The Damsel's Defiance

by Meriel Fuller

  ‘What in God’s name do you think you are doing, Matilda?’ Without waiting for his wife’s chestnut palfrey to stop properly, he all but dragged her from the saddle.

  ‘It’s been ages since I’ve seen you, sweetling,’ Matilda replied, falling gracefully into his arms, unconcerned by Stephen’s anger. She planted a flirtatious kiss on his nose as her feet touched the ground, an easy task as they were almost matched in height. ‘Emmeline and I were both worried about you. Both of you.’ Matilda threw an impish glance at her brother, who scowled back at her. ‘Oh, don’t look so cross, Talvas. Aren’t you glad to see us?’

  Emmeline slipped silently from her horse, her high spirits crushed by Talvas’s indifferent reception. She felt a fool; the journey with Matilda had been fun, full of laughter and gossip. Matilda had a confident, easy-going manner that complemented Emmeline’s quieter but equally determined character. She set her shoulders in a rigid line as Talvas walked over to her, glowering. She frowned, noting a slight limp to his gait and extra lines of tension around his nose and mouth.

  ‘What ails thee?’ she blurted out.

  ‘What ails thee, more like?’ he ground out, tapping the side of her head to indicate her foolishness. ‘I thought I told you to stay at Hawkeshayne.’

  ‘Matilda wanted to come here,’ she replied limply. How could she tell him she had been desperate to see him? That she had missed him? She yearned for the intimacy of that snow-filled night they had spent in the hut, that time when she truly believed she could have told him anything, and he would not have judged. Her refusal to marry him had set him away from her once more, augmenting those solid barriers of restraint, of caution that had distinguished him on their first meeting. Was she too late to try to reach him again?

  ‘So you follow the whims of my foolish sister, but will not do what I ask you to do?’ The blue of his eyes bore into her. ‘For God’s sake, Emmeline, it’s for your own safety!’ He ran a distracted hand through his hair, exasperated.

  ‘I couldn’t let her travel alone,’ Emmeline protested, pulling the sides of her mantle together against the chill wind.

  Talvas pulled at her hand, separating the delicate fingers. ‘Don’t tell me, you’ve become her guard-at-arms,’ he said scathingly. ‘After all, you’ve just the right physique for it.’ A bleakness entered his eyes, his temper dissipating. ‘I suppose I shouldn’t have expected anything else from you.’

  A strong breeze blew her veil across her pale features, and she lifted one slim arm to sweep the wisp of fabric from her face. ‘I wanted to see you,’ she murmured.

  He stared at her then, their gazes locked in silent awareness. It was as if a thunderbolt had struck him in the chest. The sapphire gleam in his eyes leapt with fire as reality dissolved around them, the world disappearing to leave them in a circle of vibrant intensity: a blissful, exhilarating bubble that no one else could enter. He held her spellbound in his diamond gaze: time stopped. She traced the familiar high cheekbones, the tousled raven locks, the deep pulse beating at his throat and knew…the meaning of love.

  ‘Stephen says your leg is bad,’ Matilda burst into the sparkling silence, the silver moment of pure, deliberate recognition that passed between them.

  The precious moment broke, shattered.

  ‘Come on, take off your braies, let me have a look!’ Matilda was staring at the dried bloodstain that marked the front of Talvas’s trousers.

  Talvas smiled ruefully at Emmeline, an apology for his sister’s exuberant behaviour. ‘At least let me have the privacy of my tent,’ he laughed, limping toward the opening in the canvas.

  ‘Come, Emmeline, you can help me. You can hold him down when he screams!’ Matilda grinned at her friend’s dumbstruck expression. ‘Mother of Mary, Emmeline, I don’t mean it!’

  Matilda’s expression changed, however, concern etching her wide brow as she viewed the raw, puffy edges of Talvas’s wound, situated midthigh. She had already forced him to remove his braies, pushing him back on to the straw-filled mattress that served as a makeshift bed under canvas. He lay back, one arm flung over his eyes, the sleek blackness of his hair accentuated by the bleached linen of the pillow, his mouth set in a grim, stubborn line as Matilda probed the blood-encrusted flesh.

  ‘You fool!’ Matilda spoke at last. ‘The wound has not been cleaned properly…and this bandage.’ She held up the blood-soaked strip of linen, her face clouded with distaste. ‘What in God’s name was Guillame thinking of?’

  ‘Do not blame Guillame,’ Talvas defended his man. ‘He did the best he could under the circumstances.’

  Following Matilda’s terse instructions, Emmeline pushed aside the canvas flap to fetch the leather satchel attached to the back of Matilda’s horse, pleased to see that Guillame was already heating up a small cauldron of water on the fire. Talvas seemed exhausted, she thought. Biting her bottom lip as she fumbled with the leather ties on the back of the animal, she suspected it was unusual for such a man to suffer the nagging ministrations of his sister.

  ‘You’re fortunate that I thought to bring these,’ Matilda said as she rifled through the muslin bags, sniffing at each one to find the correct herb to make a poultice to draw the poison out of Talvas’s leg.

  ‘I hope you know what you’re doing,’ Talvas muttered. He propped both arms behind his head, following his sister’s actions with an inquisitive eye, tracking the quiet movements of Emmeline as she carried out his sister’s instructions with dexterity.

  ‘You seemed to have recovered fully, mam’selle,’ he remarked suddenly, noting the fresh bloom in her cheeks, the lightness of her step. He suspected the gown that she wore to be one of his sister’s, for although the graceful lines of the lilac-coloured bliaut hugged her slim figure, the heavily embroidered hem trailed in the mud and dust. The two women had arrived in the camp like two bright birds; he felt his spirits lifting at their animated, colourful presence.

  Emmeline turned her vivid green eyes toward him, smiling. ‘Aye, I am fully recovered, thanks in no small way to your sister.’ The two women shared a smile. ‘I was up and about in two days.’

  ‘Emmeline, I need you,’ Matilda said, her brow furrowed as she focused on her work. ‘You need to hold the edges of the wound together so I can stitch it properly.’ Emmeline stared at the gash, located midthigh, and blushed fiercely.

  ‘Don’t be like that!’ Matilda said brusquely. ‘Do you want to save his leg or nay?’

  ‘Aye, I do,’ Emmeline replied, taking a deep breath and placing her fingers on the burning skin of Talvas’s thigh, trying to ignore the nearness of his loin cloth that covered his decency. The hairs on his leg tickled her palms. She heard his sharp intake of breath. ‘Do I hurt you?’

  ‘Nay,’ he replied tersely. ‘Just get on with it, Matilda!’ How could he explain the rush of desire that Emmeline’s delicate touch ignited within him, the racing pulse, the drumming of his heart? He closed his eyes, willing himself to think of other things until the ordeal was over, his wound was stitched up, and Emmeline had removed her tempting fingers.

  ‘How fares the patient?’ Stephen pushed his jovial features through the tent flap.

  ‘Still alive,’ groaned Talvas, dragging his braies back over the wound.

  Fingers busy tying up the muslin bags, Matilda addressed her husband. ‘Talvas will never recover here, Stephen. He needs to go home. This wretched siege has gone on long enough.’

  ‘My sentiments exactly,’ Stephen replied. ‘We need to end it. We need to poison the water supply, and by my reckoning there is only one way.’

  Talvas swung his feet to the floor, standing up abruptly, unsteadily, his big body crowding the tent. ‘Nay, Stephen, I’ll not allow it!’

  ‘’Tis the only way, Talvas, otherwise we could be here for a year or more!’

  ‘But…’ Talvas glanced at Emmeline. His dark brooding look shocked her.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘We need someone small enough to access the castle from the seaward side
,’ Stephen explained. ‘At high tide, a boat can be rowed around, and a person can climb up the north wall, and in through a window. This is what I originally intended for the two of you, before Lord Edgar intervened.’

  ‘Nay!’ Talvas closed his eyes.

  Stephen turned to Emmeline. ‘You strike me as a remarkable young woman,’ he said. ‘Would you help us? You are the smallest amongst us.’

  ‘You want me to climb in?’ Emmeline replied, incredulous.

  ‘Nay! I’ll not allow it!’ Talvas roared. ‘I would rather stay here for a hundred years than put Emmeline in danger.’

  Emmeline put her hand on Talvas’s arm. ‘It’s the only way to break the siege, Talvas. Haven’t we been through enough together to prove to you that I can look after myself?’

  ‘She has a point, Talvas,’ Matilda chipped in. ‘She’s almost as determined as myself.’

  Talvas sighed. He knew when he was beaten, and maybe, just maybe, by letting Emmeline do this, she would believe that marriage could be something so different from her own perception. ‘Then I will row you to the wall, Emmeline, and see you safe back in the boat again.’

  ‘But…your leg!’ Matilda began to remonstrate. ‘You need to rest it!’

  ‘I will take her, Matilda, and that is final.’

  Chapter Eighteen

  Talvas rowed steadily, trying to ignore the painful stretching of his skin around the stitches in his thigh. Emmeline faced him from the bow, her arms outstretched to each side of the boat to keep her balance, the dark cowl of her hood provided a strong foil to the brightness of her hair. Her small feet, encased in leather boots fastened with a toggle, peeked out from beneath borrowed braies. The drab garments that she wore served only to heighten the pale beauty of her face, her smooth, alabaster skin radiant in the gathering dusk.

  With every dip of the oars, Talvas wished fervently that he could turn back, could turn the boat round in this narrow inlet that led to the sea and take Emmeline back to safety, but he knew, deep down, that no other way existed. His logical, ordered brain wrestled with his conscience, aye, and with his feelings for this maid. He had been angry with her at Hawkeshayne, annoyed by her resistance to marriage, making him want to walk away, to forget her. But he knew it would not happen. In the dim twilight, he studied her—the graceful yet determined set of her shoulders, the plush curve of her velvet lips, the svelte lines of her figure—and realised that he couldn’t let her go, ever.

  ‘The sea smells so good,’ Emmeline murmured as she lifted her nose to savour the distinctive salty tang on the breeze. Her hood dropped back; he remembered her as he had first seen her, on the harbour wall at Barfleur, magnificent hair streaming behind her as she waited for her ship. And he had mistook her for a whore! How wrong could he have been? As a woman, she was utterly unique: a jewel that shone with such individual clarity, such brilliance, that his very senses were bewitched. How in heaven’s name could he entice this sprite of the sea, with all her wilful, independent ways, to stay by his side for ever?

  The bow of the boat bumped gently against the outcrop of rock on which the castle sat. Emmeline twisted around, scrabbling to throw the rope loop over one of the dark jagged peaks.

  ‘Here, let me.’ Pulling the oars into the bottom of the boat, Talvas moved forwards in a stealthy crouch, leaning over her to secure the boat, before turning to squeeze his large frame in beside her on the seat. She caught the smell of his skin, a rich aroma of sea and leather.

  ‘You don’t have to do this, Emmeline.’ He kept his voice muted.

  ‘Aye, I do, Talvas. Your men are exhausted, you’re exhausted.’ She stared at the paleness of his skin, touching a hesitant finger to one dark circle beneath his eye. ‘We need to finish it.’

  He nodded tersely. ‘You remember what to do?’

  She smiled, thinking of the number of times both Stephen and Talvas had repeated their instructions, the layout of the castle, the position of the well. ‘Aye, I do.’

  ‘Remember, you must come back before the tide turns. Otherwise the boat will be too low in the water.’

  ‘Then I must go now, Talvas.’ Determination bordered her tone.

  He brushed at a wisp of hair that had escaped her braid. ‘I wish I could come with you.’

  Her stomach churned, queasy with nerves as she sought his hand, surprised by the chafing warmth of his fingers. ‘I wish it, too.’

  He cupped her chin within his large palms, leaning forward to plant a light kiss on her mouth. Her skin tingled.

  ‘Take care, my beautiful one,’ he whispered.

  Emmeline climbed the wall easily, discovering hand-and footholds at every level. She gained the small window with astonishing speed. Turning to give Talvas a quick wave, she pulled herself through, dragging a leather satchel in behind her. Finding herself in a darkened corridor, lit only by a rush torch, she pulled the hood of her short shoulder cape over her braided hair, the tight coils pinned securely to her scalp.

  Hearing Talvas’s voice in her head, running through the instructions, she knew her direction immediately. The well was situated outside the kitchens, in a small courtyard, one floor down from where she stood. No one suspected her as an intruder as she stepped confidently down one stairwell, through the bustling great hall, and into the busy kitchens. Eyes straight ahead, she made for the far corner, slipping through the archway and into the inner courtyard. Fingers fumbling to open the pouch at her waist, Emmeline hesitated for just a moment, before tipping the sparkling hemlock seeds into the water. They made a soft ‘plopping’ sound, like rain, on the surface of the water.

  ‘What do you think you’re doing?’

  The back of her neck prickled in warning. That voice! The blood rushed to her toes, urging her to run. Maud’s voice, at once imperious and commanding.

  ‘Answer me, peasant, what did you throw in the well?’

  Out of the corner of her eye, Emmeline spotted her escape route, a small flight of stairs leading upwards. Slowly, she turned.

  ‘You!’ Maud hissed. ‘I thought you were dead!’ The Empress’s face suffused with colour in the flickering candlelight.

  ‘The siege is over, Maud,’ Emmeline stated calmly. ‘The well water is poisoned.’

  ‘Why, you little…’ Maud clutched at her arm. ‘To think that I asked for your help. I could have made you rich, you stupid girl, could have given you things beyond your wildest dreams, yet you choose to side with Stephen!’

  ‘Give up, Maud. Surrender the castle.’

  ‘Never,’ Maud whispered, her small eyes cramping to thin slits. She clung tight to Emmeline’s sleeve. ‘Guards!’ she shouted. ‘Guards!’

  ‘Goodbye, my lady,’ Emmeline said, disentangling her arm from the grasp of the Empress, hurling her body toward the stairs. She plunged upwards into the dim light, clutching at the damp walls, her mind certain of her direction. Shouts rang out behind her as she found the window, turning around to push herself out backwards, feeling for a foothold through the soft leather of her shoes. The hem-line of her tunic flared out in the strengthening breeze as she climbed down, dragging her bag through the aperture before letting it slip from her fingers. She could climb down far more quickly without that encumbrance. The stone became wet beneath her fingers, slimy with green algae, evidence of the tide on the turn. Above she heard shouts, then Talvas’s low murmur.

  ‘Let go, Emmeline, I’m right below you.’

  Without pausing to turn, to check his command, she jumped, certain of him, landing in his enveloping arms.

  ‘You took long enough,’ he grumbled gently, relief spreading across his features.

  The white flag of surrender fluttered from the towering ramparts of Sedroc castle a few hours later. Despite the bravado of her speech to Emmeline, Maud had given up after all, sending out a nervous, cowering herald to inform Stephen that she intended to go quietly, and stay with her half-brother in Gloucester. After one more night under canvas, with Emmeline and Matilda sleeping on hastily constructed pa
llets in the corner of Stephen’s tent, the camp disbanded in the morning, the journey back to Hawkeshayne one of jubilation.

  Now Matilda’s ebony eyebrows drew together in a frown as she rifled through the contents of her large leather satchel, spilling out the various garments on to the floor of the upper chamber. The wrought-iron brazier, well stocked with charcoal, had been allowed to burn all day, spreading a soporific comfort throughout Matilda’s chamber. In addition to the rush torches, a branching candelabra stood by the bed, the wax candles flickering in the slight draught from the window, filling the chamber with pools of light. Emmeline, perched on the cold, stone window sill, glanced once more at the jewel-like colours of the brief winter sunset streaking the sky, before turning to Matilda.

  ‘Just something simple,’ Emmeline said suddenly as she noticed Matilda’s fingers hesitating on a bliaut of brilliant russet silk, ornately embroidered with gold filigreed thread. She hated the thought of drawing too much attention to herself, especially as Talvas had not said more than two words to her since they had broken camp that morning.

  Matilda grinned up at her. ‘Don’t worry, Emmeline, red wouldn’t suit your colouring. I was thinking of it for me.’ She drew out a gown of leaf green. ‘But this would suit.’

  ‘It’s beautiful.’ Standing up, Emmeline stepped over to Matilda, kneeling on the floor to run her fingers over the material, testing the rich softness under her fingers. ‘But it’s far too elaborate for me to wear.’

  ‘Nonsense!’ Matilda snorted. ‘You are being fêted as a heroine. The feast this evening is in your honour; the people of Hawkeshayne wish to thank you, to drink your health.’ She began to stuff some of the garments back into the leather trunk; her voice lowered. ‘And Stephen wishes to thank you, too. In truth, I’ve never seen him more excited about a feast!’ The corners of her mouth turned upwards into a wide smile as her sparkling blue eyes sought those of Emmeline.