Читать книгу The Damsel's Defiance - Meriel Fuller - Страница 12

Still rankling from Lord Talvas’s boorish treatment of her, Emmeline urged her mare forward. Fixing her gaze on the gentle, undulating motion of the horse’s neck, she tried to steady her breathing. How dare he pick her up like a sack of grain and throw her into the saddle? How dare he? His arrogant demeanour brought memories of her husband, Giffard, to mind. She would do well to remember what happened in that marriage, living through two years of taunting, verbal abuse, slaps and pinches. She endured it for her mother’s sake, as Giffard had brought money to the family, money that cushioned them through the first lean months after her father’s death. But Giffard drank, and began to drink more heavily as she avoided his advances until, one day, he had pushed her down the stairs. Emmeline had broken her ankle in the fall, but he’d kept her prisoner in the house for several days while she lay at his mercy, in agony. The bone had set awkwardly, leaving her with a permanent limp.

Fortune had been on her side, for less than a sennight later, hunters had carried Giffard’s dead body into the kitchen and laid him out with a deference he did not deserve. From that day on, she had vowed never to be controlled again, not by anyone. This man, Lord Talvas, this hulking stranger who towered over her, who glared at her with eyes of cornflower-blue, behaved exactly as Giffard had done. She could scarce remember the last time a man had touched her, yet this oaf seemed to make a habit of manhandling her, almost as if to prove his physical strength. High-handed, domineering, he was a man used to being in charge. And yet…and yet there the resemblance ended. Physically, there was no comparison. Giffard had been short, much the same height as herself, his torso running easily to fat as he approached forty winters, his massive hands continually clenched into hamlike fists. For a long time after his death, her nights were haunted by his white fleshy jowls, the sickening smell of cider brandy. She winced at the memory, dragging herself back into the present, the muddy track, the hissing sibilance of the river beside them, the great forests looming up to her right. She wouldn’t go back to that horrible time, a time when she had cowed under Giffard’s beefy fists, spent countless evenings scarcely able to move for the bruises on her body, lived in fear for her own life. She would not let it happen.

Emmeline followed Lord Talvas, bound up in her silent thoughts, while Guillame brought up the rear, the narrow track compelling the group to ride in single file. Above them the grey clouds gathered heavily, every now and again a few spots of rain falling. Emmeline prayed fervently they would reach Torigny before the heavens opened, conscious of the thin material of her cloak. She reminded herself once more why she undertook such a journey: not just for herself and the coin, but for her sister. Sylvie, who she had laughed and played with as a child; her sister, who was now in terrible trouble.

As Talvas rode in front, he dipped his head to duck beneath a low-hanging branch, rainwater springing from the soaked leaves to spangle his shoulders with shining droplets. Emmeline idly studied the muscular cords of his strong neck, just visible under the brim of his hat, before wrenching her gaze away from the broad set of his shoulders to focus on the rolling rump of his horse. How could this man, a man she had met just yesterday, have insinuated himself so completely into her life?

Having ridden for an hour or so, the group rounded a bend in the track and came upon a shallow bank of pebbles that ran down into the river. Talvas threw up his arm to stop the horses, turning in his saddle to address them.

‘Let’s stop here. The horses need to drink.’

‘And I need something to eat,’ Guillame added, nudging his horse forwards over the open patch of grass to the water’s edge. Dismounting, he undid the heavy iron buckle on the flat leather bag that lay across his horse’s rump to draw out two cloth packages. ‘Looks like the innkeeper’s wife packed us a good lunch, my lord.’ He threw one of the packets over Talvas, who caught it deftly. Emmeline urged her mare to the river’s edge, feeling at odds with the easy camaraderie of these men. Although she did business with the merchants, she normally avoided all male company, and now a wave of self-consciousness consumed her. As she released the reins, Talvas appeared at her side, his broad shoulders on a level with her thigh.

‘Can I be of assistance?’ he asked formally. Blue eyes held green.

She stared at him in surprise, unused to accepting help from men. ‘Well…I…’ she stumbled over the words, acutely aware of his nearness, his heart-stopping, saturnine face. ‘Nay, I can manage.’ She jumped down hurriedly, lest he should put his hands upon her again. Talvas tilted his head to one side, observing her with a mocking smile.

As her feet hit the ground at a strange angle, Emmeline knew instantly that she had rushed the dismount. Pain shot through her weak ankle, causing her to stumble onto one knee.

‘Steady,’ Talvas murmured. Swiftly, he grabbed her beneath her elbows to help her to her feet. ‘What ails thee, mistress? Are you hurt?’ He bent down and lifted the hem of her bliaut to reveal slim calves encased in brown knitted stockings.

Emmeline bit her lip, trying to shove his hand away. ‘Get your hands off me,’ she said angrily. ‘How dare you! I’m perfectly well, I just landed awkwardly, that’s all!’ She hated his concern, resented his nearness. He smelt of the sea; that fresh, briny tang that made her think of wide open spaces, of surf crashing onto pebbles.

Guillame had spread his cloak upon the ground, and was now opening the muslin packages to reveal floury rounds of bread, creamy cheese and chicken legs. Emmeline’s mouth watered as she eyed the succulent food.

‘Did you think to bring any sustenance?’ Talvas asked, dropping her hem back into place. ‘Or do you wish to share ours?’ He watched the flush in her cheeks subside gradually. How she hated his touch!

Emmeline had already detached the satchel from the back of her horse. ‘I have sufficient, thank you.’

‘Then sit.’ Talvas gestured toward Guillame’s cloak.

She hesitated, reluctant to walk under his searing regard, knowing he would see her limp.

‘Go on, then,’ he urged, ‘Guillame doesn’t bite.’ he stepped over to his horse, unstrapping his leather drinking flagon with deft fingers. Quickly, she lunged forward, almost falling onto the cloak in her haste to reach it before he turned round. Guillame, munching steadily on a chicken leg, seemed absorbed in his own thoughts and her ungainly advance passed without notice.

‘So, what business takes you to Torigny?’ Talvas asked conversationally as he settled himself on his own cloak beneath a large oak and began to unwrap the white muslin package. Stretching out his long legs before him, strong muscled legs encased in fawn-coloured wool and cross-gartered with leather strapping from ankle to knee, he threw her a questioning glance.

‘My own,’ she shot back, her fingers fiddling with the stiff clasp on her leather satchel, avoiding his bright searching eyes. The pain in her ankle had subsided to a dull ache; her diaphragm relaxed as she began to breathe more easily.

Talvas laughed, a booming, generous sound, the fine lines around his eyes crinkling with humour. He shook his head in disbelief at her reticence. ‘Then let us guess,’ he said. Leaning back against the wide, nubbled bark of the tree trunk, he folded his arms, raising his eyebrows slightly in mock challenge. ‘Now, Guillame, before us we have a most unusual maid, a maid who appears to abide by her own laws, without thought to her own safety, or propriety…’

Emmeline drew herself up, about to protest, but Talvas raised a flat palm to silence her. ‘A moment, mistress, let me finish.’

‘She owns her own merchant ship, her life is on the quayside with the merchants and the deckhands, yet she travels, unaccompanied, inland. For what, pray tell?’

‘To visit a relative?’ suggested Guillame, chewing thoughtfully on a piece of bread.

‘Or to visit someone she has never met before?’ drawled Talvas. He tipped his head back, a feral glint in his blue eyes, and smiled.

‘You know!’ She narrowed her eyes. How she disliked the way he played games with her!

‘I guessed, and your reaction has just confirmed it,’ he replied lazily.

A rose-tinted flush spread over her cheeks. ‘I overhead your squire say that the Empress needed a ship and I thought—’

‘You thought you’d made some easy coin,’ he snapped back.

Emmeline glowered at him. He made her plan sound mercenary and underhanded, as if she were trying to trick the Empress! ‘I thought, maybe, that we could help each other,’ she tried to explain, before ducking her head to concentrate on extracting an apple from her satchel.

Talvas angled his head back to drink deeply from his leather flagon. Wiping his mouth on his sleeve, he passed the vessel to Guillame, before pinning her with brilliant accusing eyes. Greedy little wench! They were all the same, these women; behind their beauty lay black, avaricious hearts—grasping, money-grabbing characters who would stop at nothing to achieve what they desired. Gold was the only thing that seemed to make them happy; not the other things in life, like love, or trust, or friendship. He watched Emmeline’s small white teeth take a neat bite out of her apple, tracing the fine bones in her fingers down to the fragile wrist encased in serviceable brown cloth.

She had left him because of money, the maid he had intended to marry all those years ago. Her ambition was evident from the start, from the moment he had first witnessed her fair beauty at his parents’ home in Boulogne, but his own stupidity blinded him to her true character. Employed as a lady’s maid to his mother, that maid had set about seducing him, and he, at eighteen winters, had been utterly captivated. Ignoring the worried frowns of his parents as they witnessed the constancy of his wooing, he chased after her slender figure, the bright gold of her hair, her quick smile. Their betrothal had been a time of great celebration, of festivity, especially as she carried his child, and they had agreed to formally marry when he won his spurs, his knighthood.

Talvas drew a deep, uneasy breath, feeling the air hitch in his throat. And then they had argued. Despite his parents’ wealth, he was determined to make his own fortune in life, in building and owning ships. She would not agree, wanting him to take the estates and coin that his parents offered him. Suddenly, two weeks after his daughter was born, she broke the betrothal, leaving him for a rich English nobleman, taking his newborn daughter with her. He had never seen them again. He cursed under his breath. The sharp wits and fair looks of Mam’selle de Lonnieres reminded him of that maid, of that girl from long ago who had ripped his life apart and torn it to shreds.

The sea had become his mistress, the wildness and unpredictability suiting his restless, adventurous spirit. He would take risks, uncaring as to the consequences, preferring the challenges of the sea to the domestic luxuries of home life. Women became faceless; mostly he ignored their company, except for physical solace—couplings that meant nothing to him. It mattered not; it helped him forget. No woman would ever make a fool of him again.

‘Talvas?’ Guillame’s voice broke into his thoughts over the constant rushing of the river. ‘Do you think we need to move on?’ He threw a look at the lowering sky.

‘Aye, let’s go.’ Talvas sprang to his feet, annoyed with himself for dwelling in the past. That time in his life was over, finished; he would do well to forget it completely. ‘Mam’selle de Lonnieres, have you eaten enough?’ his voice barked at her.

Emmeline threw her apple core over her shoulder and into the river. The stale bread that formed the remainder of her meal would stay firmly hidden in her bag. She had no intention of bringing out such humble fare when the men’s meal 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 into a gentle walk, reluctantly acknowledging her private relief at their escort. She sincerely doubted that her courage would have pushed her to enter such a castle on her own.

Once through the town, the small party started to ride up the steep ramp to the castle entrance, until their horses’ shod hooves began to slip on the greasy cobbles.

‘Let’s dismount,’ Talvas suggested, his cloak flowing out as he swung his leg over the horse’s rump. ‘The going will be easier.’ Emmeline nodded, aware of the precipitous drop on either side of the slope; there was a distinct possibility of plunging into the undergrowth far below. Before them, two sentries stood guard at the outer gatehouse, the metallic skin of their full armour shining against the bright red of their surcoats emblazoned with the royal arms of King Henry. The two gold lions stood out against the background of red, one lion representing England, one representing Normandy. Both guards stood immediately to attention when they recognised Lord Talvas, remaining still until he and Emmeline had passed under the heavy portcullis before raising a hand in greeting to Guillame.

‘Talvas, my Lord Talvas!’ A gaunt, elegantly dressed noble strode forward across the bustling inner courtyard as eager servants ran to take their horses.

‘Earl Robert!’ Talvas’s face set with an immediate wariness as he swept the hat from his head and ran a hand through his ebony locks. ‘I had no idea that you would be at Torigny.’ His hair gleamed in the flickering light thrown by a rush torch held by Earl Robert’s servant.

‘Wherever you find the Empress, you will normally find me,’ Earl Robert replied.

‘Then your loyalty as a brother is to be admired,’ said Talvas, formally.

‘And about to be sorely tested.’ Earl Robert frowned, his interested gaze skimming Emmeline’s neat figure, the sweet pale face almost hidden in the voluminous folds of her hood. ‘I know the knight—’ Earl Robert indicated Guillame ‘—but does the maid belong to you? She’s a beauty.’

Emmeline flushed hotly in the darkness, immediately annoyed by her extreme reaction. Talvas scanned her face and body slowly, deliberately. ‘Nay, my lord, we met on the journey from Barfleur. Mam’selle de Lonnieres seeks an audience with the Empress on a particular business matter.’

Earl Robert scowled, the withered lines of his face stern and forbidding. ‘’Twill be difficult,’ he muttered, almost to himself. Suddenly he grabbed Talvas’s arm. ‘I need to speak to you…alone.’ The two men huddled into a corner of the courtyard, deep in the shadows. The torch bearer was ordered to stay by Emmeline, throwing a circle of light over her trim figure as she shifted uncertainly on the spot, conscious of servants rushing about her, intent on some chore or another. Guillame had already left, helping the servants with their horses.

Emmeline stared grimly down at the hem of her bliaut, the fabric spattered and stiff with mud from the journey. Saturated with rainwater, her cloak hung heavily from her slim shoulders, as if weighted down with boulders. In her haste to reach Torigny, she had given no thought to her impending appearance before the Empress, or to how she would look, or to what words she would choose. Bubbles of doubt peppered the surface of her consciousness. What in the name of Mary had she been thinking? She was in no fit state to meet the daughter of the King! But then, if she possessed the one thing the Empress needed, would it matter how she appeared?

Her eyes traced the shadowed breadth of Talvas as he emerged through the gloom, his mouth set in a forbidding line.

‘It is not convenient for you to see the Empress,’ he announced brusquely, ‘but you can stay the night here, and return to Barfleur on the morrow.’

‘Not convenient?’ she squawked, her eyes wide with incredulity. Her body sagged a little with exhaustion. ‘But surely if she knew I was offering my ship, she would wish to see me?’

‘Hush, keep your voice down!’ Talvas clamped a warning hand around her forearm, his piercing eyes glinting dangerously in the darkness.

‘Nay, I will not!’ She rolled her right shoulder in annoyance, trying to shake off his hold. ‘I haven’t come all this way to be fobbed off like this!’ Without thinking, she poked a slender finger into the middle of his chest.

He grabbed her hand and held it fast against the rich wool of his tunic, hauling her nearer to his muscular frame. ‘It is not convenient,’ he repeated under his breath. Under the amber torchlight, his eyes faded to a pale aquamarine.

She dragged her hand from his loose grip. Reluctantly, he allowed her soft fingers to slide against his palm, a palm hard and calloused from years of handling ropes at sea. He looked down at the top of her head, at the simple circlet of filigreed gold holding her veil securely in place, despite the wayward curls sneaking out around her pale forehead. She was breathtaking, he thought suddenly, noting the heightened flush along her cheekbones. A coil of unsteadiness rose within him; a rare whisper of feeling that danced precariously through his chest. Who was this maid to make him feel so, to ignite these emotions so long buried, emotions locked tight within his heart?

‘I said, “I haven’t come all this way to be fobbed off like this!” I will see her!’ Emmeline’s sharp tones kicked him out of his reverie. ‘Mother of Mary, anyone would think that you didn’t want it to happen!’ Her green eyes accused him under the flare of light.

I don’t, Talvas thought, I don’t want you going anywhere near the Empress. For the Earl had just told him that the King was dead, and that Maud wanted to return to England as soon as possible with her father’s body. And he knew why. To claim the throne for herself. And as his loyalty lay with Stephen, his brother-in-law, and the favoured claimant to the throne, he would do everything in his power to stop her crossing the water.

‘If she knew about my ship, then I’m sure she would see me!’ Emmeline announced deliberately in a loud voice, aware that the Earl Robert stood in the corner of the yard, murmuring something to a servant.

‘God, woman, your infernal outspokenness will be the doom of us all!’ Talvas said angrily, engulfing her shoulders with the wide sweep of his arm and starting to steer her toward the main door of the castle.

‘Lord Talvas, hold for a moment!’ The Earl strode over to them. ‘Did this maid just mention something about a ship?’

‘Nay!’ His grip tightened around her shoulders.

‘Aye!’ Emmeline flashed a triumphant look at a scowling Talvas. ‘I heard that the Empress needs to reach England, and I own a ship, anchored in Barfleur.’

‘Why didn’t you tell me earlier, Lord Talvas? I think this young lady will be very useful to us. Very useful indeed.’

Earl Robert led the way to a thick oak-planked door set into the stonework of one of the four circular towers. Rush torches slung into iron brackets on either side of the doorway illuminated the entrance before they were plunged into darkness on the stairs. Fortunately a rope had been fixed onto the outside curve of the tower and Emmeline reached for it thankfully, using it as a support and a guide. She concentrated hard on maintaining her footing on the damp steps, the weakness of her right leg making her climb difficult. Above her, the heavy footfall of Earl Robert marked his direction, but of Lord Talvas behind her…no sound. She knew he was angry with her, but why? All she wanted was this chance to travel to England to visit her sister and make some money at the same time. How did it possibly affect him?

She gasped reflexively as her toe scraped the edge of the next step, grinding pain arching through her ankle as she grappled to regain her tremulous balance. Do not fall! Do not fall! To show weakness before these men would be the ultimate humiliation—she did not want their help, and she certainly did not want their pity.

‘Steady, mam’selle. The treads are uneven here.’ Talvas’s firm hand cupped her elbow as she righted herself, intensely aware of his large body on the step beneath her, warming her back, encircling her jittered senses with its immovable presence. Emmeline bit her lip. How easy it would be to fall back into his strength, to ask for help, to be cocooned in the muscled ropes of his arms. But she wouldn’t do it. She would never give in; her inner strength was enough to let her do this on her own. Her time with Giffard had made certain of that.

‘Don’t trouble yourself on my account, my lord,’ she whispered down to him. ‘Besides, I have the distinct impression that you would prefer me to fall in a heap at the bottom of the steps.’

‘Don’t tempt me, mam’selle.’ She jumped as his low voice curled into her ear, and shook her elbow to release his grip, resenting his controlling touch on her. The vehemence of her movement made him chuckle, and she turned to face him, lips set in an angry line.

‘Why do you resent it so much?’ she flashed at him. ‘’Tis but a simple business transaction that is no concern of yours!’

‘You may come to rue your outspokenness, mam’selle.’

‘You’re just trying to scare me. Why are you here anyway? I thought your plan was to travel on to Boulogne.’

He grinned. ‘So anxious to be rid of me, mam’selle? I thought you enjoyed my company. Nay, Guillame and I do not choose to ride at night.’

‘Then on the morrow we will go our separate ways?’ Her voice held an edge of relief. She had realised with shock that the difference in step heights meant her eyes were on a level with his mouth. The wide, generous lines of his mouth.

‘We shall see, mam’selle. We shall see.’

Her head swam as she felt herself drawn to the tangy smell of him, the glitter of his eyes, the lean, sardonic angles of his face. His hands settled on her neat waist, thumbs roaming outwards to encompass the delicacy of her ribcage. Strings of heat pirouetted from the light pressure of his fingers, streaking across her body into a web of desire. Words of protest formed in her mind, only to burst like bubbles in the growing, churning turmoil that was her chest; her body melted. The rapid pulse of her own breathing echoed in her head as his face leaned into hers…

‘Make haste, my lord Talvas!’ The Earl’s voice rapped down the spiral steps, sloshing over her like cold water. ‘Now is not the time for idle chit-chat!’

‘Nor anything else, my lord!’ Only the thin tremor in Emmeline’s whispered tone belied her befuddled state. Incensed at her own stupidity, she pushed furiously at his hands to find they had already dropped away, leaving her sides cold.

‘My intention was only to steady you, mam’selle.’ The guttural rasp of his voice startled her by its terseness. She flounced around and began to climb the stair once more. In the clammy half light, Talvas watched her move away, his eye travelling over the alluring lines of her petite figure, the seductive sway of her skirts. As she had faced him on the stair, the sheer beauty of her delicate features had caught him unawares, carried him back to a time before responsibility, a time before his ill-fated betrothal. For one beautiful moment, she had made him forget who he was. The luminous energy in her face, the feistiness of her nature: all attracted him with a force he was unprepared for, a powerful enchantment that for the sake of his sanity, he had to resist. And resist her he would.