LordoftheKeep Read Online Free PDF

turned it, and checked that what he
could see was her only wounding. Satisfied, he tucked her gown and mantle close
about her ankles.
    The babe burrowed in the curve of her mother’s body. Gilles
touched his hand lightly to the child’s towhead. Her hair tumbled in a mass of
short curls like silk, and he let his hand linger in appreciation of her tiny
beauty. He offered her what he hoped was a reassuring smile and was rewarded by
a sudden cessation of noise. Her cries subsided to hiccups. Her eyes grew wide.
A thumb, no bigger than the first joint on Gilles’ smallest finger, crept into
her mouth.
    Roland knelt at Gilles’ side. “‘Tis good the wench fainted.
Stitching is painful work.”
    Gilles nodded. They watched Hubert clean a wound on the back
of Emma’s head. The babe oversaw the procedure as she suckled her fingers. She
crept from her mother’s side to lean curiously on Gilles’ thigh to watch the
youth work.
    “‘Tis done. But I think it should receive a poultice or some
such,” Hubert said. “See here where her head is bleeding? She is not in a simple
faint, my lord.”
    “We will take her to Hawkwatch and see to it there.” Gilles
leaned forward and checked the bandages, careful not to disturb the curious
child, loath to bring on another bout of wailing. His hand smoothed over Emma’s
hair to her hood. His fingers lingered for a moment on the unusual weaving of
her blue mantle. It reminded him of how a field of bluebells might look when
the wind blows from first one direction and then another. He imagined he could
catch the scent of those flowers.
    Shaking himself from his reverie, he scooped up the babe
and, grinning, handed her to Roland, who shot him an evil look. She clung to
Roland’s shoulder and stared back at Gilles as he bent and swept Emma up into
his arms. He carried her like a piece of rare window glass, for somehow the
child’s scrutiny made him more aware of the precious nature of his burden.
    * * * * *
    Rich scarlet linen formed a canopy above Emma’s head.
Gathered yards of the cloth, tied with braided cord of golden threads, were
held against bedposts carved with leaves and fruit. Emma twisted her head about
to see beyond the bed and saw a man seated by the fire. She shut her eyes as
quickly as one would a lid on a coffer of snakes.
    Slowly, she opened one eye, just enough to peek between her
lashes. ‘Twas Lord Gilles d’Argent who reclined in the roomy chair of solid
English oak.
    Cradling Angelique in his arms .
    Emma watched her daughter kick her little bare feet and push
them against Lord Gilles’ lap. Her mouth worked busily on her thumb. He tried
to pull it from her mouth. Emma knew the strength of that grip. She fully
understood why he gave up and left Angelique to her pleasure.
    Emma lay motionless except for occasional restless movements
of her injured limb. It ached and throbbed from her foot to her knee. Only the
pain in her head rivaled it. She held her breath as Angelique reached out for
Lord Gilles’ beard, stroked her fingers along it, then giggled when he laughed.
    The masculine laughter drew Emma from her feigned sleep, her
heart beating rapidly. She could not pretend to sleep any longer. She rose on
her elbows, moaned as pain sliced through her head. It took only one more
moment for her to realize she was nearly naked, clad in naught but a loose
linen shift. Not her own. Her milk-filled breasts ached and begged to be
emptied. Drawing the blanket to her chin, Emma sat up.
    Gilles stood and then turned to Emma.
    “Your babe seems hungry.” He stepped into the gloom that
surrounded the bed and gently laid Angelique in her mother’s arms. Angelique
immediately clutched at Emma who became intensely aware of Lord Gilles standing
at the bed’s edge. He stood so close she could smell the leather of his
garments.
    She felt the blood rise to color her cheeks as Angelique
rooted about at her breast.
    “I will send you food and drink,” Lord Gilles said.