her brow
wrinkled in worry, a tear falling from her eye. The sweet gesture made him
smile.
Geoff stole a glance at Emma as she leaned over the boy,
concentrating on the last wrap of the bandage. The glow from the brazier caused
tendrils of her hair to glimmer a pale gold. Her skin was the color of cream,
her full lips enticing. Her waist was narrow and her breasts rounded and full.
He did not doubt she was lovely beneath the gown.
She ignored him, occasionally shifting her gaze to the large
hound as if she expected him to rise up and growl. But the hound lay content,
not at all disturbed by Geoff being near her or the children. He had always
liked animals and in his father’s demesne in Tournai, hounds abounded, but none
as large as this one.
Geoff was about to leave when the little girl came to stand
beside him, her big brown eyes focused on his bloodstained hauberk. She glanced
from his mail to his eyes, seemingly unafraid. “Are you the Norman Bastard Emma
talks about?”
He held back a laugh, but his lips curved into a smile, his
eyes darting to Emma. She fumbled with the bandages in her lap, keeping her
head down. Because of the innocence with which the question had been spoken,
Geoff was not offended, not even for his king. “Nay, Finna, I am merely one of
his knights.”
“Oh,” she breathed, returning his smile. The child was
charming.
Emma shot him a glance, her expression stern. “You should
leave.”
He rose. Mayhap he had stayed overlong.
She stood. Slowly she raised her head as if gathering her
courage. “You have my thanks for bringing the boy home when I could not.” It
was clear she had been raised a lady, and her breeding would not allow her to
be ungracious to one who had rendered help, even if he were someone she hated.
Still, her hostility made it easier to take his leave. Had his reception been
otherwise, he might have been tempted to pursue her. A strange thought given he
was not looking for such a woman.
But he, too, could be gracious. He bowed before her. “Sir
Geoffroi de Tournai at your service, my lady.” He took a few steps toward the
door, then paused and looked back. “These are perilous times. Should you ever
have need of me, remember my name.”
He turned on his heels and strode through the door, his
spurs sounding loud in his ears in the silence that filled the chamber as he
left.
* * *
Emma took a deep drink of her mead and let out a sigh as she
stared at the pot of stew Sigga stirred over the kitchen fire while humming a
Nordic folk tune as she worked. In her mind, Emma saw only the tall, fair-haired
knight. She had not expected kindness from a Norman. Perhaps he felt guilt for
the children slain? Had her father been one of those he had slain that day?
Might it have been her father’s blood on the knight’s mail?
Sigga paused in her singing to dish out the stew.
Emma spoke her thought aloud. “I am glad my father was not
here.”
“Aye,” agreed Sigga, her dark eyes shadowed by her head
cloth, “’twould nay have been pleasant.”
“But where is he? Many men from York have been killed and he
has not returned.”
“He will be fine, Mistress. Maerleswein is a strong man,
good with a sword and a wise leader of men.”
Emma stared at the shelves that held earthen vessels and
baskets of herbs Sigga used in cooking, but she was thinking of her father.
“Yea, and a leader of the rebellion, too,” she said. “He would have been in the
front of the fighting.”
Sigga glanced up from the bowls of stew set before her.
“Have no worry, Mistress, you will see him ere long.”
Emma drew comfort from Sigga’s words and idly looked around
for Artur, not having seen him since the Normans left some time ago. In the
morning, he was often with his wife.
Sigga’s gaze met hers. “Artur has gone to the Minster to see
how the old archbishop fares.”
“I had not thought to worry about a man of God. Might the
Normans seek to harm him or the
wrinkled in worry, a tear falling from her eye. The sweet gesture made him
smile.
Geoff stole a glance at Emma as she leaned over the boy,
concentrating on the last wrap of the bandage. The glow from the brazier caused
tendrils of her hair to glimmer a pale gold. Her skin was the color of cream,
her full lips enticing. Her waist was narrow and her breasts rounded and full.
He did not doubt she was lovely beneath the gown.
She ignored him, occasionally shifting her gaze to the large
hound as if she expected him to rise up and growl. But the hound lay content,
not at all disturbed by Geoff being near her or the children. He had always
liked animals and in his father’s demesne in Tournai, hounds abounded, but none
as large as this one.
Geoff was about to leave when the little girl came to stand
beside him, her big brown eyes focused on his bloodstained hauberk. She glanced
from his mail to his eyes, seemingly unafraid. “Are you the Norman Bastard Emma
talks about?”
He held back a laugh, but his lips curved into a smile, his
eyes darting to Emma. She fumbled with the bandages in her lap, keeping her
head down. Because of the innocence with which the question had been spoken,
Geoff was not offended, not even for his king. “Nay, Finna, I am merely one of
his knights.”
“Oh,” she breathed, returning his smile. The child was
charming.
Emma shot him a glance, her expression stern. “You should
leave.”
He rose. Mayhap he had stayed overlong.
She stood. Slowly she raised her head as if gathering her
courage. “You have my thanks for bringing the boy home when I could not.” It
was clear she had been raised a lady, and her breeding would not allow her to
be ungracious to one who had rendered help, even if he were someone she hated.
Still, her hostility made it easier to take his leave. Had his reception been
otherwise, he might have been tempted to pursue her. A strange thought given he
was not looking for such a woman.
But he, too, could be gracious. He bowed before her. “Sir
Geoffroi de Tournai at your service, my lady.” He took a few steps toward the
door, then paused and looked back. “These are perilous times. Should you ever
have need of me, remember my name.”
He turned on his heels and strode through the door, his
spurs sounding loud in his ears in the silence that filled the chamber as he
left.
* * *
Emma took a deep drink of her mead and let out a sigh as she
stared at the pot of stew Sigga stirred over the kitchen fire while humming a
Nordic folk tune as she worked. In her mind, Emma saw only the tall, fair-haired
knight. She had not expected kindness from a Norman. Perhaps he felt guilt for
the children slain? Had her father been one of those he had slain that day?
Might it have been her father’s blood on the knight’s mail?
Sigga paused in her singing to dish out the stew.
Emma spoke her thought aloud. “I am glad my father was not
here.”
“Aye,” agreed Sigga, her dark eyes shadowed by her head
cloth, “’twould nay have been pleasant.”
“But where is he? Many men from York have been killed and he
has not returned.”
“He will be fine, Mistress. Maerleswein is a strong man,
good with a sword and a wise leader of men.”
Emma stared at the shelves that held earthen vessels and
baskets of herbs Sigga used in cooking, but she was thinking of her father.
“Yea, and a leader of the rebellion, too,” she said. “He would have been in the
front of the fighting.”
Sigga glanced up from the bowls of stew set before her.
“Have no worry, Mistress, you will see him ere long.”
Emma drew comfort from Sigga’s words and idly looked around
for Artur, not having seen him since the Normans left some time ago. In the
morning, he was often with his wife.
Sigga’s gaze met hers. “Artur has gone to the Minster to see
how the old archbishop fares.”
“I had not thought to worry about a man of God. Might the
Normans seek to harm him or the
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