Emma had never seen the like of it before, but since Geoffrey was carrying Henri along at such a pace she had no time to remark on it, nor to notice much else. At the far end of the hall, a door opened on to a stairwell. Geoffrey led the way and, gripping the rope handrail, Emma followed him, dimly aware of Asa at her heels.
After several turns, Geoffrey kneed open a door. ‘This way, my lady.’
A sliver of light came from an arrowslit high in the wall, but a sudden chill raised goose bumps on Emma’s neck. She shivered and came to an abrupt halt in a shadowy chamber that was less than six feet in length and width. A coffer and a narrow bed took up almost the entire room. A large cobweb stretched across a row of hooks; there was nothing else. When Asa came up behind her and peered over her shoulder, her breath warmed Emma’s cheek.
‘Henri’s bed is underneath that one,’ Geoffrey said.
Emma nodded. When Henri’s bed was pulled out, there would be no standing room. Still, it was better than she might have expected. Privacy, for her and Henri.
‘There you are, my lad.’ Geoffrey set Henri on the main bed.
Privacy, but…Emma’s thoughts ran on…not much space. And no refinement. She had not known what to expect, had worried that she might become something of an embarrassment and it would seem she already was an embarrassment. She and Henri were being tucked out of sight. Would she even meet Lady Aude? It had been naïve of her to expect as much. Richard had likely only reassured her to be polite. Nevertheless, it was, frankly, disappointing.
Henri tucked his thumb in his mouth and curled up on the bed.
‘I shall see your things are brought up,’ Asa said, backing away.
‘My thanks.’ Emma sank on to the bed.
At the door, Geoffrey turned back. ‘And I will send someone with Henri’s supper.’
Emma forced a smile. ‘That is kind. He is probably too tired to eat at the moment, but he might be hungry later.’
‘I am glad you did not linger in Falaise, my lady,’ Geoffrey added, moving towards the stairs. ‘Lord Richard has been asking about you.’
He has missed me, has he? Emma thought, as she took off Henri’s shoes and shifted him—already lost to the world—into the centre of the mattress. He has a pretty poor way of demonstrating it, hiding us away in this cramped storeroom. She frowned. No, she mustn’t be ungrateful; Richard’s mind was probably entirely fixed on securing the borders of his unexpected inheritance. This room had to be better than being made to bed down in the main hall, where everyone would know when she was…or wasn’t…in favour.
Removing her cloak, Emma blew the cobwebs off the hooks and hung it up. She had not known what to expect as Richard’s mistress, but she couldn’t help wishing for a warmer welcome.
Chapter Twelve
Richard, Comte de Beaumont, was deep in thought. In the spacious bedchamber at the top of the west tower, he was wearing tracks in the matting. He must act and act decisively if he was going to hang on to his county. Matters here were worse than he had feared.
Reaching the bed—a bed with a carved oak bedhead that was even larger than the one he had had in Winchester—he turned on his heel and resumed his pacing.
A narrow window sat high in the wall and the shutter was folded back to admit the last of the day. It would not be long before Geoffrey came to light the candles.
Yes, matters were worse than he had feared. Someone, likely someone living within these walls, had broken into the armoury. Half the arrow store was missing and the other half had been destroyed. The swords had been blunted and it would take the armourers a week to right the damage. He could hear the grindstone as he paced. Naturally the knights had their own arms, but what about those of lesser rank? In the event of a sudden attack by Alençon or Argentan, Richard would need every able-bodied man he could lay his hands on. But if there were no arms for them?
Merde. He rubbed his eyes; they felt as though they were filled with grit. Not sleeping did that to a man. He couldn’t think straight. Last night Richard’s nightmare had returned and he had tossed and turned till daybreak. His last decent night’s rest had been—a reluctant grin tugged at his mouth—in the hay back at the Mermaid.
Where was she? Geoffrey had said that she had been sighted with her escort.
‘Hell and damnation.’ Richard was a seasoned commander, he knew what was expected of him. He would pretend all was well. And not everything here gave cause for concern—he had inherited some good men from Martin. For their sakes, he would act as though nothing was wrong. He would win through.
But where the devil was Emma?
The door of the cramped chamber opened and Asa came in, bearing a tray of food. Bread. A jug of milk. Cheese. Some kind of sweet-looking pastry.
Asa set the tray on the coffer. ‘Lord Richard is asking for you, Geoffrey says you are to go at once. I will remain here.’
Nodding, Emma squeezed past. ‘Where?’
‘Up the next twist of the stairs.’
At the top, Emma found herself facing a studded oak doorway, slightly ajar. It swung open on oiled hinges.
Richard was deep in conversation with Sir Jean and another man Emma had not seen before, but he smiled and gestured her inside. At sight of him, Emma felt a weight lifting from her shoulders.
‘A moment, my lady.’ He turned back to Sir Jean. ‘My thanks, Jean, for escorting the ladies. You brought Roland?’
Sir Jean smiled. ‘Of course, my lord, everything is exactly as you commanded. The hounds are in the stables.’
‘My thanks. Your next commission will not, I fear, be as pleasant. I need you to take a full inventory in the armoury. From what Sir Hugh here tells me, many of the arms have gone missing since you left. He suspects someone within the castle is working for Alençon. See what you can discover, Jean.’
‘Yes, my lord.’
‘And, Jean…’ Richard rubbed the back of his neck. Smudges under his eyes spoke of deep fatigue. ‘Should persuasion become necessary, be sparing with the force. That is all.’
‘Yes, my lord.’
Sir Jean and Sir Hugh bowed themselves out.
Richard and Emma looked at each other and the air seemed to fly from the room. Emma couldn’t help but notice the way his eyes ran up and down her length, as though he was reassuring himself that she had not altered since Crèvecoeur. She had to stop herself looking him up and down in the same way. It had been just over a day since she had seen him but, oddly, it felt as though they had been apart for a lifetime.
She sucked in a breath. ‘So, my lord, I see you have made another tower room your home.’ The unstrung lute was leaning against a travelling chest, the sacking-wrapped sword and various other arms were leaning in a corner, and the crimson pennons already hung on one of the walls.
‘Yes.’ His brow creased. ‘Have you had refreshment?’
‘Not yet, my lord.’
‘Diable.’ Striding to the door, Richard stuck his head out. ‘Geoffrey!’
‘My lord?’ Geoffrey’s voice floated up from below.
‘Bring us our supper up here, will you? I’ll take mine with Lady Emma. Get them to bring hot water too.’
‘Yes, my lord.’
She tipped her head back as Richard came to stand in front of her. He cleared his throat. ‘You made good time. I thought that once you saw the delights of Falaise, you would be lost to me for weeks.’
‘The delights of Falaise?
‘The market.’
‘Oh. No.’
He held out his hand. ‘Come here, woman, greet me properly.’
Her heart began to thud. ‘My lord, I…I have only just ridden in, I am unkempt—’
‘I care not, come here.’ Pulling her into his arms, he held her close. One large hand cradled the back of her head, not kissing, simply holding her and nuzzling her cheek.
She wound her arms about his waist.
He let out a great sigh. ‘That’s better. It seems I have need of you, Emma of Fulford. I have not slept
properly since—’ glancing up, she saw his smile was endearingly crooked ‘—our tryst in the stables at Honfleur.’
The lines of fatigue were clear, close to. ‘That is natural, when you are concerned about possible attack.’
‘Hmm.’
‘And there is your wound, too.’
He flexed his shoulder and brought her head back under his chin. ‘That was nothing.’
‘Not all wounds are visible, Richard.’
He stiffened and stepped away, frowning. ‘What do you mean?’
‘You know very well what I am referring to, my lord. Something happened in the north of England, and it troubles your dreams.’
He grimaced. ‘Are you a witch that you claim to read my thoughts?’
She narrowed her eyes at him. ‘You do have trouble sleeping, don’t you? That is why you roam the stables in the early hours.’
‘The dreams will pass. In any case, a dream cannot kill.’
She looked up at him through her lashes. Most likely he would not discuss it with her. Richard was a Norman lord, and no less a person than King William of England, Duke of Normandy, held him in high esteem. It must be hard for him to openly admit to weakness, even a small one like a little sleeplessness. Saxon warriors were trained to hide their shortcomings; it must be the same for him. ‘You remind me of my father,’ she said, giving voice to a startling perception. ‘I know you carry many burdens and I would help you. I am sure, if you were to air your dream, its hold over you would weaken.’
‘It is nothing.’
‘It may be a slight wound, but something other than an arrow hurt you at the harrowing, and it had you in its grip that night at Honfleur. That is why you went to the stables.’
Eyes lighting, he reached for her waist. ‘You had me in your grip that night and I slept very well, as I will sleep well tonight. May God forgive me, Emma, because I fear Adam will not. But I find I want to keep you. I cannot marry you, but neither do I wish to give you up.’
Good, Emma thought fiercely. Because I do not want you to give me up.
His grey eyes were looking deep into hers. The light in the room was fading fast, but Emma did not need light to recognise the warmth in his look. Drawn to that warmth, she swayed towards him. It was disconcerting, but the nature of her feelings towards him were changing. At the outset she had accepted his protection because she needed it, but now, now…God would have to forgive her, too, because she did not want to give Richard up. And not simply because of her problems with Judhael….
She liked this man, this Norman. Worse, she was beginning to feel a certain warmth for him. This man took care not to disparage her before Count Edouard, this man instructed his knights to—how had he put it a moment ago?—‘be sparing with the force’. Affection was growing in her for him; yes, that was what it was, affection. It was no more than that.
A single knock and the door swung back to admit Geoffrey bearing a tray with a lamp and some covered dishes on it. He was followed by a procession of servants.
Emma’s mouth fell open as a bathtub was hefted in. Several buckets of water, a ewer and jug, a pile of creamy linens…
A bath?
Watching her reaction, Richard’s expression was amused. ‘My thanks, Geoffrey, that will be all.’
‘Until dawn, my lord?’
‘Yes, rouse me at dawn.’
The servants tipped the water into the bathtub and Geoffrey followed them out. The door shut with a soft click. Emma couldn’t tear her eyes from the bathtub. Her hair—at last she could wash her hair!
‘A bath,’ she said, longingly.
‘You may go first.’ He came towards her, smiling. ‘It’s a pity it is not large enough for two.’
‘They could hardly carry a bigger tub up here,’ she said. ‘And think of the water it would need.’
‘Quite.’ He reached for the pins that kept her veil in place. ‘We will have to wait until we can get to a bath house to share a bath.’
She glanced at him, scandalised, and tried to ward him off. Share a bath with him? Lord. Was she to have no secrets?
Richard brushed her hands aside. ‘No, you won’t deny me, I have been thinking of this ever since we rode out of Honfleur.’
‘You have?’
Her veil sank to the floor and his hands busied themselves at her girdle. ‘How does this thing—ah—I have it. Yes, ma belle, that straw was nothing less than an insult.’
‘It was a little itchy.’
‘And your clothes, the damn lacings. Turn around.’
Emma did as she was told. He was determined. Large hands moved caressingly over her while lacings were found and untied. He leaned forwards to kiss her cheek, bent to kiss her neck, then slid his hand into the back of her gown, peeling it slowly away. Unhurried but unstoppable. Fabric was tugged and pulled.
A rush of embarrassment heating her cheeks, Emma tried to hang on to the gown, holding it to her chest.
‘No, ma petite, let me see you. I wanted to see you in the stables at Honfleur. I ached to see you that night at Crèvecoeur. I burned to see you last night when you were in Falaise. I have had no peace.’ Wresting her hands from the gown, he drew it away, leaving her clad in her linen undershift. He swallowed, his palm cupping a breast through the shift. ‘Ma petite.’
‘Richard,’ Emma murmured, surrendering to the inevitable. She raised her lips. His scent surrounded her, warm and potent and already familiar. She leaned in to him, pushing her fingers into his hair, holding him close.
‘Emma.’
He was wrestling with lacings, undoing more ties and in a moment her undershift joined her gown on the rush matting. Outside, a blackbird was singing.
When he lifted his head, she swayed closer, overtaken by shyness. But instead of staring at her he released her, and gave her a gentle pat. ‘Into that bath.’
He turned away, giving her space while he began to disrobe.
Emma scrambled into the tub. It was not deep, the water only reached her waist and she had to sit with her knees drawn up There was barely room for one in this tub, never mind two, and while she did feel shy, this was a luxury she had never known. A bathtub in a bedchamber? Sighing in delight, she loosed her hair and reached for the dipper.
Richard’s boots thudded down, one, two…Leather cross-gartering was thrown aside.
Luxury indeed. The water was fragrant with lavender. Geoffrey had set soaps on a dish within arm’s reach, soaps fit for a queen. They had been made with costly oils from distant lands and scented with herbs. Soaps such as these were made in England, but Emma had never used them herself.
Quickly, she set about washing, watching Richard out of the corner of her eye. He had been eager to see her naked and she had to admit to some curiosity herself. That night in Honfleur, she had not seen him, either…
The last shafts of light from the window fell on long, strong limbs. His chest was broad and its muscled contours more intriguing than she had thought possible. Dark hair vanished into his chausses. Swiftly, he untied them and shoved them down. Hastily, she averted his gaze—he was aroused, magnificently so.
He made no attempt to approach her in the tub. Snatching up a towel, he wrapped it about his waist and, reaching for a taper, lit a candle by the bedside. The light flickered over his skin. His body, the set of his head on those well-built shoulders, that narrow waist, the slim hips—Count Richard of Beaumont’s physique remained imposing even when clad only in a linen cloth.
She let out a breath. Thank Heaven he was not intending to join her, for there was scarcely room for herself in the bathtub, let alone Emma and Richard.
‘Hurry up, my lady.’ He moved to close the shutter.
Emma was reaching for a drying cloth when he turned back, frowning.
‘Emma, where are your belongings?’
‘My belongings?’ Holding the drying sheet to her, she stepped out of the bathtub. ‘Downstairs in the chamber below.’
‘How so? I gave orders that they should be brough
t up here.’
‘But I…I thought Henri and I were to have the other room.’
‘Henri and you?’ His frown deepened. ‘No, that room is for your son and the maid. From now on, I want you here with me.’
Emma found herself smiling as she approached the bed; she couldn’t help it. He wanted her to share his bedchamber, she was not to be relegated to a cramped storeroom!
Moving past her, Richard dropped the cloth round his waist. Her gaze was drawn to the curve of his buttock. The muscles on his thigh flexed as he sank into the water.
‘Never mind, you can send for your things tomorrow. I won’t complain about your lack of a bedgown.’
Emma did not own a bedgown, most people in her station of life slept in their shifts, but she wasn’t about to apprise him of that fact. She could send for her things! ‘But, my lord—’
‘You object?’ A dark brow lifted as, with much vigour and splashing, Richard began flourishing a washcloth.
‘No, of course not. If that is your wish.’
‘So agreeable, my sweet. But…?’
‘What about Lady Aude?’
His smile slipped a notch. ‘What about her?’
‘Won’t she object?’
‘Lady Aude will make no objection.’
Emma wound the drying sheet round her, tucking it in above her breasts. ‘Have you spoken to her?’
‘Naturally.’
‘Did you tell her about us?’
‘Of course.’
Emma stared. Of course. Was that all he had to say on the matter? Of course. ‘Will you marry her?’
‘I may have to.’ He glanced across. ‘I can tolerate her and I like her young brother. Despite the lack of stewardship at Crèvecoeur, Count Edouard’s support may be important.’
‘I realise that. But, but surely Lady Aude will object?’
Richard fished the washcloth out of the bottom of the tub. ‘I shall deal with Lady Aude. She is not your concern. Now, if you please.’ He flourished the cloth in her direction. ‘If you wouldn’t mind doing the honours with my back.’
Runaway Lady, Conquering Lord Page 16
