Page 37 of Rogue Knight
Sir Alain, still atop his horse, interrupted the moment. “I will return at the end of the eve to go with you when you take the lady home.”
Sir Geoffroi inhaled deeply and nodded. Turning to her, he offered his arm. She had only to set her fingers upon his tunic and an unexpected shiver ran down her spine. He must have felt the attraction, for he turned his head to look at her and in his eyes she glimpsed intense interest as he led her toward the open door of the castle. It was not convenient, this attraction between them.
Inside the great hall, a servant accepted their cloaks and Sir Geoffroi introduced their host as Gilbert de Ghent. His clothing and bearing suggested he was a nobleman, landed and wealthy. He had black hair and was not more than thirty, dressed in an emerald green tunic with an ornately jeweled belt. His stance conveyed arrogance and his dark eyes raked her body.Here is a man who expects women to fall at his feet.
Gilbert bowed over her hand and gave her an admiring glance. “Had I but known a woman of your grace and beauty lived in York, I would have invited you myself.” Then with a wry smile aimed at Sir Geoffroi, their host said, “The Talisand knight is holding some secrets.”
Sir Geoffroi reclaimed her hand and placed it on his forearm. “Beware the young rogues of Flanders, Emma. My father’s estate in Tournai might be in France, but ’tis close to Flanders. We know them well.”
Gilbert laughed and strode off saying he would see them at the feast.
For an instant, she entertained the possibility Sir Geoffroi might be jealous of the handsome Gilbert, but then she reconsidered, knowing he loved to tease. Likely the two knights exchanged barbs often.
They walked farther into the hall. It smelled of new timber, herbed rushes and the dinner being prepared. The large timbered space was not unlike the one in the castle across the river, mayhap larger. Sconces full of candles cast a warm glow about the immense room. Servants hurried in and out with platters and trays, occasionally glancing in her direction. They were Northumbrians, after all. A young minstrel walked about strumming a lute while singing a French song. ’Twas the well-appointed den of her enemy. She had to remind herself she was still in York.
Ahead of them a man and a woman stood together, watching them approach. The faces of the couple bore looks of curiosity as if they had not expected Sir Geoffroi to be accompanied by a woman. Like the others, they were richly clothed in fine velvet embroidered with silver and gold, the woman in a dark red gown, the man in a tunic the color of cloves.
When they reached the couple, Sir Geoffroi said, “Allow me to introduce Emma of York.”
Emma curtsied as she had been taught as a young girl in Lincolnshire, the same way she had curtsied before the Saxon King Harold.
“Emma, these are my friends, William Malet, our sheriff, and his wife, Helise.”
“Welcome Emma,” said Helise Malet, “I am delighted you are here.”
Emma returned the smile the woman gave her. Malet’s wife was a woman of some years but despite the gray strands in her dark hair, Helise was probably not yet forty. She had a kind face and when she returned Emma’s smile, it occurred to her that the woman was, indeed, happy to have another woman to talk to. There were no other women in the hall save the servants.
Emma acknowledged Helise’s husband with a nod. His red hair was fair, almost Saxon in appearance. His chin bore a short, well-trimmed tuft of the same red hair. His expression was jovial.
“My lady.” He bowed before her.
Malet could not know of her noble Danish blood, nor of her highborn father and mother, so she assumed his use of the title was mere courtesy. She wanted no one to know she was the daughter of a Danish thegn, much less Maerleswein, now a rebel leader. It worried her that the archbishop might inadvertently disclose her identity.
Another man, who looked to be near fifty, confidently strode to Sir Geoffroi and introduced himself to her as William FitzOsbern, the Earl of Hereford. His lined face and gray-streaked dark hair made her think he had seen many battles and his heavy mustache gave him a harsh look. She recalled her father once mentioning that FitzOsbern was a friend of the Norman king.
“My lord,” she said curtseying before him. Her father would be amazed at her audacity in joining the Normans in their feasting, but he would also have encouraged her for the information it might provide him.
FitzOsbern smiled at her as she rose and facing Sir Geoffroi, said, “Hiding so lovely a flower from us, Sir Geoffroi? ’Tis brave of you to bring her as your guest, knowing neither Gil nor I have a wife.”
The offhanded compliment did not endear him to Emma.
Sir Geoffroi laid his hand over hers where it rested on his arm. “Have no misconceptions, Fitz, the lady is with me.”
“Aye, I can see that,” FitzOsbern said with an amused expression. “I wish you both a happy feast.” Tipping his head to her, he took his leave, saying he had to greet a late arriving guest.
Left alone for the moment, Sir Geoffroi led her toward the place where they would dine.
“Should I be flattered by FitzOsbern’s words or would he say the same to any woman?” she asked as they walked toward the table.
“Fitz meant it as a compliment, Emma, but truthfully, there are too few women in England for William’s thousands of knights. And none like you.”
“Are you teasing me again? You pay me too high a compliment.”
“Nay, I do not.” Guiding her toward the table, he explained that the table arrangement would be different than she might have expected. Instead of a raised dais set at a right angle to long trestle tables, because there were so few guests, there was a U-shaped table covered with a linen cloth and set around the stone-ringed hearth fire.
Servants had begun setting platters of food and trenchers on the table for the guests. Candles illuminated the many dishes that were sending smells of spices and roast meat into the air.
“Suddenly I am hungry for what should be a memorable meal,” said Sir Geoffroi. “Come, Gil urges us to take our seats.”
