by Shari Anton
Darian didn’t stop Hubert from scurrying out of the alley.
Had the soldiers killed de Salis with the bishop’s knowledge and approval? Possibly—except Bishop Henry had been adamantly opposed to the king’s approval of the knight’s assassination. It didn’t make sense for the bishop to order his own guards to kill de Salis first.
Darian now knew who’d killed de Salis, but he still didn’t know how his dagger ended up in Bishop Henry’s hand, or who had put it there.
And now he couldn’t be sure Perrin wasn’t in the Clink. If the guards had lied to Philip about Hubert and Gib, they could well have lied about Perrin, too.
Did he dare inquire, or would he find himself locked up, too, for taking the risk, doing neither of them any good?
Answers not forthcoming, Darian stepped out of the alley. Emma must be wondering where he was by now. Damn good thing she’d talked him into bringing the hound along or he wouldn’t have been able to go chasing after Hubert.
Of course, he probably shouldn’t have brought Emma here to begin with. For a man accustomed to blending into his surroundings, shying notice, he’d made himself rather conspicuous today. Everyone had stared at the man accompanied by an obviously noble woman and a huge wolfhound.
Perhaps Hubert was right about leaving.
But he wasn’t going to Hadone. He’d take Emma to Bledloe Abbey to see her sister, and maybe during the journey, he would make sense of this strange connection between Bishop Henry and Edward de Salis.
He found Emma a few feet from where he’d left her, her head bowed and her hands covering her face.
Was she crying? Heaven forefend! Women’s tears placed him at a disadvantage because he didn’t know how to stop them.
With unsteady hands, he grasped her shoulders. “Emma, what is amiss?”
Her hands slid from her face, and the pain and shine he saw in her eyes nearly buckled his knees. He’d seen her this way once before, at Hadone.
“I looked at the river too long. Stupid of me.”
He assumed she’d halted a vision, so now her head hurt.
“Let us get you back to the inn. Can you walk?” “If I can take your arm.”
Darian gladly gave assistance.
Emma held her arms up so Darian could slip her bliaut over her head. He’d insisted it come off so she’d be more comfortable. She’d let him have his way because she didn’t have the wherewithal to argue.
Her head felt like a bubble about to burst. Thank heaven the shutters were closed so she didn’t have to deal with light.
How stupid of her to become fascinated by sunlight sparkling on the water. She’d stared too long, too deeply. She knew better.
“At Hadone, Maura brewed a potion for you. If you can tell me what was in it, I will have the innkeeper brew the same.”
“Potions never help, only darkness and time.”
This ache might take days to subside. She’d seen the beginning of the vision and hadn’t stopped it as soon as she ought.
“Sit so I can remove your boots.”
Emma complied with the order, wanting nothing more than to pull the coverlet over her head and shut all light and sound out. Become lost in the oblivion of sleep—if sleep would come.
“Willow bark has no effect?”
“Nay.”
“This one is worse than the one at Hadone, is it not?” “It is. My apologies, Darian. I did not mean to inconvenience you.”
A tear slid down her cheek, and she cursed her weakness. Crying would only make her eyes red and itchy, doing nothing to ease the pain.
“Hush,” he said gently, tugging off her second boot. “Lie back and close your eyes.”
Gratefully, she did just that. Darian tucked the coverlet around her, then placed his hand on the side of her head, his fingers making gentle circles at her temple.
Oh, that felt good.
“You saw part of the vision, I gather.”
She didn’t want to talk about her damn visions, but she didn’t want Darian to cease stroking her head, either.
“I fear so. Enough that it was difficult to tear away.”
“What did you see?”
Nothing terrifying, and for that she was thankful. Or perhaps she shouldn’t be. Had the river turned bloody, she might have halted the vision sooner.
“My sister Gwendolyn. Her firstborn will be a girl.” “Truly?”
She could hear his disbelief.
“Truly.”
Emma had seen the baby clearly, sitting on Gwendolyn’s lap, mother and daughter smiling lovingly at each other. What bothered her was the pendant the child wore—the gold trefoil pendant Emma had seen sitting beside a scroll in another vision.
Clearly, Gwendolyn’s daughter and the pendant were closely bound, but Emma couldn’t say why that made her so uneasy. ’Twas merely a piece of jewelry, was it not?
“Will you tell her?”
Tell who what? Oh. He must mean Gwendolyn. “Gwendolyn does not know about the visions. If I tell her she will bear a girl, she will want to know why I am certain. You see the problem.”
“You told me about the visions, why not Gwendolyn?” Why not, indeed? Darian had believed her and hadn’t been repulsed or alarmed, merely curious. But then Darian hadn’t witnessed Emma’s headaches for many a year. He hadn’t been forced to take on added chores Emma couldn’t perform because she lay abed. Gwen might well be irate over the secret.
“Perhaps someday.... No, do not stop. Ah, I cannot tell you how good that feels.”
“Then slide back.”
She did. He stretched out on the mattress, and soon his fingers were again pressed against her temple, working magic.
“If you knew the vision to be pleasant, why did you not let it play out? Then you would not have this headache.”
“Because the good can turn to bad in a flash.”
She felt him shift, getting comfortable.
“Do they all end badly?”
“Not all.”
“Hmmmm.”
Emma opened her eyes. Darian lay on his side, propped on an elbow, staring down at her.
“What hmmmm?”
“Nothing. Just thinking. How does your head feel?” Someone had pulled out the piercing dagger, leaving behind the dull thud of a hammer. Darian and his magical fingers.
“Better.”
She remembered her foolish thought of the other night. A kiss couldn’t be healing. Could it?
She licked her lips. “Kiss me.”
His eyebrow shot up. “A strange demand from a sick woman.”
“Kiss me.”
His lips gently met hers in a kiss that was too short. “Again.”
This time he put some effort into the kiss and Emma could no longer feel the full force of the thud as the wholly female itch between her legs demanded her attention.
How intriguing, and impossible. If a mere kiss could dull the ache, what might happen if...Nay, surely coupling wouldn’t cure her ailments. But then she’d believed her notion about the kiss nonsense.
“Make love to me.”
His fingers stilled. He backed away. “Surely you jest.” “Make love to me, Darian.”
“You are ill. Certes, this is no time—”
“ ’Tis the perfect time. I am always so replete and relaxed afterward that I sleep like a babe, and sleep is what I need. Get undressed. Come to bed.”
“If you are certain.”
“You waste time.”
He rolled off the bed and stripped. Within a few heartbeats he was right where she wanted him. Beside her. Holding her. She melted into his embrace like honey on warm bread.
“I am not sure whether to be flattered or no,” he said, a smile to his voice. “I have never been accused of aiding a woman’s sleep.”
“Well, if you would truly rather not...”
“I did not say that. Truth to tell, I am curious. If this works, I may hire out my services as a sleeping potion. Much more enjoyable work than soldiering.”
“So
long as I have first rights to your services.”
She kissed him hard to ensure her rights to whatever powers he might possess.
Darian knew something wasn’t right. Walking back from the docks had been torturous for Emma, each step a blow to her resolve not to collapse. He’d carried her up the stairs because he couldn’t stand to see her suffer anymore.
And now she wanted sex?
To help her sleep.
That made sense in a strange sort of way, but there was something she wasn’t revealing.
Well, he had his secrets, too, and if Emma thought coupling would help her sleep, he’d be a fool to deny her.
Gently but swiftly, he removed her chemise. Emma’s skin was spring soft. Her curves a delight. Her breasts a perfect fit to his hands. After several nights of sleeping together, he now knew where and how she liked to be touched. Every groan, hiss, and murmur confirmed his conjecture. Her eyes remained closed, but her hands were busy. She’d learned him as thoroughly, paying exquisite heed to his male parts.
Her touch aroused him as no other woman’s ever had. Her kisses spurred his passion to never-before-experienced heights. Entering her was pure bliss, and watching her come apart beneath him, pulsing around him, sent him on a spiral into ecstasy.
Holding Emma while their breathing returned to normal, Darian knew he was in deep trouble. He didn’t want to care about Emma, but he did. Giving her up wouldn’t be easy, but give her up he would, for her sake as well as his.
Princesses didn’t marry peasants.
Then the princess in his arms sighed, and her breathing evened to a steady rhythm.
Darian nearly laughed out loud at the notion that he had, indeed, put a woman to sleep.
Emma might be asleep, but daylight still seeped between the shutters. He eased out of bed, dressed, and took Rose down the stairs with him.
Rose ran off to sniff at the bushes; Darian strolled into the stable to check on his horse. The poor horse hadn’t been out for days and could use a run. With Emma asleep, and naught more to be learned in Southwark, now might be a good time.
“Any interest in selling the horse?”
Darian glanced over his shoulder at the innkeeper. “You wish to purchase my horse?”
“Not me. Some man in here earlier, askin’.”
“What man?”
“Did not say. Said he would come back later and speak to ye himself.” The innkeeper’s nose scrunched when Rose trotted in. “Perhaps he will buy that beast, too. How much longer ye and the lady plannin’ on stayin’?”
“The night, at the least. Perhaps one more.”
He hoped that was all. Emma’s headache would surely be gone by then, wouldn’t it?
“Cannot say I am sorry to see ye go.” The innkeeper waved a hand at the hound. “That one scares the patrons.”
Scared the innkeeper, too, but Darian kept the observation to himself, not sorry the sight of the wolfhound made men wary.
Some man inquired about his horse. Apparently not one of the inn’s usual patrons or the innkeeper would know his name.
Hubert? Not likely.
A stranger then, inquiring about his horse.
Either that or the bishop’s soldiers had learned he’d come to London and now knew his whereabouts.
Chapter Fourteen
Emma woke to the sound of Darian softly calling her name, his hand gently shaking her shoulder. She eased open eyes that would rather remain closed.
He smiled and asked softly, “How is your head?” “Numb.” If she didn’t move, the numbness would last for another few hours and then she would be free of the headache’s aftermath. “How long have I slept?”
“Most of the afternoon. I loathe waking you, but if you are able to tolerate movement, we should leave.”
Darian wanted her to abandon a comfortable bed and leave the inn? The man had surely lost his wits.
“Leave for where?”
“Bledloe Abbey.”
“Now?”
“Can you sit up?”
Sit up, she could do. But why? Of all the fool notions! One did not begin a journey in late afternoon, particularly a journey that would take them, what? Two days?
“Perhaps on the morn—”
“I will help you.”
Surely he couldn’t be in earnest. He must be jesting. But Darian proved her wrong when he tossed back the coverlet and grabbed her arm above her elbow to help her rise.
Seated upright and bewildered, Emma dragged her legs over the edge of the mattress to put her feet on the floor. A deep breath didn’t blow away the fog in her head. She wasn’t alert, but could move about if necessary.
Except she didn’t think it necessary.
“If you let me sleep a few hours more—”
“I would like to allow you to sleep away the night, but we must leave as soon as we can.”
Granted, she wanted to see Nicole, but did not believe a delay of one more day a bad notion.
“ ’Tis nearly sunset, Darian. Why now?”
“I fear we have been found out.” He reached for the chemise he’d removed from her body and tossed on the floor earlier, before he’d kissed her and eased her pain. “Raise your arms.”
She obeyed, wishing he’d be as considerate now as then, kiss her again, perhaps even come to bed for the night and hold her. Instead, he slipped her chemise over her head and tugged it down to cover her nakedness.
“You usually help me out of my garments, not into them,” she grumbled.
The wretch smiled. “Believe me, this is an unusual turnabout for me, too. Now your bliaut.”
She felt like a babe being dressed, and wanted to protest when she spotted her hose in Darian’s hands. She should damn well put them on herself, except she didn’t dare bend over, become dizzy, and fall on her face.
Besides, her thoughts kept circling back to something Darian had said.
As he slipped on her hose, she asked the question that finally became clear. “Who has found us out?”
“I am not sure. The innkeeper told me a man inquired about purchasing my horse. Granted, the inquiry could be innocent, but if the man is one of Bishop Henry’s guards, I need to get you out of here.”
He’d said too much, too fast, little of it making sense except the last part. “What do the bishop’s guards want with me?”
Darian tugged on her second boot. “They might take it into their heads to use you to get to me. Give me your hands.”
Emma thought she was beginning to understand. Darian believed her in danger, so they were leaving London. Now. All she need do was put one foot in front of the other, get on his horse....Sweet mercy, he wanted her to get on a horse! She put her hands to her head and groaned.
“Emma, I know I ask much of you—”
“That you do. Where is my cloak?”
He tossed it over her shoulders. She managed to tie the strings. He grabbed his satchel from the table and opened the door. Not until then did she miss the hound, who should have been standing beside Darian.
“Where is Rose?”
“Guarding my horse. Ready?”
Not truly, but she managed the trip down the stairs and outside to the stable without mishap. Rose came forward to greet her, the hound’s tail wagging in excited anticipation.
Darian backed his already-saddled horse out of the stall.
Disgruntled, she couldn’t help but chide. “You were rather confident you could wake me.”
“My second choice was to wrap you in the coverlet and carry you out.”
Her cheeks warmed. That he would even consider doing such a thing only proved—Emma went still and listened to an insistent, scolding voice from within. His actions proved how urgently he wanted to leave, and Darian wouldn’t have rousted her without pressing reason.
The swift tingle up her spine made her look about the yard, wonder if someone was watching them and poised to attack. She saw no one, but that didn’t mean no danger lurked in the shadows.
Emma
put her hand on Rose’s head, taking comfort in the hound’s presence, while Darian swiftly tied the satchel to the back of the saddle and swung up.
“If you ride in front of me, you might be more comfortable. Give me your hands.”
Gladly, she did as bid, now as eager as he to be gone. He pulled her up to sprawl across his lap, her legs dangling over the left side of the horse.
Definitely a more comfortable position than riding pillion. She was no more than settled when he urged the horse forward. He held her close, her head resting on his shoulder, and now she could feel the tenseness in him she hadn’t perceived before.
Still, she felt no fright, confident Darian had all well in hand. Emma closed her eyes to the peal of church bells ringing vespers, and when she next opened them, night had fallen. A mere sliver of moon provided barely enough light to see the road.
“Awake?” Darian asked.
“Almost. Where are we?”
“Several leagues north and west of London. How is your head?”
“Better.” Which struck her as strangely humorous. “Did we not already have this conversation?”
“Aye, but that was hours ago.”
Several hours, given the lack of light. “Do you intend to ride all night?”
“Not all. Are you comfortable? Need to take a rest?” “Not as yet.”
“You will let me know when you do.”
His concern sliced through what little fog remained in her head. What he’d told her earlier now made more sense. For whatever reason, Darian believed the man inquiring about purchasing his horse might be one of Bishop Henry’s soldiers. Getting out of the bishop’s reach had been one of the reasons William sent Darian to Hadone.
Darian hadn’t been concerned about the bishop’s men when they’d left Hadone, and a horrible knot began to tighten in her gut.
“Darian, if not for me, you would have stayed in London, would you not?”
“Perhaps, but that is not important right now. Why not try to go back to sleep, get what rest you can?”
Emma closed her eyes, hoping the sway of the horse would again lull her back to oblivion, not wanting to face that Darian had retreated not for his own well-being, but because of her.
She’d become an impediment, a heavy chain that bound his hands and put him at disadvantage. She hadn’t the least notion of how to break the links.