NAY.”
“But, husband.”
“I said nay!” Amaury slammed the bedroom door and strode down the hall toward the stairs.
“Do not tell me you have allowed your annoyance with your wife’s pleasure in her duty to persuade you to refuse her that duty all together?”
Pausing at the top of the stairs, Amaury glanced back to see Blake a step behind him. Grimacing, he shook his head. Had it been merely the joining his wife had wanted, he would have happily complied. Amaury had quite gotten over the problem of her enjoying the act. Twice he had tried to refrain from enflaming her passions with his touch before mounting her, and both times he had found the endeavor trying and sadly disappointing. It seemed he enjoyed her enjoyment. Therefore, he had decided— quite magnanimously, in his opinion— to take the blame for his little wife’s flaw himself. After all, he was the one who made her enjoy it. Without his touch or kisses, she was as limp as a wet tunic in the bed and forbore his attentions silently, just as other lady wives were said to do. So, her unladylike behavior was obviously his fault.
It was perfect logic to Amaury, and it soothed his worries about how ladies should or shouldn’t behave, allowing him to enjoy her at every opportunity. Which he had proceeded to do these last three days since seeking her out in the tailor’s room. Which was also what he had been in the process of doing when she had announced that that French jackanapes required his presence for fittings today.
Amaury’s passion had shriveled up like a grape in the sun at her announcement, as had his manhood, which had simply added to his irritation, causing him to snap his refusal to his wife before pushing away from her to dress himself. He found the loathsome little tailor’s pomposity unbearable enough at mealtimes; putting up with it between meals was unthinkable. Besides, he didn’t need any more clothes. He already had two tunics. That was enough. It always left him with one to wear while the other was being laundered.
Still, he thought with a sigh now, he should not have been so short with her. He had probably hurt her feelings, and she did seem to be very sensitive. He had come to that conclusion after three days when he had subjected himself to the difficulty of actually “talking” to her. He had been serious when he had said that she would stand beside him at court and have a say in all decisions. These were her people too. She had ruled them quite well on her own without his interference. That being the case, he owed it to her to include her in decisions he made now.
But talking to a wife was a difficult task. At least it had been at first. It was not like talking to your comrades at all. If his wife represented all women, then it would seem they were a sensitive lot. He made decisions based on practicality and justice. Emma seemed to think one should include such considerations as feelings and intentions. She was most thoughtful, thinking of the things that he did not. It had distressed him at first, but eventually he had come to understand her softer nature and find it a fine compliment to his own harder, more pragmatic one. Things were not always black or white; his little wife seemed able to see the gray as well. Finally, after three days of stumbling awkwardly through conversations with her, he’d found it much easier and more rewarding. He was proud to say it. His wife had a fine mind.
“Nay,” he said in answer to Blake’s question now. “ ’Twas not the joining she wanted. She was trying to persuade me to spend the day locked up in a room with that French peacock, being measured. She seems to think I need more clothes.”
“Ah.” Blake shrugged. “Well, you do only have the two tunics. Mayhaps she is afraid you will be embarrassed at court.”
Amaury rolled his eyes at that. “I have been to court afore. The people who clutter its halls are vain and foolish. I do not care for their opinions.”
“Mayhap she does.”
Amaury frowned at that suggestion. “What mean you?”
“Just what I said, mayhap she cares what they think.”
Amaury shifted uncomfortably, worry crossing his features. “Think you she will be embarrassed to be at court with me?”
Shrugging, Blake moved past him and started down the stairs. “She is a duchess, Amaury. And you are now a duke. The title brings certain expectations.”
“Damn!”
Pausing, Blake turned back. Amaury still stood at the top of the stairs, a stunned expression on his face. Before he could comment, a door opened down the hall. Glancing that way, he saw Lady Emma come out of the bedroom Amaury had exited moments ago.
Seeing her annoyed expression before she turned her head away to ignore him and moved toward the room the peacock inhabited, Amaury sighed and hurried down the stairs past his friend. He would go to the blasted fittings then if it meant so much to her, he thought irritably, but he was damned if he would tell her so now. He did not even wish to think about the sorry chore until he had put something in his belly.
Emma was crossing the bailey after the nooning meal, headed for the stables, when she spotted her husband surveying his men as they practiced. Frowning, she turned her stride and headed in his direction. She had been most surprised when he had announced his change of mind this morning after breaking fast. He had made his dislike for the tailor very clear before storming out of their room at dawn, and yet had agreed with obvious reluctance to attend the fittings de Lascey had ordered.
Emma had spent the morning busy in the Great Hall, seeing to all those things she had neglected during the three torturous days of her own fittings. God’s truth, de Lascey’s attitude was a trial to bear. She had been fully understanding as she had heard her husband repeatedly roaring from above stairs. That had not prevented her from laughing over it, however. Now, though, it seemed her husband had changed his mind again, and she was determined to find out exactly why he had not returned to the fitting room after lunch.
Amaury sighed as he saw his wife approaching. She had that determined set about her that he was beginning to recognize. No doubt he had angered her again somehow. It did seem his wife got a bee in her cap quite regularly. At least since the French turnip had arrived, he thought grimly. After having spent a morning in the repugnant little bedbug’s presence, he fully understood why.
“Good afternoon, Lady Emma.” Blake gave her a smile that had melted many a woman’s heart, managing to irritate his friend no end. Amaury graced him with a glare, then greeted his wife as well.
“Wife.”
Emma got right to the point. “Why are you not at your fittings, husband?”
“My fittings are done,” Amaury announced dryly. When she looked skeptical, he shrugged. “You may ask him if you wish, but the French turnip said he would not need me back this afternoon.”
“But my fittings took three days,” she complained.
Amaury leaned forward to murmur by her ear, “Mayhap there is more of you to measure.” A wicked grin curving his lips, he let his eyes drop to her chest.
Blushing as memories of the night before flashed into her mind, Emma shook her head at her husband, then turned to continue on toward the stables.
“Wife?”
Pausing, she turned to peer back. “Aye?”
Amaury gave her a stern look, then scowled when that had no effect and pointed at the ground directly in front of him.
Sighing, she moved back to stand before him.
“Where go you?”
“I need to collect more herbs.”
“In the woods?”
“Aye.”
“You will take six men.”
Emma grimaced, but nodded and turned to move away once more.
“Wife.”
Pausing again, she peered back, only to mutter under her breath and return to stand in front of him once more when he raised one eyebrow grimly. “Husband, I do not have time for this. The day grows late.”
Amaury merely peered at her thoughtfully for a moment, his head tilted to the side, before asking, “What do you with all these weeds, wife?”
“I—they are for medicines,” she mumbled, flushing guiltily.
“Hmm.” Amaury’s head tilted to the other side. “Are you ill?”
“Nay, of course not.”
“Then who is? You seem to use a great deal of them. You have gone out to collect them at least—”
“There are a lot of people within the castle, my lord,” Emma blurted out quickly. “O’er a hundred and eighty including the servants and your men. Someone is always ill.” Pausing, she took a breath, then asked nervously, “Was that all, husband?”
“Aye. Nay,” he denied as he recalled why he had called her back. He had decided that now was as good a time as any to inform her he did not wish her to have the popinjay make a single dress in black. “About your gowns the French mouse is making . . .”
“Aye, my lord?”
Amaury hesitated. “I do not wish to see you in . . . You will refrain from having de Lascey make any in black. All your gowns are to be of bright colors.”
When she raised her eyebrows at that, he reached out to rub a silky tress of her hair between his fingers, his expression softening and his voice deepening as he said, “Several gowns in that gold you wore the other day would be nice. ’Twas as radiant as the color of your hair.”
“My hair?” Emma blinked at that, finding a slow curl of heat unfurling in her belly at the deep tone to his voice. It was the same one he used in their bed when he was murmuring what he wanted, either from her, or to do to her.
“Aye. And one or two in a shade of green like your eyes. As rich as the woods after a rain.” His hand moved to feather across her brow by one of those eyes that was as wide as an apple right then, then slid to run gently across her bottom lip.
Emma breathed in deeply, then swallowed, feeling the touch on her lips as if it had been on her breasts. The Good Lord’s liver, she thought dreamily. It seemed her husband need not even touch her there to touch her there.
“And at least a dozen in red.”
“Red?” Her eyes widened.
“Aye, a red as luscious as your lips when I kiss them.”
“Ohhh,” Emma breathed, swaying toward him. The sounds of mock battle and men’s yells faded in her head as she watched Amaury’s face drift closer. When his lips finally found hers, she sighed dreamily. Only to gasp and pull quickly away at Blake’s startled shout. A glance in his direction showed that he had stumbled over a pair of playing children, no doubt as he had tried to back discreetly away.
Emma shook her head as she watched him regain his feet. He looked quite embarrassed. Smiling, she walked to his side and patted his shoulder. “Thank you.”
Blake’s eyebrows rose at that. “For what, my lady?”
“For the lovely compliments you gave my husband to use.”
He flushed bright red at that, his eyes shooting to Amaury, who was looking quite upset. They had practiced for hours exactly how to phrase the words, the tone of voice to use, and even the caresses to accompany them with. All to no avail, it seemed.
After searing his hapless friend with a fierce glare, Amaury straightened his shoulders and turned back to her.
“Blake may have aided me in phrasing them, but the words were true,” he told her grumpily. “I do not wish to see you in black. You should only wear colors such as gold. You were. . . .” He frowned, searching for words of his own. “You fired my blood in the gold, and ’tis sure I am that you will please me in red or green as well.”
Emma’s eyes widened at that, and a slow smile started on her lips, but her husband was not finished. It seemed he thought a lecture was in order.
“As your husband, ’tis my place to recognize your needs and fulfill them. I have noticed that you are in sore need of esteem. The only way to build that up is to give you compliments.”
“ ’Tis?” Surprise was evident on her face.
“Aye. So . . . there you are. You are lovely, wife,” he told her stiffly. “In fact, I have never set eyes upon as lovely a woman as you are. Fulk was a fool not to have recognized his good fortune in finding you. You are fair lovely.”
Emma merely stared at him. Some part of her mind was daring to tell her that he must have some affection for her to be so concerned with issues such as her esteem. Another part was telling her not to be so foolish.
“Well?”
Emma blinked. “Well, what, my lord?”
“Have you nothing to say? I said you were lovely. You are lovely.”
“If you say so, my lord,” Emma murmured dutifully, then headed away again, her mind taken up with the possibility that her husband might have some real feeling for her. Not the dutiful love a husband must have for a wife, but one born of liking and respect. A husband need not see to a wife’s feelings, yet Amaury concerned himself often with hers. That must mean something, she thought hopefully.
Amaury glared after her in vexation. “She agreed only to placate me.”
“That would be my guess,” Blake agreed. “Mayhap you should go convince her.”
“What?”
Blake shrugged. “Everything is in hand here. We thought you would be in fittings all day. Why not join her on this trip to the woods and give her a tumble? That should let her know you find her desirable.”
Amaury scowled at him. “I do not tumble my wife. She is a lady. ’Sides,” he added grimly, “none of my other tumblings seem to have raised her confidence in her looks.” But even as he offered the protest, his mind had been caught by the image of making love to his wee wife in the woods. Emma, naked and natural with naught but grass for a bed, the sky for a roof, and trees as the walls of the room . . . And not a stitch of black anywhere to be seen. He would have to get her completely naked, he determined. He did not even wish to see a bit of black hose.
“Then compliment her while you tumble her.”
Amaury’s imaginings faded slightly at that. “Compliment her while . . . ?”
“Aye. Tell her what you like about her while you’re loving her.”
He considered that briefly, his gaze running down the length of her body as she paused to talk to the stable master just outside the stable doors. “She has a fine mind. The finest mind I have ever found in a woman.”
Blake rolled his eyes at that. “I think you can leave that compliment out. Stay with things you find attractive about her looks. Tell her what you like and why.”
His mind filling with all sorts of things he liked about her, Amaury murmured thoughtfully, “Aye, mayhap that will work.” His eyes began to sparkle with something other than good humor as he inventoried each individual part of her anatomy, the reasons he liked them, and things he would like to do to them. “Aye, I will.” Ignoring his friend’s laughter, he headed off after his wife.
Amaury peered at his wife in repose and smiled. He had loved her well and thoroughly, revealing each inch of her body and explaining what he liked about it as he went. It had been most satisfactory. He was now positive he had gone a long way toward mending her esteem problem.
The snapping of a twig nearby drew his narrowed eyes to the surrounding woods, but there was nothing to see. Still, the memory of the attacking bandits was now brought to mind and Amaury frowned, wondering if he truly should have dismissed the guards that had prepared to accompany Emma on this trip. He had only been thinking of loving her in the woods, not of any danger there might be.
A second sound, a rustling, this time nearer, made him stiffen further as he realized how vulnerable they were at the moment.
“Wife.”
Emma’s eyes popped open, a shy smile coming to her lips as she met his gentle, if concerned gaze.
“Come. ’Tis growing late,” he murmured in a normal voice, not wishing to worry her.
Sitting up slowly, Emma peered toward her half full basket, recalling that she had yet to collect the burdock she had wanted. Her husband had quite distracted her from her task after only fifteen minutes of watching her poke through the woods. “I needs must collect some more—”
“Nay. Dress,” he ordered softly, handing her her clothes.
Emma frowned, her eyebrows rising, but did as she was told even as he stood to dress as well. Amaury was much quicker than she, his clothes on and sword in hand before she had managed to re-don her tunic. By the time she had her gown on, he had brought the horses over and was soothing their nervous movements as he peered at the trees surrounding them.
It was then Emma realized there was a problem. The horses were nervous and so was Amaury.
“Is something amiss?” she whispered, stepping to his side.
He did not answer, did not even look at her. Expression grim, he merely lifted her silently onto her mount, then moved toward his own. It was then that the first man stepped out of the surrounding woods. He was followed by three more.
“To the castle!” Amaury roared. Slapping the rump of her horse, he sent it lurching off into the woods carrying her to safety, then turned to face the men now closing in upon him. Each one carried a sword and two of them had full mail on. It was hard to make love in armor so Amaury had forsaken his for this short jaunt. A mistake.
His gaze swept over the attackers again, taking their measure. Mercenaries. Not very successful ones either, he decided, noting the poorer quality of the armor they sported. Successful or not, he feared he might very well be returning to his little wife draped across his mount’s back. Their numbers and what little skill they possessed were more than enough to bring down a lone man. Even a warrior as proficient as himself, Amaury thought, putting his back to a tree with resignation.
Amaury had slapped her horse so hard, it took Emma a bit of time to regain control and slow her down. Bringing the nervous animal to a complete halt, she urged her back around toward the clearing. She knew she should probably obey her husband and return to the castle to await his return. He did dislike being disobeyed. Besides, he could well take care of himself. But then, so could her cousin, yet she had saved his sorry hide a time or two.
She would just check on him, Emma told herself as she urged her horse into a gallop. If all seemed well, she would leave him to it and follow his instructions. If not . . . She wished suddenly that she had brought her bow.
All thoughts of her bow flew from her mind when her mare jumped a bush and crashed down unexpectedly into the clearing. It seemed they had not ridden as far away as she had thought. Amaury was going to be furious.
Emma had little time to worry over that, however. Even as she began to slow her mare, she recognized the unfair odds her husband faced. Cursing, she used the only weapon she had to aid him, her horse. Urging the mount to speed up again, Emma tugged her reins hard to the left, toward the nearest of the villains. The mare responded at once, bearing down on the man in her path.
Warned by the sound of pounding hooves, that unfortunate man was already turning. Catching a glimpse of the horse and rider, he immediately tried to throw himself to the side, but Emma turned her mare to follow, wincing inwardly as he fell beneath the hooves.
The second man was a surprising bonus. Emma had merely been following the first man, but he had led her horse into the path of the second one who now drew up his sword to deflect the mare. Seeing the action, Emma realized her mount would rear and immediately set about leaping from the beast. She hadn’t intended on knocking into the third man, but when she saw him to the side of her it seemed too good an opportunity to miss and she launched herself toward him from her mare’s back.
Amaury stared at the chaos about him with amazement. He hadn’t been able to believe it when the tense silence that had cloaked the clearing had suddenly been broken by his wife crashing into the center of the glen on her mount. His shock had been replaced by fear when a glance had shown that the mare appeared to have gone a bit berserk. The beast’s eyes had rolled backward in her head even as she had moved to trample one of the men beneath her hooves. Then she had reared, throwing Emma from her back as she pawed at the air in front of a second villain.
Amaury’s heart had lodged itself in his throat as Emma had flown through the air. When she had slammed into another of his would-be assassins, he had immediately made a move to see that she was all right, then remembered his attackers and brought himself back to face them. Or what was left of them. The first man the horse had trampled was most definitely dead. At the moment, the second one was still trying to get out of the way of Emma’s mad horse, and the third man— the one Emma herself had landed on— appeared to have been knocked senseless as he fell by the base of the tree. That left the fourth man for Amaury to deal with.
He put up a paltry fight at best. While Amaury had regained his concentration quickly, his opponent was still gawking over the chaos about them as Amaury approached him. It was the sign of a second-rate warrior at best. A true warrior knew to keep his wits about him at all times.
Amaury considered hacking the man down while his back was turned. After all, he and his friends had shown little care for fair play by ganging up on him four to one, but his honor would not allow it, so he roared a warning first. The villain wheeled at once, raising his sword in a desperate bid to fend off the coming blow.
After the impact of crashing into the huge armored man, it took a moment before Emma managed to regain her breath. It was Amaury’s roar that did it for her. She suspected that that enraged bellow had scared the breath right back into her lungs. Good Lord, he had a set of lungs on him! Regaining her wits along with her breath, she immediately reached for the dirk at her waist. It was a paltry weapon, good only for stabbing food at mealtimes, but it was all she had. Clutching it in her hand, she pushed herself up slightly away from the man she lay on, and quickly and viciously plunged the dirk at his chest. The damn thing snapped in two as it hit his mail. But it did manage to rouse him. Unfortunately.
The way he stiffened slightly made Emma glance warily up at his face when the dirk broke. The smile he gave her when she met his gaze made her blood run cold.
Pulling his sword free of the man, Amaury didn’t even wait to see him collapse to the ground before glancing quickly toward the tree where his wife and the other villain had landed. He frowned when he saw that they were both moving now. From the way they had lain prone moments ago, he had thought them both unconscious, but his wife was even now scrambling off the man, trying to back away from him. As she did, the villain caught the hem of her skirt, holding her in place while he rolled to his feet.
Amaury strode quickly across the clearing and brought his sword down. He had intended on slicing the hand that had dared touch even his wife’s clothing, but the man saw his approach out of the corner of his eye and tugged hard on the skirt to get his hand out of the way. Emma was jerked forward into the arm Amaury raised immediately to stop her forward impetus, then bounced backward as the sword sliced through her gown, releasing her like a spring. She collapsed back against a neighboring tree, and Amaury immediately put his back to her, protecting her as he faced the man now on his feet, his sword at the ready.
Emma clutched at the tree to keep her feet beneath her, then glanced sharply toward her husband and his opponent. Opponents, she realized as she saw that the second man her mare had gone after had managed to deflect the horse and was now coming to aid his friend. She shouted a warning to her husband, but knew at once that she need not have by the impatient glance he threw her over his shoulder. Then the battle began in earnest. Holding her breath, she waited as Amaury deflected their attackers’ blows one after another. His arm moved so swiftly as he fought the two men that it was nearly a blur. There was no question of running. She would not leave his side, but she wished she could help somehow. He appeared to have no trouble deflecting their blows, but should he tire . . .
That thought set up a panic in Emma, and she began hunting the ground. She was looking for a good sturdy rock to throw at the men. It would be of little aid, but might be enough of a distraction to allow her husband to even the odds. She had just spotted a nice-sized stone and picked it up when a scream drew her eyes back to the battle. Her husband’s sword was buried deep in the belly of the man she had toppled with her leap from the horse. Her gaze flew to the second man then, fear blooming in her like a bloody rose. While her husband’s sword was otherwise occupied, the second man was going in for the kill. Emma shouted a warning and hurled the rock at the villain at the same time.
Amaury grimaced when his wife screeched in his ear. It almost made him miss the rock that flew past his shoulder into the man now bearing down on him. God’s breath, he thought grimly, his little wife’s lungs must reach all the way down to her knees for her to let loose a sound like that. Part of him was touched by the panic in her voice. It was nice to think she did not wish to see him dead. However, another part of him found it insulting that she thought he might not be aware of what was going on about him, or that he needed her trifling assistance. He was a warrior, he thought irritably. It was his place to guard her. Her place was to rest against the tree and await his pleasure. But then, his wife had shown little evidence of knowing her place to date. After all, had he not sent her back to the castle? Yet here she was, a distraction to him in the midst of a battle, he thought, grasping the impaled man by his shoulder and turning to thrust him into his friend’s downward swing even as he pulled his own sword free.
Caught up in the momentum of his swing, the villain was incapable of stopping the death blow he gave his friend. For a moment, his face was a mask of shock. In the next instant that expression was to be his death mask as Amaury thrust his sword into the man’s chest.
Emma closed her eyes to the gruesome battle scene and sank weakly back against the tree. A hard hand closing around her upper arm a moment later brought her eyes open to stare at her husband’s drawn face. He seemed as tense as a cat on hot coals. Anger along with something else she did not recognize battled on his face.
“I told you to head back to the castle.”
“I did try,” Emma told him in a pained whisper, thinking of the brief spurt of good sense that had urged her to obey her husband.
Amaury sighed, his shoulders drooping as he recalled the mad way the horse had been rolling its eyes when it had crashed into, the clearing. “I must have slapped your mare too hard. I am sorry, wife, you could have been killed. ’Twas lucky she ended running in a circle and returning here, else you may have been cracked against a tree rather than the softer landing that man gave you when she finally threw you.”
Emma frowned in confusion over that for a moment. Then understanding suddenly struck and her mouth made a perfect O of amazement as she realized her husband’s mistake. He thought her such a ninny that he believed her horse had run away with her, somehow tearing off, then crashing back here to throw her at the villain who had been trying to kill him. For a moment she was almost angry that he thought her so useless. Then she merely shrugged it away. She was too weary to really care right then. Besides, it was probably better than his knowing the truth. That would most likely enrage him.
Her gaze moved around the clearing now, seeking out her mare, but there was no sign of the animal. Worry plucking at her brow, she moved to the center of the clearing to call for the creature, but there was no response.
“She probably returned to the castle,” Amaury murmured, moving to her side. “My horse is gone as well. It will bring the men.” He paused, pushing her behind him and turning to face the trees at the sound of approaching riders.
When the first of his men broke through into the clearing on horse back, he relaxed at once. Sheathing his sword, Amaury walked forward to meet them as they reined in their horses and dismounted.
Emma started to follow him across the clearing, but paused and glanced down when her foot hit something in the grass. It was her basket. Bending, she picked it up and peered blankly at the drops of blood on the top leaves inside. Quite suddenly she felt rather faint. Emma had never been this close to battle before. Oh, aye, she had seen the men practicing at mock battle in the bailey and then of course there were the few occasions when she had used her bow to save a life by taking one. But letting an arrow fly from a distance was nothing like what she had just witnessed. She had stood a mere foot away, privy to the sounds and smells of death. She could smell it in the air, taste it on her lips, and still heard the sound of a sword crashing through human flesh.
Perhaps it was not surprising then that she felt sick, or that she felt sure today was not a day she would soon forget.
Amaury gave his explanations and orders quickly, commandeered one of the horses, then mounted and walked the beast to his wife to lift her up before him on the saddle. Leaving his men to deal with the bodies, he then headed for home, frowning frequently and worriedly down at his wife as they went. She was oddly silent; not surprising perhaps, but it worried him just the same. Even the news he relayed that her mare had been injured, but not badly, did not elicit a response and that increased his anxiety. It was not like her not to fuss over such things.
Sure that it was shock that was ailing his little wife, Amaury could only think she should rest. It was the only salve he could think of for what ailed her, and as her husband it was his duty to see that she received it. He had just decided that as they rode into the bailey.
Waving the people with their questions away as he dismounted, Amaury lifted her gently into his arms and carried her up to their chamber. There he set her down beside the bed, took the basket she still held, set it on the floor, and then set about stripping her of her clothes.
Emma stood silent and still as he fussed over her, neither assisting nor deflecting his efforts, and that simply worried him more. Once he had her naked before him, Amaury turned to strip back the bed linens, but when he straightened and turned to urge her into the bed, she suddenly threw herself into his arms. For a moment he simply stood there, his arms at his sides, his expression stunned as she sobbed against his chest, but then he regained himself enough to raise one hand to awkwardly pat her back.
He stood there for what seemed to him to be hours, simply letting her cry as he racked his brain for something he could do to soothe her. Then she suddenly began tugging at his clothes. At first he had no idea what to make of it. She was still sobbing hard enough to make him think her heart was breaking, but she was also setting out most aggressively to strip him of his own clothes. He let her do as she wished, thinking to wait and see what she was about.
Despite the fact that he was positive she could not possibly see through the blur of her tear-filled eyes, Emma made short work of his clothes. When she finished, he was standing at the side of the bed with his chest bare and his hose tangled down around his boots, revealing a rather large erection to her view. Circumstances notwithstanding, having his wife rubbing naked against him as she had worked at his clothes had managed to raise his interest.
He had just opened his mouth to ask what she was attempting to do when Emma gave him a gentle push toward the bed. With his legs tangled up in his hose as they were, that was all the effort it took to send him flat on his back on the bed. His wee wife immediately set about climbing on top of him, impaling herself on his shaft with little warning and no preparation.
Amaury simply lay there for a moment, his eyes wide and shocked. His wife was not shy in their bed, but this was beyond anything so far. Besides, there was no evidence of pleasure or desire on her face, just a grim determination as she continued to sob and ride him. Frowning, he caught her hips and held her still, waiting until she opened her eyes before speaking. “What do you?”
Emma simply blinked at him, her surprise finally stopping the flow of tears she had been unable to halt since they had started. It seemed perfectly obvious to her what she was doing. “I am bedding you.” She began to move against him again, but Amaury tightened his grip, impatience flashing across his face.
“Aye, I can see that. Why?”
Emma blinked again. She really had no idea why. She simply felt a need to mate. She wished to feel him in and around her. She wished to share those moments afterward when he held her and cooed sweet words in her ear. She wished to feel alive again. She supposed it had something to do with being so near death that afternoon, but did not see how. She did not feel dead, yet felt a horrible need to feel alive. It made no sense and she knew that. And if it made no sense to her, she felt sure it would not make sense to her husband, so she briefly sought in her mind for a viable reason to give him and ended up with, “We need an heir.”
“An heir?”
“Aye.”
“Now?” He looked thoroughly flummoxed by her words.
“Aye, now. Afore you go a-dying on me.” Anger rose up in her suddenly, and she did not understand that either. She did not truly blame him for the bandits’ attack, or for this latest fight. Neither had been his fault and yet she still went right ahead blaming him for both. “I swear, my lord, never in my days have I known a body who landed himself in so much trouble! Do I not milk your seed and get with child now, you are sure to get yourself killed afore I can! Then I shall be left in the clutches of Bertrand.”
Amaury stared up at her blankly for a moment, several feelings rushing through him. Anger, however, was uppermost. Rolling suddenly on the bed, he put her on her back and rose above her, driving a little deeper into her before muttering, “Well, wife, as God is my witness, I have never had so much trouble in my life afore marrying you. ’Tis the truth I begin to think you are accursed!”
“Accursed!” Emma gasped at that.
“Aye, accursed! You have already put one man in his grave, and the way things are presently traveling along, I have no doubt you shall put me there as well!”
When she opened her mouth to respond to that, Amaury covered it with his own. It was no gentle kiss he gave her, however. It was rough and hard and demanding. Emma gave as good as she got, biting viciously at his lip and bucking her hips upward as he drove ruthlessly into her.
As violent as it was, this mating could not last long. It was only a matter of moments before Amaury stiffened against her, cursing before collapsing atop her. He lay still for less than a heartbeat, then forced himself to rise.
Emma bit her lip as she watched him tug his hose up, then climb into the rest of his clothes. He did not look at her until he was leaving the room. Pausing at the door, he peered back at her, his expression grim. “Let us hope that this time my seed took, wife, for I will not play stud horse for anyone. Not even the king.”