She huffed a laugh as she sat up. Her arm went around his shoulders. “If you don’t wed me, I don’t know what I will do. Return to St. Ursula for the rest of my days. Or,” she rubbed against him, “now that you’ve shown me the pleasures of bed, perhaps I’ll follow the army. I can learn to do washing.”
He snapped around with a low roar and bore her backward. “If another man touches you, he dies.”
“Then you’d best stay close to make sure.” Emelin could hardly get the words out for laughter as he nuzzled her neck. The next few minutes were silent except for the sound of their tussling. At last they stilled and she snuggled close.
His lips hovered near her ear, his voice serious as he whispered, “I love you. My life will be nothing if you do not marry me.”
All but one candle had guttered and the lone flame cast weak and flickering light over the bed. She stretched around to kiss him. “It will be my great joy.”
Still later, as he dressed to return to his chamber, he said, “We’ll marry before I leave.”
Emelin knew he thought of his own father’s situation.
“It’s not necessary,” she told him. “You will return. I have every faith. Your grandparents will want a proper ceremony. Let us not disappoint them. We have all our lives before us; we can wait a few weeks.”
“Hah!” He kissed her soundly. “You just want time to prepare a lavish wedding. I’d best collect my property at St. Anselm. It looks like you’ll need all my winnings.”
“No, no. Rich or poor, you are mine, Giles of Cambrai.” She looked into his eyes, smoky gray in the dim room. “I love you,” she whispered.
The party left at dawn. Accompanying Giles and his grandfather were two knights, four men-at-arms including Ran’l, two squires, two pages, and Davy. He might as well take the youth, Giles reasoned. The boy would follow, anyway.
After they were out of sight, Lady Clysta tucked something into Emelin’s hands. “From Giles,” she said, her smile gentle.
In the soft brown leather packet lay his father’s medallion, Giles’ pledge to Emelin.
****
Six Weeks Later
Emelin shivered beneath the heavy cloak as she watched from the wall walk. Guards had spotted an entourage earlier, and she marked its movement. Her hand clutched the medallion around her neck.
At last she could make out the figure in the lead, galloping toward the castle. Giles. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she called down to Missy, playing with Dammit.
“Tell Lady Clysta they are home.”
A word about the author...
Barbara Bettis has always loved history and English. As a college freshman, she briefly considered becoming an archeologist until she realized there likely would be bugs and snakes involved. And math.
A former award-winning journalist, she now teaches English at a college near her home in Missouri.
Visit Barbara at:
http://barbarabettis.com/
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