The Deed

by Lynsay Sands

  "My first in command."

  "I thought Sir Blake was your first?"

  "Sir Blake?" He grinned suddenly. "Nay, he is Lord Blake. My friend and partner."

  "Partner?"

  "Aye." He perked up slightly, pride entering his face. "We are warriors. We lead two hundred of the finest fighting men in England. We are much in demand. We can ask nearly any fee we wish. We . . ." His voice faded, a frown slowly sliding across his face as he realized he couldn't lay claim to that anymore. He was a duke now with a large estate and servants at his disposal. Unfortunately, it was all due, not to his own hard work, but to a marriage to the petite woman beside him. In truth she was the master here. He had been made witness to that on the morning of his attack. The servants followed her softly spoken directives with respect and alacrity, all eager to please her. He had yet to see if they would listen to him, and if they did, he feared it would be out of fear, not due to respect he had gained, for they knew him not.

  It was an odd position for Amaury to find himself in. He had been well respected and followed for his skill in battle, his fairness, and his sharp tactics. As soon as he had finished his training and earned his knight's spurs, he had begun to hire himself out to those in need of a strong sword arm. It hadn't been very long before he had found himself being followed from job to job by several other men. Without a word being said, he had somehow ended up being their leader, arranging jobs, paying their fees, and storing away as much as possible of what was left over to one day purchase his own home. Over the years, the size of his men had grown so that when he had met up with Blake again some years back, the size of his band had reached well over a hundred and fifty.

  At that time, Amaury had been considering letting some of the men go, and had been agonizing over the decision. Their size had grown to such an extent that while they were the first to be considered for large contracts, they were too large for many of the smaller but more plentiful jobs. That had resulted in their finding themselves with little to do but drink and wench on far too many occasions.

  Blake had been the solution to his problem. With him for a partner, they could separate the men for smaller contracts, yet be available for larger ones when needed. The arrangement had been very successful.

  "Why was he lorded?"

  Amaury took his mind away from his thoughts and glanced at his wife with a small frown. "What say you?"

  "Lord Blake. How did he gain the title of lord? Did he save someone important too?"

  Amaury grinned slightly and shook his head. "Nay. He was born a lord. He is Lord Blake Sherwell."

  When she simply stared at him blankly, Amaury said, "His father is Lord Rollo Sherwell, the Earl of Hampshire."

  Emma gaped at that, her face flushing with embarrassment. It was bad enough that she had called him sir when he was a lord, but she could have been forgiven for that were he newly titled. Calling him sir when he was an earl's son was unforgivable. And it was all her husband's fault of course. He should have explained things to her.

  Amaury burst out laughing at her expression, and Emma frowned at him.

  " 'Tis not funny, husband. I might have insulted him somehow."

  "Nay," Amaury said now, sobering at once. "You are my wife, you did nothing to insult him."

  Emma sighed at that proclamation. It seemed her husband thought he simply had to order something to make it so. There was no sense arguing with him on that fact, so she turned her attention to her curiosity instead. "Why would the Earl of Hampshire's son become a mercenary?"

  Amaury shrugged. "He was tired of sitting about waiting for his father to die, I s'pose."

  Emma gaped at him. "He said that?"

  "Nay. But why else would a man leave his very own home?" It seemed nonsensical to him. He had wished for a home of his own for so long, he simply could not fathom why another man would leave his. Of course, now that he had one, he was beginning to be uncomfortable at how he had gained it. It was one thing to work hard and earn it, or even to marry a mean old hag who would make his life miserable. Then he would feel he had earned it as well. But to have it gained by marriage through the sweet woman sitting beside him seemed just short of thievery to him somehow.

  Emma caught the expression of displeasure on her husband's face, and decided discussing his friend was upsetting him. And that was the last thing he needed just now while recovering from his injuries, so she changed the topic yet again.

  "Where is Little George from? I heard him speak this morn and he has an odd accent."

  "He comes from the north."

  "How did he become your first?"

  Amaury shrugged. "I have known him near as long as Blake. We squired together. He is the fourth son of a baron with a small demesne just south of Scotland."

  "What was the task he was accomplishing that delayed his arrival here?"

  "He was getting wed."

  "He was?" Her eyes widened at that. "I should like to meet his wife."

  "You cannot. Not yet anyway. She stopped off to visit relatives on the way here. Little George said she shall follow in a week or two."

  "Oh," Emma murmured with disappointment. She really would like to meet the woman. Her husband's first was such a large man, surely his wife must be an Amazon to accommodate him? Emma flushed at the indecency of her own thoughts and endeavored to turn her mind to other topics. "Tell me more about the assassins who tried to kill King Richard. How did--"

  "This talking business is very wearing," Amaury said suddenly, lying back on the pillows. "Sleep."

  Emma glared at his closed eyes, then sighed and lay back on the bed. She wasn't fooled by her husband's claim of weariness. It seemed he didn't wish to discuss his brave act. A frustrating attitude for him to take. And selfish too, she decided. Especially when her curiosity was so high. Ah, well, she decided, closing her eyes. She would find out eventually. She'd pester her cousin until he revealed the whole story. In the meantime, she would apologize to Lord Blake for her mistake in calling him sir, explain that it was all her husband's fault, and ask him his opinion on her husband's health. She had considered it carefully while they had spoken, and she thought mayhap Amaury's odd beliefs about women and their wickedness might simply be due to the injury to his head. As was his insistence that she rest when she was not tired. Surely it could not be otherwise? She simply refused to give credence to the idea that he believed the things he had said.

  Amaury opened his eyes and peered at the empty bed beside him, then cursed and sat up. His wife had slipped away while he slept again. She was sadly lacking in obedience, it seemed.

  Muttering under his breath, he stood up, relieved that for once the room did not spin. It seemed the rest had helped him some. He was struggling into his clothes, when Blake came into the room.

  "Your wife will not be pleased when she hears you are up," he commented with amusement.

  Amaury grunted and tugged his tunic over his head.

  "She is quite worried about you, know you?" Blake commented now, mischief sparkling in his eyes. "She fears the injury to your head may have . . . er . . . tetched you somewhat, and wished me to speak to you and see if I do not notice anything . . . er . . . amiss."

  Amaury stilled at that, his head coming up in surprised horror. "What?"

  "There is no need to roar, Amaury. I am standing right here."

  His eyes narrowed. "You are jesting," he accused grimly.

  Blake shrugged. "Disbelieve if you will."

  "Aye." Amaury nodded. "I disbelieve you," he muttered, turning his attention back to straightening his tunic. "Where is she?"

  "Down in the kitchen, no doubt, talking to the cook. Or off in a corner sewing. Is that not how most women spend their time?"

  "How the devil would I know?" Amaury muttered, peering about for his sword. "Where is my squire?"

  "Most likely with your wife. Alden has rarely left her side since your injury. 'Tis building his confidence, I might add. He does not stutter, stumble, or trip about around her."