LordoftheKeep by Ann Lawrence Page B

you in the hall and wanted to see the babe at closer
quarters. She is your image. I see no sign of me,” he said.
    Emma looked from her innocent daughter to William. They had
the same flaxen hair, the same sky-blue eyes. Her daughter lay garbed in the
coarsest of undyed wool. William’s mantle and surcoat were finely made, their
blue a clear match to his bright eyes. His clothing was clean and costly, his
surcoat trimmed with rich red embroidery, his mantle with fur. He wore soft
leather boots and thick, warm hose. His daughter had strips of old linen from
cast-off garments wrapped about her feet and little legs. The contrasts were a
knife-edge of anger through her.
    “She is yours, nonetheless,” Emma averred, the anger rising
in her throat. She wanted to vomit from fear, not just the fear of the coming
winter and Angelique’s small chance of survival to womanhood, but of William
and what he represented. He took up all the space in her hut with his broad
shoulders and audacious manner, sucked the air away so she could barely draw
breath. She would not kneel in this man’s presence. She would not make herself
vulnerable to his ugliness in her home. She forced herself to stand upright and
to square her shoulders.
    He, too, rose and looked about with disdain. “I deny the
child. You have no proof. As I said before, you probably spread your legs for
many men.”
    “Nay!” Emma drew away from his ugly denial. “Nay. Surely you
know I was a virgin!”
    “Many women have difficulty accommodating me,” he sneered.
    She took a deep breath. As much as she despised this man, he
was her husband. “You may deny it ten times and still you are her father, I
your wife. Even the church recognizes a marriage when two people speak vows to
one another and consummation takes—”
    “I spoke no vows. You seek to assure yourself a better
life.” He tapped his finger on her cheek. “What would a man of my station want
with one of yours, save the obvious? You were not even much amusement, truth be
known.”
    Emma realized there was no reasoning with him now just as
there had been no reasoning with him when first she had found herself with
child. She covered Angelique with her mantle to shield her in some small way
from William’s scrutiny. With a clarity of vision she’d not had when William
Belfour had first come to the marketplace and noticed her, Emma realized she no
longer desired his attention or acknowledgment. “Have it your way. ‘Tis your
loss, not ours. Why have you chosen this day to speak to me? You scorned my
love and repudiated your babe a long time ago.”
    William stared Emma in the eye. What blindness had assailed
her that she had not seen this man for what he was? Emma held open the battered
wooden door that separated her from humanity. “Be gone.”
    “Nay. I saw you swishing your skirts before Lord Gilles and
thought mayhap you’d gained some experience and might be worth a second try.”
William gripped Emma by the arms. He lowered his mouth to hers and claimed her
lips. He tasted of a rich red wine.
    Where once Emma had thrilled to William’s touch, now she
shivered in fear. His strength frightened her. He pressed his hips to hers and
she felt his heated manhood growing hard against her stomach.
    Emma bit his lip.
    “Promiscuous bitch!” William pushed Emma away, hand to his
mouth. His surcoat bulged from the press of his desire, and he put his hands on
his hips, emphasizing his state. Emma refused to look.
    “I will be back, mark my words. We have business unfinished
between us. Tempt not my anger, for I have influence here. Many may buy your
cloth now, but a word in the right ear and your custom would dry up. You will
find yourself assessed a penny here, a penny there until you must offer
yourself for food.” William left her in a quick swing of his mantle.
    Emma sank to her pallet and scooped up Angelique, who’d
slept through the confrontation. Her hands shook as she smoothed her