LordoftheKeep (13 page)

Gilles watched Emma. Her face was flushed and she avoided
his eyes.

“Emma, we leave within the hour. Is there anything you need
before I go?”

“Nothing, my lord. It is most kind of you to inquire. I will
be safe here.”

“Look at me.” Gilles hated the sound of supplication that
colored his words. Emma looked up, rose to her feet, and gave him her total
attention.

“Go with God, my lord,” she said into the silence. “The
hours will be empty with you gone.”

A flush of satisfaction replaced his apprehension. “Come,”
he said. Then added, “Please.”

“Such soft words, my lord, how could I refuse?”

William watched them walk out of the hall. He cursed softly.
He hadn’t given Emma a thought until he’d noticed Lord Gilles’ interest. Envy
gnawed at him. He wanted to wield the power of a Gilles d’Argent. One day
barons would listen to
him
. He only needed a wealthy wife. With a fat
purse and a place at court, he could be a man of influence.

In the meantime, as a small child wants what he cannot have,
William wanted Emma. He’d had her once. He’d have her again.

* * * * *

Emma followed Gilles into his chamber. She was so close
behind Gilles that when he turned she was almost touching him. He ran his
knuckles down her soft cheek. As he studied her flawless skin, watched her eyes
watch him, she turned her head and kissed his palm.

“I am sorry, my lord, that you will miss the Christmas
celebrations,” she said.

He shrugged. Hard on Christmas came Epiphany. “I hold little
liking for the trappings of the season.”

She wrapped her arms about his waist and laid her head on
his chest. “‘Tis said your hall is decked with pine and delicacies from the
Holy Land will grace even the lowest table.”

“I will miss only the scent of our skin,” he whispered
against her hair. “Yearn only for the taste of you.”

Emma lifted her face and studied his. “Do not go,” she said
softly, her arms unconsciously tightening on his waist. “It will all be but
empty revelry without you.”

For a moment, they said nothing, then he kissed her
forehead, gently, but with a possessiveness he could not conceal. “Why me?” he
asked. Her answering smile warmed his bleak heart.

“‘Tis a mystery, my lord. I just know that I have but to see
the shape of your profile, the line of your shoulder, your hand upon the
table…and I want to touch you. I know when you have entered a room, long before
I see you—I feel it deep within my body.”

Gilles’ mouth went dry. Her words struck him silent.

After many moments, he found his voice, licked his dry lips
and searched for some hint she wanted William. “Surely there are others who
have much more to offer you.”

Emma shook her head in vehement denial and squeezed her arms
about his waist. “No man has offered me more. No man is your equal. You are
cool, calm still water. You are sleek strength, like oak carved for a great
purpose. You are sweet reason to my madness. I see you and I want to touch
you.”

He groaned at the power her words had over him. He clasped
her tightly to him and knew the last place he wished to spend the night was on
the road.

* * * * *

A fortnight later, William Belfour rode across the
drawbridge and onto the slick stones of the bailey. Behind him rode seven
men-at-arms. They were weary and wet, sent on a mission to gather more men.
Gilles could not do it himself. He’d been forced to lay siege to Castle
Woodleigh in an endeavor to oust a baron who was determined to take advantage
of Richard’s imprisonment to seize as much property as he could.

The vassal had refused to accept terms and, with stifled
delight, Gilles had set his siege in motion. William had volunteered to marshal
more forces. He’d ridden to the d’Argent vassals and called upon those who owed
their forty days. Next, he’d traveled down the coast to Seaswept and summoned
Nicholas d’Argent to his father’s side.

How he hated the man. In possession of a wealthy manor for
no more reason than the luck of paternity. Mayhap Nicholas would fall to a
sword or eat tainted meat at the siege site, and Lord Gilles would need another
to command Seaswept.

William knew there were no more men to be had at Hawkwatch,
but when the weather had turned brutal, William had used it as an excuse to
make his way there, rather than travel the extra miles to the siege site. He’d
justify himself later.

Tweaking the cheek of the serving wench who’d just breathed
a blatantly sexual invitation, William smiled. “Have a bath brought to Lord
Gilles’ chamber and…come yourself, Beatrice.”

“Aye, Sir.” Beatrice hurried off to obey his request,
thrilled that she had been so favored. When the deep wooden tub was filled with
steaming water, she stood hesitantly in the shadows until the kitchen boys were
gone and then stepped forward. William stood naked by the tub, one hand
drifting back and forth in the water, boldly aroused.

“Well?” he asked. Beatrice hurried forward. She shivered a
moment as she sank to her knees by the side of the tub. His eyes were cold and
distant, as if his thoughts lay elsewhere. That he knew she was there, however,
was evident as he locked his hands into her hair and pulled her roughly to face
him. “There be few as privileged as you, Beatrice, yet are you easily replaced.
Please me well and I may call upon you again to assist me.”

William’s words frightened Beatrice. His tone and words were
not gentle or inviting—they were hard and coldly spoken. She desperately wished
for a life far from her father’s mill, but scrubbing Lord Gilles’ floors was
not far enough. Mayhap with Sir William she would find a future of ease. She
took him in her hand and tried her hardest to please, but her nervousness made
her clumsy and rough with him.

As many women before her had been mistaken, so now was
Beatrice. William would never seek a common maid’s attentions for long. He used
her merely to assuage his ache. If ever he wed, he’d reach for wealth and
position. ‘Twas the reason he’d scorned Emma and her child.

“Enough,” he ordered, as Beatrice continued her
ministrations even after his release. He turned abruptly away and stepped over
the side of the tub, sinking into its still steaming depths. “Bathe me,” he
ordered abruptly.

Beatrice stared at him, bewildered. He had closed his eyes.
She took up a cloth and soaked it before reaching into a nearby pot of soft
soap. She worked up a lather and started to scrub his chest.

“
Jesu
,” he exclaimed, snatching the cloth from her
hand. “You’re as rough as a wild boar. You’re no better at washing than you are
at pleasuring. The calluses on your hands are rivaled only by the clumsiness of
your tongue. Be gone.”

Beatrice shot to her feet as if burned; indeed, her face
flamed and her hands shook. “But, William, I-I wish a chance—”

“Can you not obey, either? Do you need a strapping? I’ll
need to find another to service me since I feel ill-satisfied from this
encounter. Mayhap you could redeem yourself by finding me another—one more gentle,
with smooth hands and soft lips. Be gone.”

If he’d shouted the words, they’d have hurt less. Beatrice
was used to her father’s cuffs and shouted orders. It was the cold quietness of
William’s words that sliced her to pieces. As she flew to the door, he repeated
his last request.

“Bring me another wench, quickly.” Out the door she ran,
took the stairs two at a time, tears obscuring her vision. She stopped on the
last round of the staircase and looked wildly back up whence she’d come. Surely
everyone would know she’d been favored and discarded—as she was so soon back at
her duties from Lord Gilles’ chamber. And whom could she find to replace her?
Everyone would scorn her if she had to summon another to take her place.

* * * * *

Emma rounded the turn in the stair and nearly ran into
Beatrice who sat on a step, face buried in her hands.

“What’s the matter?” Emma dropped down beside her. She
picked up the edge of her apron and wiped away tears and grime dislodged by the
unexpected cleansing.

“That one! ‘E angers me so.”

“Who?”

“‘Im. ‘Im!” She flung an arm up toward Gilles’ chamber. Emma
suddenly knew to whom Beatrice referred. She’d seen the girl trailing William
up the stairs not so long ago. “Dry your eyes and tell me if William hurt you.”

“‘E…‘e said my lips were chapped, my hands rough and clumsy.
‘E found me unworthy.” Beatrice laid her head on her knees and choked on her
sobs.

“Don’t, child.” Emma tucked Beatrice’s fair hair into her
headcovering. “Go back to the kitchen and have some warm milk with a little
honey. You’ll feel much better.”

“Nay, nay, ye don’t understand. ‘E bid me find
another…another…one with softer hands—” Beatrice sobbed. “‘Ow could ‘e do this?
‘E wrote me a song.” She buried her face in her apron.

Emma’s heart ached for the girl. She knew the power of
William’s songs.

Beatrice lifted her red eyes to Emma’s. Her voice was a
strangled whisper. “‘E sang to me. Fair as the moon, ‘e said I were.”

“Oh, Beatrice.”
So much for a new song for each new wench
.
Emma lifted Beatrice’s head and again wiped her cheeks, looked into her large
blue eyes. She took up one of Beatrice’s work-roughened hands. “These calluses
have been earned honestly. Don’t let him shame you so. You must not be lured by
honeyed words. Save yourself for a more worthy man—a man as good as Mark
Trevalin. I think he shows great interest in you. Did he not show you great
favor at the Christmas feasting? Did he not present you with a token?”

Beatrice sniffed and wiped the back of her hand under her
nose. “‘E did. A ribbon wiv a lock ‘o ‘is ‘air.” Then she looked above. “Mark
is not so ‘andsome as Sir William.”

Anger surged through Emma. “William is not worth Mark
Trevalin’s right arm. I will deal with Sir William.”

She patted Beatrice on the shoulder and climbed the stairs.
When she reached Gilles’ chamber, she was so angry she pounded the door
fiercely.
How dare William presume to take the lord’s chamber whilst he was
gone?

“Enter.” William stood naked before the fire, warming his
hands. “Surely you are most eager,” he said, turning to see which maid came so
demandingly to seek him. A grin lit his face as he saw who stood in the open
doorway.

“Eager is not how I would describe my mood, William. You are
the lowest, vilest man I have ever met,” Emma said from the doorway. His casual
nakedness further angered her. She was about to slam the door and leave the
sight of him when, like lightning, he was across the room, snatching her into
the chamber. They struggled a moment, William only holding her with one hand as
he shut and bolted the door. When he was able to use two hands, he trapped Emma
against the stout oak. The iron latch dug painfully into her back. She fell
still to give herself relief and became aware that William was panting, not
from exertion, but from exhilaration.

“Nay, Emma, fight me more. Fight me.” He bent his head and
claimed her mouth, silenced her protests. Despite the sharp pain of the latch,
she fought him. But he was a seasoned warrior, and she, a woman skilled only at
weaving. He had her skirts up and his hand between her thighs before she could
stop him. He whispered erotic words and groaned in her ear as she fought his
questing fingers. Emma took advantage of being held by only one hand to slip
her own hand to her belt. She slowly drew forth her eating dagger, gritted her
teeth as William groped more forcefully for entrance, and slashed out at him.

“Bitch!” he roared and released her. He stepped back and
examined the deep slice Emma had carved in his upper arm.

Emma put one hand on the latch.

“Open that door and I’ll pursue you just as I am and
proclaim you
my
whore to all below. I am sure Lord Gilles will take
exception to such news.”

Emma froze. Satisfied as Emma stood motionless, he smiled.
“Ah, I have your attention.”

“William, you surpass all that is evil.” Emma shook inside
yet held the knife steady before her.

“Me? Evil? You sought me here, Emma. Now what would Lord
Gilles think if I told him you sought me in his chambers and took your pleasure
of me?”

Emma could only stare open-mouthed at his audacity. He stood
squarely before her, arms outstretched. Blood dripped from his wound to puddle
on the wooden floor. “Come, Emma. Put aside your knife and temper and let me
make you scream with delight. Surely, ‘twill be far more pleasurable to lie
with me than with an old man.” He took a step forward but stopped when Emma
lifted her knife.

“I know how to use this, William. Stand back.” She avoided
looking at his heavily aroused body and took in instead the face that had once
held her in thrall. She recognized the guile in his smile now, saw the menace
twist his lips as he whispered.

“How will you explain drawing my blood here?” He lowered his
arms and then coated his fingers with his own blood. He stepped forward and
raised the bloody fingers to her as if in invitation. “Come, sweet Emma, lick
this blood from my body.” He laughed and drew his bloody fingers across his
belly and over his manhood.

Emma frantically searched for words to stay his progress for
he drew ever nearer. She knew she could do serious damage with her blade, but
she also knew their contest would have only one possible victor. He was
Angelique’s father.

She had not the will to harm him.

Chapter Eleven

“Come, sweet, I shiver at the thought of you lapping up
every red drop of blood you’ve drawn.”

“Stay!” Emma ordered. “What makes you think Gilles would
believe you over me? He treasures me. He would not hesitate to punish one whom
I accused of rape.”

Her words reached him. William froze and tilted his head.
The fire cast his hair into a silver blaze. It gilded his body, made him
beautiful, powerful, masculine. But Emma could see beyond his fine face and
form now. She saw the coldness in his eyes. She saw a man at war with desire
and ambition.

“If he treasures you so greatly, why are you naught but
whore to him?”

His words sliced into her heart as surely as her knife had
sliced into his arm, but then she remembered the way Gilles had looked at her
before he’d left. Her words carried the sure ring of conviction. “I do not
think Lord Gilles thinks of me as a whore. Shall I tell him instead to think of
me as your wife?”

William sneered, but his words lacked heat. “Leman. Whore.
Wife. What is a name? But mayhap we should call this contest a draw—but only
for this once. Come so boldly to me again, Emma, and I’ll know you do wish to
resume where we left off. I’ll have you beg for it, on bended knee, you bitch.
I vow it.”

“How easily vows come to your lips.” Finally, she felt some
measure of control over him.

“Get back to your bastard.” He turned, strode to the tub, and
splashed water on his wound.

Emma edged to the door and was through it in a trice. She
sheathed her knife with a quick thrust of the blade. She stood at the head of
the stairs where the sounds from the busy hall drifted up to her. For the first
time she walked boldly down, head up, ready to challenge any who might look at
her with derision. What had been her heartache now had become her weapon.

She had spoken the truth, she must believe it. Gilles
treasured her, vows of love or not.

* * * * *

Gilles put aside the aches and fatigue of his body as he
rode into the bailey, his horse snorting plumes of steam, hooves striking
sparks. His caparisons were streaked with mud, his men weary of their siege,
yet elated at finally returning home. Crowds surged about his party. Wives and
lovers, friends and children spooked the horses as the people sought their men.
Gilles grinned as he controlled his horse’s behavior; his eyes searched the
crowd for his beloved Emma.

She stood in the shadow of the hall entry, aloof to the
throng. Her eyes avidly searched over him as if seeking to find a wound or some
evidence he’d been hurt. He felt her glance as if she’d actually touched him.

Gilles tugged off a gauntlet. His hair, now a month longer,
and loose about his shoulders, whipped in the wind to sting his cheeks. Without
showing the urgency he felt inside, he lifted a hand to her in acknowledgment
of her presence and then turned to the man at his side.

“Nicholas, see to your men and mine.” He turned back, but
Emma was gone, had disappeared from the steps like a dawn mist flees the sun.
“I will see you—anon.”

It was but moments later when he reached his chamber.

“Gilles, Gilles. You’ve been gone for weeks.” Emma threw
herself into his arms. Her encounter with William had made her frantic for
reassurance. His arms tightened about her, stole her breath.

“Aye, I understand.” They didn’t wait for him to bathe the
sweat and grime of weeks from his body, they didn’t even wait until they
undressed. They made love immediately and urgently. Emma could not stem the
tide of her words. They flowed from her lips in soft whispers against his ear
as he held her. She told him how much she missed him and needed him. He was
moved beyond words—indeed could still not say what lay in his heart, could only
absorb her care and strength into his being.

Distance had not, however, erased his jealousy that William
had loved her first—or his fears that she loved William still. Nay, the long
nights on a cold pallet on the hard earth had convinced him Emma came to him
only for her child’s sake.

I must do this. It is best for you, my child. You are all
I care about. I will stay here as long as you are cared for.

He must somehow make her want to stay for her sake, not just
her child’s. Lying in her arms, he reveled in her touch and accepted whatever
she offered—for now.

When both of them were too sated to endure another kiss,
Gilles pulled from her arms. He opened the door and asked the posted sentry to
call for hot water and food. For once he looked forward to the rich fare of the
keep. He was tired of Hubert’s meager repertoire of roasted meat and, in truth,
his insides had been complaining for the past fortnight as had his aching back.
He looked at Emma, smiling up at him from the nest of pillows she’d made for herself.
He considered asking her if she knew of some potion to relieve his discomfort,
but could not bring himself to show that weakness to her. He would call for the
leech later.

While he waited for his bath, he paced restlessly, rubbing
at the small of his back. When the tub and the accompanying servants arrived,
Emma was nowhere to be seen. She had taken herself behind a screen, and he knew
she would not appear until they’d left. She always hid herself from the
servants’ scrutiny and always stifled her sounds of passion lest the sentry on
duty hear her. At any other time, Gilles would have smiled to himself at her
reticence, for surely all knew that Emma was his lover. Yet, she did not wish
to flaunt the fact. He had, heretofore, shielded her as she wished.

Tonight, fatigue and the long siege made him impatient. He
was short with the servants and peered critically at the food arrayed on the
tray. He lifted the linen napkins and grimaced at the venison in rosemary and
thyme. He’d had enough of venison from Hubert. He then sneered at the roasted
turnips. He’d been forced to eat endless mounds of turnips at the siege site as
well. He was damned if he’d eat them at Hawkwatch.

Pouring himself a flagon of wine, he stood with one hand on
his hip and waited for Emma to reappear. When she peeked from behind the
screen, he was short with her, too. “They are gone.”

His anger disintegrated when Emma placed her hands on him.
She unlaced his filthy shirt, fit only for burning. As she eased it up his
body, her hands trailed over him. She plucked open the tie of his chausses and
danced away, evading his questing hands. He stripped off the rest of his
clothes, stepped over the edge of the tub, and sank into the depths. Emma
dropped to his side and gently kissed his shoulder.

“‘Tis time to make you sweet smelling again, my lord.” She
opened a pot of soft soap, scented with cinnamon and cloves, and lathered a
cloth. Bathing became a sensual pleasure that set Gilles to groaning. At the
finish, Emma was as wet and finely scented as he. They entwined themselves in
the many furs and pillows and gave themselves to their individual dreams.

It was dark night when Emma awoke. The tapers had
extinguished themselves in pools of wax. The fire had died. Thousands of stars
glinted through a gap in the shutters. She stretched cautiously so as not to
disturb Gilles, but discovered the bed by her side empty. She sat up and
searched the gloomy corners of the chamber, but he was not tending the fire.
She knew a momentary stab of fear. The door opened.

“Where did you go?” Emma rose and held a fur to her chin as
he slowly closed the door.

“I went to visit another woman, to give her my kisses, to
see to her good health.”

Emma swallowed. A lump formed in her throat.

“Don’t look so stricken. I speak of Angelique. I found I
missed her almost as much as you.” Emma’s relief was tangible. “She could sleep
here, with us,” he said, striding to the bed and touching Emma’s cheek with the
back of his knuckles. “May says she misses her mother in the night.”

“Oh Gilles!” Emma rose on her knees and put her arms around
his neck. “You always know what is within my heart!”

He pressed her back into the pillows and drew her close. She
searched over his many scars with her fingertips, learning each one anew.

“What are you doing?” he laughed as her quest tickled along
his ribs.

“I am making sure you were not injured. Hubert is skilled
with a needle, as I well know, but I do not trust anyone to see to your care
save me.”

“I am flattered.” He lay back and stared up at the canopy over
their heads. He savored the clean scents of his chamber—fresh rushes scattered
with sweet herbs, applewood in the hearth, the soap from the bath, the musk of
their lovemaking—and sighed. “‘Tis glad I am to be home.”

Emma propped herself on her elbow and continued to
scrutinize him for bruises and scrapes. “Is Richard free now?”

He tweaked her cheek. “Nay, you innocent. It has not even
been determined where he is being held. ‘Twill be weeks or months of intrigue
until a ransom is settled and delivered. In the meanwhile, we will have
skirmishes here and abroad. Pray they do not fall within my sphere, or I shall
again be gone from you.”

She felt ignorant. What did a weaver know of royal ransom?
“I prayed in the chapel four times a day that you might be delivered home
unharmed.”
And that William would go away.

“Four times,” he said, amused. He sat up and threw off the
coverlet and inspected her knees. “Aye. These knees seem much worn!” He kissed
each one.

Desire swept through her. His playful kiss became a caress
of the same place. The sight of him, the flicker of light playing over his
broad shoulders as he bent his head to touch his mouth to the soft inner flesh
of her thigh, made her tremble. The fire threw a red gloss to his hair, cast
shadows on his cheeks. She reached out and sifted her hand through his hair.

He looked up. Their eyes locked. Her small tremor became a
quiver. He turned his gaze to her legs, and his hand traveled slowly in long
sweeps from her knee to her hip. Over and over again. “I desire you only,” he
whispered.

The warmth of his words sank into her vitals. It might be
the closest she ever came to love. Her breath caught. Her hands moved on him to
tell him she felt his desire. There was a scar on his back, a long puckered
mark. She oft felt it as she embraced him during lovemaking. She traced it now
with her fingertips, her eyes closed, and felt his muscles ripple in response
to her caress. She knew his body by heart. The scar now beneath her fingertips,
the curve of his ribs, the furrow of his spine, the cleft of his buttocks, the
soft furring of hair on his thighs and chest. Every inch of his body fell under
her exploration.

He was resilient muscle, hard-edged bones, smooth skin,
roughened scars. The myriad textures of his body made her insides flow warm and
liquid.

His hand slipped between her thighs. “I desire this and only
this.” He bent his head to press a kiss to that part of her that ached for his
touch. She arched to his mouth, gasping and shaking from the tantalizing
caresses. The intimate kiss tore away all restraint from her. She returned his
bold touch, kissed his shoulder, his chest, and on down to his hip. She traced
the rise of bone with her tongue, followed the swath of black hair to his belly
and lower. She inhaled his scent, tasted him, aroused him.

She drew back and raised her head. “Come to me.”

“
Jesu
,” he whispered, and did as she bid.

* * * * *

Later, he stroked his hand along her shoulder and trailed
kisses in its wake. “I know ‘tis past Epiphany, and I could not be here to
celebrate the Christmas season, but I wish to give you a piece of jewelry to
grace your beauty.”

Emma sat up abruptly, reached for her shift, and drew it
over her head.

Gilles sat up, too. “Does the offer of jewels offend you?”

She shook out her hair. The golden mass slipped over her
shoulder. With impatient fingers she quickly plaited it. “Nay, ‘tis just that
others will see and know—”

Gilles grabbed a braid and tugged until she faced him. “What
is this? Shame? Shame that someone will see you wear a token of my affections?”

Emma shot off the bed, jerking her hair away from his grasp.
“A weaver does not wear jewels, my lord.” She pulled on her gown and tied a
leather girdle about her hips. Weaver’s clothing, simple, sturdy, warm—not that
of a fine lady, worthy of gems.

His title on her lips pained him. It was easier from his
place at the table to forget the differences that lay between them. “Forgive
me. I did not think. Is there nothing I may give you, no token it would not
shame you to wear?” He said it in a rush lest she pursue the topic of the
distance betwixt lord and weaver.

“There is something, my lord.” She dragged her toe through
the rushes.

Her tentative manner made him sit up straight. He clasped
his arms about his knees and grinned. “Come. Do not play the shy one. Name it.
An emerald for your navel? Bells for your toes? Toes may be hidden from view in
your slippers.”

Emma giggled. Her eyes met his, shining with amusement, and
he thought of sapphire seas and lapis skies. She was more precious than any
jewel, more worthy of them than even Queen Berengaria.

“Nay, my lord. I’ve no wish for such things. Do women wear
jewels in their navels?” She cocked her head to the side.

Gilles’ blood boiled as her braids fell over her plump
breasts. “‘Tis said they do in the sultan’s harems of Arabia.”

“Hmm.” She seemed to consider the idea. “Nay, my lord. What
I wish is very simple.” She climbed onto the bed by Gilles’ side and knelt
there, her hands clasped in her lap. “I have a cross of my mother’s that I cannot
wear for lack of a chain.”

With a nod, Gilles rose from the bed and went to a coffer.
He dug about for a moment and finally brought to the bed a soft leather pouch.
Drawing the throng that held it closed, he poured a cascade of glittering
jewelry across the bedding.