He had ignored the final part of his bargain with the king for as long as he dared. Christian needed to complete his task for the king in order to assure that his own honor and lands were his to control once more so that, come spring, he could send Geoff home as planned and not worry.
He followed Lord Durwyn inside and he soon found himself with a cup of some remarkable ale in his hand and food before him. After taking a few minutes to eat something, he turned to Durwyn.
“You knew the old earl?”
“Aye, my lord, I did. We fostered as boys and then as fate would have it, I was vassal to him for this land.”
“When did you speak to him last?”
“Just before he took ill,” the older man said in a lower voice. “Then he died so suddenly that it took all of us unaware.” Durwyn lifted his cup and swallowed deeply from it.
“Why did he leave Emalie unprotected? With no betrothal arranged?”
“Emalie was betrothed, my lord, but he died in this last Crusade.”
“And then?” Christian pressed on.
“He was waiting on the king. When word came that Richard would be ransomed, Gaspar planned to ask the king to set up a suitable match for his daughter.”
“But Richard’s release took much longer than expected and Gaspar did not live to see it.” Christian smiled grimly at the man. “Emalie was his only heir?”
“Aye, but it would seem that Richard found her a suitable husband as Gaspar wanted.” Durwyn raised his cup and saluted Christian.
Christian drank in silence and wondered how to bring up the subject of the king’s brother. He stood and walked to the other side of the solar, peering out the window into the courtyard below. Not as large as Greystone, Durwyn’s property consisted of a walled manor house and a small village. He could see to the other side of the village from his position now.
“Has Lackland returned from his brother’s side yet?” he asked, preparing himself to assess the truthfulness of the answer given.
“As far as I know, he remains at the king’s side, though if I were Richard, I think that would worry me far more than having him at a distance.”
“It will take the king years to reclaim the lands John has lost to his enemies.”
Durwyn walked to his side. “But the king’s disregard of England has left it in danger. Only strong barons and nobles can stand together against those who would ravage the land and the people.”
Christian faced him. “Gaspar was Richard’s man?”
“Until his death, my lord.”
He thought on the man’s words and nodded. Gaspar had resisted John. And it sounded as though Durwyn had suspicions about his untimely death. Christian would keep this information to himself while he sought more.
Sensing the conversation was done, Durwyn invited him for a tour of the grounds. Anxious to work out the tightness in his limbs from the long ride, Christian agreed.
Chapter Sixteen
He watched her leave for her chambers after she fell asleep the second time. Knowing how worn-out she must be from the traveling and her reunion, he thought she would have retired on her own. The stubborn streak he saw this night, he had glimpsed several times in past weeks. Emalie stayed at the betrothal celebration much longer than he had expected.
Finally she had given in to Fayth’s request and accompanied her above stairs. The two women walked off, arm in arm, whispering like children. He relaxed now that he knew she would not end up facedown in the platter of tarts and cakes that was served last.
Sooner than he thought, he, too, was feeling the call of sleep. His host noticed and asked one of the servants to guide him to his chambers. His steps slowed as he followed behind. After a few minutes, he stood outside the room assigned to him. Pushing the door open, he was surprised to see Emalie sitting on a stool near the bed.
“There is a shortage of rooms because of all the wedding guests, my lord.”
“Since Durwyn’s manor is not half the size of Greystone, I am not surprised.”
“As his liege lord, he has given you, given us, the largest chamber to use.”
She was nervous. They had to share this room and that bed for their stay here and she was nervous about it.
And as the tightness in his stomach told him, so was he.
“At least we do not have to share the room with Geoffrey. He snores loud enough to wake the cattle in old Foster’s pens.”
She laughed and stood. “I think we can manage this, my lord.” She shrugged her robe from her shoulders and laid it on the stool. Lifting the bedcovers, she slid beneath them.
He usually slept naked. Deciding that some discretion was needed, he unlaced and removed his tunic and the shirt underneath it, but left on the breeches below those. Although her eyes were closed when he looked over at her, he sensed that she was watching him. Christian waited only a moment before climbing in with her.
They were not going to manage this. After admitting to himself just today that he wanted her, this was poor timing indeed. Christian shifted, trying to find a spot on the mattress without getting too close.
He settled on his side, facing away from Emalie, and tried to fall asleep. Even the silence of the room and his fatigue did not help. She had not made a sound and he hoped she was successful when he had not been. Turning carefully, to not disturb her, he found himself looking into Emalie’s eyes.
She lay on her back, with the covers pulled up to her neck. And she was wide-awake. He watched as the low flames in the hearth lit her face. The urge to kiss her was overwhelming him.
He reached up and traced the contours of her cheeks and her nose. She held her breath with every touch, but did not naysay him or move from him.
“I fear this is not going to work, Emalie,” he whispered to her. He slid his fingers down onto her neck, running them along the edge of the covers she held and her gown. He smiled when he heard her breath catch again.
“My lord?”
“I want you, my lady,” he said, moving his hand ever lower. He did not bother to move the covers yet, for he did not want to startle her into objection. Christian rested his hand on the swell of her breasts and waited for her reaction. ’Twas not long in coming.
They were fuller against his hand than the last time, and he laughed at how he even remembered the difference. But the tips puckered the same when touched.
“My lord,” she said, placing her hand on his.
“Emalie?” he said softly.
“You do not have to do this.”
“I do not?”
“Nay, my lord. I am certain that a willing maid could be found to accommodate your needs.”
He lifted his hand from her and sat up, pushing the covers back. Getting out of bed, he was dazed by her words.
“A willing maid, Emalie? Is that what you think I want?”
Emalie sat up now and watched him move around the bed toward her. Her hair tumbled over her shoulder and framed her face and neck in firelit waves of burnished gold. The itch in his hands to wrap it around him grew until he could not control it—and he did not want to.
Did she now fear what they had come so close to once before? He knew she had gained pleasure from it. Did this also change now?
“Are you afraid of me, Emalie?”
She shook her head. “Nay, my lord.”
“Are you afraid of what will happen between us if we continue?”
“I do not think so, my lord.”
“Then why do you suggest that I find someone else instead of pleasuring my wife?”
He received the blush he had hoped for. She stammered getting the words out.
“I thought that, since you had sought out Lyssa and Belle over these past months, you would prefer someone else, my lord.”
If she had not been serious, he would have laughed out loud. Prefer serving wenches to her? She had no idea that his attempts to substitute them for her had been such a dismal failure. Should he tell her?
He sat on the edge of the bed, forcing
her to move toward the center.
“I want you, Emalie, as much now as I have since I saw you for the first time, standing over me in my bath.”
“I have heard that a man can content himself with any woman when the urge is upon him.”
He did laugh, then. “Who has told you such words of wisdom?”
She hesitated before answering him, but finally revealed her source. “The lady Fatin.”
He smiled at the answer. If anyone knew about men, it would be Fatin. How shocked his wife and everyone who met Luc’s wife would be to discover that she had spent years as a bed slave to a very wealthy merchant near Jerusalem who shared her favors with his favorite customers. ’Twas how Luc had met her the first time.
He could not help but wonder what other bits of wisdom Fatin had shared with Emalie. “You discussed this with Fatin?” She nodded. “Why would you ask her about such things?”
“I know of her past, my lord. I could think of no other who I could ask, as you say, such things.”
It was his turn to be amazed; once again Emalie had surprised him. “You know of her life before Luc and you still accept her presence? You sit at table with her and protect her within your women?”
“Some would say that there is no difference between Fatin and I, my lord.”
Her words hit him like a blow. She was correct—a woman who took a man unto her outside the bonds of marriage was a whore; whether she was paid for her actions was of no import. Somehow though, assigning that name to her was not possible. And if she told the truth, the circumstances had been different for Emalie. To this day, his wife gave no indication of seeking a man’s attention. Not even, to his regret, his.
“Do you think of yourself in that way?”
“I have found, my lord, that those who would call me such, if the truth was known, would care not for what I think.”
He frowned at her truth. It hit him too close to the mark, for he did think like that. If a noblewoman lost her virtue, she lost all. He shook his head, for he could not honestly say that of Emalie.
In spite of her dishonor, she remained kind and gracious and caring. In spite of losing her virtue, the good qualities she carried within were still there and anyone with eyes could see it. Anyone who thought less of her for her mistake…
He thought less of her.
He had not accepted the good within her.
He could not accept and act on the honor that was within him.
Standing, he reached for his shirt and tunic. He needed to think on this. He could not make this marriage a true one until he understood the truth within each of them.
“In truth, Emalie, I came here with seduction on my mind.” He wrapped his belt around his hips and tugged it tightly into place. “But your words have disturbed me and I would think on them.”
“Please, my lord. Stay.” Her voice trembled now. He could tell that she was worried that he was angry.
“Fear not, Emalie. I will not sleep with another woman and have not since our marriage.” Her expression hardened as he watched. “Although I tried to replace you with others in my bed, I failed miserably.”
“Lyssa? Belle?” Again he could see that she had to force out the names that were so distasteful to her.
“The intent was there on my part—I confess to that. But even with wine to help my efforts, I could not take another when ’twas you I wanted all along.”
He leaned down and kissed her gently on the lips. He swore they softened under his in welcome, but he pulled away and walked to the door. “I will return anon. I just need some air.”
Leaving the chamber quietly, he made his way down to the hall, then out to the courtyard and toward the one storage barn within the wall. Durwyn was using every inch of space for guests and those who accompanied and served them. Christian knew that Luc was sleeping there. Although he never stopped, several guards nodded their greetings to him as he passed.
Pulling open the side door, Christian stepped inside and waited for his eyes to become accustomed to the dim light given off by only a few small lanterns. The sounds of deep snores filled the large open space and were interspersed with other sounds that could only be from a certain type of activity. Seeing a loft raised on one side of the barn, he knew that it was the origination for the noises of coupling that echoed through the building.
Moving among the rows of sleeping men, he finally located Luc and shook him awake. They met outside a few minutes later and walked away from the building; Christian preferred that their words not be overheard.
“I had thought I would get some good sleep without Fatin here to keep me awake through the night,” Luc complained dryly.
“Do not begrudge your friend a few moments of your precious sleeping time. Come,” he said, nodding toward the courtyard, “walk with me.”
Luc yawned constantly as they began to circle the manor house. Christian pondered how to ask the question that haunted him the most. After they passed the same guards for the third time, Luc stopped.
“Now. Ask it now or I am back to that miserable pallet in the barn.” Luc crossed his arms over his chest and moved no farther.
He had no choice now. If he wanted to understand the feelings that raged within him, he needed his friend’s advice.
“How can you keep her as your wife knowing that she has had so many before you?”
Luc’s face turned beet-red and he reached out and cuffed Christian on the head. Not enough to hurt, but Christian got the message that he had annoyed his friend. They had never discussed this, even on Luc’s return from the Holy Lands with a wife in tow. Luc had matter-of-factly informed his liege lord of his marriage and introduced the exotic beauty who was his wife. It was not until one drunken night when things were very difficult for them that the truth had been revealed.
“Because, you imbecile, I am content in knowing that no matter who came before me, I am the last man she will have.”
“It does not bother you that she has—” He did not finish because Luc grabbed his tunic and twisted it around his neck, making words impossible.
“If you were not my liege, I would pound you into the ground right here at my feet for the insult you offer my wife.” Luc released him with a push and it took Christian a few moments to regain his breath.
“I mean no insult, Luc. I seek to understand.”
“I saved her from the massacre because of the pleasure she offered, but she accepted my offer to marry because we have so much more than that.”
He knew he should stop, but the answer that he needed had not been given yet.
“But how do you accept the dishonor of what she did before you?”
He knew he was in trouble, for he saw the glare of Luc’s eyes as his friend threw the punch at him. Landing hard in the dirt, he waved Luc off.
“Dishonor? Where is there dishonor?” Luc growled with the words. “I do not profess to understand or accept the infidel’s ways, but Fatin was raised to be what she became. There was no dishonor in it. She is a good person, a caring person, a forgiving person. That is all that matters to me.” Luc tightened and opened his fists as he spoke.
From his place on the ground, Christian thought about his words. His friend was right—honor was more about how a person lived their life than a title regained through coin or service. Emalie had never lost her honor, because she was still the good woman who put her people’s needs first. No night of shame could take away what she really was.
Just as no declaration by the king would restore his honor. If he had not lost it by his own behavior and deeds, then it was still his own. His lack of acceptance of Emalie did indeed threaten that which he pursued with such effort, for he could not treat the woman he had taken as his wife so dishonorably without losing it in reality.
“My thanks,” he said, climbing back to his feet. “Your words have made me see the error in my thinking and in my ways.” Swiping the dirt from his tunic, Christian offered Luc his hand.
Luc hesitated before reaching out his
own hand. “I thought you had made peace with your lady?”
“We have, on many issues, save one.”
“Come here and let me knock some sense into that thick head of yours.” Luc reached out and tried to grab his tunic again. “Go, make peace with her, Christian, before you lose all she brings to you.”
When he started to reply, Luc continued. “And I do not refer to titles or lands or wealth. See past that to the treasure you’ve received. Now go. I wish to sleep and dream of the treasure I’ve left behind at Greystone.”
Without another word or argument, Luc turned and left him standing in the yard.
His friend’s words had made a great deal of sense to him—they felt right. They spoke to the heart of the problem for him in his marriage to Emalie. And now it was up to him to take action and make things right.
Chapter Seventeen
He was somehow different today.
Emalie was awake when Christian returned to the room after leaving so precipitously, but they exchanged no more words. He had undressed quickly and quietly and climbed into bed next to her. After waiting and waiting for something to happen between them, for some touch or word, she had been greeted by his soft snoring. It had been hours before sleep claimed her.
This morn, she awoke wrapped in his arms and almost covered by his body. She had no memory of moving toward him in the bed or of him taking her into his embrace, but it was definitely a pleasurable feeling to be so close to him.
There. There it was again.
She looked over at him and found him deep in conversation with Lady Hertha. His leg, however, was brushing against hers. And she knew it was being done deliberately. Once, earlier in the meal, he had even laid his hand in her lap as he asked a question about Fayth.
She swore that the place he touched on her thigh still bore the heat of his hand there. And her neck tingled from his breath as he whispered private questions to only her. The subject of his queries were not personal, but the manner he used was. Sometimes he simply leaned toward her until his mouth was so close to her ear that she felt his breath there. Other times, he lifted her hair away from her ear and almost touched his lips to it as he spoke.
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