LordoftheKeep (15 page)

Chapter Thirteen

Gilles paced the perimeter of Hawkwatch near the hour of
midnight. He disliked the frost that touched everything on his manor with a
rime of white. The wood beneath his feet was slick and treacherous like the
nature of relationships.

He little liked the touch of frost that had come between him
and Emma. Despite their words of conciliation, he sensed a tension festering
and growing between them. Envy of William tainted their lovemaking.

Gilles waited until the change of sentries, barely noting
their presence, though he greeted them. Far below, a small shadow darted after
the hulking armorer as the man passed through the bailey to the hall.

Gilles realized he would find his manor running more
smoothly if Emma sat at his side. He found her counsel invaluable. She knew the
villagers, knew their ways—who cheated, who dealt honestly. Gilles frowned. But
to seek her, he must wait until the dark of night, hide behind a closed door.

He must wed her. The thought felt right and good. He had a
barrel of silver coins, four manors under his care, a strong son who would give
him strong grandchildren. Only the matter of her vows to William stood between
them—vows to a man who would never claim her. Even now, William was picking out
his bride.

Gilles found himself on the spot where he and Emma had stood
the first night she’d come to him. He felt her presence there as if her ardor
had imbued itself into the very stones as her dyes colored her cloth. He
remembered the words they’d said, and knew he wanted to hear her say them
before every person of the manor, before God, too.

William would not have her.

He would not have Angelique, either.

How could he convince Emma that her vows to William meant
nothing? Only a woman would hold to such nonsense. Her fears of gossip would
not taint their lovemaking anymore. As to Angelique’s bastardy, he would find
her a suitable husband one day who, for the right marriage portion, would not
cavil at an unfortunate birth.

When he returned to his chamber, he found only Angelique curled
asleep in a ball, like a kitten in a nest of furs that had slipped off the foot
of the bed. Impatient to see Emma, he hastened to the hall in search of her.
Rows of sleeping families filled the cavernous space. There in the far gloom,
near the stairs to the lower level, stood William and Emma.

Too close.

They turned and disappeared into the dark well of the steps.

In the early years of his service to King Henry, Gilles had
received a near mortal thrust of a sword in his back during a tournament melee.
The blow had pierced his mail, laid open his flesh to the bone, but even that
deadly stroke could not compare to the pain that now filled his chest.

He took the stairs to his chamber slowly, feeling like an
old man. Once there, he occupied himself building up the fire, filling the room
with light and heat, for he was cold to his marrow. For what seemed an
eternity, he waited for her, staring at the bed, allowing his imagination free
range.

She came in quietly, easing the door shut as he had, then
she turned and tiptoed to the bed, lifting one corner of the bed curtains and
peering in.

“Are you looking for me?” he asked from his seat by the
fire.

“Gilles, you startled me! I was looking for Angelique,” she
said, coming around the bed. “Ah, here she is.” Emma paused a moment at
Angelique’s side and touched her child’s brow with a kiss. “Have you been
waiting long, my lord?”

“In some ways but a moment, in others years.”

She lifted a brow and cocked her head. “I beg your pardon?”

“That is not all you should beg.” He rose, feeling one
hundred years old. How young she looked in the hearth’s light. “You appear
flushed.” He moved to the table and poured a cup of wine, but his hand shook,
so he set it abruptly down.

“Am I?” One hand went to her cheek, her other hand to her
hair. “I fear I ran rather quickly—”

“Pray tell why? You had no pressing business
here
.”

“I did not want to leave Angelique so long alone; you were
busy Roland said and May was—”

“Do not explain. I understand, you came for your child’s
sake.” He moved to the fire and toed a burning log closer to the flames.

He caught her scent before he felt her touch on his back. “I
came for you.”

With a shrug, he threw her off. “I saw you.” The words
burned in his throat as the flames burned the wood.

“Saw me? Where?”

But he could see from her expression she knew of what he
spoke. He arched a brow. “Where? You tell me.”

“Below. In the hall.” She bit her lip. Color flooded her
face.

“Aye, in the hall, but not for long. William much enjoys a
few moments in the storage rooms below—the third chamber along; you are not the
first—”

“Stop!” she cried. “He took me only as far as the shadows.
He—”

“He had not the courtesy to seek privacy for your tryst?”
Gilles felt the acid rise in his throat with every word.

“Tryst! William is a loathsome, vile—”

Gilles snatched a pillow from his chair and threw it against
the wall. “I do not believe you! You went below stairs with him.”

Emma’s heart began to pound, sweat gilded her brow. “Only to
try to reason with him. He is constantly about, brushing up against me,
touching me, making base suggestions.” Her chest tightened as she realized he
did not believe her. “Please,” she whispered. “Please, believe me.”

The cold, hard tone of his voice reminded her more of a lord
commanding his men. “Few women object to William’s touches.”

“Well I do!” she retorted, but he continued as if she’d not
spoken.

“You will put him from your mind. I will not have him in
your thoughts or dreams.”

“I do not dream of him! You are wrong!”

“He can do nothing for you, nothing for Angelique.”

Suddenly, her whole body ached. His face was a study in
fury, his words cold and heartless.

He loomed over her. “I am your protector—not he. Whatever
vows you said to him mean nothing if he never acknowledges you, and acknowledge
you he never will. His every moment is spent assessing dowries, tallying the
benefits of one daughter over another as a bride. Your name is not among them!
Only a total fool would believe such a ruse.”

“Only a fool?” Emma could barely raise her voice above a
whisper. “Is that what you think of me?”

“Aye. Foolish as are most women. You lie to yourself to
justify what you do.”

A shiver of ice spangled down Emma’s spine. “A liar as
well?” The chamber was frigid despite the roaring fire. She spun away from him.

“Stay where you are!” Gilles stepped between her and the
door.

She froze in place.

He punctuated each angry word with a sharp slash of his
hand. “You are alone on God’s earth save for Angelique. You are my chattel as
is the lowest swineherd. You’ll obey me, yield to me.” He came so close she saw
the flames of the hearth flicker in his ebony eyes. “You will never touch him
again.”

“Nay, I did not touch him.” She tried to thrust past him.

He shackled her upper arms with his hands. “You are mine!”

Her heart screamed at his harshness.

“Understand me,” he demanded, “understand that you are never
to touch him again. Wipe him from your thoughts. Eradicate him from your
dreams. Do you understand?”

Slowly she nodded. Her eyes smarted with a torrent of unshed
tears. She pulled from his grip and sank into his chair. Gilles leaned over
her, his white-knuckled hands on the arms. His intimidation oppressed her and
destroyed any hope that she could reason with him.

“There will be no more hiding that you sleep here. He would
not dare trespass on what is acknowledged by all to be mine! You have nowhere
to go and no one to protect you—save me. You may deny it if you wish, but you
are mine. You will stop pretending you do not lie in my bed!
Everyone will
know.
You will do as I wish, when I wish, before whomever I wish. If I
demand you sit at my side at the table, you will do it! Truly, if I ask you to
attend me naked on your knees, son or no son to see you, you will do it.

“You gave him up when you sought my protection and now you
will give him up in your heart and mind as well.” To punctuate his words, he
prodded her chest then her forehead with his index finger. “You are
my
woman,
my
leman.”

Leman
. The word was said aloud.
Simply another
name for whore.

A fool, a liar, and a leman.

Despair ran through her, chilling the warmth of her love.
She could not contain the small moan that issued from her lips.

For a moment the look on his face hovered somewhere between
pity and regret, then in the next instant, it disappeared, replaced by the mask
of the man who spoke of kings. She realized she was with the warrior who could
cut a man’s life off with a single stroke of his sword. Lost was the man who
gentled and caressed her, held Angelique on his knee, told the child stories,
fed her sweets.

Her moan became a hiccuping. No other sounds came from her
throat. She held them in, though they burned her chest and throat.

“No more silence! No more stifling moans so others will not
know that you are in passion’s thrall. I want them to know what we do. I want
no doubts; I want William to know what a chance he takes trespassing on what is
mine
.”

She sat in silence, withheld the torrent of words she wanted
to scream at him—for the words would end anything between them forever.

Her silence enraged him further. He whirled away from her.
He ripped the covers from the bed. He stripped it bare, dragging the mattress
from the ropes and heaving the lot to the rush-strewn floor. He swept his arm
across the table, smashing goblets and plate to the floor. As the last plate
clattered to a stop, Angelique’s wails filled the air.

He spun toward the sound. The babe’s cry drew his rampage to
a halt. For a brief moment a look streaked across his face—shame,
despair…regret? He stormed out, leaving Emma silent and humiliated, Angelique
clutched to her breast.

When Angelique had quieted, and Emma could breathe calmly,
she searched his coffers for her sturdiest shoes and her blue mantle, and
donned them hurriedly. Then she wrapped Angelique in several warm blankets and
cautiously opened Gilles’ door. At the bottom of the stairs a sentry blocked
her way and said that at Lord Gilles’ orders she was not permitted below. Meals
would be sent to her. Emma backed from the contempt in the man’s voice and the
sneer on his face, and hurried up the winding stair to the highest chamber. A
sentry stood there, too, and blocked her entrance to Lady Margaret’s former
bedchamber.

Footsteps dragging, she returned to Gilles’ chamber. She
looked about her and decided to leave the devastation as it was.

“Lemans earn their way on their backs, not on their knees
scrubbing wooden floors,” she said to Angelique. Dragging a mound of furs and
linens to the hearth, she made a pallet for herself and the child. She remained
wrapped in her mantle as she lay down by Angelique with her back to the room.

Sleep eluded her. Every word whirled and spun through her
mind.
Fool
hurt far more than any other name Gilles had called her.
She’d called herself a fool enough times to know the truth.

The keep fell silent, the rustlings of night creatures the
only sound to be heard.

How she wished she’d been able to explain how William
delighted in pestering her, even as he wanted nothing truly to do with her or
Angelique. Why had she not ignored William tonight of all nights?

It did not matter. In truth, a noble, a great lord, had no
need to tolerate the misbehavior of his leman—he had merely to cast the old out
and take on a new one.

At last she wept.

* * * * *

Gilles rode across the drawbridge and far from Hawkwatch. He
skirted the pine forest and drove the horse to a hard gallop along the ancient
paths through the marshes, his way lighted only by the moon. Ahead lay
Hawkwatch Bay in an eerie shimmer of white.

Eventually, the horse labored, foam flying from his flanks.
Gilles reined him in and slid from the saddle. He stood on the sand and faced
the mouth of the bay where it gave onto the great North Sea. Across the curved
bay, at low tide, lay the short way to Lincolnshire if a man dared cross the
treacherous sands. Treacherous like a woman’s heart, sure to suck you in and
drown you.

A bank of clouds covered the moon. Black night blended with
the black water, one inseparable from the other. Waves foamed white, surging
out of the darkness, then retreating. Sand beneath his feet shifted
precariously, recalling to him the dangers of the change of tide, the number of
people who had perished in this morass of shifting sand over the years.

Salt spray bathed his face; the rush of water soothed the
fever of his mind. He led the horse to firmer ground and confronted his shame.

How would he ever face her? What man of honor would so treat
the woman he loved?

He did not want to feel this painful, wrenching guilt. To
cleanse himself of guilt he had only to remember Emma’s deep flush when he’d
mentioned William.

Her words at the judging when first he’d met her came back
to him. She’d given herself for love. She loved William. She merely serviced
Gilles as any other leman might. He should not feel guilty for ordering about a
leman.

To admit that what he’d done was unjustified would be to
admit the depths of his fears and envies. By the time the horse was rested,
Gilles had convinced himself that Emma only stayed with him for the warmth of
his hearth.

* * * * *

Dawn painted the stone walls of the bedchamber rose pink.
Emma watched two maids giggle as they put the chamber to rights. Beatrice, who
worked at their side, shot Emma sympathetic looks which Emma ignored. They
whispered about her, stole glances at her, until Gilles entered. They finished
with alacrity under his ill-concealed impatience. When they were gone, he
ordered her to a seat by the fire.