"Eat," was all he said before turning and heading for the stairs.
Giving her an apologetic look, Blake grabbed a mutton leg off the table and saluted her with it. "I will just take this to tide me over as I see to my duties as friend."
Chapter 7
THERE is some blessed thistle, my lady."
Emma glanced to where Maude was gesturing. "Oh, good! Blessed thistle improves the appetite. I noticed last night at sup that my husband did not eat much. Mayhap that will help."
Nodding, Maude moved to gather some of the plant.
"If you see any burdock, pick some of that as well, Maude. 'Tis a good blood purifier. Butcher's broom and red clover too if you chance across some."
"Aye, my lady."
Emma grimaced at the woman's tone of voice, more than aware that the servant thought she was going too far in her desire to insure her husband's health.
Emma had been dosing her husband with a combination of medicaments said to increase general health and strength, ever since he had awakened from his injury. And there was absolutely nothing wrong with her doing that, she thought defensively, but she knew it was not so much what she was giving him, as how she was giving them to him that had Maude upset. Amaury had shown a distressing aversion to taking medicaments, so she had thought it better to simply sneak them into his drink at meals. Unfortunately the potions had filled nearly half his tankard and had changed the taste of his ale somewhat. When he had complained of it, Emma had just told him it was the aftereffects of his head wound. It might be a sin to lie, but Emma felt sure God would understand. Her husband had to remain healthy and give her a child. It was the only way to protect her from having to marry Bertrand.
She was honest enough to admit to herself that mayhap she was taking her precautions a bit far, but truly, until an heir was born, it did seem better to be safe than sorry. Her gaze dropped to her flat stomach and she sighed. The wedding night had not produced the hoped for results. That fact meant that they had to consummate some more. Unfortunately, her husband had shown no inclination to do so.
Emma had not been too worried at first; after all, he had still been recovering from his injury. But Amaury had been up and about for several days now. He had spent the last three days out in the bailey overseeing the men. Surely he was recovered enough to see to his husbandly duty? She had even mentioned to him-- with much blushing-- that her woman's time had come and gone, but that hint had had little effect. She was beginning to fear he could not bring himself to do it.
Sighing, Emma bent to the damiana plants by her feet again. It said in the books she had on medicinal cures that damiana was a powerful aphrodisiac. If so, then her husband must have a resistance to the plant, for she had added it to the list of other herbs she'd been dosing his ale with as soon as her woman's time had ended, yet he had shown no signs of increased ardor. Damiana was also said to be able to cure impotence in men. She wasn't sure if that problem afflicted her husband, but was worried by the fact that their first conjugal experience had not resulted in a child. Surely it could not take more than the one time to conceive? She was positive most women would not forbear and have so many children if it took more than one or two tries. Of course, now she understood why women were said not to enjoy the act.
Those women who had had ten or more children must have been clever with herbs and known what to take to ease the discomfort, she thought as she bent to pluck another plant. As she dropped it into the basket, her gaze slipped briefly to the willow bark she had already collected. Amaury had not needed it for several days. This was for herself. Since her husband showed absolutely no inclination to bed her, she had every intention of approaching him herself. Which was what the bark was for. This time, she intended to be prepared for the pain and discomfort of the joining. She would prepare a drink of hops and white willow bark to ease the pain she knew to expect. She also intended to drink the unwatered ale she had had her alewife put aside. Between the two concoctions she hoped that the event would not be nearly so painful. It had felt as if her husband was trying to rend her apart with the consummation on their wedding night.
If there was an event. Sighing, she bent to pluck another plant. She had little idea of how to approach the issue. That was distressing. How did other wives ask their husbands to commit the joining?
Mayhap they didn't have to ask. That was what she feared most.
"My lady, I've found some blessed thistle, burdock, and red clover. I could not find any butcher's broom, though."
" 'Tis all right," Emma murmured, straightening. She placed her hand at her back as she arched it, her eyes moved over the sky.
" 'Tis getting late," Maude said, following her gaze.
"Aye. We should head back. Everyone will be sitting down to sup by the time we get there."
Nodding, the maid hefted her basket and began to follow Emma toward the horses and the guards that waited with them.
Amaury was fair impatient by the time his wife came riding into the bailey. He had not been pleased at her announcement that she must go look for more of her roots and barks. Had she not added that she had used up all of hers on him, he would have refused to allow her to go. He had sent four men with her, only to decide as soon as she was gone that he should have sent six. That worry had distracted him all afternoon as he supervised the men training in the bailey.
Despite his not being conscious to give instructions for so long, Blake and Little George had seen to everything he would have wanted them to. They had kept the men practicing daily, including Fulk's men, who had proven to be better fighters than expected. They had also sent troops of men out every day to see to the problem of the bandits. Unfortunately, the bandits had apparently expected as much, and had not appeared since the attack. So far they had eluded capture.
Knowing that was what had made him so uncomfortable with his wife being out in the woods. It was also why he had spent the better part of the afternoon fretting over her. He was quite surly by the time the call rang out that her ladyship was returning.
" 'Tis about time," he muttered, sheathing the sword he had been waving irritably at his men as he roared his criticisms and orders at them. He realized he had taken his temper out on them. He spared a moment to feel guilty about that, then caught sight of his wife riding into the bailey, headed for the stables. Amaury immediately headed that way himself.
"My lord husband."
Amaury swallowed down some of his temper at her smiling greeting and forced what he thought was a smile to his face. To Emma it looked like a pained grimace, and anxiety covered her face at once.
"Are you in pain, my lord?" she asked, slipping quickly off her horse.
"Nay."
"Feeling dizzy . . . or weak?" Reaching up, she felt his forehead, relieved to find it cool and dry.
"Nay, wife. I am fine."
"You are not tired, are you? You have not overdone it today and--"
" 'Tis more than a week now since my injury," he pointed out with exasperation. "And nay, I have not overdone. I merely supervised my men. Stop fussing, wife."
"Oh. Good." Lowering her head, she hid her relief at that news. He was not in pain, not tired. To night she would approach him about reconsummation. If he didn't approach her himself. He might very well do so yet. Mayhap it merely took several days for damiana to work. She would give him a double dose in his ale at sup. It could not hurt, she thought. Then she realized that her husband had been talking to her for several minutes and she had not heard a word of it.
Dragging her attention away from her own thoughts, she listened to the end of his lecture, which was actually a poorly disguised order that she not leave the castle grounds again without at least six men. It was dangerous. The bandits were still about.
Emma nodded solemnly as he finished, then turned and made her way to the castle, her precious herbs nestled in the basket she held. It was not as late as she had feared. She had just enough time to boil down this latest batch of damiana before dinner.
"Do you feel all right, wife?" Amaury frowned as he caught her arm to keep her from falling backward off the bench. She was terribly unsteady in her seat.
"Aye." The word slipped out on a hiccup, and Emma quickly covered her mouth as a giggle followed, then took the hand away to fan herself. "Oh, my, 'tis hot in here. Is it not, husband?"
"Nay. 'Tis not," Amaury muttered. Bewildered by her odd behavior, he reached out to press his hand to her forehead as she had done to him repeatedly over the last week. She did not feel feverish. "Wife--"
"Oh, damn me, 'tis so hot!" Weaving in her seat slightly, she tugged fretfully at the top of her gown, trying to get the material away from her skin.
Amaury gaped at her, then glowered over her choice of words and turned to a wide eyed Blake with an expression that said, "What does a husband do in this situation, my lord?"
"She appears almost to be sotted," Blake said helplessly after regaining his composure enough to respond to his friend's look.
"My lord, ladies do not become sotted," Emma lectured, leaning across her husband to wag her finger in his friend's face as she caught his comment.
"Mayhap a bath is in order, my lady," Maude murmured, appearing at her mistress's side now.
"A bath?" Emma swung back to peer at her woman, nearly losing her balance as she did. "Oh, aye. I would like that. Anything to cool me from this damnable heat."
Amaury's gaze narrowed as he watched Maude patiently help his wife to her feet and walk her to the stairs.
"Think you she is a tippler?" Blake asked quietly.
Amaury scowled at the thought, but remained silent. His gaze returned to the stairs his wife and her maid had ascended, and stayed there until Maude came below stairs once more and hurried into the kitchen. When she came back out a moment later, a basket over her arm, Amaury stood and called her over.
Maude hesitated briefly, then walked reluctantly to his side. "Aye, my lord?"
"What is that?" he asked, gesturing toward the covered basket in her hand.
Maude pulled the small linen covering back. " 'Tis to scent her ladyship's bath."
Amaury peered at the contents, eyebrows rising slightly at the mixture of dried flowers. Then he noted a small bowl filled with a greenish yellow muck. "What is that?" He gestured toward the bowl.
"A mixture of chamomile and lemon . . . for her ladyship's hair."
"Hmm." Amaury picked up the bowl and sniffed. It wasn't unpleasant. He glanced at the nervous woman now. "Has her ladyship tippled?"
"Tippled?" Maude's voice came out on a slight squeak as her eyes widened. "N-nay, my lord."
"She appears sotted."
"A-aye," Maude agreed.
"She is?!" He looked ready to explode at that.
"N-nay, my lord!"
"Then what the devil is ailing her?!"
"I--it must be the hops, my lord," Maude blurted out.
"The hops?"
"Aye . . . and the white willow bark."
His bewilderment showed. "What about hops and willow bark?"
"H-her ladyship dosed herself with both before sitting down to sup," Maude confessed. "Mayhap they reacted with the ale from dinner."
"Is white willow bark not what she was giving Lord Amaury for his head?" Blake asked now, getting up from his seat to question the servant as well.
"A-aye, my lord." Maude nodded at the second man.
"What is hops?"
" 'Tis for pain too . . . or to ease belly problems. Some take it to calm their nerves."
"Is my wife ailing?" Amaury was furious at the very thought.
Seeing that, Maude immediately began shaking her head, then sighed and admitted, "I do not know, my lord. She has not said so. Mayhap she is just suffering from the gas." She shifted uncomfortably before him. "By yer leave, my lord. Might I not take this up to her ladyship? She will be sore disappointed should her bath grow cold ere I get these to her."
Expression grim, Amaury gave a sharp nod, then watched the woman flee the Great Hall before dropping back to his place at the table.
" 'Tis most likely she has gas," Blake told him reassuringly, catching Amaury's expression as he retook his own seat. "Surely she would have told her woman were she ailing."
"Aye," Amaury agreed, but he was worried.
"My lady?"
Emma opened her eyes at Maude's tentative voice. The servant had helped her with her bath, then wrapped her in a linen and sat her before the fire to brush her hair. Emma had almost been wooed into sleep by the warmth from the fire and the soothing stroke of the brush through her hair.
Reaching up, she felt her tresses, surprised to note that they were almost fully dry already. Mayhap she had dozed off a bit. It was probably due to the ale. She had double dosed herself with her herbs, then drunk every drop of ale the cook had put aside for her. It had taken her emptying and refilling her tankard three times to empty that pail, but it had had an amazing effect. Truly, she had never felt so. . . . free. So unaffected, unconcerned, relaxed. It was a wonderful tonic for the night ahead. That thought made her sigh as she recalled her first experience as wife. It would have gone much easier for her had she thought to prepare herself like this, she decided. But then, she had not realized what all it entailed.
"My lady?" Maude repeated.
"Aye?"
"Yer not ailing, are ye?"
Emma turned her head to the woman in surprise, then giggled. "Nay, Maude. Why would you think so?"
The servant was silent for a moment, then continued to brush her hair as she confessed, "I saw ye taking the hops and white willow earlier. I thought mayhap ye were ailing?"
"Nay." Emma stared into the fire and bit her lip, then sighed and admitted, "I drank some unwatered ale too. I thought mayhap 'twould help with the joining."
"Help with the . . ." The brush stilled in her hair.
"Aye," Emma murmured, flushing bright red. "My woman's time came. We did not conceive, so we needs must reconsummate."
Maude's brows drew together in worry briefly, then she sat back to brush Emma's hair again before murmuring, " 'Tis true the first time is a mite painful--"
Emma snorted inelegantly at that and Maude stilled the brush again.
"Well," Maude sighed. "His lordship was a bit rushed on yer wedding night. There was some need for speed. He most like didn't have the opportunity to prepare ye for it."
"Prepare me? Well, he did warn me and apologize afore he did it." Turning, she caught Maude rolling her eyes in dismay.
"That is not preparing, my lady."
" 'Tisn't?"
"Nay," she said heavily. "My lady, did no one teach ye about the bedding before ye wed Lord Fulk?"
"Aye--nay." Emma laughed as she recalled her naive thoughts. "My father told me my husband would share my bed."
"And that is all?"
Emma nodded.
"Oh, my lady!" Maude looked dismayed. "Ye should have told me. Mayhap I could have prepared ye for what was to come."
" 'Tis all right," Emma assured her with a wry smile. "I am prepared now. 'Tis why I took the hops and willow. All will be well to night. I will forbear. 'Tis the truth I hardly think I will even notice the discomfort. I am fair sotted."
"Nay! My lady," Maude started urgently, only to snap her mouth shut when the chamber door opened and Lord Amaury stepped in. Spying them by the fire, he frowned over the fact that the maid was still there. He wished to speak to his wife alone.
"Leave us," he said.
Maude hesitated briefly, then rose and reluctantly left the room.
Amaury watched her go, then turned to survey his wife. She looked fair lovely before the fire. Her hair shone as it tumbled over her shoulders and down her back. It was more than obvious to him that she wore nothing beneath the black linen wrapped around her either. It was damp and clung to her body.
Amaury felt his throat closing up as his gaze wandered over that body. He very distinctly recalled it lying beneath his. He also distinctly recalled the agony he had suffered
afterward when he had been denied release. He suspected that denial was the reason he was so easily aroused by his little wife now. It seemed to him he had spent almost every minute since their marriage, at least the conscious moments, in a state of arousal. Damned if he hadn't. And it appeared that he would not be gaining satisfaction anytime soon. Not if his wife was ailing.
"You are ill," he said.
Emma's eyebrows rose at that accusation; then she shook her head.
"Aye. You are, and I wish to know what is ailing you, wife."
"Nothing, husband."
"You will tell me what is ailing you. 'Tis your duty as my wife."
Emma frowned at him. She had no idea why he would think her ill, unless he had also somehow learned of her taking the white willow bark and hops. If that were the case, she definitely did not wish to explain her reasons to him. It would be fair embarrassing to discuss. Deciding that distraction was needed, she managed to gain her feet without losing her balance, then dropped the linen to the floor. "Do I look ill, husband?"
Amaury stood rooted to the spot. He could not believe she had done that. He had spent the time ever since his wedding night battling with himself over pestering her for his privileges, his body nearly ordering him to do so and his mind arguing that he mustn't rush her. He had suffered an agony of guilt over the pain he had unfortunately caused on his wedding night. Now, here she was, as much as offering herself to him. At least he hoped to God she was offering herself. He thought he'd die if he was misunderstanding her and she suddenly crawled into bed and went to sleep. Terrified that that was exactly what she intended to do, he stood where he was, counting out the passing seconds in his head. He would give her to the count of twenty-- nay, ten-- to get into the bed, else . . .
Dropping the linen had been one of the hardest things Emma had ever done in her life. Still and all, as a distraction it was mightily effective. Her husband looked as though he had not only lost his train of thought, he had lost thought altogether. He simply stood there gaping at her for the longest time, then suddenly strode across the room, swept her up into his arms and carried her to the bed. Dropping her there, he immediately began tearing at his clothes.
Emma watched him with something akin to amazement. It was not quite the reaction she had expected. She had hoped it might give him ideas, but had fully expected she would have to at least ask him before he would relent and agree to the joining. To see him ripping so impatiently at his clothes instead made her wonder if perhaps the joining were not much more enjoyable for the man, for truly it did seem he was eager. He already had his tunic off and was now hopping about the room on one foot, tugging at the boot on his other. The boot came off at last and he tossed it over his shoulder, then turned his attention to the second boot. A moment later that went flying over his shoulder as well. He then wasted little time in untying the stays of his hose and shoving them down.