Emmeline jumped in shock at the words, glaring up at Talvas’s half smile. Struggling to her feet, her limbs numb from sitting too long in the cold, she gasped as he cupped a firm hand under her elbow to help her to her feet.
Edgar bowed, hiding a secret smile as he bent his head respectfully. Little whore, he thought as he lifted his head: she was no more married to this lord than he was. He pitched a swift glance in her direction, instantly jolted by the pale delicacy of her beauty, so similar to Sylvie and yet infinitely more desirable.
‘I thank you, my lord,’ he replied, silkily.
Hoards of people thronged into Wareham for the weekly market day. In the main square, merchants had set up their colourful stalls from an early hour, anxious to claim the best pitch. They shouted their wares at the tops of their voice, each man vying with the next, trying to cajole the milling crowds to buy from them. From the moment Talvas, Emmeline and Edgar rode through the stone gatehouse, they were pushed along on a tide of people, all trying to reach the centre of town. Occasionally, a lone person in the crowd would raise a face, nodding significantly at the scarlet tunics emblazoned with a golden lion worn by the two men. It was well known that Wareham supported King Stephen in his efforts to overthrow the Empress Maud.
‘Let’s stop here!’ Talvas bellowed over the roar of the crowd, indicating a wooden bar onto which the horses could be tied. He dismounted in one lithe movement, tying the leather bridle firmly around the rounded wood of the bar. Edgar did the same. Overwhelmed by the cacophony of sounds after the creeping quiet of the forest, Emmeline stared at the bright stalls, a feast of rippling colour. The silks and satins spread over one trestle table caught her eye, and, uncharacteristically, she yearned to run her fingers over the smooth cloth. How Geoffrey would love to be here! A nub of homesickness welled in her chest, memories of Barfleur flicking through her mind with surprising vividness. It seemed a long time since she had left home.
‘Emmeline?’ Talvas’s soft voice startled her. She looked down at him, confused for a moment as to where she was.
‘A feast for sore eyes.’ he grinned. ‘Mayhap you would like to look around?’
‘May I?’ She blurted out, surprised. It was the last thing she had expected him to say.
He placed a hand on her horse’s neck, nudging the animal toward the wooden bar so he could secure the mare with a rope. ‘Aye,’ he replied, his eyes filled with a teasing light. ‘Just don’t buy anything.’
Emmeline threw her leg across the pommel, and slid down to the filthy cobbles. Her legs jarred as she landed awkwardly, heavily. Instinctively, Talvas caught her elbow, steadying her. She ached all over, unaccustomed to so many hours in the saddle.
‘This is too much for you,’ he muttered, almost to himself.
Immediately, she pulled herself straighter, ignoring the protesting scream of her muscles. ‘I’m fine, Talvas. I’m not used to riding so much.’
‘I still don’t agree with Stephen’s decision to send you.’
She lifted her wide green eyes to his, one hand on the rich wool of his sleeve. ‘It helps me,’ she whispered. ‘It helps me to forget.’
He squeezed her shoulder; the brief touch conveyed a welter of reassurance. ‘If you say so.’ The blandness of his tone indicated his disagreement. ‘Robert, could you fetch some food, while I escort my lady around the stalls? We don’t have much time—we must reach Sedroc by nightfall.’
Edgar nodded, moving off into the crowd toward an open area where a hog roasted over an open spit, pulling his hood sharply around his face, so his features were cast in shadow.
Emmeline watched Edgar’s back disappearing through the crowd, before raising her gaze to Talvas. ‘You don’t need to come with me, Talvas. This “lady” can take care of herself.’
He smiled. ‘I don’t doubt it, mistress. But these are troubled times, and I’d lief be by your side.’
‘I can’t imagine silks and satins would interest you.’
‘You’d be surprised what interests me, my lady.’ The lilt of his voice caressed her. He began to steer her toward the tables laden with fabric, an arm tucked through her elbow. Emmeline began riffling through the material, a sensual delight against her palms.
She laughed, suddenly. ‘If only my mother could see me now! She was always trying to persuade me to take more interest in my clothes, how I looked.’
Talvas watched the delight play across her fine features, pleased to see her relax a little, the hard lines of strain beginning to melt from her expression. Something caught his attention over her head; he jerked his chin up. ‘Looks like our friend needs me—the food is no doubt more expensive than he had coin for.’ he rested his blue eyes upon her. ‘You’ll stay here? I’ll be back in a moment.’
Emmeline dipped her head in agreement, aware that his presence cloaked her in a mantle of protection. Reluctant as she was to declare it, she was beginning to rely on him. Turning back to the silks, her eyes blurred with tiredness as she tried to absorb the rainbow hues of the material.
‘Not from around these parts, are you?’ The stall holder, a tiny woman with black shiny eyes set in a tanned, creased face, addressed her.
Emmeline’s brow creased with concern. ‘Nay…nay, I’m not.’
‘I thought as much,’ The crone replied, her tone loaded with significance.
‘What do you mean?’ Emmeline dropped her voice to a whisper, leaning over the table to catch the woman’s answer. The fabric felt sticky under her palms.
‘If you were from these parts, you wouldn’t be travelling with that man!’
‘Who…Lord Talvas?’
The woman raised her eyes heavenwards. ‘Nay, lass, the other one!’
‘Robert of Ilminster?’
The woman cackled, throwing her spiky, whiskered chin up into the harsh winter air. The cackle turned into a hacking cough, and Emmeline bit her lip, impatiently waiting for the woman to speak again. ‘Come closer, maid,’ The woman said, when she’d finished coughing. She caught Emmeline’s forearm, and dragged her around the table with a surprising strength. ‘That man is Edgar of Waldeath, married to poor Lady Sylvie…’
The world dipped and swayed. Emmeline clutched the woman’s hand. ‘What are you saying?’
‘I’m saying the man’s notorious for his viciousness. No qualms whatsoever. They say he burned his own village just to draw in King Stephen.’ The old woman’s voice lowered to a whispered sibilance.
‘To draw in King Stephen?’ Emmeline repeated the woman’s words. God in heaven! She swallowed hard, trying to stop the ground from running away beneath her feet, trying to garner her thoughts logically. She twisted her head around, searching the crowd for Talvas’s sleek head, catching his tall, proud stance immediately against the white steam that arose from the roasting hog. He appeared deep in conversation with another man, a stranger. Edgar was nowhere to be seen.
‘So he supports the Empress Maud,’ Emmeline confirmed as she turned back to the old woman. ‘You are certain?’
‘Aye, maid. Just watch the way the townspeople follow him with their eyes. Even though he’s dragged his hood low, and parades around in the colours of the King, we still know who he is. I’m surprised no one’s put a knife in his back.’
‘Talvas must know,’ Emmeline murmured almost to herself. She fought to quell the hysteria rising in her breast, fought to maintain her balance. ‘I must tell him, before it’s too late.’
‘Good luck, my dear.’ The old woman smiled tightly. ‘It’ll take a clever piece to outwit that one.’
Head reeling from the shocking impact of the woman’s words, Emmeline started to push her way through the smiling, chattering faces of the crowd, oblivious to everything except reaching Talvas. The woman’s words continued to flirt at the edge of her mind: Edgar was Sylvie’s husband, the husband she had never met. Trying to see over the heads of the mass of people she searched for the details that had become so familiar to her over the past few days: the seal-dark hair; the le
an, hungry features; the flash of scarlet tunic. Nothing. How could she have lost sight of Talvas so easily? A wave of breathlessness slowed her step; the plethora of limbs and smells, the crush of people threatened to overwhelm her.
And then she saw him. Relief flooded through her. He stood alone, and she realised her opportunity to speak to him, without Edgar’s presence. With no great distance between them now, she tried to call his name, but the sound buried itself in the swell of bodies before he heard it. She reached out her arm, trying to attract Talvas’s attention, only to have it smacked ruthlessly down.
‘You know who I am, don’t you, you little bitch!’ A smooth, dangerous voice, Edgar’s voice, slurred in her ear, breath laced with drink. She jumped back, blood running cold at the spitefulness of the tone.
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about!’ She faced him brusquely, dismay mingling with the utmost horror as she stared at his coarse, florid features.
His lips slobbered wetly, his hand still gripping her upper arm. ‘Don’t give me that rubbish!’ Edgar hissed. ‘I saw that old crone talking to you!’
‘I would never have found out what an evil man you are if she hadn’t!’ Emmeline threw the insult back, tired of pretending. ‘Let me go!’ She tried to tug her arm from his punishing grip.
‘Nay, my lady, we’ve come too far for that! I’ll not let you spoil my plans.’
‘I’ll say nothing,’ Emmeline pleaded, desperation clouding her voice. ‘Let me go, and you can disappear into the crowd. Lord Talvas will be none the wiser.’
Edgar’s sludgy brown eyes narrowed on her face. ‘But I need you, my little lady. You are my bait.’
She struggled violently at the words, but his grip increased in strength until it was almost unbearable. ‘Let me go!’ she shouted. ‘Talvas!’ The words died in her throat as Edgar buckled her around roughly, pinioning her back against him. The cold slick of a knife blade pressed against her throat.
As Talvas raised his eyes from his conversation, a look of horror crossed his face. He strode over, hand reaching for his sword. ‘Robert…what are you doing?’
‘Back off, Talvas,’ Edgar snarled. ‘Leave hold of your sword, and don’t come any closer. You wouldn’t want this little angel to have her pretty throat cut.’ he giggled suddenly, a childish, simpering noise that rang out oddly over the utter silence of the market-place. The tension of the unfolding spectacle had spread amongst the crowd and now, with curious eyes, they turned their heads to watch. The whole place held its breath.
‘Just let her go, Robert.’ Talvas sounded calm, but never in his life had he felt more powerless, so unnerved by the situation before him. The gossamer threads of trust between himself and this woman had grown and strengthened to a tangled complexity, a bond impossible to sever. Fear slicked his heart, breath caught in his chest as he clenched his fists in a futile gesture of anger at the sight of Emmeline’s pale, slender figure jammed up against this snarling thug. If only he could pluck Emmeline from those brawny arms that held her, yank her to safety. But the knife glinted in the weak sunlight, its flashing blade taunting him, jeering at him. He knew that a single nick would kill her.
‘Nay, Talvas, I’ll not let her go,’ Edgar sneered in answer. ‘And it’s Edgar, not Robert. Edgar of Waldeath.’ The crowd gave a subdued gasp of surprise. The name was notorious in these parts.
‘What do you want, Edgar? Money?’ Talvas tried to guess at Edgar’s full intention, tried to keep him talking, his mind all the while trying to work out a way of freeing Emmeline.
‘Nay, Talvas, I want far more than that. I want King Stephen. It will be easy for you to fetch your brother-in-law to me. Give him in exchange for this pretty maid and she’ll walk free.’
‘He’ll never meet with the likes of you,’ Talvas sneered back, unable to keep his temper at bay.
‘Then this little bird will die,’ Edgar replied. He smiled, his lips tight with cunning. ‘And if I’ve guessed aright, you’ll do anything to save her. I’ve seen the two of you together. And a delectable piece she is, too.’
Concern etched Talvas’s features. Never before had his loyalty been so sorely tested, especially over a woman. Like a blow, he realised the powerful web in which Emmeline had entangled him. He gave his head a slight shake, almost disbelieving that he had to choose between the King and this woman. He forced himself to keep his voice level as he gave his answer. ‘I’ll do it, Edgar. On one condition.’
‘Name it.’
‘That the maid is not harmed. In any way.’ The meaning of Talvas’s words was unmistakable.
Edgar giggled. ‘Oh, what a shame. I must admit, I am tempted. She’s far more attractive than her sister ever was.’
Rage boiled in Talvas’s gut as he took a step forward, not thinking. The knife pressed deeper into Emmeline’s throat and she squeaked in surprise at the sear of pain.
‘Calm down, Talvas. I want Stephen, not a night of fun.’ Edgar started to back his way to the edge of the square, dragging Emmeline with him, her body bouncing like a limp rag doll at his side as she tried to keep her feet on the ground. ‘Meet me on the morrow, up by the stand of pines on the hill yonder. If you are not there by the time the noon bell sounds, with King Stephen, then this maid will die.’
Chapter Sixteen
Edgar hauled Emmeline along the narrow, oppressive streets of Wareham, ducking through alleyways, stumbling over uneven patches of ground, his grip around her elbow never lessening in its ferocious hold. Overhead, the sky began to darken, thick clouds driven in by the stiff westerly breeze, promising rain. She lost count of the times her shoulders, her elbows, bumped and scraped against a rough stone wall, a sharp corner of wood. Edgar obviously held a clear knowledge of the back streets of Wareham, and had no intention of allowing Talvas the slightest chance of following them. At last, as he pulled her along a dilapidated row of tumbledown cottages, he suddenly shoved at one of the low doorways with his shoulder and all but threw her into the gloomy interior.
‘Say nothing,’ he whispered threateningly, waving the knife at her as he struggled with the heavy iron bolts on the inside of the door. Emmeline stared in dismay around her. The room—the kitchen, she supposed, although the black grate of the fire lay cold—had a sad, unlived air, and was lit only by two small windows at the front, the apertures criss-crossed by iron bars, hung with thick cobwebs. She shivered.
‘Sit down,’ Edgar ordered, pointing at a high-backed oak chair in the middle of the room. Apart from a long trestle table it was the only other item of furniture.
Emmeline sat. She had no intention of riling this man; the dangerous insanity in his eyes was all too apparent. The soreness at her neck, a legacy of his sharp knife, kept a heightened flow of adrenalin coursing through her blood. Despite her annoyance, she remained silent as he bound her legs and arms to the chair, using thick ugly knots that tightened into her delicate flesh.
‘All done,’ Edgar announced, standing back to admire his handiwork. ‘I’d like to see you escape from that!’ Reaching down to a leather bag previously dumped by her feet, he lifted out a calfskin flagon, taking a large swig. He belched.
A huge sense of injustice, of acrid indignation, swept over her; in a moment she had forgotten her promise to remain silent. ‘You came prepared,’ She uttered, unable to contain her sarcasm.
Edgar grinned nastily, appraising the pearly white column of her throat, marred by a line of blood, his gaze trailing down the slender figure encased in the lichen green gown. ‘It always pays to have a bolt-hole in times like these. This house belongs to my friends and me…and not a soul in Wareham knows about it.’
‘How could you have known that Talvas and I would travel this way?’
Edgar sat down on the earthen floor, leaning his back against the wattle-and-daub wall, a wall mottled by patches of damp and mouldy lime plaster. He turned the knife continually, restlessly, in his hands, as if desperate to use it. ‘I returned home yesterday to find my castle full of Stephen’s sol
diers…and the King himself,’ he replied, his eyes intent on the knife blade. ‘By not showing my face, I learned a great deal about Stephen’s plans for you and Lord Talvas.’
‘You’re a traitor to the King.’ And a bully, just like Giffard, she thought.
Edgar’s lips wrenched into a lopsided smile. ‘The man is a usurper; Maud should be Queen. But he won’t be King for much longer, maid, if my plans go aright. Lord Talvas will bring him straight to me.’
‘I wouldn’t count on it,’ Emmeline shot back. ‘Why would Lord Talvas exchange the King for a commoner like me?’
‘Because I’ve seen the way he looks at you, talks to you. And I’ll wager there’s more than the eye can see between the two of you.’
A damning flush crossed her face. Edgar hissed with laughter, a guttural sibilance. ‘I knew it! I knew I was right! He’s bedded you, as well, has he not?’
‘None of your business!’ she flashed back.
Edgar hoisted himself up from the earthen floor. ‘Shame I can’t have a piece of you.’ Panic fizzed through her veins at his words, her hands tightening imperceptibly around the curved ends of the chair arms as he placed one hand on her knee. The smooth fabric of her bliaut snagged on the coarse skin of his palm as his hand travelled up her thigh. His breath, thick with the stench of rotten food, washed over her. Nausea roiled in her stomach. ‘Or maybe I will,’ he murmured. ‘After all, who’s to know?’
‘What did Sylvie ever see in you?’ Fear forced her mind to think, to prepare herself, as her muscles tensed in agony, trying to escape his lecherous touch.
Edgar lifted his hand away. ‘You mean, what did I ever see in her? That silly bitch nearly betrayed me in the end. After everything I’ve done for her, given her!’
‘What do you mean, “betrayed” you?’ Emmeline asked slowly, seizing on his words. She could hear her heart thumping, slowly, steadily.
‘She knew I’d come back home. I saw the look on her face as she watched me sleep. She was going to run to the King, tell him who I was, and what I’d done. Luckily I stopped her just in time.’
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