Chapter 8 #3
“How fortunate for me,” offered Gil, “this garden business will bring you back to the castle I am responsible for.”
Geoff held back the curse that nearly slipped from his lips, but allowed the scowl on his face at the thought of the handsome castellan paying court to Emma.
“I detect Sir Geoffroi likes not your coming into my castle’s bailey,” said Gil.
“’Tis not the castle’s bailey, so much as the castellan that concerns me,” Geoff said.
“Do not mind the cocks’ banter, Emma,” advised Helise. “Before the dinner is over and Sir Geoffroi sweeps you into the night, we must plan for your return.”
Geoff heard Emma let out a sigh and he reached his hand to hers where it rested between them on the bench, giving her slender fingers a gentle squeeze. “Her sons are here, Emma, and only a bit older than the twins.”
She looked across to Helise. “Mayhap I will bring along one day the two children who are my charges.”
“I am certain my boys would like to meet them,” replied Helise.
Listening to the exchange, Geoff wondered.
Had she agreed to help Helise for his sake, or only because she was at heart a gracious woman?
He hoped her desire to see him had led to her willingness to help Helise, but however it came about, it pleased him that she would be close to where he was most days, where he could see her more often.
With difficulty, he pulled his gaze from her face.
In Helise’s company, she would also be protected by Malet’s guards—and from Gilbert’s attentions.
When the last course was served, musicians came forward to entertain the guests, a bard with a triangular-shaped harp and another musician with a dulcimer.
They reminded him of Rhodri and the evenings at Talisand when the Welsh bard and Lady Serena had entertained them with song.
He missed Talisand and such evenings, but were he to leave York without Emma, he would miss her more.
He glanced beyond Emma to see the music was lulling the old archbishop to sleep.
“Why, Sir Geoffroi,” Emma suddenly said, her eyes following the platter the servants set before them. “’Tis strawberry tarts. I have seen wild strawberries growing near the edge of the fields. Knowing your fondness for the sweet treats, you must be eager to partake.”
He grinned. “I am.” He reached for a tart and placed it on her side of their trencher, then retrieved one for himself, “Yet I do not see how they can rival the ones served by a certain lady of my acquaintance who lives in York.”
“Oh, but these you need not share with a hound and two ravenous children.”
He laughed at the memory, for it was a pleasant one and not just because of the tarts.
“The sharing of them was half the pleasure,” he said. Reminded of Emma’s household, the young woman who lived with Emma came to his mind. “How is Inga? I did not see her this day.”
“She was resting when you arrived. I think she is recovering, yet sometimes when she is lost in her thoughts, there is a sadness about her. While ’tis understandable, it worries me.”
The music faded into the background. The candlelight cast a warm glow on Emma’s ivory skin and made her blue-green eyes change to a dark blue. He wanted to reach out and touch her, to claim her as his. To see her at Talisand. “Mayhap a change of place might help her.”
“Mayhap…” said Emma.
When the music stopped and the last of the tarts had been consumed, the guests rose. Helise came to engage Emma in conversation about the plans for the new garden.
Malet drew Geoff aside. “Sir Geoffroi,” he whispered. “I must tell you after watching your lady this evening I do not think she is just any widow in York.”
“I would agree, Malet, she is more comely than the other women of York and what you do not see is her heart, as beautiful as her face.”
“You do not get my meaning,” Malet said in apparent frustration. “For one thing, she speaks French. Did you not see her eyes narrow when Fitz made his unwise remark? Helise pinched me she was so annoyed with the man, but it hardly suited for me to take the earl to task in the middle of the feast.”
“Aye, I had the same impression. She might speak French. So, what of it? We speak their tongue.”
“There is more,” Malet counseled. “’Tis clear the archbishop is well acquainted with her and she has the air of a highborn woman. What do you know of her?”
Geoff grew indignant at the sheriff’s probing.
“I know all I need to. She is beautiful, kind and cares for others. She lives with two orphaned children and a young woman she has taken under her wing who was sorely misused by one of William’s more disreputable knights.
” He said nothing about the man whose large shoes he saw in the chamber where they had laid the sword-maker.
He did not want to consider what it might mean, so he dismissed the thought. Emma was all that was good.
“All to her credit, I admit,” said Malet. “But I cannot help wondering if she might not be acquainted with the leaders of Northumbria we replaced. Earl Cospatric, comes to mind for one. Could she be a rebel spy?”
“I had heard that Cospatric left Scotland but as yet he’s not been seen in England. And no, she is not a rebel spy. What is there to spy upon? There are no secrets here that I know of.”
“Mayhap not, but I would suggest you watch her closely.”
“I intend to, my lord sheriff,” Geoff said with a sly grin, “most closely.”
* * *
Emma had not imagined the evening with the Normans would be so enjoyable, though as she considered it, the pleasantness must be attributed more to the knight who had accompanied her than to anything else.
She had begun to relax in Sir Geoffroi’s presence when her temper had flared at FitzOsbern’s remark.
The man’s arrogance was exceeded only by his ignorance.
Her respect for Sir Geoffroi and fear of disclosing who she was had stilled her tongue.
She would not embarrass him nor reveal all she knew.
To do so would be to betray the two men she held in highest regard, the knight she had come to trust and her noble father.
Oddly, it had been the knight who had come first to her mind.
But she would not allow herself to consider that her feelings for Sir Geoffroi might run deeper than merely respect.
When they had taken leave of their host and descended the stairs to the bailey, their horses were waiting, along with Sir Alain.
The huge knight grinned, making his scar seem less formidable. “A pleasant evening, I trust?”
“Most pleasant,” said Sir Geoffroi, helping her to mount her mare.
Soon they were retracing their path to her home.
For some time, the three rode along in silence. The streets were darkened, but the waxing moon shining in the star-studded sky was so bright their horses cast dim shadows.
“Thank you for attending the feast,” said Sir Geoffroi.
“’Twas the least I could do for all you have done for me and those I love.”
Sir Geoffroi chuckled. “And now you have another garden to plant.”
“I do not mind. Helise Malet is pleasant enough. And the twins might enjoy her sons, but I cannot promise that Finna will not again refer to your king as a bastard.” She smiled at the memory of innocent Finna speaking with the knight.
“William hates the label, but ’tis what he is. You and Serena, Countess of Talisand, have in common your dislike of the king. She, too, once called him that.”
“She is English?”
“Aye, and has no love for William, but for the sake of the Red Wolf, she tolerates our sire’s presence when he visits.”
Emma could not imagine entertaining the Norman king. Serena must be an unusual woman.
They turned down Emma’s street. It was quiet with nary a candle she could see, save in her own home where the light flickered behind the skins that covered the windows.
She was comforted by the knowledge that the hearth fire would still be burning and the brazier in her chamber would be warming the space.
Artur, ever faithful, would have seen to it.
They reached her house and Sir Geoffroi slid off his horse to help her dismount.
She placed her hands on his broad shoulders and allowed him to lift her down, her breasts brushing his chest as her feet met the ground.
For a moment their gazes met, the moonlight bathing them in its soft glow.
His hands still on her waist, he bent his head and kissed her lightly.
His lips were warm and as gentle as she had remembered them.
Though tender, there was passion in the kiss and when he raised his lips from hers, he was breathing heavily. So was she.
He kissed her forehead and whispered, “That you do not reject my kiss encourages me, Emma. Were we alone, I would not leave you so soon.” He pulled back and let out a breath.
“Still, I would provide no further display for either Alain or your neighbors who might be curious to know what passes between us.”
She was gratified to see Sir Alain stood some distance away on the other side of Sir Geoffroi’s stallion, his back to them. “Thank you for protecting my reputation, though I am certain my neighbors already wonder at my behavior.”
“I hope they do not cause you concern.”
“Nay.” She would not change what she had done no matter her neighbors disapproved. She had enjoyed her evening with Sir Geoffroi.
“When are you to meet with Helise Malet to plan the garden?”
“Two days hence.”
“If I can, I will be there to bid you welcome.”
* * *
The next day, kneeling in her own garden, Emma loosened the dirt around the young plants that had risen from the soil. The smell of the herbs and the rich, tilled earth reminded her of the summer harvest that would come.