The Dumont Bride (8 page)

Alyce efficiently cleared the chamber of all but herself and Sir Walter and then waited for directions. Emalie placed a cold compress on Christian’s brow and wiped his face and throat with a rag dipped in herbs and cool water. For the first time, he stirred beneath her hands.

“I…have…been…ill,” he whispered in words forced out.

“You
are
ill, my lord. Lie quietly and let me try to rid you of the fever.”

He grabbed her wrist as she reached for the compress on his head and held her still. “I have been ill,” he repeated, and he tried to rise from the bed. He pushed his hair out of his fever-glazed eyes and collapsed before she could ask Walter for help.

Looking at him with a healer’s eyes, Emalie saw once more the signs of illness that she had first seen while he slept in his bath. Whatever his affliction had been, it had taken its toll on him. Now the fever was back upon him and needed to be treated.

Realizing that fever was more effectively treated when the whole body was bathed in cool water, she began to unlace his tunic and the linen shirt beneath it. Her hands shook as she unbuckled the belt at his waist, but she noted that the holes used now were not the well-worn ones farther out in the leather. Her husband had lost weight since wearing this belt and these clothes.

“Milady? Would you like some help with that?” Alyce asked softly from her place next to Emalie. “Why do you not see to the brews you will need and Sir Walter and I can take care of this.”

Emalie nodded and saw that her truth was known to both of them. How had they known? They should have expected the bloody sheets. Christian would have needed to confirm his claim should the need arise. Had she given herself away by word or deed?

She walked to the table, opened and searched her chest of herbs and powders and prepared a beverage for him with watered wine, herbs to lower the fever and others to give him strength. The sheet had just been placed over him when she finished. It took a long time to get the drink down his throat in small amounts, coaxing it swallow by swallow until he finished it. Smoothing his hair out of his face, she laid his head back down and adjusted the pillow beneath it.

“He has already lost so much weight, he can not afford more from this fever. Tell the cook to prepare a beef stock as soon as possible.”

“Aye, milady.” Alyce curtsied and left the room quietly.

“You were with him all morning, Walter. Did you see any sign of this illness?”

“He looked tired, milady, that is all.”

She looked at her faithful castellan and then at her husband on the bed. “Did he say anything to alert you to this?”

“We spoke of the estates and the harvests and the strength of our fighting force.” He paused and met her gaze for a moment. “And he asked about your father and about you.”

“And what did you tell him of my father and of me?”

“I refused to answer his questions and told him to speak to you.”

“Walter, that was dangerous. We know him not. He could have had you removed from Greystone for defying him.”

Emalie stood and filled the cup with more wine. Her hands shook now at the thought of the actions her husband could take against a recalcitrant vassal. She needed Walter here, she needed him with his responsibilities intact and she needed him safe.

When the drink was ready, she sat next to her ailing husband and began forcing the brew into him again. “Pray, please tell me how he reacted.”

“He told me all the ways he could punish me for disobeying him and then he walked away.”

She stopped and looked at him. “I do not understand. Why did he allow you to refuse him?”

Footsteps and voices approached the chamber, so he whispered his words.

“I think ’twas a testing, milady. I think he was assessing the loyalty of those here and he got his answer in my refusal.”

Emalie wiped some of the wine off Christian’s chin as it spilled from his mouth. Her efforts to get him to drink were partially successful, but he would need
much more in order to rid his body of this fever. Laying his head down, she looked at Walter.

“He looks starved. Look how his bones show through his skin here,” she said, pointing to his chest and his shoulders. “It takes some time to lose this much fat and muscle. What could have done this?”

Walter walked over to her side and looked more closely. “How do you know how much he had?”

“The queen talked about his fitness and his success at tourney. A man can not win without strength and size.” She heard Alyce’s voice outside the door and finished her comments. “I suppose we will have to wait until he can speak of it…if he will speak of it.”

Alyce entered with more supplies and Emalie was caught up in the care of her husband. Luckily, it was not as serious a fever as she first thought and it responded quickly to her various treatments. After a long night, the morning arrived and her husband woke, weakened but hungry.

Christian felt as though someone had hit him repeatedly over the head with a hammer. His mouth was dry, but his scalp was sweat dampened. Efforts to lift his head from the pillow seemed futile. His attempts did not go unnoticed.

“My lord, you are awake?”

Emalie fussed over him, adjusting the pillow and the sheet. Glancing around the room, he saw the remnants of a healer’s treatments—bowls, a chest of herbs, mixing accoutrements and a roaring fire in the hearth.

“What happened? I only remember returning here after…” His words drifted off as his thoughts did. He remembered struggling to remain upright in his chair as he heard the complaints and requests of the villagers.
He remembered struggling up the stairs with some help from a boy. And everything went dark after he entered his chambers.

“Henry said you gave orders that I was not to disturb you. I ask your pardon for invading your privacy against your orders.” Emalie lowered her gaze and would not meet his.

“My lady, from the look and feel of this, it would seem to be a very good thing that you did so. I will not punish you for this transgression.”

His weak attempt at humor was not successful, for his wife paled at his words. Since her color did not look its best, he felt somewhat ashamed by the results of his jest.

“Peace, my lady,” he said, raising his hand between them. “’Twas a poor try at humor on my part.”

He grinned and he feared that with his weakness, it was more of a grimace than a true smile. Shifting in the bed, his skin shivered beneath the sheets and he realized he was naked but for the covers. He tugged the bedclothes up higher around him, trying to cover the sores and gaunt figure that was his body.

She must have noticed his discomfort, for Emalie rose from her seat by the bed, went to a trunk placed along the wall and reached inside. She brought a clean shirt to him and turned away while he sat up and pulled it over his head. Settling back down, he watched a blush fill her cheeks as she faced him over the bed.

He thought of how to begin, of what to say, to explain the physical condition she had witnessed during her care of him this past night. Christian also needed to find out who else had seen him during the night.

“You look exhausted, my lady. I thank you for your
care. It has obviously been successful for me, but at great cost to you.”

She lifted her hand and pushed her loose hair back from her face and over her shoulders. Every movement of hand and face was graceful, flowing without evidence of the exhaustion she must feel if she had been by his side through the night.

“And please pass my gratitude on to the healer whose ingredients were so helpful to you.”

She blinked several times and then stared at him. His brain was muddled and he did not seem to be able to say the correct thing in this strange situation. He had not expected to wake up naked with his virgin wife standing over him. But then, nothing in his life had been within his expectations over these past several months. He let out a breath and tried once more.

“I have been ill and it seems that the illness has not left me as completely as I had hoped. I do not mean to insult you or yours here with my words or actions.”

“I thought you were doing just that last night by your refusal to attend dinner.” Almost deceptively soft, her words were filled with hurt, a hurt that he had not intended to cause. Before he could speak, she continued. “I should have recognized the illness in your gait and in your face.”

“You? You are the healer?” This was astounding—was there no end to her talents and abilities?

She drew back and he realized he had done it yet again. He took her hand just before she moved too far away from him.

“My mother had some measure of healing talents, but the bulk of the work was done by our herbalist. If I misunderstood…”

“Nay, my lord. I, too, have an herbalist in charge
of the gardens and preparing the herbs and concoctions. He is the truly talented one. I fear that yesterday and last night have simply taxed my strength more than I realized. I am not usually so sensitive to words and actions.”

He noted a sense of sarcasm in her words and felt some relief and nodded at her. “My lady, since you have begun these treatments, tell me what I must do to heal and be well.”

“Your illness, my lord? Tell me what caused this.” Her gaze moved down his figure from head to toes and he felt as though she could see through the sheet and shirt that covered him.

Uncomfortable with revealing any details of his imprisonment to her, he hedged his words. In spite of her efforts, he did not know her, and her actions and motivations were all to be scrutinized.

“I do not wish to speak of it now. You have seen the results of it…tell me how to regain my strength.”

If she was surprised by his refusal, she did not show it. Instead, she launched into a list of suggestions about how to return to his past vim and vigor. Many of them were the same as recommended by Richard’s physician, but she improved on even those with several of her own. A knock at the door interrupted their conversation. Emalie’s maid entered with a tray and handed it to her lady. A few whispered words were exchanged and then he was alone with his wife.

“You may begin with this, my lord, and then you should rest. I will send young Henry to you to assist you in…other matters.” He was certain she blushed at this reference to personal hygiene and functions.

“You should rest as well.”

“There are tasks that must be done, my lord. I will rest this evening.”

She placed the tray on the table and helped him to sit up. Although he accepted her help with the first few spoonfuls of the hearty broth, he soon waved her away with thanks for all she had done. She turned and walked slowly to the door, glancing at something on the shelf near the trunk of clothes. He wondered if she realized that she sighed while looking there. After a slight pause, she left, closing the door behind her.

He sat up straighter and tried to see what had affected her so. ’Twas only his belt, rolled and stored there. Then he knew what she had seen—her ring of keys. He sank back and finished as much of the meal as he could, while thinking on his arrangement with the king.

A part of him wished he could simply accept this marriage and Emalie as part of the king’s largesse. A place deep within him longed for the peace and tranquillity of well-run estates. Another part of him, that place within where memories lived on, desired a welcoming wife and family and sons.

He lifted the tray from his lap and put it back on the table. Henry had not yet arrived and, truth be told, he wanted nothing more right now than to go back to sleep. Sliding down on the bed, he wondered if he should be honest with her and seek his answers that way. Mayhap if she knew her estates and people were in danger of being lost, she would reveal all to him.

Nay, in his experience women did not think that way. And if she were involved with John, he would be acknowledging his own position as Richard’s spy. ’Twas best to wait and watch. And his wife would have
to accustom herself, as difficult as he knew it would be for her, to his control over Greystone and everything that belonged to the Earl of Harbridge.

Including Emalie, the Countess of Harbridge.

I
f Emalie had thought that the sight of her key ring,
her keys,
lying on the shelf with his belt was difficult to accept, it was nowhere near as painful as what she faced over the next few weeks. Removed from her duties, she had little to do except observe as her new husband consolidated control and began to gain the acceptance of her people. Walter was his almost constant companion, as he studied the ways of Greystone and made changes he deemed necessary.

She hurt too much to look at it objectively. Every adjustment made to accommodate him and his desires about how or when to do something and whose duties remained the same or varied tore at her heart and her memories of life before him. Emalie had become so accustomed to discussing the administration of the estates with her father that not doing so left a gaping hole in her life and in her soul.

In his favor, she would admit that he was scrupulously polite, always came to dinner and had followed each of her recommendations aimed to improve his health. ’Twould seem to be working, too, for he was gaining weight and stamina with each passing day. And
he was abiding by their agreement not to consummate their vows. Actually, other than dinner or a chance meeting, she saw and heard little of him.

Emalie stood and walked away from the embroidery hoop and paced across the solar to look out the window. A warm breeze passed over her. She closed her eyes and enjoyed its soft touch on her skin. Mayhap she had spent too much time indoors. These melancholy feelings were not something she was familiar with in her life. She was usually just too busy to sink into this self-examination. She needed to do something.

Glancing back at the women working attentively on their sewing and embroidery tasks, she felt so out of place. Even at her mother’s behest, she had never spent much time in this room. ’Twas only since the queen’s stay that she showed up here on a regular basis. Now, with all that her husband oversaw, she feared this would be her residence for some time. Watching Alyce, she waited for her maid to look up from her work. A good brisk walk outside might lift her spirits, and the sunbeams playing over the ground beneath the window drew her to them.

“Alyce, I will return anon,” she said as she crossed the room to the door and opened it. The other women in the room stood as she passed them. Waving them down, she stopped in the doorway. “The day is too fair and beckons me out. Will any of you join me?”

Murmurs and soft laughter met her words. ’Twas obvious that the other women were quite content to work in the quiet of the solar and not go outside at all. Giving them one more chance to accept her invitation, she left. In a way, she welcomed being alone for a time. Making her way through the hall, she nodded to those who greeted her and tried not to see their sympathetic
glances. All in Greystone knew how much she had lost even as her husband gained, but, she told herself for the hundredth time this week, ’twas the way of things.

A guard opened the large door leading out to the courtyard and Emalie walked down the steps. Enjoying the warming bursts of wind and sun, she walked briskly around the keep to the outside gate of the herb garden. Work was what she needed to divert her thoughts and worries. There was no sign of Timothy, the gardener and herbalist, so she found the leather apron always left hanging on a nail near the gate and strode down the main aisle, examining the various patches and beds of medicine and cooking herbs. He was most likely within the keep in the workroom or outside the walls gathering those plants that grew better wild than cultivated in the gardens. Kneeling down near an overgrown bed, Emalie reveled in the quiet hard work of clearing weeds from around the plants and soon lost track of time.

Alyce’s calling finally broke into her reverie and she stood. Her hands and the edges of her sleeves were coated with the dark rich earth of the gardens. Unable to resist, she lifted them to her nose and inhaled the heady aroma of the fertile muck.

“Milady, the lord calls for you. Visitors are arriving.” Alyce rushed to her and untied the straps of the apron, tsking over the coating of dirt on her. “He said to make haste.”

“Do you know who comes to Greystone, Alyce? Did my husband say?” Emalie hurried to remove the apron and shook as much of the dirt from her hands as possible. Using water from a bucket kept near the cistern, she washed as best she could and followed Alyce in
side. This time she took the back stairway up to her chambers.

In spite of her bulk, Alyce moved quickly and efficiently and, within a few minutes, Emalie’s hair was recaptured under a veil and coronet, the dirt and sweat had been washed from her and she wore a fresh gown and tunic. With a deep breath, she hastily left her room and used the front stairway to the great hall.

The laughter and chatter of many people reached her on the second landing and she quickened her steps. Just as she entered the room, she witnessed her husband grab one of the men, a man much younger than himself, and pull him into a hug. Emalie stopped and watched this group of strangers. She realized that they were unknown to her but obviously very familiar to Christian. ’Twas then that she noticed her people stood away from this group, aloof and watching these exchanges of greetings. Since the group was speaking in their own dialect, most of her household did not understand it.

Christian looked at Fitzhugh, and her steward nodded in answer. Without other directions, two of the newly arrived guards assisted the younger man and followed Fitzhugh out of the hall. Her husband watched the man’s departure with concern in his expression and then turned back to the group, moving through it, greeting each one personally, whether they be men or women. And the group was a mix of people—some looked noble in bearing and dress, some looked coarser. They were old and young and in between. As he finished, he caught sight of her and called her to him.

“My lady, come meet my retainers from my other estates.”

They bowed and curtsied respectfully as she approached. Christian took her hand and led her to the front of the group. Then he introduced her to them.

“This is Emalie Dumont, my wife and Countess of Harbridge and Langier.”

It struck her then, as he used those words, that just as he had gained the rights to her properties, she was now lady of his. When she looked at those before her, she noticed that they were also stunned by this declaration, but probably for a different reason than she.

Christian nodded at one of the men and he came forward before her. “This is my oldest friend, Sir Luc Delacroix. Luc, greet my wife and present yours to her.”

Sir Luc escorted a woman to her and then both dropped in bow or curtsy before her. Taking her hand in his, the knight lifted it to his mouth and touched his lips briefly to the back of it. He was a handsome man, rumpled from traveling and wearing a mail coif under his hauberk, but his smile was full and genuine. The woman beside him was a surprise to her—not the usual pale French beauty, but a dark and exotic one. Her coloring was like none she had seen before and Emalie could not help but ask.

“Where does your wife come from, Sir Luc?”

The group quieted and she felt as though she had done something wrong. If she had, the knight before her gave no indication. He raised his wife to her feet and then smiled once more.

“My lady, my wife is from the Holy Lands. May I present Fatin Delacroix to you?”

The lady Fatin bowed her head again and waited for Emalie to acknowledge her before rising completely. She might be from a foreign land, but she understood
the custom. Emalie had never met anyone from the Holy Lands before. Could this woman be a Jewess? Would a good Christian knight marry one of those people? Or even one of the other peoples who lived in the East? One of the infamous Saladin’s people?

The silence grew around her and she knew her husband was waiting for her response to this woman, to this foreigner, for some reason. She had been raised and trained well enough to know how to do this, regardless of what she thought of the visitor.

“Lady Fatin and all of you, welcome to Greystone. Come to table and refresh yourselves.” She pointed back to the tables at the end of the hall where servants were already preparing for them.

The tension was broken and the group followed her and Christian to the tables. Luc and Fatin sat next to her husband and soon were deep in conversation. She waited to be included, but it did not happen.

Not hungry, she picked at some bread and tried not to be offended. ’Twas obvious that he and his friends had been long separated and this reunion was both unexpected and welcomed.

A pang of jealousy filled her, for other than Fayth of Lemsley, she’d had no friends. Fayth was the daughter of one of her father’s vassals and they had spent much time together as children. But, she sighed, less so since her mother’s death a few years ago.

Without intending to, her sigh drew attention from those around her. Sir Luc spoke first.

“
Pardonnez moi,
my lady. ’Tis been too long since we shared table with Christian and we forgot ourselves.”

Handsome and charming. Like many of the knights who accompanied Eleanor on her journeys and yet so
unlike, for she detected no arrogance or false modesty in him.

“No offense was taken, sir. I was lost in my own thoughts, I fear, and not paying the attention I should have.”

There was a certain repartee involved in conversation that she had learned during her time with Eleanor. With so few visitors from outside England, she had little practice with it. At least these knights from her husband’s lands would give her that.

“Our thoughts were only to get here as quickly as possible and we did not send someone ahead to warn you of our coming, as guests should. But with Geoffrey weakened by the travel…”

His words trailed off and he turned to Christian who shook his head.

“Geoffrey? Was that the young man who left earlier? Is he your squire, my lord?”

Hushed chuckles and shushing spread throughout the group. One and all looked to Christian and she waited to be told of her error, for it was clear she had supposed incorrectly.

“Geoffrey is my brother,” Christian said quietly, but his soft tone did nothing to lessen her embarrassment. If she could have slid down under the table and away from the scrutiny of her husband’s people, she would have. Emalie could feel the heat pulsing in her cheeks and could not think of a word to say in response to this gaffe.

She knew if she reached for her cup, everyone would see her hand shaking, so she clasped them together on her lap. The silence grew and grew until it seemed to scream at her from all around.

He had not shared any of the details of his life with
her in these weeks since their wedding—she knew nothing of his family, other than the few details shared by Eleanor. Christian had never mentioned his own lands, until today, and never mentioned any siblings. What would his people think of his refusal or failure to make his family known to her?

The urge to escape was great and growing stronger and Emalie knew she must take her leave. Realizing that no one else could remedy this situation for her, for what could her husband say to explain her lack of knowledge, Emalie stood and addressed her husband.

“My lord, with your leave, I would like to check on Fitzhugh’s arrangements for your guests.”

If Christian wished to argue with her, he did not. Not hearing a word of dissent and not looking at him for any indication of refusal, Emalie picked up her skirts, nodded her head in a quick bow and left the table.

She found Fitzhugh and learned he already had the servants organizing the rooms needed and moving luggage so that the chambers would be ready for their guests quickly. She looked about for Christian’s brother and found him in a small chamber near the stairs. It took but one glance to see that he was suffering from the same illness as his brother but not faring as well in his recuperation. A cough wracked the boy’s body as she watched.

Since no one else seemed to be watching him, Emalie entered the room and helped him sit up. Holding him as the coughing continued, she laid her hand upon his chest and felt the wheezing within. In her thoughts, she prepared the necessary brew to ease the cough and strengthen his breathing. Once he quieted, she would gather the ingredients.

His breathing, though harsh and rasping, calmed a bit and she let him lie down once more. Emalie smoothed his hair back from his face and felt as though she were looking at her husband, some years ago. The resemblance between brothers was strong—hair, eyes, facial structure—all marked them as brothers.

And interestingly, both shared the same illness. Although ’twas clear that the younger fared much worse than the older, the signs and symptoms were the same. The treatments would be as well, except that she would add several others to this one’s. Geoffrey slipped into an exhausted sleep and so she left the room. Christian was waiting for her in the corridor.

“My lady,” he began, but she ignored him. Anger at her embarrassment in the hall grew within her. Emalie turned away from him and walked in the other direction. It would take longer to reach the workroom, but she could escape him.

“Emalie,” he said, taking her by the arm and pulling her to a stop. Surprised by his action, she gasped. No one had ever handled her in this manner before. He released her quickly and instead blocked her path with his body. “I would speak to you.”

She waited, not moving, not meeting his gaze. Staring down at her own clasped hands, she tried to calm herself. What could her husband say at this time?

“I believe I owe you an apology.” When she did not respond, he continued. “Since Fitzhugh carries out most of your former duties, I did not have you informed about the approach of visitors. I beg your pardon for not alerting you to their arrival in a more timely manner.”

If he had used a dagger, his words could not have hurt more. ’Twas very clear that he thought of her as
a guest rather than his wife and had no need to tell her anything of importance. Still staring at her hands, she fought to contain her pain and the tears that now gathered in her eyes.