had been so lavish. But Talvas swept up her bag from the ground, turning it upside down and shaking it.
‘Is that it?’ he demanded, as Emmeline’s horrified stare riveted on the lump of bread, crumbs spattering out onto the dark red linen of Guillame’s cloak, forlorn evidence of her lack of nourishment. She shrugged her shoulders. ‘I’m not hungry,’ she explained, a dull flush staining her face as she grabbed the bread, ashamed, and held it against her. ‘Please don’t…’ pity me, she wanted to say, but the words would not come.
‘You’d better eat that on the way, mam’selle. I don’t want you falling off your horse with hunger. We’ve still a way to go.’ Talvas chucked the satchel back into her lap, scooping his cloak from the ground and striding over to where his horse waited patiently.
Guillame was already leading her roan over to where she sat; now, he helped her up with an easy smile and boosted her into the saddle.
‘Thank you,’ she murmured gratefully. ‘You have better manners than your master.’
Guillame’s large hazel eyes assessed her gently. ‘Don’t judge him too harshly, mam’selle. He means well.’ He patted the neck of her mare.
‘Guillame, get a move on,’ Talvas shouted over. ‘Stop fussing over the maid!’ Sprinting over to Talvas, Guillame jumped into his saddle, pulling on his reins to steady his horse. Shielded from Emmeline by Talvas, he looked askance at his master.
Talvas frowned. ‘I know that look, Guillame—what ails thee?’
Guillame acknowledged Emmeline with a slight incline of his head. ‘That maid…’
‘What of her…?’
‘I didn’t see it before, but just then, up close, well, she looks remarkably like…’
‘Do not speak that name, Guillame. Never speak it!’
Emmeline’s eyes widened in amazement as she stared up at the castle of Torigny. It rose, fortresslike, from the surrounding forest vegetation, stretching above the tree tops to perch high on a craggy granite outcrop. Built directly onto the jagged contours of the rock, the smooth, slick face of the grey, angular walls glistened with a smattering of rain. The metallic gleam of the sentries’ chain-mail could just be seen through the deep crenellations at the top of each of the four towers. The red flags, the symbol of the Empress and her husband, Count Geoffrey of Anjou, fluttered vividly from the top of the towers, spots of brilliant colour in the bleakness. Behind the castle, behind this impressive symbol of power, the village of Torigny straggled out behind along a ridge in the gathering gloom, a jumbled collection of cottages and huts, woodsmoke already beginning to stream from the holes in the thatched roofs.
Emmeline drew a deep, teetering breath, her horse slowing to a stop as if sensing her trepidation as they approached. The persistent drizzle had finally worked its way through the fabric of her cloak and now crept, damp and clammy, through the soft material of her bliaut.
‘How do we get in?’ she called ahead to Talvas, viewing the towering promontory before them.
‘We must ride around to the front gate, through the town,’ Talvas explained. Pulling on his reins slightly, his leather saddle creaked as he turned toward her, his horse’s pace slackening. ‘There’s no access from this side.’ In the dusky half light, she could scarcely decipher his features, just the brilliant flash of his cerulean eyes and the suggestion of a smile. Emmeline shivered, her muscles aching from the long ride. Talvas caught her movement. ‘Having second thoughts?’ he murmured quietly. ‘’Tis formidable, is it not? Like its owner.’
‘Are you trying to scare me?’ Emmeline replied firmly, ignoring the fiery leap of fear in her veins. She lifted her arm to rub the back of her neck, trying to ease the tension.
‘Nay, mam’selle, just trying to prepare you. Come, we must continue if we are to arrive before darkness falls completely.’ Emmeline kicked her horse
‘Is that it?’ he demanded, as Emmeline’s horrified stare riveted on the lump of bread, crumbs spattering out onto the dark red linen of Guillame’s cloak, forlorn evidence of her lack of nourishment. She shrugged her shoulders. ‘I’m not hungry,’ she explained, a dull flush staining her face as she grabbed the bread, ashamed, and held it against her. ‘Please don’t…’ pity me, she wanted to say, but the words would not come.
‘You’d better eat that on the way, mam’selle. I don’t want you falling off your horse with hunger. We’ve still a way to go.’ Talvas chucked the satchel back into her lap, scooping his cloak from the ground and striding over to where his horse waited patiently.
Guillame was already leading her roan over to where she sat; now, he helped her up with an easy smile and boosted her into the saddle.
‘Thank you,’ she murmured gratefully. ‘You have better manners than your master.’
Guillame’s large hazel eyes assessed her gently. ‘Don’t judge him too harshly, mam’selle. He means well.’ He patted the neck of her mare.
‘Guillame, get a move on,’ Talvas shouted over. ‘Stop fussing over the maid!’ Sprinting over to Talvas, Guillame jumped into his saddle, pulling on his reins to steady his horse. Shielded from Emmeline by Talvas, he looked askance at his master.
Talvas frowned. ‘I know that look, Guillame—what ails thee?’
Guillame acknowledged Emmeline with a slight incline of his head. ‘That maid…’
‘What of her…?’
‘I didn’t see it before, but just then, up close, well, she looks remarkably like…’
‘Do not speak that name, Guillame. Never speak it!’
Emmeline’s eyes widened in amazement as she stared up at the castle of Torigny. It rose, fortresslike, from the surrounding forest vegetation, stretching above the tree tops to perch high on a craggy granite outcrop. Built directly onto the jagged contours of the rock, the smooth, slick face of the grey, angular walls glistened with a smattering of rain. The metallic gleam of the sentries’ chain-mail could just be seen through the deep crenellations at the top of each of the four towers. The red flags, the symbol of the Empress and her husband, Count Geoffrey of Anjou, fluttered vividly from the top of the towers, spots of brilliant colour in the bleakness. Behind the castle, behind this impressive symbol of power, the village of Torigny straggled out behind along a ridge in the gathering gloom, a jumbled collection of cottages and huts, woodsmoke already beginning to stream from the holes in the thatched roofs.
Emmeline drew a deep, teetering breath, her horse slowing to a stop as if sensing her trepidation as they approached. The persistent drizzle had finally worked its way through the fabric of her cloak and now crept, damp and clammy, through the soft material of her bliaut.
‘How do we get in?’ she called ahead to Talvas, viewing the towering promontory before them.
‘We must ride around to the front gate, through the town,’ Talvas explained. Pulling on his reins slightly, his leather saddle creaked as he turned toward her, his horse’s pace slackening. ‘There’s no access from this side.’ In the dusky half light, she could scarcely decipher his features, just the brilliant flash of his cerulean eyes and the suggestion of a smile. Emmeline shivered, her muscles aching from the long ride. Talvas caught her movement. ‘Having second thoughts?’ he murmured quietly. ‘’Tis formidable, is it not? Like its owner.’
‘Are you trying to scare me?’ Emmeline replied firmly, ignoring the fiery leap of fear in her veins. She lifted her arm to rub the back of her neck, trying to ease the tension.
‘Nay, mam’selle, just trying to prepare you. Come, we must continue if we are to arrive before darkness falls completely.’ Emmeline kicked her horse
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