Medieval Brides. Anne Herries
had been replaced. Eleanor was nothing if not thorough in her attempts to get to the truth. Where John had been devious and dangerous, Eleanor was simply persistent and irresistible.
Emalie ignored both Lady Helene’s glare and her attempts to follow her out of the room. With a nod to her maid, Emalie walked quickly from the solar, down a corridor to the stairway that led to the highest floor in the corner tower. Not slowing for a moment, she pushed against the door and was soon on the walkway that surrounded the keep. The wind, wild and warming in June’s strengthening sun, tore through her hair and against her clothes. Shaking her head, she closed her eyes and let the power of the breeze calm her ragged nerves.
Leaning against the crenellated stone wall, Emalie fought back the tears that had threatened for weeks. Her life was now completely out of her control. Oh, she knew that as a woman she had little control to begin with, but her father had encouraged her to believe she was in charge. And now, rightly or wrongly, she longed for the days when only the Montgomeries had ruled Greystone, the days when her parents had lived and loved, the days when she had dreamed of a husband to love and protect her.
Well, her dreams were shattered now and her life was no longer her own thanks to the insatiable hunger of John Lackland and his cronies. Although she had managed to circumvent his latest ploy, she knew it was just a matter of time before her property fell to him as so many others had. In spite of Richard’s return from captivity, John still moved to claim England as his own fiefdom and she knew that Greystone was an attractive target for his greed.
His attraction to her, however, had been a surprise. ’Twas at times such as these that she truly missed her mother’s guidance and presence. She knew the ways of men and women. One could not be raised in the close company of a castle and village and not witness the physical realities. She may have been a foolish optimist, but she was not stupid.
She knew also that Eleanor was looking for a husband for her. It would be the only way to keep John at bay and keep William from making another attempt to “persuade” her into a union with him. Tears filled her eyes as bits of a conversation drifted back from her memory. Turning away from the wind, Emalie pushed her long, streaming hair out of her face and tucked it back once more into the mesh coif meant to contain it.
Wishing that the past would return would not make it so. Wishing for a future of her choice would not make it so. Her only choice was to face whatever would come her way and to face it with the dignity and honor that her parents had instilled in her from her childhood.
Gathering her skirts, Emalie prepared to return to the solar. Her few minutes alone outside, enjoying the freedom of the wind high above the keep, had accomplished exactly what she had hoped for and she would enter the women’s enclave with a renewed sense of calm and control. Although not ready to face her fate, she was ready to face Lady Helene’s displeasure at her escape.
The door opened as she grasped the handle and the force threw her off balance and against the wall. She was just catching the breath that was squeezed from her when the perpetrator stood before her.
“Milady!” Sir Walter, the captain of the troop of soldiers who guarded Greystone, grabbed her and pulled her toward him. “I beg your pardon, lady, I saw you not behind the door.”
Emalie rubbed her injured elbow as the man she still trusted with her life aided her in standing once more. “I am fine, Sir Walter. Truly. Were you looking for me or just making your rounds?”
A red flush crept up the big man’s neck and face, making his ruddy appearance even more red. He reached up and ran a beefy hand through his thick russet hair before stammering out a reply.
“Her Grace requests your presence below, lady.” He would not meet her gaze.
“’Tis I who must beg your pardon, Sir Walter,” she said, placing her hand on his arm. “You should be in charge here and not relegated to delivering messages. Your service has been too valued here at Greystone for you to be treated in this manner.”
Emalie was embarrassed that she could not promise to restore her loyal captain to his place of honor and responsibility within the hierarchy of Greystone. Until the matter of her marriage was settled by the queen, Emalie had no say in the decisions about the running of her own estate. She sighed and turned away from her man. And she would have even less power once the matter of her marriage was settled. Now it was her turn not to meet his gaze.
“Will you accompany me or do you have other duties?”
“I would be honored to give you escort to the solar.” He held out his arm and she placed hers on top. Turning, he held the door open wider and guided her to the stairs. They were silent until they stood just outside the solar and still far enough from the queen’s guards not to be heard.
“Remember, lady, I promised your father that your safety would be my duty. I will always be here for you should the need arise.” His voice became gruff and her own throat clogged with unshed tears at his loyalty.
“I will remember that above all else, Sir Walter.”
“Lady, we all know—” he began.
“Then let us not speak of it any further,” she interrupted. She would not, could not, speak of what had happened.
The queen’s guard turned to open the door to the solar and Walter bowed to her and stepped away. Into the lion’s den, she walked, without the one protector she trusted. The one who had been sent away the night that…
Taking a deep breath and pulling her pride around her once more, Emalie walked in to face the queen. Surprised to find Eleanor alone, Emalie closed the door behind and approached her godmother.
“If my memory serves me well, you will find him quite fair of face and his build is that of a practiced warrior. His family has held Chateau d’Azure in Poitou for generations,” Eleanor began. The queen stood by the window, staring out and not looking at her as she spoke. Her words were confusing to Emalie. The queen spoke of someone unknown to her, but the tone loosed tiny shivers of foreboding that crept down Emalie’s spine.
“Of whom do you speak, Your Grace?” She heard the tremble in her own voice as the words passed her lips.
“Christian Dumont, the Count of Langier. The son of one of my dearest cousins. And your betrothed husband.”
Emalie could not take a breath. Fire burned within her eyes and throat and chest as the queen’s words sank into her mind. She had thought herself safe. She that thought John’s departure placed her back in control of Greystone. She had thought she was safe from marriage.
Betrothed to Christian Dumont? How could this be? Eleanor had said not one word of her plans and Emalie had had no warning of this turn of events before the queen’s softly spoken declaration.
“Your Grace, I do not wish to marry. As I told your son, there is no reason for it.” Emalie forced herself to maintain control as she tried to talk her way out of this predicament.
“Emalie, please come and sit with me here. We have matters to discuss.”
Eleanor seated herself in one of the high-backed chairs and waited. Unable to postpone the inevitable, Emalie followed the order and sat next to the queen. When she had gathered her calm once more, she looked at Eleanor.
“I have been married to two kings and birthed at least one more,” Eleanor began. The queen’s gaze rested on her squarely, and Emalie fought to return it in just the same direct manner. “I have plotted and planned and held a kingdom together these last years. I know my sons and all that they are capable of. One thing I am not is ignorant of the ways of men of power.”
The tone of Eleanor’s voice struck a warning note to Emalie and she waited for the coming truth.
“I have ways of finding information and determining the truth in situations that my sons can not even begin to imagine, and I think you already know what I have discovered here in Greystone Castle.”
Emalie searched for something to say, some way to divert the queen from this course. She had no chance.
“William