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Guillame had spread his cloak upon the ground, and was now opening the muslin packages to reveal floury rounds of bread, creamy cheese and chicken legs. Emmeline’s mouth watered as she eyed the succulent food.
‘Did you think to bring any sustenance?’ Talvas asked, dropping her hem back into place. ‘Or do you wish to share ours?’ He watched the flush in her cheeks subside gradually. How she hated his touch!
Emmeline had already detached the satchel from the back of her horse. ‘I have sufficient, thank you.’
‘Then sit.’ Talvas gestured toward Guillame’s cloak.
She hesitated, reluctant to walk under his searing regard, knowing he would see her limp.
‘Go on, then,’ he urged, ‘Guillame doesn’t bite.’ he stepped over to his horse, unstrapping his leather drinking flagon with deft fingers. Quickly, she lunged forward, almost falling onto the cloak in her haste to reach it before he turned round. Guillame, munching steadily on a chicken leg, seemed absorbed in his own thoughts and her ungainly advance passed without notice.
‘So, what business takes you to Torigny?’ Talvas asked conversationally as he settled himself on his own cloak beneath a large oak and began to unwrap the white muslin package. Stretching out his long legs before him, strong muscled legs encased in fawn-coloured wool and cross-gartered with leather strapping from ankle to knee, he threw her a questioning glance.
‘My own,’ she shot back, her fingers fiddling with the stiff clasp on her leather satchel, avoiding his bright searching eyes. The pain in her ankle had subsided to a dull ache; her diaphragm relaxed as she began to breathe more easily.
Talvas laughed, a booming, generous sound, the fine lines around his eyes crinkling with humour. He shook his head in disbelief at her reticence. ‘Then let us guess,’ he said. Leaning back against the wide, nubbled bark of the tree trunk, he folded his arms, raising his eyebrows slightly in mock challenge. ‘Now, Guillame, before us we have a most unusual maid, a maid who appears to abide by her own laws, without thought to her own safety, or propriety…’
Emmeline drew herself up, about to protest, but Talvas raised a flat palm to silence her. ‘A moment, mistress, let me finish.’
‘She owns her own merchant ship, her life is on the quayside with the merchants and the deckhands, yet she travels, unaccompanied, inland. For what, pray tell?’
‘To visit a relative?’ suggested Guillame, chewing thoughtfully on a piece of bread.
‘Or to visit someone she has never met before?’ drawled Talvas. He tipped his head back, a feral glint in his blue eyes, and smiled.
‘You know!’ She narrowed her eyes. How she disliked the way he played games with her!
‘I guessed, and your reaction has just confirmed it,’ he replied lazily.
A rose-tinted flush spread over her cheeks. ‘I overhead your squire say that the Empress needed a ship and I thought—’
‘You thought you’d made some easy coin,’ he snapped back.
Emmeline glowered at him. He made her plan sound mercenary and underhanded, as if she were trying to trick the Empress! ‘I thought, maybe, that we could help each other,’ she tried to explain, before ducking her head to concentrate on extracting an apple from her satchel.
Talvas angled his head back to drink deeply from his leather flagon. Wiping his mouth on his sleeve, he passed the vessel to Guillame, before pinning her with brilliant accusing eyes. Greedy little wench! They were all the same, these women; behind their beauty lay black, avaricious hearts—grasping, money-grabbing characters who would stop at nothing to achieve what they desired. Gold was the only thing that seemed to make them happy; not the other things in life, like love, or trust, or friendship. He watched Emmeline’s small white teeth take a neat bite out of her apple, tracing the fine bones in her fingers down to the fragile wrist encased in serviceable brown cloth.
She had left him because of money, the maid he had intended to marry all those years ago. Her ambition was evident from the start, from the moment he had first witnessed her fair beauty at his parents’ home in Boulogne, but his own stupidity blinded him to her true character. Employed as a lady’s maid to his mother, that maid had set about seducing him, and he, at eighteen winters, had been utterly captivated. Ignoring the worried frowns of his parents as they witnessed the constancy of his wooing, he chased after her slender figure, the bright gold of her hair, her quick smile. Their betrothal had been a time of great celebration, of festivity, especially as she carried his child, and they had agreed to formally marry when he won his spurs, his knighthood.
Talvas drew a deep, uneasy breath, feeling the air hitch in his throat. And then they had argued. Despite his parents’ wealth, he was determined to make his own fortune in life, in building and owning ships. She would not agree, wanting him to take the estates and coin that his parents offered him. Suddenly, two weeks after his daughter was born, she broke the betrothal, leaving him for a rich English nobleman, taking his newborn daughter with her. He had never seen them again. He cursed under his breath. The sharp wits and fair looks of Mam’selle de Lonnieres reminded him of that maid, of that girl from long ago who had ripped his life apart and torn it to shreds.
The sea had become his mistress, the wildness and unpredictability suiting his restless, adventurous spirit. He would take risks, uncaring as to the consequences, preferring the challenges of the sea to the domestic luxuries of home life. Women became faceless; mostly he ignored their company, except for physical solace—couplings that meant nothing to him. It mattered not; it helped him forget. No woman would ever make a fool of him again.
‘Talvas?’ Guillame’s voice broke into his thoughts over the constant rushing of the river. ‘Do you think we need to move on?’ He threw a look at the lowering sky.
‘Aye, let’s go.’ Talvas sprang to his feet, annoyed with himself for dwelling in the past. That time in his life was over, finished; he would do well to forget it completely. ‘Mam’selle de Lonnieres, have you eaten enough?’ his voice barked at her.
Emmeline threw her apple core over her shoulder and into the river. The stale bread that formed the remainder of her meal would stay firmly hidden in her bag. She had no intention of bringing out such humble fare when the men’s meal had been so lavish. But Talvas swept up her bag from the ground, turning it upside down and shaking it.
‘Is that it?’ he demanded, as Emmeline’s horrified stare riveted on the lump of bread, crumbs spattering out onto the dark red linen of Guillame’s cloak, forlorn evidence of her lack of nourishment. She shrugged her shoulders. ‘I’m not hungry,’ she explained, a dull flush staining her face as she grabbed the bread, ashamed, and held it against her. ‘Please don’t…’ pity me, she wanted to say, but the words would not come.
‘You’d better eat that on the way, mam’selle. I don’t want you falling off your horse with hunger. We’ve still a way to go.’ Talvas chucked the satchel back into her lap, scooping his cloak from the ground and striding over to where his horse waited patiently.
Guillame was already leading her roan over to where she sat; now, he helped her up with an easy smile and boosted her into the saddle.
‘Thank you,’ she murmured gratefully. ‘You have better manners than your master.’
Guillame’s large hazel eyes assessed her gently. ‘Don’t judge him too harshly, mam’selle. He means well.’ He patted the neck of her mare.
‘Guillame, get a move on,’ Talvas shouted over. ‘Stop fussing over the maid!’ Sprinting over to Talvas, Guillame jumped into his saddle, pulling on his reins to steady his horse. Shielded from Emmeline by Talvas, he looked askance at his master.
Talvas frowned. ‘I know that look, Guillame—what ails thee?’
Guillame acknowledged Emmeline with a slight incline of his head. ‘That maid…’
‘What of her…?’
‘I didn’t see it before, but just then, up close, well, she looks remarkably like…’
‘Do not speak that name, Guillame. Never speak it!’
Emmeline’s eyes widened in amazement as she stared up at the castle of Torigny. It rose, fortresslike, from the surrounding forest vegetation, stretching above the tree tops to perch high on a craggy granite outcrop. Built directly onto the jagged contours of the rock, the smooth, slick face of the grey, angular walls glistened with a smattering of rain. The metallic gleam of the sentries’ chain-mail could just be seen through the deep crenellations at the top of each of the four towers. The red flags, the symbol of the Empress and her husband, Count Geoffrey of Anjou, fluttered vividly from the top of the towers, spots of brilliant colour in the bleakness. Behind the castle, behind this impressive symbol of power, the village of Torigny straggled out behind along a ridge in the gathering gloom, a jumbled collection of cottages and huts, woodsmoke already beginning to stream from the holes in the thatched roofs.
Emmeline drew a deep, teetering breath, her horse slowing to a stop as if sensing her trepidation as they approached. The persistent drizzle had finally worked its way through the fabric of her cloak and now crept, damp and clammy, through the soft material of her bliaut.
‘How do we get in?’ she called ahead to Talvas, viewing the towering promontory before them.
‘We must ride around to the front gate, through the town,’ Talvas explained. Pulling on his reins slightly, his leather saddle creaked as he turned toward her, his horse’s pace slackening. ‘There’s no access from this side.’ In the dusky half light, she could scarcely decipher his features, just the brilliant flash of his cerulean eyes and the suggestion of a smile. Emmeline shivered, her muscles aching from the long ride. Talvas caught her movement. ‘Having second thoughts?’ he murmured quietly. ‘’Tis formidable, is it not? Like its owner.’
‘Are you trying to scare me?’ Emmeline replied firmly, ignoring the fiery leap of fear in her veins. She lifted her arm to rub the back of her neck, trying to ease the tension.
‘Nay, mam’selle, just trying to prepare you. Come, we must continue if we are to arrive before darkness falls completely.’ Emmeline kicked her horse into a gentle walk, reluctantly acknowledging her private relief at their escort. She sincerely doubted that her courage would have pushed her to enter such a castle on her own.
Once through the town, the small party started to ride up the steep ramp to the castle entrance, until their horses’ shod hooves began to slip on the greasy cobbles.
‘Let’s dismount,’ Talvas suggested, his cloak flowing out as he swung his leg over the horse’s rump. ‘The going will be easier.’ Emmeline nodded, aware of the precipitous drop on either side of the slope; there was a distinct possibility of plunging into the undergrowth far below. Before them, two sentries stood guard at the outer gatehouse, the metallic skin of their full armour shining against the bright red of their surcoats emblazoned with the royal arms of King Henry. The two gold lions stood out against the background of red, one lion representing England, one representing Normandy. Both guards stood immediately to attention when they recognised Lord Talvas, remaining still until he and Emmeline had passed under the heavy portcullis before raising a hand in greeting to Guillame.
‘Talvas, my Lord Talvas!’ A gaunt, elegantly dressed noble strode forward across the bustling inner courtyard as eager servants ran to take their horses.
‘Earl Robert!’ Talvas’s face set with an immediate wariness as he swept the hat from his head and ran a hand through his ebony locks. ‘I had no idea that you would be at Torigny.’ His hair gleamed in the flickering light thrown by a rush torch held by Earl Robert’s servant.
‘Wherever you find the Empress, you will normally find me,’ Earl Robert replied.
‘Then your loyalty as a brother is to be admired,’ said Talvas, formally.
‘And about to be sorely tested.’ Earl Robert frowned, his interested gaze skimming Emmeline’s neat figure, the sweet pale face almost hidden in the voluminous folds of her hood. ‘I know the knight—’ Earl Robert indicated Guillame ‘—but does the maid belong to you? She’s a beauty.’
Emmeline flushed hotly in the darkness, immediately annoyed by her extreme reaction. Talvas scanned her face and body slowly, deliberately. ‘Nay, my lord, we met on the journey from Barfleur. Mam’selle de Lonnieres seeks an audience with the Empress on a particular business matter.’
Earl Robert scowled, the withered lines of his face stern and forbidding. ‘’Twill be difficult,’ he muttered, almost to himself. Suddenly he grabbed Talvas’s arm. ‘I need to speak to you…alone.’ The two men huddled into a corner of the courtyard, deep in the shadows. The torch bearer was ordered to stay by Emmeline, throwing a circle of light over her trim figure as she shifted uncertainly on the spot, conscious of servants rushing about her, intent on some chore or another. Guillame had already left, helping the servants with their horses.
Emmeline stared grimly down at the hem of her bliaut, the fabric spattered and stiff with mud from the journey. Saturated with rainwater, her cloak hung heavily from her slim shoulders, as if weighted down with boulders. In her haste to reach Torigny, she had given no thought to her impending appearance before the Empress, or to how she would look, or to what words she would choose. Bubbles of doubt peppered the surface of her consciousness. What in the name of Mary had she been thinking? She was in no fit state to meet the daughter of the King! But then, if she possessed the one thing the Empress needed, would it matter how she appeared?
Her eyes traced the shadowed breadth of Talvas as he emerged through the gloom, his mouth set in a forbidding line.
‘It is not convenient for you to see the Empress,’ he announced brusquely, ‘but you can stay the night here, and return to Barfleur on the morrow.’
‘Not convenient?’ she squawked, her eyes wide with incredulity. Her body sagged a little with exhaustion. ‘But surely if she knew I was offering my ship, she would wish to see me?’
‘Hush, keep your voice down!’ Talvas clamped a warning hand around her forearm, his piercing eyes glinting dangerously in the darkness.
‘Nay, I will not!’ She rolled her right shoulder in annoyance, trying to shake off his hold. ‘I haven’t come all this way to be fobbed off like this!’ Without thinking, she poked a slender finger into the middle of his chest.
He grabbed her hand and held it fast against the rich wool of his tunic, hauling her nearer to his muscular frame. ‘It is not convenient,’ he repeated under his breath. Under the amber torchlight, his eyes faded to a pale aquamarine.
She dragged her hand from his loose grip. Reluctantly, he allowed her soft fingers to slide against his palm, a palm hard and calloused from years of handling ropes at sea. He looked down at the top of her head, at the simple circlet of filigreed gold holding her veil securely in place, despite the wayward curls sneaking out around her pale forehead. She was breathtaking, he thought suddenly, noting the heightened flush along her cheekbones. A coil of unsteadiness rose within him; a rare whisper of feeling that danced precariously through his chest. Who was this maid to make him feel so, to ignite these emotions so long buried, emotions locked tight within his heart?
‘I said, “I haven’t come all this way to be fobbed off like this!” I will see her!’ Emmeline’s sharp tones kicked him out of his reverie. ‘Mother of Mary, anyone would think that you didn’t want it to happen!’ Her green eyes accused him under the flare of light.
I don’t, Talvas thought, I don’t want you going anywhere near the Empress. For the Earl had just told him that the King was dead, and that Maud wanted to return to England as soon as possible with her father’s body. And he knew why. To claim the throne for herself. And as his loyalty lay with Stephen, his brother-in-law, and the favoured claimant to the throne, he would do everything in his power to stop her crossing the water.
‘If she knew about my ship, then I’m sure she would see me!’ Emmeline announced deliberately in a loud voice, aware that the Earl Robert stood in the corner of the yard, murmuring something to a servant.
‘God, woman, your infernal outspokenness will be the doom of us all!’ Talvas said angrily, engulfing her shoulders with the wide sweep of his arm and starting to steer her toward the main door of the castle.
‘Lord Talvas, hold for a moment!’ The Earl strode over to them. ‘Did this maid just mention something about a ship?’
‘Nay!’ His grip tightened around her shoulders.
‘Aye!’ Emmeline flashed a triumphant look at a scowling Talvas. ‘I heard that the Empress needs to reach England, and I own a ship, anchored in Barfleur.’
‘Why didn’t you tell me earlier, Lord Talvas? I think this young lady will be very useful to us. Very useful indeed.’
Earl Robert led the way to a thick oak-planked door set into the stonework of one of the four circular towers. Rush torches slung into iron brackets on either side of the doorway illuminated the entrance before they were plunged into darkness on the stairs. Fortunately a rope had been fixed onto the outside curve of the tower and Emmeline reached for it thankfully, using it as a support and a guide. She concentrated hard on maintaining her footing on the damp steps, the weakness of her right leg making her climb difficult. Above her, the heavy footfall of Earl Robert marked his direction, but of Lord Talvas behind her…no sound. She knew he was angry with her, but why? All she wanted was this chance to travel to England to visit her sister and make some money at the same time. How did it possibly affect him?
She gasped reflexively as her toe scraped the edge of the next step, grinding pain arching through her ankle as she grappled to regain her tremulous balance. Do not fall! Do not fall! To show weakness before these men would be the ultimate humiliation—she did not want their help, and she certainly did not want their pity.
‘Steady, mam’selle. The treads are uneven here.’ Talvas’s firm hand cupped her elbow as she righted herself, intensely aware of his large body on the step beneath her, warming her back, encircling her jittered senses with its immovable presence. Emmeline bit her lip. How easy it would be to fall back into his strength, to ask for help, to be cocooned in the muscled ropes of his arms. But she wouldn’t do it. She would never give in; her inner strength was enough to let her do this on her own. Her time with Giffard had made certain of that.
‘Don’t trouble yourself on my account, my lord,’ she whispered down to him. ‘Besides, I have the distinct impression that you would prefer me to fall in a heap at the bottom of the steps.’
‘Don’t tempt me, mam’selle.’ She jumped as his low voice curled into her ear, and shook her elbow to release his grip, resenting his controlling touch on her. The vehemence of her movement made him chuckle, and she turned to face him, lips set in an angry line.
‘Why do you resent it so much?’ she flashed at him. ‘’Tis but a simple business transaction that is no concern of yours!’
‘You may come to rue your outspokenness, mam’selle.’
‘You’re just trying to scare me. Why are you here anyway? I thought your plan was to travel on to Boulogne.’
He grinned. ‘So anxious to be rid of me, mam’selle? I thought you enjoyed my company. Nay, Guillame and I do not choose to ride at night.’
‘Then on the morrow we will go our separate ways?’ Her voice held an edge of relief. She had realised with shock that the difference in step heights meant her eyes were on a level with his mouth. The wide, generous lines of his mouth.
‘We shall see, mam’selle. We shall see.’
Her head swam as she felt herself drawn to the tangy smell of him, the glitter of his eyes, the lean, sardonic angles of his face. His hands settled on her neat waist, thumbs roaming outwards to encompass the delicacy of her ribcage. Strings of heat pirouetted from the light pressure of his fingers, streaking across her body into a web of desire. Words of protest formed in her mind, only to burst like bubbles in the growing, churning turmoil that was her chest; her body melted. The rapid pulse of her own breathing echoed in her head as his face leaned into hers…
‘Make haste, my lord Talvas!’ The Earl’s voice rapped down the spiral steps, sloshing over her like cold water. ‘Now is not the time for idle chit-chat!’
‘Nor anything else, my lord!’ Only the thin tremor in Emmeline’s whispered tone belied her befuddled state. Incensed at her own stupidity, she pushed furiously at his hands to find they had already dropped away, leaving her sides cold.
‘My intention was only to steady you, mam’selle.’ The guttural rasp of his voice startled her by its terseness. She flounced around and began to climb the stair once more. In the clammy half light, Talvas watched her move away, his eye travelling over the alluring lines of her petite figure, the seductive sway of her skirts. As she had faced him on the stair, the sheer beauty of her delicate features had caught him unawares, carried him back to a time before responsibility, a time before his ill-fated betrothal. For one beautiful moment, she had made him forget who he was. The luminous energy in her face, the feistiness of her nature: all attracted him with a force he was unprepared for, a powerful enchantment that for the sake of his sanity, he had to resist. And resist her he would.
Chapter Five
After the darkness of the stairs, the light in the royal solar made her blink in surprise. Emmeline stared around her, astounded by the beauty of the room. Sumptuous tapestries adorned the stone walls, the skill of the workmanship evident in their fine, colourful detail. Furs piled high on the four-poster bed, elaborate curtains tied back during the day and a crowd of thick yellow candles, secured into heavy ironwork candle-stands, spilled fat globules of wax over their sides. Over by the narrow window embrasure, shuttered against the evening draughts, a baby and a little boy of about two winters played on a rug with one of the ladies-in-waiting.
The Empress Maud sat in a carved oak chair in the middle of the chamber, head on one side, listening to one of her ladies playing the harp. Her eyes, red and puffy as if she had been crying, were closed as the sweet notes permeated the room, but one of her ladies bent down to murmur in her ear, alerting her to the visitors. Maud tilted her head, opening her eyes wide to direct an irritable hazel stare toward the threshold. The annoyance slipped from her features as she realised the identity of the guests.
‘Earl Robert.’ She stretched her hand toward her half-brother, white fingers alive with heavy, glittering rings. Earl Robert moved his long frame forwards, knelt and kissed the royal hand. The Empress’s gaze flew over Emmeline’s head to Talvas. ‘And Lord Talvas!’ she exclaimed excitedly. ‘Come, come nearer, my lord. I have not had the pleasure of your company for some months!’ Talvas covered the distance in one stride, before dropping to one knee to kiss the pale flesh of the Empress’s fingers.
‘To be in your presence is an honour, my lady,’ Talvas greeted her formally. ‘I am only sorry we have come at such a sad time for you.’
The Empress’s eyes sprang to the Earl, then back to Talvas. ‘The Earl told you the news.’ Her eyes watered slightly.
Still on the threshold, hidden from the Empress’s view by the broad backs of the two men, Emmeline listened to the exchange with interest, aware of an undercurrent of tension within the room. The ladies-in-waiting, scattered like bright jewels around the chamber, appeared to be immersed in their various tasks, but Emmeline sensed their ears were fixed to the Empress’s every word. As she shifted stealthily from one foot to the other, trying to relieve the pressure of standing on her weak ankle, the Empress noticed her.
‘And who might you be?’ The Empress raised her arm, encased in a tight sleeve of the finest merino wool, to point imperiously at Emmeline. A slight sneer pulled at her lip as she looked toward Earl Robert for an explanation. Acutely conscious that all eyes in the chamber were upon her, Emmeline lifted her chin and took a pace forward.
‘I am Mam’selle de Lonnieres, my lady.’ Her voice echoed clearly around the chamber, and she cursed herself for appearing too bold. To her surprise, the Empress clapped her hands together, a smile lighting her round face as she turned to Earl Robert in excitement.
‘Aha! You have secured a passage to England, have you not?’
‘I have done nothing,’ Robert admitted, moving to stand close by the Empress’s chair, his hand on her shoulder. His pale gaze raked Emmeline’s slender figure, his mouth twisting with derision as he noted the roughness of her garments. ‘I overheard her say to Lord Talvas that she owned a ship.’
‘Then Fortune smiles upon us,’ said Maud, leaning forward. ‘Come closer, maid, that I may look upon you.’ She gestured with one heavily bejewelled hand.
Emmeline took two paces forward, curtsying as low as she dared. Maud seized her fingers excitedly, dragging her upwards. ‘When can the ship be ready?’
‘The ship is ready now,’ Emmeline explained. ‘It is only a matter of finding crew…and a captain. As the winter storms are upon us, it may be difficult to find willing hands…it may take more coin to persuade them.’
Talvas snorted behind her.
‘Coin I have plenty of.’ The Empress waved her hand dismissively in the air. ‘But we must travel as soon as possible.’
‘It would be advisable to wait until spring, my lady,’ Talvas countered, his voice emerging deep and low from somewhere behind Emmeline.
The Empress screwed up her brown-button gaze with distaste. ‘I can’t wait ’til spring, Talvas! Are you out of your mind? I need to travel to England now!’ Maud half rose from her chair, clearly agitated, her mouth compressed to a thin white line, before she collapsed back into the seat. At the window embrasure, the youngest child started to grizzle. ‘God in Heaven! Will that child never be quiet?’ Maud drew a hand across her forehead. ‘Am I to have no peace in my own chamber?’ Clutching one fist around the arm of the chair, she turned back to Emmeline. ‘Now, how much gold do you think you will need to be ready to sail in two days’ time?’
