Free LordoftheKeep by Ann Lawrence Page A

Emma
saw blushes and hopeful glances. Lord Gilles gave his attention to the juggler.
An apple flew from the juggler’s control and landed in a pitcher of ale. Ale
splashed the face of a short, stocky man who rose in a roar to chase the
juggler. The juggler nimbly leapt from table to table, avoiding his pursuer.
Lord Gilles rose and watched to see who won the race. Wagers flew. Emma found
herself caught up in the moment. The juggler disappeared out the door. The
company subsided, voices dropped, conversations resumed. When Emma looked at
the high table, Lord Gilles was gone. The hall seemed colorless and empty
without him.
    Cease this senseless dreaming! Can you not see how far
you sit from his table? She hoisted Angelique into her arms and forced
herself to leave the hall. She must avoid Lord Gilles and his enthralling
presence.
    Avoiding Lord Gilles should not be difficult. He kept
warriors’ hours, up at dawn. He did not carouse with the younger knights, but
rather retreated to his chamber early of an evening or remained only to play a
game of chess with one of his men—most often Mistress Sarah’s husband. Lord
Gilles did not wander the hall as William Belfour did.
    To avoid William Belfour took a much greater effort, but she
had swiftly learned that the man was tiresome and predictable. Emma had only to
mark which women of the keep were most comely and stay away from their places
of work.
    It had become her habit to rise at dawn and work first to
allow Lord Gilles and his men time to leave the hall before she ventured out.
She waited for the sounds of the men’s morning work at arms practice, then
broke her fast.
    ‘Twas usually only at prayers that she saw Lord Gilles.
‘Twas sin, she knew, to stare at him so, instead of concentrating on her own
prayers. Many prayers of thanksgiving had she offered in her few weeks at Lord
Gilles’ keep. ‘Twas a miracle that her life was so blessed. No one scorned her
for the child, or not in her presence anyway. Mistress Sarah was a hard
taskmaster, and she brooked no gossip or nastiness among her workers.
    As Emma passed through the hall entry a voice called to her.
“Wench.” It was an order as well as a greeting.
    She turned and put down Angelique who clung to her skirts
and hid her face. Her babe had been fussy and irritable all day. ‘Twas time she
sought her bed. The short, burly man before her was battle-scarred and
bullnecked. He was missing one eye, and the empty socket made Emma’s skin
crawl. She waited patiently, however, to hear what the man wanted. “Sir?” She
recognized him as one of the duke’s visiting knights.
    “Come.” The man crooked a finger and turned abruptly away.
    Emma hesitated, but realized that a knight must be obeyed as
surely as the lord himself. She lifted Angelique, protesting, to her hip. Her
stomach danced. Mayhap he was to take her to Lord Gilles. Her free hand rose to
smooth her headcovering and fuss at the wrinkles in her worn gray overgown,
aware she looked unfit to stand before Lord Gilles.
    She followed the man’s swiftly retreating form as fast as
she could with Angelique on her hip. The man led the way to a narrow stone
staircase that led into the bowels of the keep.
    The stair opened to a dark hallway lit only with two rush
torches. Their smoke stung her eyes. Off the hall were dark alcoves headed by
stone arches. The scent of mold and damp pervaded the chilly hallway. At the
bottom of the staircase Emma peeked around the corner. She set Angelique’s
twisting, wriggling form on the floor. The man disappeared into a side alcove,
and she followed. The man cuffed Angelique away with one sweep of his arm as he
engulfed Emma in a strong embrace.
    “Angelique!” she cried, but her words were muffled by the
knight’s wet mouth. He leaned her back over stacked sacks of grain. His hand
groped over her breasts, his fingers pinching, kneading, grasping. She fought,
twisted, dislodged her headcovering, flailed her head about. Her