Christian, in truth, would have liked nothing better, but his headstrong nature would not let him. “Nay, Fitzhugh. We will hold the manor court this day as planned.”
Fitzhugh did not argue with him, but he bowed and nodded to several other servants standing nearby. A few guards drew near to the dais and took positions on either side of the steps leading to the table.
“My lord?” Fitzhugh stood next to him once again and leaned down. “Would you like to eat before we begin?”
Christian could hardly believe the words that left his mouth, but he could only blame his fatigue. “Nay, Fitzhugh. Let us begin now, for the sooner begun, the sooner finished.” He roused himself and held out his cup for more wine. This time he tasted the vintage and found it wanting. Mayhap he would send word to his estate and have them send several barrels of his best. Putting the cup down away from the documents that the steward laid before him, Christian examined the parchments in preparation.
There were a few requests from villeins and freemen regarding proposed marriages, grants of land and disputes. He had watched his father hold court many times and felt at ease. A young man sat at the end of the table, quill, knife, parchment and ink at hand to record the decisions as they were made. Fitzhugh had a guard go to the door of the hall and call out the announcement that the lord was present and would hear from those who had grievances.
As a throng of people entered, Christian wished he had canceled this. He was nigh to passing out and wondered if his decisions would be sound ones. A passing thought to call for Emalie tickled his mind, but he motioned for Fitzhugh to begin.
Two hours and two dozen decisions later, Christian finally gave in to the demands of his body and told Fitzhugh to end it. Although he thought he had made logical and fair settlements and resolved many questions brought to him, he did not want to continue and lose his ability to reason.
He now faced another challenge—getting up from the table and walking from the room. He had never felt so alone and nearer to defeat than this. Christian stood and the chair beneath him was immediately pulled away by an attending servant. Taking a deep breath, he walked the few paces to the end of the dais and, in spite of a stalwart effort, stumbled down the steps. When he thought he would fall to the floor, Fitzhugh called out.
“My lord? I know you are still unfamiliar with Greystone. Please allow Henry to show you the way back to your chambers and serve you as you need.”
A boy, young but strong looking for his size, appeared before him and Christian decided that laying a hand on the boy’s shoulder for support was far more appealing than landing on his face among the rushes on the floor. Christian made it out of the hall and down the corridor, but was almost daunted by the sight of the stairs before him. If he placed more of his weight on young Henry than he wanted to or more than he could bear, the boy never gave any indication.
As they approached his chamber, the hallway began to swerve and sway around him. Even his death grip on Henry’s shoulder did him no good, for his legs began to shake and his vision blurred. Finally they reached the door and Christian entered. He took hold of a chair and waved the boy off.
“Henri, pardon moi, Henry. Please tell my lady that I wish not to be disturbed.”
Henry bowed and backed out of the room, pulling the door closed behind him. Just as he thought to tell him not to close it tightly, the darkness surrounded him, pulling him into the void.
Emalie sat at the table, hands clasped in her lap, waiting for Christian to arrive for dinner. She was feeling quite proud of her self-control and of the accomplishments of her people today. Her cook had prepared delicacies sure to please her husband’s sophisticated palate, recipes gleaned from Eleanor’s own cook who had recently held sway over Greystone’s kitchens. After the initial clash for power, the two cooks had become fast friends and exchanged many formulas for culinary masterpieces.
Control over her own behavior had come at a high cost today. After watching him return with Sir Walter and Fitzhugh and seeing him begin the manor court without even inviting her to be present, Emalie had returned to her chamber. Witnessing him in her father’s place had ripped a hole in her heart and forced her to her bed, incapacitated by tears and grief. How long had it been since she had held her father’s lifeless body in her arms and known that her life was now going to be so very different than when she had awoken that day?
Due to her father’s unexpected death she went from daughter to orphan, from partner in the management of her estates to ward of the king and from lady to countess. And she liked none of the changes, then or now.
And the pressure was changing her—from confident woman to an emotional creature who cried at any small upset. Would she ever feel as though she was herself again? After seeing this man begin to take over her duties and her power, she instinctively knew the answer.
Now she found herself resentful that he could not arrive at dinner on time. Alyce had urged her to go easily with him, to allow him time to accommodate himself to Greystone and their way of doing things. In truth, it was a difficult thing to do while under the close scrutiny of those living within the keep.
Murmurs filled the room about his obvious absence and Emalie endured the curious stares of those closest to the dais. Sir Walter and his wife Rosalie were seated near her at the high table and they looked just as uncomfortable as she felt. Emalie motioned to one of the servants and whispered to him to seek out her husband and “invite” him to dinner now.
She lifted her goblet to her lips and hoped the wine would soothe her nerves. Instead, a bitter taste flowed over her tongue and she grimaced. Immediately, her attentive steward was at her side.
“Milady? Something is amiss with your wine?” Fitzhugh’s brows gathered in a frown. He took all complaints very personally and the wine was his particular area of expertise.
He had started out as the vineyard master on one of her more southerly properties and had guided the cultivation and harvesting of the grapes and the production of the various wines used by her households. He had even created the wine she drank now as a special blend for her to mark the fifteenth anniversary of her birth. And the wine he brought to table had never tasted so badly as it did now.
“Mayhap this is an old keg? It seems to have gone to vinegar.”
He looked for her permission before taking her wine and sipping it himself. Another frown crossed his brow. “It is the same as it was yesterday, milady.”
“I noticed a difference in it last evening as well, but forgot to mention it to you, Fitzhugh.”
A ripple of soft laughter echoed through the hall, and when she realized what last evening had been, she could feel the heat of a blush creep up her neck and onto her cheek. Only the return of the servant she’d sent looking for her husband kept her from reacting to the embarrassment of the moment.
“Well, Henry. Did you find my lord?” Her voice trembled, probably from a bit of resentment and a bit of embarrassment at the ribald comments she could still hear.
“Aye, milady. He is in his chambers.”
“Did you invite him to our meal?”
“Nay, milady.” The boy shifted from foot to foot and kept his gaze lowered to the floor rather than meeting hers.
“Why not, Henry?” Impatience must have entered her voice, for Fitzhugh came forward once more and whispered something to the lad. The boy nodded once and again and then looked up at her.
“Milord said he did not wish to be disturbed.”
“When did he say this, Henry?” She turned in her chair to face him.
“When I escorted him to his chambers, milady. Earlier this afternoon.”
“Well then, Fitzhugh, if my lord husband does not wish to be disturbed, I see no reason to hold up our meal any longer. You may tell the kitchen to begin serving the food.”
Fitzhugh hesitated for only a moment, but it was a moment too many for her in her current state of mind. She glared at the steward until he carried out her order, and it was indeed an order and not
to be ignored or misunderstood.
Servants rushed forward carrying platters for those at the high table and those below. Haunches of beef, game birds dressed with seasonings and covered in pungent sauces, roasts of mutton, all crispy and hot, were delivered and the smells of the well-prepared foods filled the hall.
Soon all were eating, except for Emalie, who found that her appetite had fled once more. The enticing smell of her favorite dishes now seemed offensive somehow, as though tainted and unappealing. Breaking off a chunk of bread, she chewed it while the others ate the heartier fare. She sat quietly, not even trying to converse with the others.
This rude behavior on Christian’s part was a puzzle to her. Why was he doing this? Sitting court in her hall, she could understand. It was part of his need to gather everything in Greystone and in her Harbridge estates under his control. Or maybe he was just uncomfortable here? He had arrived under orders of the king and been married within a day. He had no one from his household with him to serve him and had none of his own vassals or guardsmen.
Emalie took a sip of the ale that now replaced her bitter wine. Mayhap he was just standoffish, as most French and Angevin nobles were to English subjects of the Plantagenets. Putting the cup down, she wiped her mouth with her napkin and stood, waiting for the servant behind her to pull her chair away. When others at the table began to rise, she stopped them.
“I wish to retire early this night. Pray, continue with your meal and enjoy the entertainment I have arranged for your pleasure.”
Although every one of those at the table knew she had made all these efforts to please her husband, they would never contradict her words to her face nor behind her back. Stepping away from the table, she walked down the steps and out through the hall, fighting back more inexplicable tears the entire way. Finally out of the hall, she climbed the stairs to the top floor and made her way to her chambers. Passing her husband’s door, she spied young Henry standing silently before it.
“Has he spoken to you?”
“No, milady. Not since he ordered me from his chambers.”
“Has he not called for food or drink?” She walked closer to the boy to hear his whispered words.
“No, milady.”
“And is he alone?” Another suspicion entered her mind. If she had denied his physical needs would he take another to satisfy them?
“I wouldn’t know, milady.” Henry looked away, clearly understanding her question even at his young age.
“Go to the kitchen and have them prepare a tray for my lord. Bring it here when it is ready.”
“But, milady. He said you were not to disturb him.”
She paused, fighting to keep her surprise and hurt contained. She would reveal nothing of what she felt to this boy.
“I have given you an order, Henry. Go to the kitchens now.”
Although he hesitated for a moment, the boy bowed and left, leaving her to contemplate her next move. Emalie leaned close to the door and listened for sounds within. If her husband had mentioned her in particular in his order not to be disturbed, it seemed logical and somehow respectful that he would not want her to know of his assignations. It did not mitigate her anger, but it made her curious about not asking for food. Those involved in bedplay usually needed food and drink to bolster their strength.
She waited for the tray to arrive and, with it, her excuse for entry. But a small, niggling thought kept entering her mind. She shook it off and leaned against the wall. There it was again—a slight shiver ran through her and she knew that something was not right. She lifted the latch of the door even as she knocked lightly on it.
“My lord? Are you within?” she called out in a low voice. “My lord…”
Pushing open the door slowly and quietly, she could see the empty bed first and then, as she stepped within the chamber, she saw him slumped on the floor. Rushing to his side, she lifted his head gently and saw that he was still breathing. The heat emanating from his skin and body told her the problem—he was ill, very ill.
Letting his head rest once more upon the floor, she rushed from the room seeking help. She directed the first servant she saw to bring Alyce and Sir Walter to the chamber and returned to Christian. Turning him until he lay flat on the floor, she then pulled down the bedcovers so that he could be placed there without delay when help arrived.
Although she knew only a few minutes passed, it seemed like hours until she finally heard the clamor of approaching people in the hallway outside the chamber. Sir Walter entered first, followed by Alyce and then others. Within moments, her husband had been placed on the bed and her herb chest was on its way to her, along with other supplies she might need.
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 s
at 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.
The Dumont Bride Page 8