Twilight Magic (9 page)
Darian didn’t understand, either. He wasn’t satisfied that she’d meddled to save an innocent man from hanging. Noblewomen did not concern themselves with a commoner’s affairs.
“She told me she believed I did not commit the murder and could not stand by and see an innocent man hang.”
Gar scoffed. “Lady Emma saved your neck and now you will repay her with an annulment? How generous of you.”
His ire pricked, Darian leaned forward. “Better an annulment than being forced together for life. Lady Emma wants this marriage no more than I do. I should think freeing her of me the better repayment.”
Maura glanced over at the pallet on the floor near the hearth he’d requested for himself. “So you two have not, uhm, consummated the union?”
“Nor will we. Leaving her virginity intact may be the best way to ensure an annulment.”
Gar pinned him with a censorious stare. “How do you know for certain she is a virgin?”
Darian inwardly shuddered. He’d assumed Emma a virgin. Lord knew she kissed like one, all sweetness and innocence. Oh, she’d set him aflame, too easily, but experience told him she had little if any familiarity with kissing, much less coupling.
Still, she’d confessed to taking him to her pallet in the queen’s solar, so could easily have done so with another man. He might believe Emma innocent of fornication, but he certainly shouldn’t count on it.
“If she is not a virgin, then we shall have to find another way to end this travesty of a marriage,” he finally answered Gar. “The marriage was forced. Neither of us wants it.”
Which brought him back to why he and she were in this muddle to begin with. Emma might believe him innocent of de Salis’s murder, but to further blacken the de Leon name to save him still seemed extreme.
He couldn’t think of any other motive, however. If she’d truly come forward out of conviction and compassion, well, that had to be the nicest thing anyone had done for him in years.
But no matter the reason for her act of mercy, he refused to be beholden to her. Or even like her overmuch.
Best he not like anyone overmuch. Losing someone he cared for hurt like the devil, and he wasn’t about to suffer that agony ever again.
W
ith an earthenware mug in hand, Emma eased down the stairs, amazed at how well she felt this morn. The headache had already dulled to a nagging ache at the back of her skull. Usually, the headaches required two days or more to ease, and Emma rejoiced at this one’s lack of tenacity.
Nearly all of Hadone’s residents had already broken their fast. Only one of the trestle tables remained in the middle of the hall, where Darian sat with Maura. They appeared to be conversing companionably, a feat she and Darian hadn’t yet accomplished.
Not surprising, she supposed, because they were doomed to be at odds until their circumstances changed. Emma didn’t know which problem Darian was more anxious to have settled—their annulment or de Salis’s murder.
One of the huge, shaggy wolfhounds she’d noticed yester eve rested its head on Darian’s thigh. With a contented smile, he scratched the hound behind the ears. The hound sat statue still, eyes closed, most satisfied with the quality stroke of Darian’s fingers.
Jealousy niggled at her even as she acknowledged the senselessness of envying how easily he talked to Maura or the attention he gave the hound.
She’d fallen asleep last night with the sensation of floating in Darian’s arms, with the taste of him lingering on her lips. Their kiss had thoroughly aroused her and should have kept her awake half of the night. Instead, she’d slept so soundly she hadn’t heard Maura enter the room to deliver the cup of herbs mixed with ale or to lie down on the pallet placed under the room’s single window. ’Struth, Emma hadn’t heard a sound until this morn when a crowing cock greeted the sunrise, pulling her and Maura from slumber.
Maura had arisen and dressed to begin her day. Emma had fallen back asleep, not yet able to rouse sufficiently to get out of bed. The added sleep had done wonders, giving her the strength to leave the bedchamber behind.
As Emma took the few steps to reach the table, Darian’s hand stilled on top of the hound’s massive head. He looked up, and his smile faded.
He stared at her for a moment. “Your eyes yet shine. Should you be out of bed?”
Maura spun around to have a look, too. “Ah, but her ladyship is not so pale.” She pointed at the mug. “Would you care for another?”
Though the potion would do no good, Emma saw no reason to be ungracious or ungrateful for Maura’s thoughtful offer.
“My head no longer feels about to split open, so I need not stay abed.” She handed Maura the mug she’d not emptied until a few minutes ago. “My thanks for the potion, Maura. Another would be welcome.”
“Bread and cheese?” Maura asked.
“The bread only.” She gave Maura a conspirator’s smile. “Best not to tax my stomach too soon.”
“As you say, milady. I will be back anon.”
Maura hurried off to fetch the victuals; Emma took the vacated seat across from Darian. He still stared at her hard, and Emma fought the urge to turn away.
Did he truly see a shine in her eyes? Certes, she saw things other people did not, and his comment of last eve still bothered her. However, he couldn’t possibly know how close he came to the truth. More like, he viewed her as feeble and waited for her to stumble.
Irked that he judged her as a weakling, but determined to make an attempt at companionability, Emma sought a distraction by reaching over to run a finger along the hound’s nose.
“Gar’s hound?”
“William’s. Are you certain you should not remain abed?”
Darian didn’t distract easily. Sweet mercy, did he believe all women fragile beings or just her?
“Remaining abed will not banish the pain. I have learned that if I move slowly and attempt nothing too taxing, I do better by being up and about. ’Struth, I suffered one all through my father’s and brother’s vigil and burial without stumbling or collapsing.”
Though she’d stayed close to her sister Gwendolyn for support. Darian need not know that, however.
He hesitated before he said, “Then you have suffered these sudden headaches before. How long have they plagued you?”
Too long. “Half my life. They come on quickly and leave when they will.”
“I knew a man whose aching head could send him to bed for days. He discovered he could not drink more than one goblet of red wine in a sitting. Do you know what causes yours?”
The lie she’d told for years came easily to her lips. “Nay. Does the hound have a name?”
Again he smiled down at the hound. “This is Rose. The others are Daisy and Lily.”
Which made
her
smile. “Somehow I cannot envision the earl standing out in the field calling to his...flowers. Whatever possessed him to name them thus?”
“William deserves no less for allowing Maura to name his hunting dogs, particularly since the bitches are ferocious in the field. I have seen Rose bring down a lordly buck all on her own.”
“Impressive.”
He nodded, ruffling the hound’s fur, causing the bitch’s head to rise and lean into the more vigorous rubbing. “One cannot always judge by a name, or title, or rank. Not with man or beast.”
How well she knew. Ladies were accorded courtesy; traitor’s daughters were not. Neither were mercenaries.
“William could have renamed his hounds.”
“Perhaps, but he decided their names did not matter so long as they performed in the field.” He stood abruptly. The wolfhound looked up at him excitedly, her long tail whipping back and forth.
“Outside” was all the command necessary to send Rose racing to the door.
“Going hunting?”
“Merely for a run. Only William and Gar are allowed to hunt with them.”
Emma watched him leave, supposing she should be pleased they hadn’t argued. But then, their talk had been short because he’d left so abruptly. Because of the hound? Or because he simply couldn’t wait to be rid of her?
“Rose should be Darian’s.” Maura’s terse statement startled Emma from her melancholy musings.
“Oh?”
Maura held out the cup, which Emma took. “I mixed the herbs with broth instead of ale this time. Kinder to the stomach.”
“My thanks. Darian said the wolfhounds belong to William.”
Maura eased onto the bench opposite Emma. “They do, but only because Darian refused to accept Rose as his own. Two summers ago, Darian rescued the hounds as pups from an unappreciative owner. Rose chose Darian as her master from the start, and one has only to see the two of them together to know who possesses Rose’s loyalty and affection.”
She sighed, sorrow mingling with anger. “William insisted Darian should own Rose, but he refused. Stubborn man.”
Emma could understand why having a hound underfoot might not be the best of situations for a mercenary.
“A mercenary’s life is an unsettled one. Perhaps he fears he could not properly care for her.”
“To claim Rose as his own would be no burden. Darian could leave her here, as William leaves the other two hounds. Certes, my father might extract a stipend for her food, but Darian could well afford the payment. He does not spend his pay on fancy rings or other fripperies, as do some of the other mercenaries. I swan, the only costly thing Darian owns is his dagger, which he highly prizes.”
Emma well remembered Darian’s forlorn expression in the antechamber when he’d feared he wouldn’t get the dagger back from the king. What Darian owned, he obviously prized—and all he owned fit in one small satchel.
Did Darian hoard his coin, or did he merely shun possessions?
Maura placed her hands on the table and pushed herself upright. “Time I saw to my duties. Are you in need of aught before I go?”
For only one need could Maura be of aid. “I should very much like to be of help to you while I am here. Is there some task or chore you are willing to trust me with?”
Maura looked horrified. “You are a guest, my lady. And you are ill and should rest!”
“I promise to rest when the need arises, but I also dislike the thought of becoming a burden. Pray, Maura, surely there is something I can do to help the time pass more quickly, keep my hands from idleness.”
Maura hesitated, then smiled softly. “Perhaps there is. Are you feeling well enough for a walk out to the kitchen?”
Darian heaved the stick as far as he could throw it. Rose trembled with anticipation, but sat beside him as commanded. The stick landed near the kitchen door. With a small hand signal, he turned the wolfhound loose, admiring her gait and speed.
Then he saw Emma and Maura about to step into the hound’s path. Intent on the stick, Rose wouldn’t see the women until too late to veer around them.
“Halt!”
The hound’s big paws dug into the ground, spewing dust as she skidded to a stop barely an arm’s length from Maura and Emma. Emma halted so abruptly she spilled some of the headache potion from her mug. All around him sound and movement ceased, the buzz of the bailey reduced to silence.
He’d intended to stop one hound from barreling into two women and managed to bring several people to a halt. Amazing.
And embarrassing. Darian wasn’t one to draw attention to himself. The accomplishment of his missions, and sometimes his survival, depended upon his stealth. Now everyone looked at him with wide-eyed wonder over the force of his shouted command.
Feeling a bit sheepish, Darian headed for the hound, allowing everyone to figure out on their own what had happened and then go back to what they’d been about. Fortunately, it didn’t take long until only Maura, Emma, and Rose remained still as statues.
“I beg pardon, ladies. The command was meant for Rose. I should have been more attentive to possible hindrances before I tossed the stick.”
“No harm done,” Emma said softly, then took the step necessary to reach Rose, whose head was level with her waist. Without hesitation, she touched the dog for the second time, laying her palm alongside the hound’s powerful jaw.
“My compliments, Rose, on your superb obedience. Had we crossed paths, I have no doubt you would have won the day!”
Rose accepted the compliment as her due, her head tilting up with pride. And, damn, but he would swear the dog smiled. Emma smiled back, and after a brief scratch that closed Rose’s eyes in ecstasy, the woman continued on to the kitchen with Maura.
Darian watched Emma enter the building from which wafted the aroma of the roasting meats being readied for nooning, wishing Emma had put her palm alongside
his
jaw, run her fingers through his hair instead of the hound’s.
’Struth, he deserved thanks for saving Emma from a rough tumble in the dirt, did he not? Yet Rose received the reward of Emma’s touch.
But he deserved no reward, especially not the prize he was again envisioning and knew better than to entertain.
For too long last night he’d squirmed on his pallet, seeing the shine in Emma’s eyes, discomfited by the feeling she’d peered into his thoughts and comprehended his desire mere moments before he’d kissed her.
And even the discomfit hadn’t halted the ache in his loins, reminding him he had every right to share Emma’s bed, urging him to claim a husband’s rights. Foolish, to be sure. Emma might be his wife, but she wasn’t truly his for the claiming, and only a beast would make demands on a woman in so much pain.
She still hurt this morn, but not as much. Perhaps being up and about would do her good and by this eve she would feel well enough to...Nay, he couldn’t have her tonight, either.
Kissing Emma had been a grave error, one he wouldn’t repeat. Nor should he pay heed to the lovely curve of her body or the melodic tone of her voice. Or admire how affectionately she’d touched an animal that could rip off her arm if it sensed a threat or smelled fear. Courageous or foolhardy?
He hadn’t decided when he picked up the stick. “Let us find something else to do before we come near to maiming anyone else.”
Rose loped beside him across the bailey to the quickly diminishing pile of stone. Since today was warm and dry, several layers of stone could be laid—but not too many or the mortar would squish out from between the lower layers from too much weight above.
