but I cannot return.”
“Ah, you prefer this,” he said with a gesture encompassing
the area. His mantle slid over one shoulder. Impatiently, he flung it back.
“To fear and pain, aye, I prefer it.” Emma shot to her feet
and clasped Angelique tightly to her chest.
“Mistress Sarah told me of your fears. You should have
confided in me that night, Emma. I demand total obedience from each person
under my care. If you were being accosted by some unworthy, then it was to me
you should have come. Why did you run from me, from telling me your troubles?”
She met his eyes. “I am sorry, my lord, but I did not want
to make you choose between one of your knights and…a weaver. Surely, you would
think ill of me.” Emma could not say that to accuse a knight might bring the
lash. She’d not lived in a cloister. William Belfour, too, was unlikely to earn
censure for his behavior toward a mere weaver, so well-favored was he, sitting
as he so often did at the high table.
“A cur is a cur. I don’t allow the forcing of any woman, no
matter how humble her station.”
Her voice almost a whisper, Emma tried to make him
understand. “There are those who would be most subtle in their pursuit.”
“I offer you my protection.” He couldn’t banter words with
her. He had to say what he wanted. She would say aye or nay, but it must be
brought to that point— now .
“Protection?” Her eyes searched his face. Just the night
before he had appeared vividly in her dreams, a dark image jumbled together
with hawks soaring into the heavens. She had jolted awake aching with desire.
Her thoughts painted a rosy blush on her cheeks.
“Aye, you do understand protection , don’t you?”
His implacable demeanor and his fierce scowl made Emma feel
slightly faint. A nervous sound escaped her throat. His scowl melted into a
smile.
“Nay, my lord. I don’t think I do.”
His smile deepened the lines radiating from his ebony eyes,
and she thought of smoothing those lines of care with her fingertips. Then she
realized she’d never be in a position to touch this man. Only a light-skirt
could touch a lord, and then only at his behest, not hers.
“Then I will explain it to you.” Gilles clasped the length
of cloth in his hands and sighed. If she refused him, he knew the pain of it
would be like that of a suppurating lance wound, unlikely to heal, always
weeping. “My protection would mean no man will dare accost you, speak to you
with impropriety, touch your hand even, without your permission.”
“That is a formidable statement, Lord Gilles.”
Her voice was a caress of his name. Desire was a tangible
web being woven around them. He offered her safety in his lofty world.
“I am a formidable man,” he said.
Chapter Seven
The desire to touch him was overwhelming. Emma reached for
the belt that lay between them and took it from his hands, brushing against his
knuckles. A shiver coursed through her.
“Again, Emma. Do you understand protection ?”
“I must think first of Angelique,” she began.
“The child will be protected as well.”
Emma searched his face for guile, for some telltale sign to
guide her. He held her gaze and did not look away, nor did he begin to babble
reassurances to persuade her—or spout pretty words. He waited in silence. She
took a deep breath.
“Mama?” Angelique raised her head. “Hungry!” Her little
hands tugged at the front of Emma’s mantle.
They were in a world of their own. Time and sound receded to
a gentle buzz. Who watched, who spoke, she wouldn’t later be able to say. It
was as if time stood still for her reply. After Angelique’s words, there could
be but one answer.
Emma nodded agreement. Her eyes filled with tears. They fell
unheeded down her cheeks and dripped on the soft wool of her mantle. Gilles
reached out and caught one silver droplet on the edge of his finger. He brought
it to his lips, tasted the salt, savored the moment. He had no doubt the tears
were from an
“Ah, you prefer this,” he said with a gesture encompassing
the area. His mantle slid over one shoulder. Impatiently, he flung it back.
“To fear and pain, aye, I prefer it.” Emma shot to her feet
and clasped Angelique tightly to her chest.
“Mistress Sarah told me of your fears. You should have
confided in me that night, Emma. I demand total obedience from each person
under my care. If you were being accosted by some unworthy, then it was to me
you should have come. Why did you run from me, from telling me your troubles?”
She met his eyes. “I am sorry, my lord, but I did not want
to make you choose between one of your knights and…a weaver. Surely, you would
think ill of me.” Emma could not say that to accuse a knight might bring the
lash. She’d not lived in a cloister. William Belfour, too, was unlikely to earn
censure for his behavior toward a mere weaver, so well-favored was he, sitting
as he so often did at the high table.
“A cur is a cur. I don’t allow the forcing of any woman, no
matter how humble her station.”
Her voice almost a whisper, Emma tried to make him
understand. “There are those who would be most subtle in their pursuit.”
“I offer you my protection.” He couldn’t banter words with
her. He had to say what he wanted. She would say aye or nay, but it must be
brought to that point— now .
“Protection?” Her eyes searched his face. Just the night
before he had appeared vividly in her dreams, a dark image jumbled together
with hawks soaring into the heavens. She had jolted awake aching with desire.
Her thoughts painted a rosy blush on her cheeks.
“Aye, you do understand protection , don’t you?”
His implacable demeanor and his fierce scowl made Emma feel
slightly faint. A nervous sound escaped her throat. His scowl melted into a
smile.
“Nay, my lord. I don’t think I do.”
His smile deepened the lines radiating from his ebony eyes,
and she thought of smoothing those lines of care with her fingertips. Then she
realized she’d never be in a position to touch this man. Only a light-skirt
could touch a lord, and then only at his behest, not hers.
“Then I will explain it to you.” Gilles clasped the length
of cloth in his hands and sighed. If she refused him, he knew the pain of it
would be like that of a suppurating lance wound, unlikely to heal, always
weeping. “My protection would mean no man will dare accost you, speak to you
with impropriety, touch your hand even, without your permission.”
“That is a formidable statement, Lord Gilles.”
Her voice was a caress of his name. Desire was a tangible
web being woven around them. He offered her safety in his lofty world.
“I am a formidable man,” he said.
Chapter Seven
The desire to touch him was overwhelming. Emma reached for
the belt that lay between them and took it from his hands, brushing against his
knuckles. A shiver coursed through her.
“Again, Emma. Do you understand protection ?”
“I must think first of Angelique,” she began.
“The child will be protected as well.”
Emma searched his face for guile, for some telltale sign to
guide her. He held her gaze and did not look away, nor did he begin to babble
reassurances to persuade her—or spout pretty words. He waited in silence. She
took a deep breath.
“Mama?” Angelique raised her head. “Hungry!” Her little
hands tugged at the front of Emma’s mantle.
They were in a world of their own. Time and sound receded to
a gentle buzz. Who watched, who spoke, she wouldn’t later be able to say. It
was as if time stood still for her reply. After Angelique’s words, there could
be but one answer.
Emma nodded agreement. Her eyes filled with tears. They fell
unheeded down her cheeks and dripped on the soft wool of her mantle. Gilles
reached out and caught one silver droplet on the edge of his finger. He brought
it to his lips, tasted the salt, savored the moment. He had no doubt the tears
were from an
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