Distant voices traversed the swirling fogs of Emmeline’s mind, familiar voices that tugged at her consciousness, drew her out from the numbing mists of sleep. Eyes still closed, she pushed out a hesitant hand, testing the soft supple linen beneath her fingertips, aware of a dull ache in her shoulder.
‘Have no fear, Talvas,’ a woman was saying, her tone merry and reassuring, ‘I’ll take good care of her; I’ll make sure she doesn’t go anywhere without me!’
Emmeline’s lashes stuck together fractionally as she forced her eyes to open, seeking the direction of the voices. The light streaming in from the window embrasure silhouetted two figures: Talvas’s dark, saturnine profile instantly recognisable, and a straight-backed woman whose identity Emmeline failed to place.
Talvas laughed, a boyish sound. To Emmeline’s surprise, he reached out and tugged at one of the woman’s sleek black braids, gently teasing. ‘That’s what worries me, Matilda, for I can’t be certain where you plan to go!’
Matilda! Of course, the woman was his sister! Emmeline’s head shifted on the pillow as she made the identification, the long blond coils of her hair fanning out silkily on the tightly woven linen. The woman laughed, a delicate, tinkling sound, twisting her head as Emmeline’s small movement caught the corner of her eye. ‘Oh, look, Talvas! She’s awake at last!’
‘Thank the Lord!’ Talvas shoved one hand through his sleek locks, leaving a few strands to spike out with the movement, before covering the planked floor in one stride.
‘Talvas!’ Emmeline croaked, her speech raw as she stretched out her fingers. ‘I’m so glad to see you!’
The blue of his eyes shone with gentleness. ‘And I you, maid. And I you.’ His hand enveloped hers in his warm, strong grasp, his expression travelling over her ashen skin, the faint beating pulse at her neck, still marred by a congealed line of blood, the emerald shine of her eyes.
‘You look like you’ve never seen me before!’
‘I thought I would never see you again,’ he admitted ruefully, settling himself on the edge of the bed. Lines of fatigue incised his face, lending it a carved severity; his eyes were bloodshot.
‘You look terrible,’ She admitted, noting the shadowy stubble that covered his chin. Yet her mind continued to absorb the heart-stopping details of his face, and, like a thirsty man in the wilderness, she drank and drank, never taking her eyes from him.
‘He hasn’t slept since he laid you on that bed,’ Matilda chimed in, coming to stand behind Talvas, elegant in a tight-fitting gown of heavily embroidered russet wool.
‘How long?’ Emmeline struggled to prop herself up beneath the covers, wincing as her body protested with numerous aches and pains.
‘A few days,’ he murmured, pushing her back down gently. ‘Rest easy, Emmeline. Your shoulder is badly bruised…although this—’ he placed his finger at the hollow of her neck ‘—is starting to heal, thank God.’
His touch sent a frisson of delight through her, exciting her nerves with a fizzing intensity. She closed her eyes at the exquisiteness of her reaction, amazed that a single touch could transport her to such a frenzy of delight.
‘Emmeline…are you all right?’ His voice held concern.
Her eyes opened, their emerald-green locking into his gaze of sparkling sapphire.
‘I will make myself busy elsewhere,’ Matilda said tactfully, ‘now I have seen for myself that the maid is going to live.’ But no one heard her soft tread across the chamber, the high-pitched click of the iron latch as she left the room.
‘I’m fine, Talvas, fine.’ But Emmeline’s voice held a shudder as the memories came flooding back. The horrific image of Sylvie floating in the moat loomed into her mind.
‘Did the bastard hurt you?’
‘Nay…but he killed Sylvie! She didn’t take her own life, Talvas. He, Edgar, killed her. Sylvie realised he had returned to the castle and she intended to warn us, to warn Stephen. But he killed her before she even had a chance to open her mouth!’
‘God rest her soul,’ Talvas murmured. ‘Her words would have saved you from this ordeal.’
‘She was trying to make amends, Talvas. She truly regretted her actions from all those years ago.’
‘I realise that now. She was a brave woman.’
He leaned forward, scooping his arms behind her shoulders to gather her into his chest, wrapping her tightly in his embrace. ‘As you are,’ he murmured into her shoulder. The scented skin at the nape of her neck was warm from sleep.
‘Nay,’ she replied, ‘it was nothing I couldn’t handle.’
‘It seems like you can handle a great deal,’ he murmured with subdued ferocity, a muscle tensing high in his cheek. He settled her back gently against the pillows. ‘What of this?’ he touched the yellowing bruise at the corner of her mouth.
‘I told Edgar he was wasting his time with me, using me as bait. That you wouldn’t come for me.’
‘But I did, Emmeline. I did.’
‘I knew that…but Edgar couldn’t be sure. I knew you would come for me.’ She reached up and touched the rasp of stubble on his chin.
Talvas placed his hand over hers, feeling the smooth warmth of her palm against the side of his face. ‘This can’t go on, Emmeline.’
A nervous trickle of excitement gathered force within her heart.
‘I lost you Emmeline, I couldn’t find you anywhere.’ His voice dropped to a solemn whisper. Lifting her hand from his face, he turned it over, rubbing his thumb carefully against the red, torn skin with his fingertip. ‘And then I found you, collapsed on the track, literally dying with cold.’ His fingers tightened on her wrist. ‘Christ, when I saw you…’ The words died on his lips as he stared into the beautiful, mesmerising enchantment of her eyes, the vital translucency of her skin. He shook his head, unable to speak the emotion he had experienced: the all-consuming sense of anguish, of loss. ‘Emmeline, I can’t go through that again.’
‘What are you saying?’ she whispered, unknown territory looming before her.
‘That I will never lose you again, Emmeline, never.’
She drew her hand away from his, worrying at the amulet that rested on her neck. The pale jade felt cool against her skin, reminded her of the incisive, practical logic of her father. Lifting stricken eyes to his, she replied, ‘It’s a promise we cannot keep.’
‘Why not?’ His voice held the faintest rasp of rejection.
‘You speak of…marriage, Talvas,’ she faltered, biting the bottom of her lip, searching for the right words.
‘It is what I had in mind.’ His eyes adopted a searching look. Sweet Jesu, he had been about to bare his soul to this woman, and still she pushed him away!
‘Talvas, I cannot.’ Her speech dropped to a whisper.
‘Christ, Emmeline, why not?’ Without warning, Talvas leaned forward, hauling her body to him in ferocious desire, sealing her lips to his in a demanding, violent kiss. His hands swept around her body, feeling her slight figure cleave to him through the thinness of her nightgown, before wrenching his lips away, dropping her back against the mattress. ‘Why do you constantly deny what’s between us?’
Her blood pelted around her body, her heart thudding from the impact of his kiss. ‘I don’t deny it!’ She protested, slumping weakly back against the pillow. The fine linen of her nightgown lifted, then settled around her skin again with the movement. ‘Talvas, I want to be with you, but I can’t marry you!’
Tearing himself from the bed, almost banging his head on the crossbar that held the bed curtains, he strode over to the window, rage boiling in his gut. ‘Then I can’t protect you, Emmeline, damn it! I can’t protect you!’
Despair laced her heart; the simple circle of their joy at seeing each other again was ripped apart. She threw back the bed furs, uncaring as to the aches and pains that seared her slim frame, hobbling over to him to place one hand on his shoulder. ‘I don’t need your protection, Talvas, I just want your love.’
The chamber echoed with the solemnit
y of her words.
‘You let that one man destroy your whole life.’ A deadly calm threaded his voice, the set of his shoulders rigid with rejection. Had he even heard her words? ‘But I can’t make you marry me, Emmeline. God forbid that I ever make Mam’selle de Lonnieres do anything.’ He rounded on her, almost knocking her over with the violence of the brusque movement, his eyes sparking hostile fire. ‘’Twould be different if you carried my child.’
Icy fingers of horror gripped her chest as her gaze trailed over his obdurate features. Her hand fell from his shoulder, dropping limply by her side. ‘You mean…you would force me to marry you?’ Bewildered by her own revelation, she staggered back, almost tripping over the trailing hem of the nightgown. Nay, Talvas, she wanted to rail at him, don’t do this!
‘If it came to that.’ The damning curtness of his response sent ripples of sorrow through her frame.
She turned away then, hopelessness crushing her chest, an overwhelming sense of isolation welling inside her. ‘Then let’s hope it never will.’
Dark green tendrils of ivy reached their glossy fingers up the pale, rough-cast stone wall that surrounded the kitchen garden at Hawkeshayne. A solitary robin perched on a bush denuded of leaves, the fiery orange of its breast the only brightness amongst the browns and greys of the winter garden. In the weak afternoon sunshine, Emmeline walked slowly, glad of the support of Matilda’s arm. Their thinly slippered feet made little sound on the cobbled pathways that edged the neat vegetable beds, beds loaded with freshly dug rich earth, ready to receive the spring planting.
The days were beginning to drag on Emmeline: a full sennight had passed since Talvas had announced he would return to help Stephen in his battle to extricate Maud from Sedroc. He had left specific instructions to Matilda to keep an eye on Emmeline, to not let her go anywhere until he returned. He had barely spoken to Emmeline before he left. She had struggled from the bed, desolate and weak from their last quarrel, watching from an upstairs window as Talvas rode off with Guillame and a group of soldiers, the shields and spears sparkling in the sunshine, the red colours of King Stephen draping their horses.
‘’Tis good to see the colour return to your cheeks, Emmeline,’ Matilda remarked, looking down at the woman she had come to regard as her friend over the last few days. Thrown together by the circumstances, the two women had discovered they had much in common, not least their quest for independence, and had shared much laughter over the past few days. The pair formed an attractive contrast: the tall, dark Matilda moving with a willowy grace and Emmeline, petite and fair, stepping carefully at her side.
‘Aye, and to feel the wind on my face,’ Emmeline agreed. The mild breeze carried the tang of the sea to her nostrils, a smell that brought the thrill of excitement, of adventure, coursing through her veins. ‘I am all but fully recovered now.’ She relayed these words with such emphasis that Matilda stopped, glancing at her quizzically.
‘You mean…’
‘Aye, that I’m ready to go home, to go back to France.’
A flock of crows emerged as one from the tangle of bare ash branches in the corner of the garden, cawing and chattering as they rose into the air.
Matilda grinned. ‘Oh, you are so naughty, Emmeline. You know full well that Talvas demanded that you wait for his return. I suspect he plans to take you back to France on your ship.’
‘It would be easy to find another to captain La Belle Saumur. There’s nothing left for me here.’ Emmeline tried to ignore the gnawing hole in her heart, burning with a solitary intensity.
‘Are you sure about that?’ Matilda asked carefully. Her brother had been more than usually insistent about his instructions regarding Emmeline; she remembered the way he had worried over Emmeline in her unconsciousness. Matilda could not recall a time when he had shown more care, more tenderness, toward one woman.
‘He wants to marry me.’ Emmeline sighed, pushing at a fragment of earth with her toe.
‘Oh, Emmeline, that’s wonderful news!’ Matilda reached round to face Emmeline, to take both her hands in her own. ‘So why do you want to return to France?’
‘Because I told him “nay”.’ Emmeline’s voice rang hollow in the still air.
‘I don’t understand.’ Matilda’s expression was serious.
‘He doesn’t believe that love can be separate from marriage…he wants to protect me and thinks that marriage is the only way. I suffered much with Giffard and relished my independence for too long, Matilda. Surely you can understand that?’
‘So what would you say about me, Emmeline? Would you say I was owned, possessed?’ Hands still linked, the two women began to walk again.
‘Nay, I think you are one of the most wilful, strong-minded women I have ever met.’ Emmeline grinned suddenly.
‘I’ll take that as a compliment.’ Matilda laughed. ‘And yet, I am happily married, to a man that I love.’
‘True,’ Emmeline mused. ‘Oh, Matilda, I need to talk to him. I’ve been so horrible to him.’ A weight began to lift from her shoulders. ‘How long do you think it will be until he and Stephen return?’
Matilda sighed, then she smiled softly, squeezing Emmeline’s fingers. ‘Who knows, Emmeline? These walls, beautiful as they are, are beginning to close in on me, and I suspect they are with you, too.’ The light breeze sifted through the loose ebony strands of her hair.
Emmeline nodded, catching on to Matilda’s train of thought. ‘And sieges can go on for weeks and weeks,’ she added. Both women turned by silent agreement and began to head back to the low arch set into the garden wall. They pushed through the gap together, tripping on each other’s trailing skirts in their eagerness, giggling like mischievous girls.
‘Talvas said nothing about us travelling together. And I promised that I would make certain that you didn’t go anywhere without me. Are you fit to ride?’
‘As ready as I’ll ever be.’
Sedroc Castle stood high on a natural rocky outcrop, dominating the surrounding countryside of flat fields and salt marshlands with its vast square keep and towering walls. The smooth, white walls of the inner keep gleamed implacably in the few glimpses of sunshine that peeked their way through the lumpy clouds. Encircled by a deep-cut moat, the only conceivable access to the castle lay through the gatehouse, which was now heavily guarded by Stephen’s camp. The stained white canvas of the circular tents, each topped by a conical roof trimmed with coloured fabric, indicated the frequent travelling of Stephen’s soldiers, men able to set up or pack up a camp in the space of a few hours. The twenty or so tents each held ten men; Stephen was not about to let Maud slip through his fingers again. Smoke from the cooking fires rose into the still air, the tantalising smell of roasting meat lingering from the soldiers breaking their fast that morning.
Talvas contemplated the dark stain of heavy dew that soaked the toes of his sturdy leather boots. Sitting on a wooden stool outside the tent he shared with Stephen and Guillame, he dipped his pewter cup into the wooden pail beside him and drank deeply. This siege had been going on for far too long. Stephen’s soldiers were beginning to show signs of fatigue; a few had succumbed to disabling coughs and colds in the damp winter air. He tracked the progress of a herald, dressed in full chain-mail and wearing a surcoat that bore the colours of the Empress Maud, as the boy approached King Stephen, who stood chatting to Guillame. Maybe this was it, thought Talvas. Maybe this latest missive was a message from Maud that she wished to surrender, that she would go quietly and not continue to contest her cousin Stephen’s reign.
Stephen listened attentively as the young lad read out the message from the unrolled parchment, then laughed suddenly, throwing the dregs from his cup of mead on to the soil. He shook his head. ‘Tell her “nay”,’ His voice boomed out, cutting the herald off in midflow. The herald scuttled off as Stephen strode toward Talvas.
‘She refuses to surrender, the stubborn bitch!’ He raked a hand through his fair hair. ‘And I’ll wager they have no food left to eat. We’ve effec
tively stopped all the supplies in and out.’
‘Which only leaves their water supply,’ Talvas mused. ‘If we could reach that, then the siege would be over in hours, rather than weeks. Who knows how big their stockpile of food is?’ Although loyal to Stephen, a part of him still lingered at Hawkeshayne. He wanted to return, to go back…to her. The bitter words of their last conversation echoed constantly in his mind; he had been angry with her, annoyed at her stubbornness, her continual rejection of him. Besides, he held little confidence that even his strong-willed sister could hold back the indefatigable Emmeline. Stretching his legs out before him, he winced a little as the day-old wound in his thigh smarted with pain.
‘How fares the leg?’ Stephen asked, frowning at Talvas’s awkward movement. ‘Is it bleeding again?’
‘Nay, I think not. Guillame has done the best he can with it. It’s only a scratch.’ he brushed Stephen’s concern aside; he blamed himself for catching a stray arrow shot from the gatehouse at Sedroc—his mind had been elsewhere, dreaming of the silken whisper of Emmeline’s fine skin under his fingertips. It had been days since he had last seen her, yet the etched delicacy of her face filled his head. At night, he yearned for the soft perfumed touch of her body, during the day he missed her caustic tongue and quick wit. Every time he attempted to banish her from his thoughts, the vivid memory of her returned threefold, tormenting him with her elusive beauty.
A shout went up, a warning call from the outskirts of the camp. Both men stared in the direction of the noise, running their eyes quickly over the fields and hills to seek the cause of the alert.
‘Someone rides under my colours,’ Stephen said, squinting his eyes at the red-and-gold banner held aloft by a soldier, leading two other people on horseback.
‘Mother of Mary!’ Talvas murmured, a feeling of excitement, of warmth, surging through his veins. He recognised the two women on horseback immediately: the tall, stately figure of his sister and the smaller, more curvaceous frame of Emmeline. The party rode into the centre of the camp, oblivious to the covert, admiring glances they drew from the soldiers. Emmeline’s pale skin was flushed with the cold; the wide hood of her dark-green mantle had fallen back to her shoulders, allowing the silken froth of her veil to catch the breeze. She laughed at something Matilda had just whispered to her; a sweet smile that tugged at Talvas’s heart. He was unsure whether to kiss her or strangle her. Stephen, however, knew exactly how he felt about his wife riding into the middle of a siege camp.
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