The Dumont Bride. Terri Brisbin

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СКАЧАТЬ believed her maid, she just did not understand the request. Only the lord’s and lady’s chambers gave any measure of true privacy and that was due to the stout doors at their entrances. To leave the door open was to invite intrusion…or to simply invite.

      “Was he in his bath when you left?” Emalie demanded. At Alyce’s nod, she added, “And was he alone?”

      “Aye, milady. Fitzhugh knows Lyssa and her tricks. He ordered her out before the lord undressed.”

      Was he leaving the door open so the maid could return to him? Was he taking his pleasure with the servants in her keep even before it was his? ’Twas a fine way for the new lord of Greystone to begin.

      “I will take the ointment to him.” Emalie decided to look into this herself. If her new husband was going to make shaming her a regular occurrence, she would know it now.

      “But, milady, I told him I would bring it. Mayhap you should wait until this evening to meet him, as the queen suggested?” Alyce frowned at Emalie’s attempts to take the pottery jar from her grasp. Emalie stopped trying and held her hand out for Alyce to relinquish the jar. With a sigh, her maid finally did. Emalie picked up one more bottle, gathered her skirts and left her workroom, heading to the lord’s chamber. Alyce’s huffing and puffing followed close behind. Stopping in front of the room, Emalie leaned closer and peeked in.

      “Go quietly, milady.”

      Now it was her turn to frown. “What do you mean, Alyce?”

      “Poor lad, looked nigh to fainting from exhaustion, he did.”

      “Poor lad? That poor lad is le Comte de Langier,” Emalie whispered in her best French accent, “one of Poitou’s finest, fair of face, and warrior extraordinaire, according to the queen.”

      “He looked like a man worn down by life to me,” Alyce answered with a snort. “Step lightly and do not disturb him if he rests.”

      Emalie gaped openly at her maid. Alyce’s softness toward this man was frightening to her. If Alyce backed him, who would stand by her side? Deciding it was time to meet this poor lad, Emalie pushed the door open a bit more and stepped into the room. The humid air swirled around her as she approached the hearth and tub. The man in the tub did not move as she walked closer.

      His head lay turned to one side and he snored lightly. She smiled as she thought of how innocent her father had appeared in sleep. Now, as she looked at Dumont, no frowns marred his strong brow and face. His hair looked to be a dark brown, but the wetness made it difficult to tell. Her gaze moved down his face and neck to his shoulders and chest. The rest of him was covered by a length of linen.

      She could see some of his bones lying just below his skin. He was either very thin or had been ill and lost much of his body’s weight. Was this what Alyce meant? Her trained eye noticed several lesions on his arms and chest, some unhealed sores of long standing. She suspected that he suffered with many more on places she could not see. This was truly a puzzle.

      Debating whether or not to let him know of her presence, Emalie decided to let him sleep on. She placed the jar of ointment on the floor next to the tub where he would find it. Then she quietly opened the bottle she carried and poured a small amount into the bathwater. Reaching down, she swirled the water with her fingertips to mix the healing potion into his bath. Careful not to touch him, she stepped back and walked toward the door.

      Once in the hall, she pulled the door closed and then adjusted it as Alyce had left it. Tonight. Tonight she would have her answers when she and the count met officially.

      Strangely, as she left the chamber, only one question filled her thoughts. She wondered what he would look and sound like once awake. Too wrapped up in her own thoughts, she hadn’t seen his eyes open and his gaze follow her steps.

      An angel from heaven? Had he finally died and this angel was there to escort him to his judgment?

      As he opened his eyes, he saw her standing over him, her gowns and long, honey-brown hair flowing around her. The flames in the hearth outlined her womanly form before him. Her face glowed with the golden fire tones and not even the frown she wore could mar the smooth inclines of her nose, the gentle arching of her brows or the fullness of her mouth. He saw her hand reach out to the water and he closed his eyes and waited, nay hungered, for her healing touch.

      When it did not come, he fought with his last ounce of strength to open his eyes. She was gone. Then he saw her moving toward the door, silently gliding away from him. His strength, sapped by both his own exhaustion and the heat of the water surrounding him, deserted him completely and all he could do was close his eyes once more and surrender. And his dreams were filled with visions of his caring angel.

      Chapter Five

      The knock on the chamber door roused Christian from his brief rest. Still exhausted from many days of hard riding and traveling, he slid down from the raised bed, tugged on a robe and stumbled to the door. Although the door was ajar, the visitor did not presume to enter the room.

      “Milord?” a man asked. “Are you within?”

      Christian reached the door and pulled it open wider until the full bulk of the captain of the guard was revealed to him.

      “Forgive me for disturbing your rest, milord. Her Grace asks that you join her in the solar as soon as you are ready.”

      “I will be there anon, Sir Walter.” Christian looked back around the chamber he’d been assigned and spotted clothing laid out and ready for him. The servants were efficient and quiet, for no movements within his room had disturbed his sleep.

      “Should I send an escort to guide you there?” Christian watched the large man shift from foot to foot, obviously uncomfortable with this messenger duty.

      “No need. I am certain that I can find my way there.”

      After a few mumbled words, Walter backed away, bowing as he left. After pushing the door closed a bit, Christian dressed quickly. Recognizing that his haste was partly nervousness and partly anticipation, he slowed his actions and straightened his clothing as best he could. Tightening the belt around his waist, he grimaced at his loss of girth. He was thinner now than when he had first earned his spurs at ten-and-six. Soon, after fussing with his appearance more than most women would have, he was ready for his meeting with Queen Eleanor and as ready to meet his fate as he could be.

      Retracing his steps the way he and the steward had come, Christian found himself standing within the great hall. More of the servants’ efficient work was on display there—clean, well-set tables, fresh rushes on the floor, an orderly pattern to those working to prepare the room and the meal. Excitement filled the very air surrounding him and he knew from the covert glances and whispered words, and from the feeling deep in his gut, that he was the center of what was to come.

      Looking around the perimeter of the room, he sought the location of the solar. A young woman approached him, curtsying before him.

      “Milord? Are you in need of help?” Her eyes met his but once before she lowered her glance to the floor.

      “Oui,” he answered. Her gaze met his and then she dropped her head once more. Damn, but he needed to remember to speak in their tongue. He expected the English nobles to speak in French, but the servants and villeins would converse only in their harsh guttural language. “Yes,” he repeated, “show СКАЧАТЬ