The Deed

by Lynsay Sands

  Lady Ascot released a choked squawking noise at that, and he turned his gaze to her, adding, "Why should I care? She has been working hard enough to do just that to myself. 'Sides, once she is dead, you will have no shield."

  Gytha's mouth twisted bitterly at that, and she began moving backward, pulling her mistress with her as Lady Ascot's men stepped out of the way. "It seems I made a mistake again," Gytha said. "The first was in backing this old bitch as a victor."

  "The second was in underestimating me," Amaury told her arrogantly, following her retreat.

  "Aye. I will not do that again," she muttered, glancing behind her and pausing when she saw that she had backed up to the moat. Gytha started to turn back, spied the rush of movement out of the corner of her eye as Amaury hurried forward, then stumbled off balance as Lady Ascot began to struggle. Her mistress's struggles stopped the moment the knife pierced her neck, but it was too late. Off balance and already falling, Gytha was unable to stop them both from tumbling backward into the moat.

  Amaury shouted in warning as the two women began to fall. The nearest of her men stepped forward at once, intent on catching at least their mistress, but none were close enough to be able to grab at her before both women plummeted into the moat. Once they had disappeared beneath its dark surface, the men all simply stood about, grimacing as they watched for one or the other of the women to resurface.

  Amaury reached the half circle of men and burst through to the front. Grabbing a torch from the nearest man, he crouched down on his haunches and held it out over the moat. It looked like black pudding. There was not a bubble or circle of disturbance on the top. It was as if it had just swallowed the women up.

  "Phew!" Blake muttered, reaching his side. "Think you some one should dive in there and fetch them out?"

  Lady Ascot's men peered at him as if he were mad.

  "Her ladyship is dead," one of them said. "The maid slit her throat wide open as they fell."

  "Aye," another agreed. "And I'll not be diving into that mess to save the woman who killed her."

  As the others murmured agreement to that, Amaury straightened, his frowning gaze still on the surface of the moat.

  "Their gowns will keep them down there," the king murmured, stepping through the crowd to Amaury's side and surveying the fetid water. "And good riddance too. I'll not make a man risk his life swimming in that muck to save a murderer."

  " 'Tis amazing Emma survived her plunge in there," Blake muttered.

  "Aye," Amaury agreed grimly, then glanced at the king as he spoke again.

  "Post a guard here until the bodies surface."

  "What of Bertrand?" Amaury asked.

  "I shall banish him. Put a guard on him as well for now. Tomorrow he can be taken on a boat and sent to France, or mayhap Italy." He shrugged. "What ever the case, he will no longer be a threat. Without lands, riches, or courage, he shall not bother us again."

  Amaury nodded at that. "And what will you do about Arundel?"

  He pursed his lips. "Nothing. He will stay on as lord chancellor," he decided, a grim tinge to his voice. Then spying their dismay, he explained, " 'Tis better to keep Arundel, whom I know I cannot trust and can therefore guard myself against, than to have a new chancellor whom I may trust mistakenly." He let them think on that briefly, then added, " 'Sides, Arundel has many friends. Most of them much like Lady Ascot and her son. 'Twould take more than hearsay to oust him without a battle, and that is all we have. Hearsay from Bertrand to Lady Emma and from her to me. He did not get the chance to try his trick. Therefore we have no proof."

  Blake nodded solemnly at that, then glanced toward Amaury, only to find the man gone. No doubt to find his wife, he realized, and smiled to himself as the king began barking his orders.

  "They are sure that they are dead, are they not?"

  Emma glanced at her cousin with surprise. It was nearly three weeks since the events that had ended in Lady Ascot's and her maid's death. She and Amaury had returned to court the morning following the escapade. Emma had thought they would simply collect their things and return home. However, the king had insisted they should stay at court for a few days to be sure Emma was recovered from her excitement and had not collected a chill from her dip in the moat.

  Those few days had dragged into weeks before they had managed to extricate themselves and start home. They had arrived back at Eberhart Castle only the day before. Just in time, it had seemed, for Emma had awoken that morning to the news that her cousin and Bishop Wykeham were riding up to the castle.

  It had taken her longer than expected to make her way below stairs. Rolfe and the bishop had already been seated at the table enjoying a repast when she joined them. Emma had greeted them warmly, then spent the first little bit updating her two guests on court gossip. Rolfe and the bishop had not been at court during the time she and her husband had. "In Scotland on court business" had been all the king had told her when she had asked.

  Once she had exhausted what little gossip she had bothered to listen to at court, Emma had turned to the tale of their woes with Bertrand and his mother. Now she smiled gently at her cousin's concerned expression.

  "Aye. Lady Ascot floated to the surface of the moat the day after we left the demesne for court and Gytha . . ." Emma paused, her lips pulling down with concern as she saw Sebert enter the castle and head toward them. The expression on his face was oddly determined and miserable all at the same time.

  Emma let the conversation with her cousin drop at once. Sebert had been miserable over Gytha's involvement in the plot since hearing of it on their return from court. He had decided the woman had been using him all along, and blamed himself for not having noticed how most of the subjects they had discussed had focused on Emma and Amaury. She had tried telling him it was not his fault, but nothing would console him. She only hoped that with time, his wounds and this unnecessary guilt would heal.

  Sebert moved directly to the table, but rather than approach her as she had expected, he stopped beside the bishop. "My lord bishop, I know you are retired, but Father Gumpter is away just now and you did take confessions when you were here last. I hoped you might be willing to hear my confession . . . again?"

  "Of course, of course." The bishop was on his feet in an instant. "Mayhap there are one or two others who might like me to hear their confessions as well," he suggested happily, clapping Sebert on the back as they moved off.

  Rolfe watched them go, then got to his feet as well. "Excuse me, Em. I must find Blake."

  Emma stared after him with some surprise, wondering why he would seek her husband's friend. As far as she knew, until her wedding to Amaury, her cousin had never even met Blake. Curious, she thought, then shrugged inwardly and stood to seek out Maude. Emma had need of some more weeds that were not available in her garden. Weeds that would help ward off morning sickness.

  She smiled to herself as she thought that, her hand moving to rest on her still flat stomach. She knew now that she was indeed pregnant. It was a blessing and even a miracle in a way. A miracle that the babe had survived her journey in the tapestry. It was the morning sickness that had convinced her. She had been suffering the ailment for three weeks now. But Amaury had been up and about early every morning at court, attending the king's pleasure. This morn was the first time that he had still been there to witness her bout with the malady when she rose. Gravely concerned, he had cursed a blue streak as he had held her in her throes. By the time her stomach had settled, he had been determined she should stay abed. It had taken a great deal of arguing to get him to allow her to move down to the Great Hall to greet their guests. She supposed he would have relaxed soon enough had she confessed it was just the morning sickness, but Emma found herself oddly resistant to that idea.

  It was the bedding of course. May the Good Lord save her soul, but she did not wish to give it up. It was one thing to enjoy the bedding that ladies were said not to enjoy, for the bedding was necessary to beget a child. However, it was another thing entirely to
seek out the bedding when there was no need for it. She feared her husband would not agree with that and she would suffer the next seven months without his body to cuddle and his loving to comfort her. She was not willing to give that up just yet, so she intended on keeping her pregnancy a secret for as long as she could. Hence the need for the weeds. Should she wake up every morning with the sickness, he was sure to catch on.

  Finding Maude in the kitchens, she told her what she wished to do and sent her to have the horses saddled, then headed up to her room to fetch her bow and arrow. It was not for her protection. Amaury would insist she take a guard, but now that her husband knew of her ability with the weapon, she thought it might be nice to practice a bit.

  Entering her room, Emma crossed to the chest at the foot of the bed and began rummaging inside. She had just uncovered the bow when the bedroom door clicked closed behind her. Still on her knees, she glanced over her shoulder curiously to see who it was, then paled sickly.

  "My lady."

  The bow clutched in her hand, Emma got slowly to her feet at those sarcastic words, and faced the woman eyeing her with cold hatred. "You did not drown."

  Gytha raised an eyebrow. "You do not appear surprised, my lady."

  "I survived my time in the moat. Why should you not have?"

  "And yet you are surprised to see me."

  Emma nodded. "I thought you too intelligent to bother coming here. I thought you would be more concerned with your own survival."

  "Survival?!" Gytha spat the word bitterly, her right hand jerking at her side and drawing Emma's eyes to the ugly-looking blade she held there. "I may as well be dead. You ruined everything. Everything!"

  Emma scooted quickly back against the wall, then to the side as the woman moved toward her. Coming up against the edge of a chest, she faced her pursuer, waited until she was within striking distance, then swung the bow at her.

  The weapon hit Gytha flat on the side of her face. Reeling from the blow, she stumbled a couple of steps backward, just far enough for Emma to escape the corner she had been backed into and flee for the bed. It was the only path open to her. Gytha barred her way around the bed, so Emma tugged the curtains open and started over it to the other side. She had nearly reached the second set of curtains on the opposite side of the bed when she was brought up short by a sharp tug on the back of her skirt.

  Crying out, she glanced around. Emma took one look at the mad rage on Gytha's face and swung at her with the bow again.

  Letting go of her skirt, the maid caught the bow before it struck and tugged at it.

  Giving up the sorry weapon, Emma finished her hurtle across the bed, lunged through the second set of curtains, and ran right under Amaury's arm as he opened the bedroom door and stepped inside.

  Pausing in the hall, she whirled and screamed her warning. She need not have bothered. Gytha was already coming through the curtains of the bed and Amaury was drawing his sword. The maid did not even hesitate. It seemed to Emma that there was a look of satisfaction on the other woman's face as she spied Amaury and hurtled herself forward, right into the end of his blade.

  Chapter 16

  IT was an odious scent that roused Emma. Blinking her eyes open, she choked and gasped, raising a hand to push away the horrible odor that was tormenting her. God's truth, it was worse than the moat at Bertrand's demesne.

  "Thank the Lord," Maude sighed, removing the noxious brew she had been waving beneath her nose.

  Frowning, Emma watched her set the bowl aside, then sighed and peered at the people crowded about her bed eyeing her so anxiously. It reminded her of her wedding night. Once again every possible person who could cram themselves into the room had done so, and the rest were struggling to peer over each other from the door.

  "What happened?"

  "You fainted," Amaury told her worriedly.

  "Nay. Did I?" She raised a hand to her head with confusion, then recalled exactly what had happened before she had fainted. "Gytha!"

  "She is dead, wife," Amaury assured her at once.

  Her gaze slid to the spot by the door where the woman had died. He added, "I had her taken away."

  "Oh."

  "You told me she had drowned," Rolfe accused her now. "You said her body was found."

  "Nay," Emma denied at once. "I said Lady Ascot was recovered. We were interrupted ere I could tell you Gytha had not been." Sighing, she tried to push herself into a sitting position. "I should get up."

  "Nay. You will rest," Amaury said firmly, pushing her back on the bed. "You are ill."

  "I am not ill," Emma reassured him quietly as she sat up again.

  Amaury pushed her back down. "You were retching this morning. Mayhap all this excitement these last weeks has weakened you."

  "I am not weakened," she said with exasperation, once again attempting to sit up, only to be pushed back down, this time by Rolfe as he glanced at her husband sharply.

  "She was retching?" Rolfe asked.

  Amaury nodded grimly. "Aye. Retching and weaving. I thought she was fit to die. 'Twas why I came up here when I heard Maude order the stable master to saddle her horse." He turned to Emma now. "You will not go riding. You are ill."

  "I am not ill!" Emma insisted, sitting up again.

  "You are upsetting her, Amaury," Blake pointed out, worry on his face as well now. " 'Tis the worst thing to do if she is ailing. She should rest."

  "He's right, my lord," Little George rumbled. "Rest'll mend her."

  "Ye can see I am trying to get her to do so, can ye not?!" Amaury roared at them, then pushed his wife back on the bed again and snapped, "You are ill and will stay abed."

  "I am not ill!" Emma roared.

  "Do not argue, wife. You are ill and will stay abed until you are better."

  "I will not," she said indignantly, imagining being confined to the bed for seven and a half months. That was how long it would be until the baby came and that was all that was wrong with her. A little morning sickness, dizzy spells . . . She was not laying abed for seven months.

  "If I say you will remain abed, you will," Amaury told her firmly, a grim glare adding strength to his words. "Even do I have to set guards on you and--"

  "I am pregnant," she confessed in desperation.

  The people around the bed itself, the only ones who had been able to hear her confession, went quite silent and still of a sudden.

  "What did she say?" the cook asked from the door.

  Sebert craned his head slightly to peer over the crowd. "Lady Emma said we're to have a child among us soon."

  "What was that?" one of Amaury's men barked from the hall.

  The cook turned to beam on the man. "We're pregnant!" he shouted.

  There was a mingled reaction to that of both pleasure and worry from the people on the fringe of the room and in the hall.

  "Well, tell 'er she cannot be runnin' about and shimmyin' down walls anymore then," one of the men yelled back, drawing a nod from everyone in the room.

  "She should rest," was another's suggestion.

  Emma finally turned away from Amaury's stunned expression and peered pleadingly at Rolfe after that comment. Her cousin looked about as stunned as her husband, but caught her expression and understood it.

  "Mayhap . . ." Pausing, he cleared his throat. "We should leave them alone," he announced firmly.

  Cook was the first to move. Beaming at Emma from his position by the door, he clapped his hands and turned toward the hall. "I shall make a special meal to celebrate."

  "I'll fetch some extra ale," the alewife announced, following on his heels.

  "I need a drink," Blake muttered, moving toward the door.

  "Aye," Rolfe, Little George, and Sebert agreed as one and followed him.

  " 'Twould not go amiss, I think," the bishop murmured, moving after them.

  Sighing as the door closed, leaving her and her husband alone, Emma peered down at the bed linens she sat on and began to pluck at them nervously. "You are not happy about the babe?"<
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  "Aye." Amaury dropped weakly onto the side of the bed, a hand going to his head as if he were dizzy.

  Emma frowned. "Nay. You are not."

  "Aye. 'Tis just . . . You are so small," he complained worriedly.

  "Oh, my lord." She reached to cover his hand with hers as she realized he feared for her health. Many women died in childbirth. " 'Tis true I am short, but 'tis not the height that is significant. 'Tis the width of the hips that are important for birthing babies," she said reassuringly.

  Amaury's gaze dropped to her hips. His anxiety did not ease. "They are small hips, wife."

  "Nay!" Sliding off the bed, she stood in front of him and brought his hands to rest on either side of those hips. "They are wide, husband. Certainly wide enough for a babe."

  "You are sure?" He raised worried eyes to hers.

  "Positive, my lord. All will be well." Leaning forward, she kissed him gently on the lips.

  "Ah, Emma," he moaned, pulling her into his arms and holding her tightly for a moment. "You make me so happy I am afeared to lose you."

  "You will not," Emma murmured softly against his chest, reveling in his embrace. At least he would not keep those from her during the pregnancy. It would have to be enough, she thought with a dismal sigh, then forced a smile when he pulled back slightly to peer at her before bending his head to plant a passionate kiss on her lips.

  Winding her arms around his neck, she held him close and kissed him back, then quickly set about pushing him away in surprise when his hands began roaming over her body through her gown.

  "What do you?" she asked in confusion.

  His eyebrows rose at that. "Is it not obvious, wife?"

  "But I am with child, husband," she protested at once.

  Amaury stilled at that, worry crossing his features. " 'Twill not harm the babe, will it?"

  "Nay, but . . ." She flushed uncomfortably. "The Church does say that the . . . er . . . marital act is to be performed only to gain children, and as we are already with child . . ."

  Amaury smiled as her voice faded. Her choice of words in saying that "we are already with child" made him feel warm inside. It was their child. Theirs. Their child, their castle, their people. A whole world of things was theirs, he thought, and suddenly realized that the possession of those things was not really what he had wanted at all. He had wanted simply to belong. And he did. He belonged with Emma.