Page 18 of Rogue Knight
She called after him, “Artur?”
He paused at the door. “Yea?”
“Do not mention what you have seen here to anyone save Sigga.”
He nodded and left, closing the door behind him.
Emma helped the stunned girl to drink the potion that would send her to sweet oblivion. Then she waited for it to take effect.
Once she was certain Inga was deep in sleep, Emma removed the robe she had placed over Inga. Carefully, she peeled back the edges of Inga’s cloak and gasped. Inga’s tunic and shift had been torn from neck to the hem, leaving her naked and exposed. The girl would have been no match for the Norman. “He forced you, the bastard,” she hissed under her breath. Inga’s small breasts were bruised and there were more bruises on her hips and slim thighs. And blood. It was caked in streaks on her skin from her woman’s center halfway down her thighs. The rampaging beast had hurt her, hurt her badly.
A sudden rage rose within Emma.He will pay for this.If she could find a way, she would see him dead for what he had done.
As tenderly as she could, Emma cleaned the blood from Inga’s young skin and wiped the streaks of dried tears from her cheeks.
Once she had finished bathing Inga, she gently pulled the torn gown from under the girl and took one of her own shifts from the chest at the foot of the bed. After some difficulty, she was able to put it on Inga, thinking it would be best if she did not wake to see the bruises on her breasts and hips. She would surely feel them, but at least she would not have the sight of them to remind her.
The torn and soiled garments Emma took downstairs and burned in the hearth fire. She was standing over the fire, watching the soiled clothing turn to ash, when Sigga met her with the tunic and the cloak that would disguise Emma as a servant.
“The clothes you asked for, Mistress.”
“Thank you, Sigga. I will return them.”
“Are you certain you are doing the right thing, my lady?”
“Aye, I must save Feigr if I can.”
Sigga’s gaze followed Emma as she climbed the stairs to her chamber. Setting the clothing aside, she carefully combed the tangles from Inga’s hair using her own carved wooden comb, then tucked the cover around the girl and smoothed the hair from her forehead.
Tears fell as Emma faced the stark reality: Inga might look innocent in her sleep, but her innocence was no more.
Once she had made Inga as comfortable as possible, Emma dressed in the servant’s clothing. Sigga had given her the best tunic she had, a crimson one she kept for special days. It was so like Sigga not to want her mistress to be seen in the ones the servant used to prepare their meals. Still, it would serve. It was looser than her own fine gowns and would mask her slender curves.
Wrapping Sigga’s cloak around her against the cold night air, she set forth, bidding Magnus to stay. She would not take him with her lest he growl at some knight and be slain. Her errand was one of mercy.
Sir Geoffroi had offered her his service. She would test the sincerity of his offer, risking much to save Inga’s father. Even entering the den of Lucifer himself.
CHAPTER 5
For some reason he could not explain, instead of returning to his chamber after the evening meal, Geoff lingered to observe the knights and men-at-arms gathered in the hall. Leaning against the rear wall, not far from his chamber, he crossed his arms over his chest, and watched the men dicing, drinking and telling stories of their encounters with the rebels that day.
They were a rough lot, some having newly joined William’s army, among them Flemish mercenaries who came for the plunder and the freedom to pillage. They were the most dangerous of William’s men for they cared not what destruction they left behind them. Surely they had been the ones responsible for the boys who had been killed.
A cloaked figure moved in and out of the shadows, drawing Geoff’s attention. Though the hood mostly covered her head, he could see it was a woman. By her apparel, a serving wench, but she carried herself like a lady. As he studied her more carefully, there was something familiar about her. It was the way she walked with confidence, her head up, her shoulders back.The young widow… Emma! The only thing missing was the hound. Why had she come to the castle where so much danger threatened a woman alone?
In the flickering light of the torches, she gazed anxiously around the hall, searching the faces of the men as if looking for someone. Suddenly her eyes fixed upon one of the mercenaries and she froze. Like the Valkyrie he had first imagined her, she glared at the knight as her hand moved slowly beneath her cloak to her hip. In the same manner she had reached for her knife that morning when he’d come upon her in the clearing.
Geoff knew the mercenary she was staring at, a man he heartily disliked, a braggart whose mouth was never silent. Sir Eude de Fourneaux.
It took him but a moment to realize her intent.
Striding toward her, Geoff grabbed her arm beneath her cloak. Their eyes met and at once he discerned her intent. “Do not, lady. Else he would see you dead.”
“I did not come for him, though I would kill him if I could. I came to seek your help if your offer is still good.”
Before he could assure her it was, the man whom she had stalked focused his attention on them.
“What vision is this, Sir Geoffroi? We could happily use another wench this night. One to sheathe my most worthy sword.” Eude’s words were slurred with the drink he had consumed, but his meaning was clear enough.
