumstances are as you describe, I’m certain the agreement can be set aside. The cost may be significant, however.”

  Hope flared, and Emelin straightened in the saddle. Could it be possible? Might Osbert agree to release her from the pledge for enough coin? For land? Oh, but what of Garley? And the child? Little Margaret would pay for Emelin’s selfishness. The image deflated Emelin’s brief bout of optimism.

  “My brother would never permit it. And who would care for Lord Osbert’s daughter? I can’t reject responsibility for my own pleasure. Foolish of me to even think it.” After all the emotion she’d experienced earlier, now her mind felt numb. Hopeless.

  They rode in silence. Sister Ressa’s head bowed, her hands laced on the pommel. Finally she looked up. “I cannot believe such sacrifice is required of you,” she said. “Your devotion to responsibility shows a purity of spirit. Your brother sounds an evil man, who desires to use you for his own gain. That is not the way of our Lord. As for the child—a dilemma certainly. If your heart were not given elsewhere, you might choose to proceed. Have faith. Our Lord will provide a way.”

  Emelin couldn’t summon words to ask for divine intervention. Given the events of the past few days, she wasn’t sure God still listened to her. Given her life to this point, she wasn’t sure He ever had.

  She envisioned her years ahead with Langley. She’d never please him. He disapproved of her manner, her mind, her spirit. Unless she submitted completely, the future promised eternal strife.

  Such submission would suffocate her.

  Nor could she forget Garley. The betrothal brought him funds. But if Emelin’s newly discovered inheritance proved as substantial as Giles said, she’d gladly give it up. Garley could have it all. What a simple solution. A huge weight lifted from Emelin’s shoulders.

  At last she knew her dream of a home and family could not be at the expense of her heart. And if Giles refused to marry her, so be it. She’d follow him without vows.

  She loved him.

  He was the one to whom she gave her innocence. She couldn’t bear the thought of anyone else’s touch. She’d wed Giles or no one.

  But that didn’t answer the question: would he want her? Emelin drew in a soft breath, held it. Judging from their times together, he desired her. Desire was a start, never mind what she’d thought earlier. Perhaps he could learn to care. She threw back her head and laughed in unexpected freedom. The day was beautiful, wasn’t it?

  She longed to sing, to turn, to race back. To share the answer with Giles.

  But no. If a battle brewed, he needed to concentrate on the fight. He promised to find her when the conflict concluded. She’d follow orders, demonstrate her trustworthiness.

  The group made excellent time during the afternoon until they neared a “Y” where the road diverged. The men halted. One road led toward Lincoln, the other continued southeast around a curve.

  A flash of light made Emelin squint toward the curve. She reined in beside Sir James.

  “Looks like an armed party coming this way, milady.” He gestured toward the glint. “See the reflection? That’s from armor. If we hurry, we might miss them.”

  But there was no way to escape notice of the oncoming soldiers.

  A finger of ice scraped her spine.

  She knew who they must be.

  A trio of knights rode forward. Sir James and the other guard reached for swords, but Emelin stopped them. “No. Sheath your weapons. That’s my brother, Sir Garley of Compton.”

  Her words thudded through the dead air. “He’s come for me.”

  A new future, almost in reach, gone.

  Just like before.

  She watched, gulping bitter gall, as Garley approached. He caught her eye. If looks were swords, she’d lie bleeding in the dust. What a fool she’d been to think she’d escape.

  “Sister,” boomed Garley in false cheer. “Well met. You save me from the further inconvenience of chasing you down. I don’t have the time.”

  Surprise kept her silent. Had he not come for her? Sliding a gaze over the approaching lines, she estimated nearly two score soldiers. A sizable force. Much too large for a search party.

  A rider approached, and she shook her head in recognition. Sir Humphrey. So her betrothed had contributed soldiers to the force moving this way.

  Her brother turned. “Sir Humphrey, escort the lady back to Langley. I’m sure your lord will be happy to see her.” Garley absently scratched his neck as he considered Emelin’s companions.

  “Were you returning to the loving arms of your betrothed?” His caustic remark rang as he urged his mount closer. She refused to back down. “Or perhaps you were returning to the convent with this fine nun? I think you shall not. Sir Humphrey, take the good sister along. Lady Emelin has need of spiritual guidance.”

  “Wait.” Garley’s cold eyes searched hers. “Who sheltered you these past days?” His narrowed gaze flicked from one Granville guard to another, then back to Emelin. “Where is the mercenary who stole you away? I’ve promised myself an accounting.”

  An involuntary shiver moved through her. Garley’s rants contained sound and wind but seldom substance. This quiet implacability alarmed her.

  “You there.” His pointed to Sir James. “Where are you from?”

  “Granville, milord,” the knight answered with respect. “Sir Daviess asked us to escort these ladies to Lincoln.”

  Emelin was appalled at his subservient tone. Garley, however, was mollified. “Then come with us. As it happens, we’re going to Granville.”

  With a smirk, Garley waved his force forward, leaving her and Sister Ressa with Sir Humphrey and two men-at-arms. Boys-at-arms would be a better description. The captain of Langley’s guard looked at her with disgust.

  “Come along, then, milady,” he grumbled. “Looks like we’ll be spending another night together on the road.”

  Much later, when the moonless sky at last forced a halt, Emelin had a chance to speak with the captain. “Where is Lord Osbert? Why do you accompany my brother?”

  Sir Humphrey sent one of the youths to tend the horses, the other to fix a fire, while he unpacked the cheese and bread. At last he answered. “My lord sent me with Sir Garley. He plans to be along in a day or so. One man or the other to serve—not much difference to my way of thinking. Now eat. I want an early start tomorrow.”


  They reached Langley after the evening meal the following day. Emelin was shocked at the quick journey. The trail she and Giles took must have wound through the countryside. When she spied the castle tower in the distance, her stomach dropped. Sister Ressa rode closer.

  “Be of strong heart,” she said. “You were not to blame, after all.” In the depths of the night before, when neither lady could sleep, Emelin had confided the whole story. Well, almost the whole. The beautiful night she and Giles spent would stay in her heart forever.

  Sister Ressa had admitted disappointment in the handsome knight she’d rather favored. Then she reassured Emelin nothing had been her fault. Her virtue was intact, after all. In the darkness, Emelin’s face burned at what she hadn’t revealed. Would God punish her for the omission?

  The second arrival of the bride at Langley caused little notice. Lord Osbert glowered near several packed carts. Emelin counted another dozen knights and men-at-arms scurrying around the bailey. Had she not been so apprehensive, she’d have smiled at the look on Osbert’s face when he approached. Disappointment? She’d been gone several days. Was it possible he’d changed his mind about the marriage?

  Hope quickened her heart. Obsert’s rejection would solve the problem in a way she’d not anticipated.

  Before she could speak, Sister Ressa stepped forward and in a few clipped words, explained Emelin’s abduction in such sympathetic terms, Lord Osbert could only welcome his future lady back. It happened so quickly, Emelin stood openmouthed, stunned, her pulse yet throbbing with optimism.

  She could not let this stand. She would not marry this man and from his initial reaction, he wouldn’t object to her decision. Unless, of course, his pride interfered.

  Red-faced, Osbert motioned toward the keep. The three had reached the top of the stairs when they were confronted by Ortha.

  “Osbert, is it true?” Ortha stopped, mouth open, when she spied Emelin. “Oh.”

  The lady’s face went white. Her appalled glance flew between Osbert and Emelin. With a growl, Osbert waved an arm between the two and stomped down the steps.

  The abrupt desertion spurred Ortha, and she reached for Emelin’s hands.

  “Oh, my lady, you are safe. God be praised. I prayed each day.” Her eyes couldn’t quite meet Emelin’s. “Truly I did. Come, sit by the fire. You must be tired. Tilda, bring warmed wine for your lady.”

  The women walked silently toward the dais. A ball of brown flew past Emelin, thudded into Ortha’s knees. She staggered.

  “Orffa.” The blur settled into the child. Margaret peered at Ortha, then her head swiveled. Huge blue eyes glared at Emelin. Tiny lips bowed in a pout.

  Ortha slid her arms around the girl and patted, her troubled gaze still never lifting.

  Emelin’s surprised glance flicked from Margaret to Ortha and back to Ortha’s hands gripping the small shoulders. The girl pressed into Ortha’s skirts, squinted at Emelin.

  In the youngster’s suspicious expression, Emelin relived the uncertainty she’d felt as a frightened child. She leaned forward, reached out a hand, but Margaret shoved further into Ortha.

  Ortha leaned down. “Margaret, say hello to Lady Emelin. She’s come home to be your Mama.”

  Blond curls tangled as Margaret jerked her head back and forth. “Go ’way. Want Orffa.” A thumb flew into the perfect little mouth and giant tears dripped down soft, curved cheeks.

  And Emelin had no idea what to do. She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Was this a good sign? Or merely one more obstacle to be surmounted?

  Tilda chose that moment to shuffle forward with two cups, and Emelin escaped by sagging into one of the two chairs at the table. She sipped the warmed, watered wine as she watched Ortha whisper into the child’s ear and hand her off to Tilda. With a final glare, Margaret allowed herself to be led toward the kitchen.

  Emelin closed her eyes. Obviously her companion and her future daughter had reached an understanding. A glimmer of light flamed in a corner of her mind. Something had happened in her absence. But what?

  Emelin couldn’t wrestle with the answer right now. Her head dropped against the back of the chair. She would discover the problem later, after she rested. Opening her eyes, she motioned to Sister Ressa.

  “Sister, this is my companion and friend, Lady Ortha.” Ortha bit her lip and looked away.

  “I’ll see to some food for you, my lady.”

  “Wait. Where are the others, Lady Cleo and Lady Dulsie?” Emelin was curious about Cleo the Cat. Had the woman really conspired against her?

  “Gone for now. They went home with Sir Richard to pack for an extended stay. They’ll return tomorrow when he brings his men.”

  Emelin must have looked perplexed, because Ortha hurried to add. “It’s the war. Lord Paxton sent word three days ago that the Scots have raided all the way into England. This far, my lady, can you imagine it?”

  Raiders from Scotland, close by? Giles should know. This could be the news he sought.

  She gripped the chair’s wooden arms, was halfway to her feet when she halted. How could she reach him? She didn’t even know where he’d gone.

  “Would you kindly show me to the chapel?” Sister Ressa asked Ortha, setting her cup on the scarred but scrubbed table. “I believe I must offer prayers for the safety of our soldiers.” With a smile and a quirk of her brows at Emelin, she followed the other woman.

  With so many of the visitors gone, rooms were plentiful, and Ortha ordered separate ones prepared for Emelin and Sister Ressa. Emelin was quite content to allow her companion that duty. Her mind had deserted her for certain. She moved as if she were in a dream, as if this were not a reality that would take every drop of ingenuity to escape.

  After a brief meal of cold meat and cheese, Ortha assisted Emelin to prepare for bed. At times the other lady’s movements appeared rushed, at other times, hesitant. Finally, Emelin asked what was wrong.

  Ortha was startled. “Nothing. Oh, nothing, my lady. It’s just—you’ve been gone for so long.” She studied her hands. “Well, not so long,” she admitted, “but much has happened. We all thought you ran off with the mercenary, you know. All but Lord Osbert. At first he thought you would do yourself harm. Such a blow to his pride.”

  Emelin nodded. “Yes, but I did not. Sir Giles kidnapped me.”

  “That’s what your brother insisted,” Ortha admitted. “He swore he would find you. He wouldn’t let Lord Osbert put aside the betrothal. That made my lord angrier, but he didn’t have a choice. He said he needed Sir Garley’s support to help the king.”

  Ortha’s trembling fingers fumbled Emelin’s laces. The explanation couldn’t account for all this nervousness. Another problem plagued her.

  Emelin placed her hands over Ortha’s. “Come,” she said, her voice gentle and encouraging. “I thought we were friends. Won’t you tell me what bothers you? Has Lady Cleo been cruel again?”

  At that, Ortha burst into tears. “Oh, my lady,” she sobbed. “You’ve been so kind. I didn’t mean for it to happen. But he was so sad, and he shouldn’t have been.”

  “Who?” Emelin urged Ortha onto the bed and sat beside her. “What happened?”

  “Lord Osbert is such a fine man. I couldn’t let him think so badly of himself. I only wanted to tell him how good and brave he is. But….” Ortha’s sobs grew.

  “But?”

  “One thing led to another. I always admired him, you know.”

  “No, I did not.”

  Ortha nodded and wiped her eyes with her sleeve, not facing Emelin.

  “He started seeking me out just to talk, and…”

  “…One thing led to another.” Emelin completed the sentence. She could certainly identify with that.

  After the tears subsided, Ortha gulped and looked up. “I’ll leave. Now that you’re back, he will want the wedding to take place right away.”

  “Wait.” Emelin anchored Ortha in place. “Let me understand. You and Lord Osbert…um.”

  Ortha nodded.r />
  Stunned didn’t begin to describe Emelin’s reaction. She closed her mouth with a snap. “Do you love him?” She hoped she didn’t sound as incredulous as she felt.

  “Oh, yes. I have for years, you know.”

  “No, I did not,” she repeated. “Does he love you?” Could this be the source of Osbert’s look of disappointment when she arrived?

  “Oh.” Ortha looked flustered now. “I couldn’t say.”

  Emelin’s mind raced. This might be the answer to her prayers. Well, the ones she’d thought, if not precisely said. She pursed her lips. Dear God, could it be this simple?

  “What is your age?” she asked.

  “I am eight and twenty, my lady.” Ortha whispered as if in shame, her head bowed.

  “Not so old. Do you have your courses?”

  “My lady!” Ortha’s head snapped up, her face flaming. “To speak of such things.”

  “Don’t be foolish. Lord Osbert requires an heir, and it seems you are able to provide one. I’m the youngest of nine. My mother bore me when she was four and thirty. You have at least six years on her. You come of good family. I see no problem.”

  “But, but… Do you not want the honor of marriage to him?” Ortha seemed unable to comprehend such an idea.

  “I don’t view him quite the way you do. In fact, I believe you will make Lord Osbert ten times the wife I ever would.”

  A look of hope began to lighten Ortha’s face. “But what will he say when you refuse?”

  “Well, let’s ask him, shall we?”

  Horror darkened the other lady’s eyes. “Oh, I couldn’t.”

  “Oh, I think you could. Now, dry your face and come with me.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Lord Osbert sat before the fire in the hall talking with three knights. While they waited for him to finish, Emelin and Ortha sipped sour ale at the table. Ortha clutched hers, alternately shoving the cup away, then gulping its contents. She shot fearful glances at Emelin from beneath lowered brows.

  “Are you sure this is wise, my lady?”

  “Ortha, I believe it is inspired. Let’s wait for our man, shall we?”