Authors: Ann Lawrence
Chapter Thirty-Three
Gilles woke in his bedchamber, the sun striping the floor by
his bed. He groaned and sat up. His shoulder ached beneath a mound of bandages.
His bedchamber.
His heart in his throat, he threw off the blankets. Where
was Emma? He closed his eyes. His memory provided only the image of her in a
stranger’s arms, disappearing into the mist.
With shaking hands, he dragged on the clothing laid out
carefully across his coffer: fine linen, the tunic he’d been married—and
buried—in.
“Gilles!”
He turned to the door. Emma ran across the room and threw
herself into his arms. “Thank God, my love,” he whispered between hard kisses.
“I thought you lost.” He set her at arm’s length and inspected her. “Your
wound?”
“Nothing compared to yours,” she said, encircling his waist
and hugging him close.
He ran his fingers along her cheek and tipped up her chin.
“How I love you,” he said against her lips, marveling that she was well and in
his arms. He pulled her hard against his body. For a brief moment, she melted
against him, her kisses as ardent as his. Then she leaned back.
“We are not alone,” she said, smiling up at him.
Gilles turned, but kept her tightly within his embrace.
Roland strode across the chamber, followed by three
strangers.
Roland went down on his knee before Gilles.
“What are you doing?” Gilles asked, touching Roland’s
shoulder.
“Begging your forgiveness. I let Trevalin get away from me.
I let him take your lady. I should be stripped of my rank, lashed at—”
“Enough! Emma is here and quite well. Now rise.” Gilles
could not keep a touch of humor from his voice. “Truly, she is in better shape
than I.” He gently touched her waist where Trevalin had stabbed her. He felt
the bandages beneath her gown and frowned.
She covered his hand. “I am quite well. A scratch only. Now,
these men have news for you. We have been waiting for you to awake.”
Roland presented the men, pilgrims who had camped on the
shore of Hawkwatch Bay, their journey to see the abbey relics interrupted by
the rising fog.
One man, the eldest, stepped forward and bowed. “My lord, we
must bear the news that the man who entered the water with you and this fine
lady has been found, drowned, his body washed ashore this morn.”
“I must thank you for saving my lady wife. She is everything
to me.”
“Are you not curious as to why you are here and not in some
beggarly bed in the village?” Nicholas d’Argent asked from the doorway. He came
to stand at the pilgrims’ side.
“I did wonder, but then thoughts of Emma drove it from my
mind,” Gilles said, and pulled her close to his side.
“It seems these good men saw you ride into the surf and
followed, sure you would need aid. They heard every word Trevalin said—you know
how sound travels on water. When we have broken our fast, we are off to the
Duke of Norfolk.”
“We understand the poor soul killed a valued knight and saw
this fine lady, and then you, blamed for it,” one of the pilgrims said. “It is
our duty to present the truth. He was taunting you with his triumph. Surely,
God is seeing to his punishment now.”
“Aye,” Gilles said softly.
They stood in somber silence for a moment, then Gilles
thanked the pilgrims again for rescuing Emma and bringing him to shore.
As the party departed, one man turned back. “We wanted to
return this to you.” He held out the belt Gilles had used to save Emma. “I
suppose ‘tis ruined; the colors have run,” he said and left.
Emma held the belt. “Nay, ‘tis not ruined.” She looked up at
Gilles. “The designs are no longer linked, they are blended, no longer
separated one from another, as we are no longer apart. It seems right,
somehow.” She looped the belt about Gilles’ waist and buckled it. She stroked
her fingers along the fine linen and silk threads. He covered her hands.
Nicholas cleared his throat. “There will be enough
opportunities for that later. It is time you took your proper place.”
Gilles looked at his son. “A few months ago, I considered
myself at the end of my life, this manor a responsibility to be avoided. No
longer. Now I feel as if I’ve all the time on God’s green earth to live. I
shall spend every moment of it trying to be what I was not—a proper father. A
better husband.”
Color flooded Nicholas’ cheeks. “Think not that you are the
only one who needs to examine his behavior. I fear I owe Emma and you an
apology. She is your perfect mate. Two more stubborn people I have never met!”
He grinned.
Gilles embraced his son. “Come. I will need you by my side.”
He took Emma’s hand and led her from his bedchamber. Together with Nicholas,
they took the stairs to the hall, crowded with what seemed to be every person
of the manor.
Gilles approached the raised platform before the great stone
hearth with a sense of being home.
“Gilles!”
Silence rolled through the hall as all turned to the
flaxen-haired tot who stood with arms upraised to the tall man who stood with
her mother.
No one spoke.
He went down on one knee. His voice was gentle. “Angelique.”
Tears pricked at the edges of Emma’s vision.
Angelique sidled closer to the man who knelt very still
before her. Her thumb slipped into her mouth. She studied him from his
close-cropped hair to his black eyes. She reached out and touched his chin with
the tip of one tiny finger.
“No beard,” she said in a whisper.
“No beard,” Gilles repeated.
Her little finger traced the line of his jaw. “Gilles,” she
said more loudly.
“Aye, my child. I have been to heaven and am now returned.”
He scooped her up, then tucked her into the crook of his uninjured arm. He
extended his hand to Emma. She smiled and linked her fingers with his.
Holding her hand, his son at his side, Gilles stepped up
onto the dais and took his place, once more, lord of the keep.
The End
About Ann Lawrence
Award winning author Ann Lawrence writes both historical and
paranormal romance with strong heroes and equally indomitable heroines. Her
books reflect her love of English history and Arthurian legend. But whichever
genre Ann chooses, she likes to include a puzzle for her readers to solve. Ann
loves hearing from her readers.
Ann welcomes comments from readers. You can find her website
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Ellora’s Cave Publishing
Lord of the Keep
ISBN 9781419945175
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Lord of the Keep Copyright © 1999, 2013 Ann Lawrence
Cover design by Dar Albert
Photos: Chorazi, CURAphotography, Vladimirs Poplavskis and
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Electronic book publication March 2013
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