“Is Inga…?” Emma despaired of the answer. Giving birth could lead to the death of both mother and child. It was why a mother confessed her sins before giving birth and why Martha, as a midwife, would be allowed to baptize the babe.
“Mathieu brings me reports as well as food, potions and your tea. Inga gave birth to a girl child she has named Merewyn. Both are well.”
Emma closed her eyes as gratitude flooded her heart. Inga lives. Thank God. Remembering Inga’s fears for the appearance of the child, she asked, “Did Mathieu happen to see the babe?”
“He did. He says ’tis a lovely child with the look of her mother: gray eyes and a head covered with a soft, honey-colored down.” He grinned. “Mathieu is quite smitten with the child and mayhap with Inga as well.”
Emma sighed, content at least for the moment. When she swallowed, her throat was parched. “Can I have something to drink?”
Geoff reached for a cup. “Sigga made you a special tea for the fever. I have forced a little down you every few hours. The fever has left you, but I would have you drink the rest of it. Then, if you feel hungry, I have some broth.”
“A knight who plays cook?”
He laughed. “Hardly. Sigga made the broth. I only serve it.” Lifting her head to help her drink, he said, “I could have brought Sigga but she wanted to stay to help with the babe. I even let Magnus remain with them. I trust you do not mind.”
“He will protect them where I cannot,” said Emma, laying her head back on the pillow.
She studied his face seeing no hatred in his eyes, no hostility. The knight who had lain with her in the meadow had returned. “I am so sorry, Geoffroi. I wanted to tell you, but I could not seem to find a way.”
“I know.”
“You forgive me?”
“Aye. When I was deep in the snows of Durham I realized what it must have been like for you, torn between your father and me.”
“Durham?”
“Much has happened.” Then he told her of his king’s dreadful revenge on Northumbria. “My men and I did not take part in the worst of it when cottars and villeins were killed and their cottages burned.” At her look of dismay, he added, “We helped some to escape.”
“The archbishop warned us,” she said on a sigh.
“William was determined to destroy the rebels’ base so they could not rise to challenge his rule again. It was unlike anything I have ever seen, Emma. Worse than the Danes’ slaughter of the garrisons in York, for the end of it was not a battle among warriors.”
“I cannot imagine…” Her voice trailed off as she thought of the women and children, her father, Cospatric and the others—men she had known from her youth. “What of the leaders… my father?”
“I have heard nothing of Maerleswein. If he was with the Danes, they are still on the Humber where William blocks their return to York. They have agreed to accept the king’s gold to leave in the spring.”
“Father will not like that, but then he never trusted Osbjorn’s motives. They had planned to return, you know, or so my father told me.”
“I suspected. Undoubtedly so did William.”
“And the other leaders of the uprising?”
“Earl Waltheof and Cospatric live and have submitted to William. He has accepted them back into the fold.”
“I am glad for it. I know them both.”
A thought came to her mind. He had said that Ottar had showed him the cave. “How did you find Ottar?”
“He and Artur had gone in search of herbs for you at Sigga’s request. I came upon them when your guards were attacked by Eude and his companion.”
“Eude? He lived through the Danes’ attack?”
“Aye. A coward, he ran to the woods.”
“Does he yet live?” Inga might be dismayed to hear he is in York.
“Nay. When he threatened Ottar and your servant, I managed to kill him. Were it known I killed my fellow knight, in the eyes of some, I would be a traitor. Eude called me as much when I stood against him.”
In his eyes she saw regret. But surely not for killing Eude. She squeezed the hand holding hers. “You are a man of honor. I could not respect you otherwise.”
“Your respect means much.”
She remembered their last encounter and the bitter hatred she had seen in his eyes then. It was not there now. “So, you do not hate me after all?”
“Nay, Emma.” He bent his head to kiss her forehead. “I did try,” he said with a slight smile, “mayhap I even succeeded for a while, but I found such a feeling toward you impossible to sustain. It seems I love you.”
Joy filled her heart such as she had not known since the summer afternoons they had spent together. She smiled up at him glad their love had somehow survived. “I love you, too. And I have missed you so.”
When his lips touched hers, they were gentle. If she had not been so weak, she would have pulled him onto the bed. The irony of it made her chuckle.
He pulled back and gave her a puzzled look. “What is it about my kiss, pray tell, that renders you so merry?”
“When you wished for a bed, we had none. Now that we have one, I am too weak to enjoy it with you.”
A gleam came into his eyes. “There will be other times. You will not always be so weak.”
“Are we safe here?”
“Aye, at least for now. The homes that remain in York have been searched and William’s army is encamped outside the city.”
* * *
In the days that followed, Geoff cared for Emma, at first despairing she would recover and then, as she improved, finding joy in seeing her gain strength with each day. At first she remained abed but occasionally he would let her up for brief periods. Even then she tired easily.
“Another cup of broth and I will let you sleep.”
“You torture me with your potions and brews,” she teased, but her eyes told him she was pleased he was here. She sat up and drank the broth. “Do you not have some knightly business to attend to?”
He chuckled. It was a familiar exchange. She was not truly annoyed, nor did she wish to see him go, but he knew she felt guilty for taking him from his duties. “I have seen enough of fighting and I need no more time in the practice yard.” Soon she would be able to return to her family, to the cave. What then? He would have to go with William. It pained him to think of leaving her in York but it could not be helped.
She handed him the cup and lay back on the bed, closing her eyes. He leaned over her and kissed her forehead. She had rested well this day.
Without opening her eyes, her hand reached out and wrapped around his neck, pulling him toward her, bringing his lips to hers. “Kiss me, sir knight.”
“With pleasure.” He kissed her and it was summer again with a meadow of fragrant blossoms surrounding them no matter winter swirled outside the house. He tasted her lips and inhaled her woman’s scent, wanting more. His passion for her had not faded with time. To be with her and not be able to touch her had been torture. He wanted to love her again. This time in a bed.
He broke the kiss and looked at her, wanting to know if she was ready. She had been so weak for days he had feared for her life.
“What are you waiting for?” she asked. “We have a bed and we are alone.”
He needed no more invitation than her words and the knowing twinkle in her eyes. He shed his clothes—her eyes following his every move. Already his groin swelled in anticipation. He slipped under the bedcover to lie beside her. Pulling her slim body into his arms, he felt the warmth of her breasts through the thin linen shift as she pressed them into the hard planes of his warrior’s chest.
Passion was not the only thing that rose between them.
“I can feel how you missed me,” she said. “Why did you wait so long?”
He nuzzled her neck and kissed his way back to her lips, his hand sliding under her shift to stroke the silken skin of her thigh.
“You have no idea how much strength it took not to touch you, to wait until you were
recovered.”
He slid her shift higher and then removed it altogether. Her naked breasts pressed against his chest. He pulled back so that he could admire them. “Smaller, mayhap, but still lovely.”
“You tease me.”
“I do.” He nuzzled the valley between the rounded mounds, breathing in her smell. It was like coming home. He covered one breast with his palm as his mouth moved to lick the other. Her taste was sweet and made him harden all the more.
They had never been able to linger with the preliminaries but tonight he wanted to go slowly, to savor what he might have to live without for a long time and to make it an experience she would not forget. One she would want to repeat for the rest of her life.
As he kissed her breasts, he slid his hand to her hip, then the top of her thigh. She held his head to her.
He pulled from her grasp to kiss his way down her body, to the flat plain of her belly. She gripped his shoulders writhing beneath him.
“Emma…” It came out as a moan though he had intended it as an endearment.
He kissed his way back up to her mouth and slipped his leg between her thighs, opening her to his touch. He was gentle, not sure how strong she was. But after only a few strokes through her damp, ready flesh, she nudged away his hand. “I can wait no longer.”
Geoff raised above her, positioned himself at her entrance and in one thrust sank deeply into her warm, tight sheath. She wrapped her legs around him and threaded her fingers through his hair as she pulled his head to her, kissing him with abandon.
Her tongue tangled with his as they moved together. She broke the kiss to press her cheek to his, holding tightly on to his shoulders. “Geoffroi,” she whispered, as she clung to him, “oh, Geoffroi.”
He was surrounded by the woman he loved, happily drowning in his passion for her. Their bodies grew slick with sweat as they moved more swiftly.
He felt her muscles constrict with her release. It was all he needed to send him over the precipice. His own release came with a storm-like violence.
Coming back to awareness, he kissed her temple and rolled to the side, bringing her with him. For a time he drifted, content just to hold her.
She tucked her head into his shoulder and laid her hand on his chest.
“Are you all right?” he asked, hoping he had not been too rough.
“Oh, yea. I am,” she said, moving her fingers through the smattering of hair on his chest.
Geoff began to drift toward sleep. The knock on the door below sounded loudly in the quiet of Emma’s bedchamber, startling him from the twilight just before sleep.
He gave out an exasperated sigh. “I had best see who comes before they storm the door and find us like this.”
With great reluctance, he climbed from the bed and donned his braies, leggings, tunic and leather boots.
Running a hand through his tousled hair, he descended the stairs and unlatched the front door. Alain stood next to Mathieu, their cloaks dusted with snow. The Bear’s arm was draped over the squire’s shoulder.
“Remember us?” Alain asked with a grin.
He managed only a droll smile, knowing his hair was likely mussed and his color high. “Aye, how could I forget? What brings you here?” He gestured them inside where he had kept the hearth fire going and shut the door, closing out the bitter winds of winter.
Reaching for a pitcher on the table, he was about to pour them some mead when Mathieu took the pitcher from him. “I can do that, sir.”
Geoff tipped his head to the squire and allowed the squire to serve the knights.
“William asks for you,” said Alain, taking a drink of the honeyed wine Mathieu had poured him. “He would have you attend the crown-wearing ceremony he intends to hold tomorrow as a part of his Christmas celebration.”
“In the ashes of the Minster, no doubt,” observed Geoff, running a hand through his tangled hair, trying to imagine such a ceremony.
“I suppose he must make his show,” Alain replied.
“He sent men to retrieve his crown and king’s robes all the way from Winchester,” said Mathieu, setting down his empty cup.
Geoff’s companions had never questioned his love for the daughter of the rebel leader. They did not question him now. But they would remind him of his duty. The crown-wearing ceremony was yet another demonstration that William was the lawful King of England. Geoff must attend.
“At least the ceremony will not be far from here,” he said, “and Emma is nearly well.” Looking at Alain, he asked, “Will you stay with her while I pay homage to the king?”
“Aye. I will take the watch while you are away,” Alain replied.
“If you need me, I am at your disposal,” said Mathieu.
Geoff placed his hand on the squire’s shoulder. “I could not have tended Emma without your help. You, too, Alain. I am in your debt.”
Alain smiled, the genuine warmth of it eclipsing the scar on his jaw. “The mead is much appreciated.”
The next day, Geoff was present amidst the blackened walls of the Minster for the ceremony. The king, wearing crown and robes, sat in a newly built chair, looking as regal as if he were in Westminster. To Geoff it was a dim shadow of what might have been had Archbishop Ealdred lived and the fire not destroyed the church. But despite the miserable setting, William was announcing his rule in the North. It mattered little to him that he did so among the ruins of a once proud cathedral.
The ceremony was brief. William had made his point and clearly did not wish to linger among the ruins of the once beautiful edifice. He and his men, Geoff among them, retired to the hall in the new square tower to eat the Christmas feast.
The roast goose was served on silver plates that William’s men had retrieved from Winchester along with the king’s crown and royal robes. Geoff was certain the feast paled in comparison to what William would have enjoyed in London, but it was not the food that was important to his sovereign. It was the record history would make that it was King William who dined in York this Christmas, not Edgar Ætheling or Swein of Denmark.
After the meal was finished and they had toasted the day, William disbursed vast tracts of land to his loyal followers, for he was rich with demesnes from those he had claimed as king. Geoff was among those rewarded. He was relieved the lands were not in the wasteland that was now Yorkshire. Instead, William awarded him lands abutting the great demesne of Talisand. His friend, the Red Wolf, would be pleased, as was Geoff. But the price had been high. Not just the decimation of Emma’s people, which he would regret forever, but he had to wonder if the price had included his honor. He believed he had turned from the brutality William inflicted on the North before it was too late, and in doing so, had saved the lives of innocents, but he would always wonder if he could have done more.
As he rode back to Emma’s, he longed for only two things: Emma as his wife and peace. Both were very much in doubt. Emma might love him, but would she come with him to Talisand? He already knew William was not finished putting down rebellions and would demand Geoff’s sword arm.
* * *
Heated male voices woke Emma from sleep.
“She should come to Talisand where she will be safe.” Geoffroi.
“She should come with me to Scotland where King Malcolm welcomes us.” Father.
“I have asked her to be my wife,” Geoffroi intoned.
“Should she wish to marry, my daughter has many suitors… noble ones.”
“I may be a younger son, but my family is of noble rank,” Geoffroi protested.
“Your family is Norman French,” her father spit out. “We are noble Danes. Well half, in any event,” he said in a softer tone. Emma knew he was thinking of her mother. “Julianna was an English thegn’s daughter, but that matters little to my point. Emma’s future lies outside of an England ruled by a Norman king.”
Rising up on her elbow, she said, “Will the two of you stop arguing about my future? I have a mind that is no longer so fevered I cannot decide my own fate. Besides
,” she fell back onto the pillows, “I have a family to care for.”
“You can bring them to Talisand,” said Geoffroi, casting her a glance from where he stood at the foot of her bed next to her father.
“They can come with you to Scotland,” her father declared, his voice deep and commanding.
Pushing herself higher onto the pillows, she said, “I will hear no more of this tonight. It is bad enough I am not with my family at Christmas. I would at least have peace in my house.”
At her chiding, both men looked sheepish. She loved them both. Yet they were sworn enemies. She was glad that tonight they warred only with their tongues and not their swords.
“I will look in on your little family before I depart for the Humber,” said her father. “None of you can remain in York.”
“On that, at least, we agree,” said Geoffroi.
“How were you able to leave the Humber, Father?”
“I was not with the Danes and their ships, but in the marshes nearby. It was not difficult to slip away.” He gave Geoffroi a look that said he thought little of the Normans who guarded the marshes. “Were it not for Osbjorn’s poor planning, we would hold York still. King Swein would not have made that error.”
Geoffroi ignored him and came to the side of her bed. “Emma, I must go with the king when he leaves for Cheshire in a day or two. Duty compels me. But he has promised to release me after that to go to Talisand north of Cheshire. Send word and I will come for you. Tell me now you want me to come and I will make plans.”
“She need send no word from Scotland,” her father insisted. “I will make plans for her and her family. You need not come, Norman.”
* * *
Before Geoff left York with the king, he and Emma spent one last night together. The memory of it warmed him even in the relentless cold of winter as he, Alain and Mathieu rode southwest toward Cheshire. She had given herself to him in a way that told him her love was sincere, but he was still uncertain if she would come to Talisand. It was not as simple as just the two of them. She served her family like he served his king. And then there was her father…
He thought back to the night he had sat watching her sleep, shocked when the rebel leader managed to sneak into her chamber.
A Warrior's Heart Page 24