The Dumont Bride (17 page)

“Did you know that the old earl betrothed the fair Emalie to
my friend
William before his untimely death?”

Christian stopped walking and waited for the rest of it. “And William, as anxious as he was to wed a woman of such charms, anticipated their vows. Who could blame him? With a woman who has as much to offer as she does, what man could resist her pleas to take her? I’m certain that neither you nor I could.”

He pictured his hands around the prince’s neck, choking the breath and life from him. It was the only thing that kept him from doing it in reality.

“Now a child exists and William has betrothal doc
uments and wants to press his suit to regain Emalie and his child.”

“Why would you give me this opportunity?”

“Because, Dumont, I observed you and realized quickly that you are better for this than DeSeverin. Unlike him, you have an ability to make these lands successful and thereby valuable to me.” He heard John’s steps approaching from behind him.

“So, do I support his suit or do I lose the documents to prove his claim?” He placed his hand on Christian’s shoulder. “I leave in the morning and would have your answer on it before I go.”

Christian nodded.

“You do have one other choice in this, Dumont. If you wish, I will see to a quiet annulment and you can simply leave all of this behind. You leave with your honor intact and able to enter into a true marriage when you locate an appropriate bride.”

He started to pull away and John just laughed. “Son of Guillaume Dumont, think well on this, for if you back the wrong Plantagenet, you could end up in the ground with those others who made that mistake.”

John passed him and laughed on his way out of the chapel as though his words carried some humor. The urge to scream and kill and vomit came upon him, but he knew from experience that he must regain control of himself or everything and everyone he cared about were in danger.

Since his determination had not changed during the dark hours that he spent at Emalie’s bedside, he saw no reason to confront John with his decision. The prince would know that no word was an answer, too.

John’s own words had made the decision clear to
him. John told him that if he acquiesced in this he would be free to seek a true marriage.

A true marriage.

He had made a true marriage with Emalie the night they had first joined as one. The pledges made months before were confirmed in the physical act that made them man and wife. He had claimed her as his own that night so that no annulment could undo what was now real before God and man. And more importantly, in making his decision, what was real to him.

All he could do now was wait for John’s response and decide what to do when it came. He would like to have all the facts to base his judgments on, but with Emalie in this precarious condition, he could not risk it.

He doubted not that John would move quickly; he may have begun his plans while offering friendship. Shaking his head, Christian knew that John had most likely set up contingencies for both possibilities.

Without Emalie’s help, he could not fight John. He was not sure that he could fight him even with her help, for what if John possessed what he claimed to have?

The most disturbing part of this now was John’s insinuation that he, too, had been involved physically with his wife. He could not imagine Emalie with John, or William either, if he admitted it to himself. Was he simply deluding himself in this?

He glanced over at her as she slept. How many times had he done this since their trip to Lemsley? He found that he enjoyed sitting at her side or lying next to her in the bed and watching as she slept. He shook his head at the absurdity of it.

What man would be content to sit like this?

She sighed then, drawing his attention to her face.
The fire’s light played softly on her features. The swelling of her eyes was less now, but her breathing was still ragged and not smooth. How long until she calmed?

He thought back again to the night in Lemsley when he made her his own. And even back to the night when it had almost happened. There was a sense of innocence about her sexually that was a part of her. She had not been exposed to the type of debasement that relations with John would have brought about in someone. She did not fake the wonderment as he brought her to the edge of pleasure and beyond.

If she was more uninhibited with him now during their bed play, there was still a basic freshness to her. No, he shook his head again, John’s depravity had not touched her.

That did not, however, mean that the child was not his. It was always a possibility that John fathered the child, stealing that task from his willing crony DeSeverin. There was most likely no way to tell to a certainty unless the child was born with some telltale marking or coloring that was clearly from one man and not the other.

Christian stood and rubbed his eyes. Dawn would be accomplished soon and this endless night would end. But, he feared, the darkness would be with them for much longer.

Distract.

Disarm.

Destroy.

John had distracted him with his sudden appearance.

John sought to disarm him with the offer that would allow him to remain as lord of Greystone but at a completely unacceptable price.

Christian wondered when John would try to destroy him and how he would wield the weapons he held— Emalie’s fear and participation, DeSeverin’s complicity and his own fear of falling into the same trap that had killed his father.

The pain in his gut intensified with each passing hour. Well, he thought as he decided to try to sleep, the game was underway.

God help them all.

H
er eyes did not want to open. They hurt and felt swollen and would not cooperate with her efforts to wake. Her head pounded and the rest of her body ached as she tried to move.

“Here now, my lady. Let me help you.”

“Fatin?”

“Aye, my lady. Alyce runs some errands and will return anon. I am here to watch over you.”

Emalie opened her eyes now and looked around the room. The sunlight streaming in through the window told her it was full day. The night and morning had passed without her knowledge. Glancing at the table next to the bed, she saw several bottles and goblets laid out in an order she knew Timothy would have done.

“
Oui,
madam,” Fatin said, reaching for the one closest to her. “I have instructions to follow under ‘pain of death,’ your husband declared.”

Emalie pushed herself up to sit. “I would not want you put to death on my account, Fatin. I promise to obey you in this.”

Emalie held her breath and drank the brew down in one long swallow. She had some idea of what ingre
dients Timothy would use and knew their bitter taste was difficult to conceal. Fatin offered her some wine to wash the taste from her mouth.

“My husband?”

“He goes about his duties and left word he wishes to know when you wake.”

“The prince?”

Fatin’s mouth looked as if she had tasted spoiled meat. With disgust evident in her voice, she answered, “The prince and his entourage left early this morn. And none too soon for me.”

Emalie needed to ask. “Was anyone…hurt?”

Fatin hesitated as though she did not want to answer. “Aye, my lady. One of the village girls, but not greatly. Enyd said all would be well.”

She had failed once again. Because of her own fears, another of her people suffered. If she had only kept her wits about her and made arrangements with one of the village harlots who did not mind John’s particular tastes. That usually placated him during his stay and kept the innocent safe. She would have Alyce find out more for her.

“Fatin, I have a favor to ask of you.”

“My lady?”

“Before you send word to my husband, would you bring Father Elwood here for me?”

“You would see the old priest before your husband?” Fatin asked.

“Please.”

Fatin nodded and walked to the door.

“Your husband also said that the person who allowed you out of your bed would be put to death. Do not risk my life while I find your priest for you.”

Emalie nodded in agreement and watched as Fatin
left. She must do this before she lost her courage, for yesterday she had given in to evil. Leaning back against her pillows, she waited.

A short while later, a knock at the door came and Fatin opened it after a few moments’ delay. The priest who had served her family’s spiritual needs for many years followed behind. Once Fatin had checked on her, she left the chamber to inform her husband, giving her the privacy she needed.

His frown caught Luc’s attention and they both watched Fatin approach the stables. Luc had other things on his mind and the lustful grin on his face made no secret of them. Christian, however, was concerned because Fatin was supposed to be tending Emalie while Alyce was gone.

“My lord, the lady is awake,” Fatin said, bowing before him.

“You were ordered to stay with her, Fatin. Why did you come and not send a servant?” Luc’s face turned red, but Christian did not care at this moment. “I do not want her left alone,” he explained to both of them.

“She is not alone. The old priest is with her. I thought to give them some measure of privacy. My lord.” The latter was added more in disdain than in respect. He heard it in her voice.

“Why did the priest visit her? I said no visitors until she was out of bed. Pray, tell me not that she has left her bed.”

He was already several paces on his way when she called to him.

“Your lady stays in bed, but asked for the priest herself. I summoned him before I came to you. As to
the reason for his visit—who can say why those of your faith feel such a need to seek out their counsel?”

She would only share those controversial and almost heretical thoughts with Luc and him, for Fatin had a clear understanding of the danger of the words she spoke. And she had to be upset to do so. Christian stopped and faced Fatin and Luc, who trailed closely behind him.

“Your pardon, Fatin. I am overwrought in my concern over Emalie and did not mean to insult you.” Fatin nodded, accepting his apology. “I am glad you were here for her, especially when she has no one else she counts as a friend.”

Luc looked suitably impressed with his repentance and smiled. “I understand your concern, my friend. When someone you love is in danger—”

“Love?” he interrupted. “She is my wife. It is appropriate to be concerned for her welfare.”

Certainly he had some tender feelings for Emalie, but he would not consider himself in love with her. Their marriage was an arrangement of two people who suited each other well and got along passably well. He respected her, he even liked her and, God knows, he lusted for her. But love? He shook his head at the two of them, denying the emotion that would simply complicate matters more. No, not love.

He entered the keep and made use of the back stairs, scaring at least two laundry women who carried bundles much too slowly for his pace. Reaching the top floor, he walked to their chambers. He leaned his ear against the door and heard hushed voices within. Waiting as long as his impatience would bear, Christian knocked on the door after just another minute. He also
did not wait to be invited inside, choosing to open the door.

The old priest, with hand extended over his wife’s bowed head, was praying quietly. Christian stood by the door and watched. He saw the tears on Emalie’s cheeks and wanted to interrupt, but seeing the concern on the priest’s face, he delayed. Father Elwood finished and lifted Emalie’s chin to look at her directly. With a whispered word, he released her and stood.

“Ah, my lord. You are here already.”

“I did not want the countess to be disturbed, Father.”

Christian walked closer and examined Emalie more closely.

“Sometimes, my lord, tears are good for the soul.” The priest gathered up his stole and crucifix and prepared to leave. “My lady, I will keep you in my prayers. Come to Mass as soon as you are able.”

Emalie nodded in reply. Christian went to her and sat on the bed. “Are you well?”

“I am tired still, in spite of the hours I slept, my lord. But otherwise I am well.”

He lifted her chin as the priest had and used a linen cloth left nearby to dry her tears. “Are you hungry or thirsty?”

“Nay, my lord.”

“I have asked that you use my name, Emalie.”

“I was not certain of your feelings, my lord.”

“Now that I know the truth?”

She looked at him in fear. He had not seen that expression in such a long time and he hated it. Ever so slightly, she moved away from him in the bed. Subtle, but he noticed it nonetheless.

He stood and walked a few paces from her. Turning
to face her, he asked the questions that he had answered in his own mind already in the dark of the night.

“Are we married in truth, Emalie?”

She frowned before answering. “Aye, my lord.”

“Is there any reason why we could not marry as the king directed?”

“None to my knowledge.”

“And we have consummated our vows?”

The blush that spread upward from the fullness of her breasts onto her neck and then up into her cheeks pleased him somehow. “Many times, Christian.”

She chose now to use his name? Memories of those many times flowed over him. She had given herself to him. She was his.

“And did you make any promises to the father of your child?”

Her face lost all its color and her breath hitched as she tried to speak. “What are these questions about, my lord?”

“I simply seek to determine if we are of one mind concerning our vows and our marriage.”

A shaky nod was all the response she gave, then she spoke. “I made no promises.”

He nodded, satisfied that she told the truth. Her words echoed of Durwyn’s in not knowing of any betrothal. If her father had made one, he had done it without her knowledge or his best friend’s. Strange that. Durwyn stood as Emalie’s godfather and guardian in her father’s absence and he felt certain that Gaspar would have told him anything important to his daughter’s care. A betrothal was such a thing.

And betrothals were usually witnessed by as many family and friends as the wedding itself, for the Church and the courts had held that the betrothal could be con
sidered the joining and only a consummation was needed to seal the contract.

Gaspar discussed all aspects of his estates with Emalie. Why would he deliberately not speak of something this significant? It made no sense to him. But, until John took the first step, he was wasting time and strength worrying over this.

“Why did you need to see your priest?” He was curious about that. To his knowledge, Emalie saw the priest only at Mass, and he’d heard comments that she never sought his advice.

She gazed at him with haunted eyes and the tightness in his gut told him that he had gone too far. Mayhap he did really wish to intrude between penitent and confessor. Her hand glided over the bedcovers and when they reached the edge, her fingers entwined in the border of the sheets. ’Twas a nervous reaction of hers that he had seen before.

“I wished it gone.”

“It?” He moved closer, for her voice was now a whisper.

“The child within,” she said as she placed her hands on her rounded belly. “I wished it dead.”

“Oh, Emalie,” he whispered as he sat next to her. John’s evil was spreading. He did not judge her. He simply felt her sorrow and pain.

“When I left the hall, I was tormented with fears over the prince’s visit. The thought came to me that if there was no babe, there would be no threat from him.”

She was crying now, tears streaming where he thought none would be left. He turned and embraced her as she sobbed. He thought her words were done, but she forced herself to say them.

“I was on the stairs when I wished, when I prayed,
for the child’s death to save me from whatever John plans.”

“Emalie, this is not your fault. Be at peace.” He rubbed her back as she cried more.

“Do you not understand, Christian? I prayed for a child’s death. An innocent babe. And all so that I would not have to admit to the truth and to my mistakes.”

“You take too much on yourself. You can not be responsible for the destruction that John causes.”

“Another thing you do not understand,” she whispered hoarsely. “Because of my weakness, John ravaged another of my people last night. Because I could not protect her, she will…she will…” She cried too hard to speak now. He held her and wished down the wrath of God on the prince. And he felt not a moment’s remorse or guilt over the torments he prayed for to befall the evil incarnate that was John Plantagenet.

He did not try to argue with her, for he truly feared for both her and the babe if this continued. Christian waited for her tears to end. He felt her growing still in his arms and soon the sobs had subsided. He believed her almost asleep when she spoke again.

“I did not know until I wished it ill that I wanted the child, Christian. All these months I have tried to ignore it and tried not to accept it, but yesterday, as I lay here bleeding, I knew in my heart and in my soul that I love this child. Regardless of its start or the reason it exists, it is mine. Only mine.”

Her use of the words of claiming that he used so frequently struck something within him. For even as he knew how deeply the words meant to him, he knew it meant the same to her about the child. And he recognized in that moment that any fight for Emalie was also
a fight for the child. He could no longer ignore the babe, either, if he planned to oppose John’s plan.

Christian leaned forward and let his hand rest on her belly. She did not move away, but he heard her hold her breath. Soon he felt movement under his hand and he sat in amazement as the babe made its presence known to him for the first time. Overwhelmed, he looked at her. A tentative smile lit her face. He bent down and kissed her lips.

“As you are and shall be only mine,” he whispered, sealing her and her child’s fate with his own.