LordoftheKeep (19 page)

Chapter Seventeen

With an ingenuity born of necessity, Gilles avoided Emma for
the rest of the day. He found much to do in the village. He also discovered
from a few terse questions that the emissaries had no real knowledge of the
content of the papers. They would rest the night and depart in the morning.
With no answer. No answer was necessary, Gilles had told them, with no further
explanations.

Now, alone in the small chamber where Thomas, Roland, and he
discussed the business matters of the manor, Gilles read and reread the
betrothal papers. The other documents were the marriage settlements—vast in
number—to encourage Gilles to wed again. Michelle d’Ambray’s father was a
powerful Marcher baron to whom Richard owed a favor. D’Ambray was also a man
with seven daughters. He held far-flung estates from the dispositions of
William the Conqueror. To secure his barons’ loyalties where Richard wanted
them, Richard had betrothed Gilles to the d’Ambray’s eldest daughter. The
king’s personal message stated his devout wish that Gilles would obey.

Sweet Jesu
, Gilles mused. Richard expected him to wed
a child. But the awful irony caused him to throw his head back and howl with
laughter. He laughed so hard, Roland and Mark Trevalin crowded into the small
chamber in alarm. Gilles waved them off.

“‘Tis a madness,” he said and swept his hand out to the
papers. “Read gentlemen, read, and tell me how I may wed the woman I love and
still satisfy a king.”

* * * * *

Roland leaned his shoulder on the stable wall and watched
Gilles throw his knives. It had not taken Roland long to find him. When Gilles
had not been contemplating Hawkwatch Bay from the wall, Roland guessed he would
be here, away from prying eyes, thinking. Each blade Gilles threw found its
mark, dead on. “What are you going to do about this betrothal? Have you told
Emma?”

Gilles flicked a glance at his friend. He tossed a knife
from hand to hand, then let it fly.

“‘Tis ludicrous.” Roland shook his head. “Richard knows you
have no wish to wed.”

“Aye. Do you think he will reconsider?”

“Not from afar. You were Henry’s man, not his. A simple
refusal will not work. You could cross the channel, look for our wandering
king, and when you find him, negotiate his ransom. He might be so grateful
he’ll release you from the betrothal, head intact.”

“
Jesu,
” Gilles swore and glared at his friend.

“Or, you could marry them both. Of course, an old man such
as you may find it difficult to satisfy two wives.”

“Would you like me to plant this knife in your back?” Gilles
snarled. He strode to where Roland leaned so indolently. His steps slowed. “Ah,
I see, you think ‘tis time I told Emma of this dreadful coil.”

“Sarah and I think you have waited overlong.”

Gilles sheathed the knife he held in his hand. He nodded.

“Sarah suggested you speak with Father Bernard. He may be a
tiresome flea, but unlike the abbot, who is a political animal, Father Bernard
cares little for the machinations of state. He might know of some practical way
to thwart a king—without spreading word of the betrothal about the kingdom.”

Together, the men went in search of the good father. They
found him over a trencher of mutton.

Father Bernard blinked an owlish gaze at Lord Gilles and
cleared his throat. “You announced your intention to marry Mistress Emma before
all the people of the keep, my lord. May I ask, um, that is, did you and she,
that is, have you—”

“Have I what, man?” Gilles tried to conceal his impatience.

“C-c-consummated your love, my lord?” Father Bernard mopped
his brow with the edge of his sleeve. A hectic red stained his round cheeks.

Gilles smiled at the man’s hypocritical discomfort. The
father kept a buxom hearthmate. “Oh, aye. Many times over.”

Father Bernard shook his head. “You really must do some
penance.” He coughed. “Then you should tell the archbishop of your predicament.
He can override a king’s wishes.”

“Can he?” Gilles arched a brow. “Why would the archbishop
risk the king’s wrath over such a petty issue as my marriage?”

The priest eyed his dinner. He picked up a leg of mutton and
began to gnaw at the bone. “Then find a willing substitute husband for the
child. An equally tempting man—to the king, not the maid—one worthy of the
match, your equal.”

“By God. You are brilliant!” Gilles shot to his feet. He
clapped Roland on the shoulder. “We have but to find a substitute. Magnificent.
Roland, put your mind to it—immediately. I must see Emma.”

In an instant he was gone, tearing up the stairs to his
chamber. He startled Emma as she splashed water on her face. In the next moment
Gilles had her in his arms.

“What is it?” she gasped as he swung her about, spraying
water everywhere.

“Just joy, my love. Just joy.” He kissed her soundly and
tossed her on the bed.

An hour later, their passions spent, Gilles raised himself
on one elbow. He took a mighty breath of air and slowly let it out. “King
Richard has betrothed me to a powerful baron’s daughter.”

Emma stared at him, dazed. For many moments, she lay
speechless, her mouth open. Her words were high and sharp when, finally, she
found her voice. “You’ve asked me to marry you and you’re betrothed to another?
What cruel jest is this?” She shoved him aside and scrabbled about for her
clothes.

“Hold.” He jumped from the bed and grabbed her shoulders. “I
am not going to wed the girl.”

Emma jerked out of his grip. She quickly dressed. Then she
seated herself at the table and tried to be calm. “Mayhap you should explain.
You make love to me, then drop this news into my lap. I shall soon fear all
lovemaking!”

Gilles drew on his robe. He sat at her side. Her fingers
were cold when he held her hand. “Do you remember the royal emissaries who
arrived today?” She nodded. “They brought betrothal papers drawn by King
Richard. My marriage is meant to reduce his brother John’s power. I will not
marry her.”

“How can you possibly defy a king?” He watched her eyes fill
with tears.

“I will not defy the king. I will present him with a willing
substitute who will just as ably suit his purpose.” Her face brightened. He
swallowed hard.

“What if you cannot find a man who will do as you ask?” Fear
struck deep and hard. Emma threw herself into his arms.

“If there are problems, we shall go away somewhere together
and truly defy King Richard.” His grip was hard and fierce.

Emma searched his face for the truth of his words. “You
would take such a risk? For me?”

“Aye,” he whispered against her lips. “Aye. There is nothing
here for me if you are not by my side.”

“I love you, Gilles.” She pressed her cheek to his, felt the
soothing silk of his beard, but inside, she was afraid.

* * * * *

The hunting birds were gone from the walls as the many men
of the keep took advantage of the fine weather the next day to hunt. In fact,
the hall was nearly deserted. Sun streamed in the arrow slits overhead and lay
pools of gold on the wooden floor. The scent of baking bread filled the air as
Gilles contemplated the chessboard. He took one of Roland’s pawns. “I cannot
just pick any man. He must suit. Think.”

“I am thinking.” Roland retaliated by capturing Gilles’
bishop. A highly significant move, he thought. “We’ve named every lad in
Christendom!”

“Every lad, true.” Gilles grunted as Angelique threw herself
against his knee. He allowed her to climb into his lap and kept her little
hands from stealing the colorful wooden figures on the game board. “My little
lady.” He bent and kissed her hand. “Have you any names to suggest?”

Angelique shook her head as if she understood his question,
snatched a pawn, and sucked it.

“You love the child.” Roland’s statement was met with a nod.
“And does William? Does he love the child, too?”

“He repudiated Emma and the child. So Angelique is mine,”
Gilles retorted. He replaced the pawn with a bone ring that had belonged to
Nicholas.

“My experience with William says he has but to hear you
express that opinion, and he will want the child with a singular passion that
will tear us all to pieces.”

“Ah, but I know him, too. He will be silenced with the offer
of enough silver, doubt it not.”

“As you say.” Roland returned to the game board. He moved
his knight. “Harold of Middlesex,” he said into the lengthening silence. “He
has a son. A rather homely lad, but his prospects are as formidable as yours.”

“Aye.” Gilles’ face lighted up and he gave Angelique a quick
kiss before setting her back on her feet. “I would be able to ride to Middlesex
on the way to seeing Richard’s justiciar with the news of the change of groom.
Michelle d’Ambray is far better than Harold could ever hope for his boy. Harold
holds important border properties with the Scots, too. ‘Twill be…a ridiculous
match. The justiciar will roar with laughter.” Gilles surged to his feet. He
paced and fumed.

Roland arched an amused brow. “Too bad Nicholas is wed. He
would have served very well. Mayhap you should acknowledge William and offer
him.”

“Damnation. This is not a jest.” Then he froze. “I know!
Nicholas’ wife, Catherine d’Anjou. What of her brother Gabriel?”

Roland raised his hands in mock horror. “Gabriel d’Anjou!
And who will drag him to the altar? You? Me? I value my head—attached to my
shoulders.”

“But he is perfect. He has no lands and so would benefit
greatly by the match, and yet his relations are beyond reproach. Richard would
get what he wishes—alliances that make a web of protection against John’s
connivance. Gabriel d’Anjou is perfect! He will forge a bond that John will
find difficult to fight. At the same time, Gabriel will bring into Nicholas’
sphere, and mine, those lands belonging to d’Ambray.”

“Gabriel d’Anjou will never agree. He wenches from coast to
coast.”

“Eventually he will need to wed. As you said, Michelle is a
child. He can—” Gilles stopped himself. He had almost said that d’Anjou could
wench for years before settling and getting heirs on his bride. A few years
ago, he’d not have realized there was anything wrong with the thought. A few
months ago, he’d not have cared. Instead he said, “Richard will love it. He
will enjoy d’Anjou’s protests, but in the end, they both will see how perfect
it is.” Gilles reached across the chessboard and moved his queen. “Check.”

Roland eyed the board. “You seem very sure.”

“I am sure. I feel it in my bones. ‘Tis an inspiration from
God. All will be well!” He strode from the hall.

Roland sighed. “I am sorry, my friend,” he said softly. “You
left yourself bare.” He lifted his bishop and took Gilles’ queen.

* * * * *

Gilles burst from the hall and out into the bright sunshine.
He flung open the door to the weaving building. With no decorum, he snatched
Emma from her loom and dragged her laughing behind him, up the stairs and into
his chamber.

“Do I assume your happiness stems from finding a suitable
replacement for matrimonial sacrifice?” Emma touched him lightly on the cheek.

“Aye. Gabriel d’Anjou. He is perfect. Handsome, young, well
connected. He is brother to my son’s wife. I will ride tomorrow for
Seaswept—d’Anjou is frequently a guest there. If he is not there, they will
know where I may find him. I shall then convince Gabriel of the superior
opportunity a marriage to Michelle d’Ambray will afford him.”

Emma gasped. So little time. She cupped his face with her
hands and stroked her thumbs over his close-cropped beard. She studied every
line in his face, to memorize it.

“Such a serious expression, Emma. Are you regretting your
decision to wed me?” Gilles’ laughing countenance grew stern.

She slid her fingers into his hair and drew his head down.
“Nay. I have no regrets.” She gently kissed his lips. “Make love to me,
Gilles.” He swept her into his arms and set her gently in the center of the
bed. Though he was determined to go slowly and gently, it took but a moment for
them to be mutually swept into passion’s web. At the penultimate moment of his
passions, he clasped her fingers to his lips and again begged her forgiveness
for any pain he’d caused her. Again, she granted him absolution and then joined
him in a soul-tearing completion that was as powerful as anything they’d yet
experienced.

Emma remained awake for several hours, wishing she felt as
confident as Gilles. That she knew none of the people discussed, King Richard
or this Gabriel d’Anjou, did naught to help her. She drifted asleep, their
names awhirl in her mind, twisting and turning, linking to each other in an
endless spiral of confusion.

* * * * *

Gilles awakened, struck by Emma’s flailing arms. She moaned,
eyes tightly closed. Gathering her to his side, he hugged her and smoothed her
hair, gentled her and urged her from her dream. Her skin was slick with sweat.
She lay quivering in his arms, her face buried against his chest.

“What troubles you?” he whispered into her hair.

“Nothing.” Emma did not want to put her dream into words.
She wanted to banish it.

“Tell me. You will feel better and be able to sleep again.”
Gilles stroked his hand down her back.

Emma refused to acknowledge that she’d had a bad dream and
turned his questions aside by caressing him and drawing him into her arms.

All thoughts of dreams flew from his head, replaced by the reality
of Emma touching, holding, and loving him.

When they were sated, she burrowed deeper into Gilles’ side.
She feigned sleep that he might not raise the issue of her dream again. As she
lay waiting, his breathing deepened, and she knew he slept. Thus she lay awake
until dawn, frightened by what she’d dreamt.

* * * * *

It took Gilles a day to prepare his party for hard riding.
Emma wished it was longer. She was scarcely prepared, herself, when Gilles came
to bid her goodbye.