Emeline said, “My apologies, my lord. I considered whether to fulfil my wifely duty and visit the invalid. Then I decided my appearance would probably make matters worse, not better. I can hardly imagine you missed me.”
“Miss you?” He shook his head. “I’ve not yet become accustomed to your presence, so there was nothing to miss. In fact, I’m barely acquainted with you, madam, or you with me. But I was kept informed of where you went and what you did.”
“In case I slept in the Keep with the cinders, or jumped into the moat?”
“Both possibilities occurred to me.”
She sighed, and sat on a stool already pulled to the bedside. “I suppose you truly think me a mad woman. I assure you I’m not. But you sent for me for some other reason than just to confirm my sanity?”
“I wanted to talk to you about the journey, and about my cousins,” he said, nodding towards the small table beside the hearth where their supper was laid. “I also wanted to give you something.” He swung his legs from the bed and stood, a little stiffly, a little awkward. “Come and eat, and I’ll show you.” She watched him walk across the room to the table, and did not offer her arm. He moved quietly, assured and straight, but he held to the furniture as he passed, leaning one moment against the bed post and then sitting heavily in the wide chair at the table’s head. He wore a loose cote doublet, unlaced and unbelted, swinging open over a white pleated shirt. His hose were tight grey knitted silk, showing the long curves of his thighs and calves, with no visible limp to spoil their elegance. Emeline followed and sat opposite, watching him with interest. The flesh on his face was smooth and unmarked in the candlelight, except for the old scar. No blisters or grazes, nor sticky unction or greasy salves spoiled the pale clarity of his face and she realised, as she had not done previously, that his features were well defined and even, and that without the scar he would have been an exceptionally handsome man.
He waited, amused at her scrutiny. Finally he said, “Waiting for me to topple face down, my lady? Or hoping for signs of fatal infection?”
“Was I watching too closely?” She blushed again.
“I’ve been watching you too.” He grinned suddenly. “Here,” and he pointed.
Her lost jewellery lay on the table beside her empty platter. The emerald brooch was twisted and some of the gold claws holding the stones had broken, but the large ruby ring which had once been her grandmother’s, was unharmed. It caught the firelight and glowed like blood. The gold cross from her father was not there and she assumed that the metal would have melted in the heat, but instead there was a flash of diamonds which she had never seen before. The brooch was large and elaborate, a sunburst spinning out from a diamond heart. She reached out and touched it, tentative fingertip to its raised centre, and whispered. “This is not mine.”
“It is now,” Nicholas said. “It was my mother’s. It came to me when she died. I meant it for you as a bride gift but our wedding night presented little opportunity for love tokens. So take it now. Your own brooch suffered in the fire, I’m afraid, though it can be repaired in time.” Nicholas reached for the wine jug, and poured two cups. “I sent a couple of men to search though everything and see what they could find. This was all they discovered of yours.”
“The diamonds are – magnificent.” It was unexpected and she struggled for words. “An heirloom, your mother’s, which makes it more precious. And to have my own property back – is – kind.”
“That surprises you?” He laughed. “You expect no kindness from me? Have I seemed so brutal?” He stretched, leaning back to ease his shoulders, but kept a good clasp on his cup. “We’ve not started too well with this marital business. And I’m no courtly knight, I’m afraid. Nor will I ever look like one.” He once again drained his cup, saying, “But I’m capable of kindness, I believe, and shall be more active once we get to Nottingham. Adrian often entertains the local dignitaries, and the town’s busy with shops and markets. And there’re plenty of churches, if that’s your preference.”
“No more than is – proper,” Emeline mumbled, staring bleakly from her husband’s wary smile to the diamond brooch in her hand, up to the velvet cuff of her new gown and then to the honey cake now spreading its sticky syrup over her plate. She had lost her appetite. “I’m not like my father, sir. But perhaps just as – unbending. I’m aware I’ve not always been as polite as I might – as I should have been. You’ve been very generous, my lord. And I have not.”
His smile was slow growing, and lit an unexpected sparkle in his eyes. He said, “How delightful, my lady, an unexpected excess of guilt, I see. So you admit you may have been uncompromising in the past?” Emeline nodded sadly. “And have wilfully misjudged me?” With a slight hiccup, she nodded again. “And behaved with a complete lack of modest humility?” Emeline reluctantly raised her eyes to his and nodded a third time. “Exhibiting rude prejudice and a shocking dearth of wifely sympathy?” She swallowed, shifted with discomfort and managed a small fourth nod. Nicholas bust out laughing. “What a hypocrite,” he decided. “But it seems bribery will inspire miracles every time. A woman sees diamonds and suddenly becomes as biddable as a heifer led to the bull.”
Emeline sat up straight again and glared. “You like being vulgar,” she accused him. “I was trying to be nice, that’s all. And the diamonds are beautiful but you can take them back if you think I can be bought. In future I shan’t try to be polite anymore.” She thumped her spoon back onto the table, pushed back her chair, and stood, shaky but defiant.
Nicholas continued smiling, which annoyed her more. He also stood, though slowly and a little hesitant, as though his legs did not yet obey him as readily as he wished. He took just three steps towards the bed, now standing between his wife and the door. “Intending to run away again?” he inquired. “But I’m not sure I’m ready to let you go.” His eyes narrowed, the blue lights hooded, and said, “Come here.”
Although the shutters were up, shrouding the room against the outside world, the light of the flames was cerise across the hearth, crackling aromatic amongst the logs and sparking up the chimney. Ten high wax tapers burned bright in their silver stands. The small chamber was vivid lit. Yet Emeline felt suddenly enclosed by shadow. She stared at her husband. He stared back. He was no longer smiling. She read menace, and remembered how her mother had warned of beatings if she did not behave, and of punishments to come. She could outrun Nicholas if she chose, for he still seemed unsteady. But such disobedience might lead to harsher beatings in the future, when his strength returned. So she said quietly, “My lord, I’m tired. I wish to return to my bed,” and tried to read his expression. She had not seen him drink enough to be dangerous, but he might well have filled his cup many times before she even arrived. Drunken men were the terror of many families, and Nicholas had proved his taste for wine at the wedding feast.
Yet no longer seeming unsteady, although she was sure his legs still pained him, Nicholas stood very still, did not move, and repeated, soft voiced, “You can retire when I permit it, madam. Now, come here.”
“If you mean to hurt me,” she whispered, “I warn you, I shall fight back. I know it’s not a wife’s prerogative but I will defend myself. I’m not your chattel.”
Nicholas stood his ground. “An amusing thought, madam, though in fact, that is precisely what you are. Or do you imagine me infirm, and easily overcome? It seems you do not know me at all. Now, for the third and last time, come here.”
She took one deep and anxious breath and approached him slowly, as though she might turn and run at any moment. He waited, his eyes fixed cold on hers. At an arm’s reach, she stopped, but he demanded, “Closer.”