The Deed

by Lynsay Sands

  A second sound, a rustling, this time nearer, made him stiffen further as he realized how vulnerable they were at the moment.

  "Wife."

  Emma's eyes popped open, a shy smile coming to her lips as she met his gentle, if concerned gaze.

  "Come. 'Tis growing late," he murmured in a normal voice, not wishing to worry her.

  Sitting up slowly, Emma peered toward her half full basket, recalling that she had yet to collect the burdock she had wanted. Her husband had quite distracted her from her task after only fifteen minutes of watching her poke through the woods. "I needs must collect some more--"

  "Nay. Dress," he ordered softly, handing her her clothes.

  Emma frowned, her eyebrows rising, but did as she was told even as he stood to dress as well. Amaury was much quicker than she, his clothes on and sword in hand before she had managed to re-don her tunic. By the time she had her gown on, he had brought the horses over and was soothing their nervous movements as he peered at the trees surrounding them.

  It was then Emma realized there was a problem. The horses were nervous and so was Amaury.

  "Is something amiss?" she whispered, stepping to his side.

  He did not answer, did not even look at her. Expression grim, he merely lifted her silently onto her mount, then moved toward his own. It was then that the first man stepped out of the surrounding woods. He was followed by three more.

  "To the castle!" Amaury roared. Slapping the rump of her horse, he sent it lurching off into the woods carrying her to safety, then turned to face the men now closing in upon him. Each one carried a sword and two of them had full mail on. It was hard to make love in armor so Amaury had forsaken his for this short jaunt. A mistake.

  His gaze swept over the attackers again, taking their measure. Mercenaries. Not very successful ones either, he decided, noting the poorer quality of the armor they sported. Successful or not, he feared he might very well be returning to his little wife draped across his mount's back. Their numbers and what little skill they possessed were more than enough to bring down a lone man. Even a warrior as proficient as himself, Amaury thought, putting his back to a tree with resignation.

  Amaury had slapped her horse so hard, it took Emma a bit of time to regain control and slow her down. Bringing the nervous animal to a complete halt, she urged her back around toward the clearing. She knew she should probably obey her husband and return to the castle to await his return. He did dislike being disobeyed. Besides, he could well take care of himself. But then, so could her cousin, yet she had saved his sorry hide a time or two.

  She would just check on him, Emma told herself as she urged her horse into a gallop. If all seemed well, she would leave him to it and follow his instructions. If not . . . She wished suddenly that she had brought her bow.

  All thoughts of her bow flew from her mind when her mare jumped a bush and crashed down unexpectedly into the clearing. It seemed they had not ridden as far away as she had thought. Amaury was going to be furious.

  Emma had little time to worry over that, however. Even as she began to slow her mare, she recognized the unfair odds her husband faced. Cursing, she used the only weapon she had to aid him, her horse. Urging the mount to speed up again, Emma tugged her reins hard to the left, toward the nearest of the villains. The mare responded at once, bearing down on the man in her path.

  Warned by the sound of pounding hooves, that unfortunate man was already turning. Catching a glimpse of the horse and rider, he immediately tried to throw himself to the side, but Emma turned her mare to follow, wincing inwardly as he fell beneath the hooves.

  The second man was a surprising bonus. Emma had merely been following the first man, but he had led her horse into the path of the second one who now drew up his sword to deflect the mare. Seeing the action, Emma realized her mount would rear and immediately set about leaping from the beast. She hadn't intended on knocking into the third man, but when she saw him to the side of her it seemed too good an opportunity to miss and she launched herself toward him from her mare's back.

  Amaury stared at the chaos about him with amazement. He hadn't been able to believe it when the tense silence that had cloaked the clearing had suddenly been broken by his wife crashing into the center of the glen on her mount. His shock had been replaced by fear when a glance had shown that the mare appeared to have gone a bit berserk. The beast's eyes had rolled backward in her head even as she had moved to trample one of the men beneath her hooves. Then she had reared, throwing Emma from her back as she pawed at the air in front of a second villain.

  Amaury's heart had lodged itself in his throat as Emma had flown through the air. When she had slammed into another of his would-be assassins, he had immediately made a move to see that she was all right, then remembered his attackers and brought himself back to face them. Or what was left of them. The first man the horse had trampled was most definitely dead. At the moment, the second one was still trying to get out of the way of Emma's mad horse, and the third man-- the one Emma herself had landed on-- appeared to have been knocked senseless as he fell by the base of the tree. That left the fourth man for Amaury to deal with.

  He put up a paltry fight at best. While Amaury had regained his concentration quickly, his opponent was still gawking over the chaos about them as Amaury approached him. It was the sign of a second-rate warrior at best. A true warrior knew to keep his wits about him at all times.

  Amaury considered hacking the man down while his back was turned. After all, he and his friends had shown little care for fair play by ganging up on him four to one, but his honor would not allow it, so he roared a warning first. The villain wheeled at once, raising his sword in a desperate bid to fend off the coming blow.

  After the impact of crashing into the huge armored man, it took a moment before Emma managed to regain her breath. It was Amaury's roar that did it for her. She suspected that that enraged bellow had scared the breath right back into her lungs. Good Lord, he had a set of lungs on him! Regaining her wits along with her breath, she immediately reached for the dirk at her waist. It was a paltry weapon, good only for stabbing food at mealtimes, but it was all she had. Clutching it in her hand, she pushed herself up slightly away from the man she lay on, and quickly and viciously plunged the dirk at his chest. The damn thing snapped in two as it hit his mail. But it did manage to rouse him. Unfortunately.

  The way he stiffened slightly made Emma glance warily up at his face when the dirk broke. The smile he gave her when she met his gaze made her blood run cold.

  Pulling his sword free of the man, Amaury didn't even wait to see him collapse to the ground before glancing quickly toward the tree where his wife and the other villain had landed. He frowned when he saw that they were both moving now. From the way they had lain prone moments ago, he had thought them both unconscious, but his wife was even now scrambling off the man, trying to back away from him. As she did, the villain caught the hem of her skirt, holding her in place while he rolled to his feet.

  Amaury strode quickly across the clearing and brought his sword down. He had intended on slicing the hand that had dared touch even his wife's clothing, but the man saw his approach out of the corner of his eye and tugged hard on the skirt to get his hand out of the way. Emma was jerked forward into the arm Amaury raised immediately to stop her forward impetus, then bounced backward as the sword sliced through her gown, releasing her like a spring. She collapsed back against a neighboring tree, and Amaury immediately put his back to her, protecting her as he faced the man now on his feet, his sword at the ready.

  Emma clutched at the tree to keep her feet beneath her, then glanced sharply toward her husband and his opponent. Opponents, she realized as she saw that the second man her mare had gone after had managed to deflect the horse and was now coming to aid his friend. She shouted a warning to her husband, but knew at once that she need not have by the impatient glance he threw her over his shoulder. Then the battle began in earnest. Holding her breath, she waited as Amaury def
lected their attackers' blows one after another. His arm moved so swiftly as he fought the two men that it was nearly a blur. There was no question of running. She would not leave his side, but she wished she could help somehow. He appeared to have no trouble deflecting their blows, but should he tire . . .

  That thought set up a panic in Emma, and she began hunting the ground. She was looking for a good sturdy rock to throw at the men. It would be of little aid, but might be enough of a distraction to allow her husband to even the odds. She had just spotted a nice-sized stone and picked it up when a scream drew her eyes back to the battle. Her husband's sword was buried deep in the belly of the man she had toppled with her leap from the horse. Her gaze flew to the second man then, fear blooming in her like a bloody rose. While her husband's sword was otherwise occupied, the second man was going in for the kill. Emma shouted a warning and hurled the rock at the villain at the same time.

  Amaury grimaced when his wife screeched in his ear. It almost made him miss the rock that flew past his shoulder into the man now bearing down on him. God's breath, he thought grimly, his little wife's lungs must reach all the way down to her knees for her to let loose a sound like that. Part of him was touched by the panic in her voice. It was nice to think she did not wish to see him dead. However, another part of him found it insulting that she thought he might not be aware of what was going on about him, or that he needed her trifling assistance. He was a warrior, he thought irritably. It was his place to guard her. Her place was to rest against the tree and await his pleasure. But then, his wife had shown little evidence of knowing her place to date. After all, had he not sent her back to the castle? Yet here she was, a distraction to him in the midst of a battle, he thought, grasping the impaled man by his shoulder and turning to thrust him into his friend's downward swing even as he pulled his own sword free.

  Caught up in the momentum of his swing, the villain was incapable of stopping the death blow he gave his friend. For a moment, his face was a mask of shock. In the next instant that expression was to be his death mask as Amaury thrust his sword into the man's chest.

  Emma closed her eyes to the gruesome battle scene and sank weakly back against the tree. A hard hand closing around her upper arm a moment later brought her eyes open to stare at her husband's drawn face. He seemed as tense as a cat on hot coals. Anger along with something else she did not recognize battled on his face.

  "I told you to head back to the castle."

  "I did try," Emma told him in a pained whisper, thinking of the brief spurt of good sense that had urged her to obey her husband.

  Amaury sighed, his shoulders drooping as he recalled the mad way the horse had been rolling its eyes when it had crashed into, the clearing. "I must have slapped your mare too hard. I am sorry, wife, you could have been killed. 'Twas lucky she ended running in a circle and returning here, else you may have been cracked against a tree rather than the softer landing that man gave you when she finally threw you."

  Emma frowned in confusion over that for a moment. Then understanding suddenly struck and her mouth made a perfect O of amazement as she realized her husband's mistake. He thought her such a ninny that he believed her horse had run away with her, somehow tearing off, then crashing back here to throw her at the villain who had been trying to kill him. For a moment she was almost angry that he thought her so useless. Then she merely shrugged it away. She was too weary to really care right then. Besides, it was probably better than his knowing the truth. That would most likely enrage him.

  Her gaze moved around the clearing now, seeking out her mare, but there was no sign of the animal. Worry plucking at her brow, she moved to the center of the clearing to call for the creature, but there was no response.

  "She probably returned to the castle," Amaury murmured, moving to her side. "My horse is gone as well. It will bring the men." He paused, pushing her behind him and turning to face the trees at the sound of approaching riders.

  When the first of his men broke through into the clearing on horse back, he relaxed at once. Sheathing his sword, Amaury walked forward to meet them as they reined in their horses and dismounted.

  Emma started to follow him across the clearing, but paused and glanced down when her foot hit something in the grass. It was her basket. Bending, she picked it up and peered blankly at the drops of blood on the top leaves inside. Quite suddenly she felt rather faint. Emma had never been this close to battle before. Oh, aye, she had seen the men practicing at mock battle in the bailey and then of course there were the few occasions when she had used her bow to save a life by taking one. But letting an arrow fly from a distance was nothing like what she had just witnessed. She had stood a mere foot away, privy to the sounds and smells of death. She could smell it in the air, taste it on her lips, and still heard the sound of a sword crashing through human flesh.

  Perhaps it was not surprising then that she felt sick, or that she felt sure today was not a day she would soon forget.

  Amaury gave his explanations and orders quickly, commandeered one of the horses, then mounted and walked the beast to his wife to lift her up before him on the saddle. Leaving his men to deal with the bodies, he then headed for home, frowning frequently and worriedly down at his wife as they went. She was oddly silent; not surprising perhaps, but it worried him just the same. Even the news he relayed that her mare had been injured, but not badly, did not elicit a response and that increased his anxiety. It was not like her not to fuss over such things.

  Sure that it was shock that was ailing his little wife, Amaury could only think she should rest. It was the only salve he could think of for what ailed her, and as her husband it was his duty to see that she received it. He had just decided that as they rode into the bailey.

  Waving the people with their questions away as he dismounted, Amaury lifted her gently into his arms and carried her up to their chamber. There he set her down beside the bed, took the basket she still held, set it on the floor, and then set about stripping her of her clothes.

  Emma stood silent and still as he fussed over her, neither assisting nor deflecting his efforts, and that simply worried him more. Once he had her naked before him, Amaury turned to strip back the bed linens, but when he straightened and turned to urge her into the bed, she suddenly threw herself into his arms. For a moment he simply stood there, his arms at his sides, his expression stunned as she sobbed against his chest, but then he regained himself enough to raise one hand to awkwardly pat her back.

  He stood there for what seemed to him to be hours, simply letting her cry as he racked his brain for something he could do to soothe her. Then she suddenly began tugging at his clothes. At first he had no idea what to make of it. She was still sobbing hard enough to make him think her heart was breaking, but she was also setting out most aggressively to strip him of his own clothes. He let her do as she wished, thinking to wait and see what she was about.

  Despite the fact that he was positive she could not possibly see through the blur of her tear-filled eyes, Emma made short work of his clothes. When she finished, he was standing at the side of the bed with his chest bare and his hose tangled down around his boots, revealing a rather large erection to her view. Circumstances notwithstanding, having his wife rubbing naked against him as she had worked at his clothes had managed to raise his interest.

  He had just opened his mouth to ask what she was attempting to do when Emma gave him a gentle push toward the bed. With his legs tangled up in his hose as they were, that was all the effort it took to send him flat on his back on the bed. His wee wife immediately set about climbing on top of him, impaling herself on his shaft with little warning and no preparation.

  Amaury simply lay there for a moment, his eyes wide and shocked. His wife was not shy in their bed, but this was beyond anything so far. Besides, there was no evidence of pleasure or desire on her face, just a grim determination as she continued to sob and ride him. Frowning, he caught her hips and held her still, waiting until she opened her eyes before speakin
g. "What do you?"

  Emma simply blinked at him, her surprise finally stopping the flow of tears she had been unable to halt since they had started. It seemed perfectly obvious to her what she was doing. "I am bedding you." She began to move against him again, but Amaury tightened his grip, impatience flashing across his face.

  "Aye, I can see that. Why?"

  Emma blinked again. She really had no idea why. She simply felt a need to mate. She wished to feel him in and around her. She wished to share those moments afterward when he held her and cooed sweet words in her ear. She wished to feel alive again. She supposed it had something to do with being so near death that afternoon, but did not see how. She did not feel dead, yet felt a horrible need to feel alive. It made no sense and she knew that. And if it made no sense to her, she felt sure it would not make sense to her husband, so she briefly sought in her mind for a viable reason to give him and ended up with, "We need an heir."

  "An heir?"

  "Aye."

  "Now?" He looked thoroughly flummoxed by her words.

  "Aye, now. Afore you go a-dying on me." Anger rose up in her suddenly, and she did not understand that either. She did not truly blame him for the bandits' attack, or for this latest fight. Neither had been his fault and yet she still went right ahead blaming him for both. "I swear, my lord, never in my days have I known a body who landed himself in so much trouble! Do I not milk your seed and get with child now, you are sure to get yourself killed afore I can! Then I shall be left in the clutches of Bertrand."

  Amaury stared up at her blankly for a moment, several feelings rushing through him. Anger, however, was uppermost. Rolling suddenly on the bed, he put her on her back and rose above her, driving a little deeper into her before muttering, "Well, wife, as God is my witness, I have never had so much trouble in my life afore marrying you. 'Tis the truth I begin to think you are accursed!"

  "Accursed!" Emma gasped at that.