LordoftheKeep by Ann Lawrence Page B

himself to speak only to Roland’s wife.
    “Nay, my lord.” Sarah met Gilles’ eye and smiled a smile
that let him know she was capable of handling any problems between these
two.
    “Excellent. William, Roland, come. Gather the men.” Gilles
strode away.
    William stretched out his fingers, gave Emma a baleful
stare, and hastened after Gilles, who had returned to the bailey. William had
no wish to anger Gilles. He, too, had heard the rumors. As one of Gilles’
knights, he had power here at Hawkwatch Keep. He would have less at some other.
A dispute over a wench was foolish if it meant being sent to some hellhole,
like Seaswept Keep on the Godforsaken coast, with its weeping stone walls and
unknown steward—Gilles’ son, Nicholas d’Argent.
    Emma allowed the tension to ooze from her body. Her neck
ached. She rubbed it with the tips of her strong weaver’s fingers. Lord Gilles
had but to raise a brow and all acceded to his wishes. His power was as
tangible as a scent in the air. Emma lifted a brow and practiced Lord Gilles’
stare on a potboy. The child scurried away. She giggled.
    “What amuses you so?” Sarah used the edge of her apron to
wipe where William had planted his boot before seating herself.
    “‘Tis naught.” She watched as men hastened from the hall
after Lord Gilles. “What has happened to rouse so many men from the hearth in
this beastly storm?” She stood and shook out her skirts she’d been sitting on
lest they’d touched William Belfour’s muddy boot. She wore a woolen overgown of
russet wool. A linen kirtle to match could be seen at hem and neck. They were
her first new clothes in three years.
    Sarah followed Emma’s gaze. “The rain caused a slide. Part
of the north wall collapsed. I will see if we may make ourselves useful.”
    Emma could only stare after Sarah. The north wall. Widow
Cooper lived at the north wall. The five grandchildren, too. Emma ran from the
hall, heedless of the rain, sweeping up her mantle. She jumped puddles on her
way to the weaving building where the spinners slept.
    “May! Thank God. Please, could you see to Angelique until I
return? ‘Tis said the north wall is collapsing. I’ve a friend there. She might
need me.”
    “Aye. I’ll be pleased to see to yer babe.” May nodded. Wisps
of fine brown hair had escaped from her cap. Her gentle doe eyes made her seem
as guileless as a child, but Emma knew May was as quick as a fox. Emma bussed
her child’s cheek and dashed off.
    The cobblestones in the forecourt were slick with wet and
mud. She held her skirts aloft of the mire. Disaster filled the air. Men ran
through the gate, pushing her to the side. She became just another person
pulled along in a tide of people heading to the north wall.
    The sight that met her eyes chilled her bones. Rubble, mud,
and water took the place of homes and businesses. She stood in stark fear for
her friend, her hands clutched in her skirts, the effort to protect her new
garments forgotten.
    A shout drew her attention and she saw Lord Gilles, mounted
on a black horse, calling orders to other mounted men who circled the rubble.
The sight of him made her freeze. He looked magnificent atop a horse that must
stand at least seventeen hands. His harsh features somehow reassured her. He
was not a romantic courtier. He was a man to whom the milling people turned for
succor. The very breath in her lungs heated.
    In the next moment, he leapt from his horse to stay the hand
of his squire, Hubert, who shifted stone with a long wooden rake. From out of
the pile Gilles lifted a muddy bundle. In one smooth motion, he mounted his
horse, the bundle close against his chest. The huge horse high-stepped amongst
the people to the edge of the crowd. A keening cry rent the air. A woman burst
from the mist. She tore at her hair, shrieked, then threw herself on the
stones.
    The horses shied and pawed at the commotion. Lord Gilles
rode straight at her, controlling his horse’s agitation. When he reached