Page 62 of Rogue Knight
“Helise, I am sorry,” Emma said to the woman.
Malet’s wife regarded her coolly and looked away.
Geoff felt empty, sickened at the thought Emma could accept his kisses and his trust while carrying on a grand deception. He had been well and truly deceived. Now, like the Valkyrie he had first imagined her, she would choose to give him life.But for how long?He could not imagine they would keep him and the others alive when they had already slaughtered the garrisons. Mayhap once she was gone, Maerleswein would see to their deaths as well.
Malet had been right the night of the feast when he had warned him.Could she be a rebel spy?Geoff had not thought so then, but now the evidence was laid before him, too clear to deny. Lured like a fish to the line, baited by her beauty and her winsome smiles, he had never considered Emma might be one of the rebels, much less the daughter of their leader. He had believed her only a widow he could win. He had been wrong.
Geoff grew bitter remembering the hundreds of knights and men-at-arms the rebels and their Danish allies had slain. Some had ridden with him from Talisand, good men and true. Like him, they were younger sons who served the king hoping to gain lands of their own in England. Now they were gone, their voices stilled forever.
***
Riding Thyra back to her home, accompanied by her father’s guards, Emma carefully picked her way through the bodies and charred debris scattered over the streets of York. It was an unholy sight. The tension that had gripped her not knowing if she would be in time to save them ebbed with the relief that came, knowing her father would spare Geoffroi and his companions. But the look of hatred on Geoffroi’s face would haunt her forever.
She had never lied to him but she had not told him who her father was or that he had gone to the Danish king, who was his friend, to seek aid for the rebels in York. The revulsion she had glimpsed in the knight’s eyes was so unlike the warmth she had always seen there before it chilled her.
He held her responsible for what had transpired. But what could she have done? She loved her father and her people who suffered under the Norman yoke. Her own hatred for the French knights had been strong. Yet into her life had come one who was not like the others, one who showed her kindness at every turn. One whose laughter had brought joy into her life, even love. His kindness had softened her heart and made her want to love again.
But how could she have told him of the coming battle?
She had never believed Geoffroi would lose his life. To her he was invincible, destined to return to his beloved Talisand. And hehadsurvived the battle while most of the Normans had died.
On her way to the castle, she had seen hundreds, mayhap thousands of bodies strewn about the streets and near the castles, Normans mostly by their clothing and long shields, but Northumbrians and Danes as well. Even horses had fallen.
Vultures circled overhead, some descending to the bodies to pick at the corpses. The stench that had drawn them made her want to vomit. She could never get used to war’s leavings and hoped to never see them again.
The victors were removing swords and knives from their victims and piling up the corpses to be burned.
Though some of the slain knights and men-at-arms had undoubtedly inflicted evil upon her people, treating the citizens despicably and defiling young women as if their virtue was of little consequence, the sight of so many dead was still horrible and one she had never seen before.
They rode down Coppergate, past the ruined stalls that had once been the shops owned by Feigr and Auki. Feigr’s forge had survived the flames, a blackened monument to a once prosperous business, but the rest of his shop was a mound of ashes. At least Feigr had fled before the flames destroyed the wooden structures. Even now, many of Feigr’s goods were stored in her home.Had he survived the battle?Inga would ask her.
Glancing at the two rough looking guards riding on either side of her, she was glad she had apologized to them for her part in their having to face her father’s wrath, but she would not change what she had done. She could not have left Geoffroi to die, not just because he had oft rescued her and those she loved, but because she cared for him.
Did she love the Norman? Yes, her heart told her, for she dreaded life without him, his cheerful presence, his tender touch. His smile and his love had been gifts she had never thought to have. Into her mind came the picture of his face as she had departed the castle. It had been twisted into a grimace, so harsh it had made her recoil. She had always known he was her enemy; now he knew she was his.
What would become of him and the other Normans her father held prisoner? Would they be ransomed? She hoped so. At least that way they would live.
Questions swirled in her mind as they neared her home. With the city reduced to a burned out shell and only a few structures still standing, where would the people go? The wealthy, she knew, could flee to other places. Mayhap they already had. But what of the shopkeepers, freemen and villeins? Would the Danes remain to defend them when the Norman king returned, as he surely must? Could the Northumbrian warriors hold York without them? From all her father had told her about the Norman king, she knew he meant to rule all of England.
She shuddered when she considered the ruthless methods he might employ to see it done. Surely when he heard the news of his forces’ defeat, he would seek vengeance.
***
Geoff peered out the small arrow slit in the chamber high in the tower where he, Alain and Mathieu had been confined. The fires from the Danes’ camp along the riverbank burned strong in the late September night as the sounds of their revelry drifted up to him and he remembered Emma as he had last seen her.
He had loved her, had even wanted her for his wife. But seeing her with her father cast a shadow on all they had shared. She was a beauty who had captured his heart and then tossed it at his feet. How long would Maerleswein keep his promise to her and allow them to live?
Hours had passed with no word. They had tended their wounds as best they could. Alain’s was worse than Geoff’s but they were finally able to stop the bleeding, clean the wound and make a bandage out of what cloth they had found in the chamber. If the Bear did not come down with a fever, he would heal.
Alain went to the door and pressed his ear to listen. “The sounds of celebration from the hall grow loud. Let us hope they have forgotten us in their feasting and drinking.”
“At least they have allowed the servants to bring us food,” said Mathieu, picking up a piece of bread from where it sat on the tray with cheese, fruit and a pitcher of wine.
Geoff sighed, his thoughts on the far side of the city where Emma might be sitting by her own hearth fire. How could she have betrayed him?
He felt Alain watching him. He was not surprised when he spoke words of advice. “Forget the widow. There will be other women.”
Geoff said nothing. It might be wise to forget her, but he was not so sanguine as to believe it was possible. There would be no other woman like Emma. He wanted to hate her for her treachery. Mayhap for long moments he had. But then he remembered their afternoons together in the meadow, her sweet response to his lovemaking, her kindness to the orphaned children, the girl Inga, even the hound, and his hatred turned into a longing, a desire for what he had lost. How could he still desire a woman who had sold him to the rebels?
