Chapter Six

“A ugustin,” Lady Eyreka called out to her husband, drawing his attention.

When he looked over at her, his gaze deeply troubled, her heart hurt for him. “We’ll find Genvieve,” she said encouragingly, “I feel certain of it.”

“The only evidence we have that she may have been near Merewood is her mother’s cross. Though why Genvieve had it in her possession, I cannot imagine.”

“Mayhap Lady Annaliese gifted it to her,” Eyreka suggested hopefully.

“’Twas a gift from my grandfather to Annaliese the day she married my uncle. It is very valuable. She would never willingly part with it,” he said grimly.

Eyreka lay a hand atop his where it rested on his saddle. “We’ll find her.”

Augustin nodded his agreement, though his eyes seemed to turn a paler shade of gray, making her wonder if he truly believed they would.

The journey back to the holding was long and arduous. Augustin’s frustration at their continued failure to locate his missing cousin made him difficult to be with.

“Mayhap, husband,” Eyreka coaxed, “the sight of Merewood’s curtain wall will accomplish what I have not been able to.”

Augustin turned at her words. “Do not speak to me in riddles, wife,” he grumbled.

Eyreka sighed loudly. “Do you really think I have wits to let?”

“Nay, I—”

“You have shown your preference for the company of your own men time and again this past fortnight.”

“Eyreka—”

“Do not try to soothe me with honeyed words, husband,” she grumbled, highly irritated herself, and beginning to enjoy her husband’s discomfort. “Had I not known better,” she said lowering her voice so that only he could hear, “I would begin to doubt your claim that I alone hold your heart.”

Anger flashed briefly in Augustin’s eyes, changing their hue to that of winter ice, sharp and cold. “Reka,” he rasped, grabbing a hold of her mount’s reins and pulling her alongside of him. “That you would even question me wounds me to the quick.”

The bleak look in his eyes instantly made her regret her words. She shook her head and raised her hand to cup his jaw. “Forgive me,” she said softly. “I am hungry, weary, and more than ready to reach our destination. ’Tis exhaustion speaking.”

Augustin nodded his head once to let her know he heard her words, but would let her suffer awhile before he would allow her to soothe his battered pride. Love for him filled her to the point where she felt certain that she would burst from it.

They rode the last few miles in silence, and it was not until they saw the guard standing at the ready, arrows notched, that either of them spoke.

“Shall I have Sara bring hot water to our chamber?” she asked, as he helped her dismount, her voice going husky with need as she pictured her soap-filled hands caressing her husband’s battle-hardened body.

Their gazes met and held, understanding flashing between them, desire humming in the air. “Aye.”

The hall fell silent as she made her way across the wide expanse, stopping next to the brazier to warm her tired bones. “I feel as if I have earned each of my forty summers on this last trip,” Lady Eyreka moaned, holding her hands toward the flames that licked hungrily at the hunk of dried cedar. The soft scent of it hung in the air for a brief second before wafting away.

“Reka!” Lady Jillian called out from behind the buttery where she was directing one of the serving girls.

Eyreka could not help but smile at her son’s wife; Jillian’s answering smile was wide and filled with warmth, as the younger woman made her way over to where she stood.

“You must be exhausted,” Jillian said, concern lacing her words. “Come and sit,” she urged. “We have not yet supped. I’ll have Gert begin to serve immediately.”

Eyreka shook her head and asked, “Will you have Sara come to my chamber with hot water?”

Jillian patted Eyreka’s hand and rose gracefully to do as she was bid. She paused and turned back around. “We have a guest,” she said slowly.

“Do we?”

“Aye, she was badly injured,” Jillian added, “and we have let her stay in the solar while she regains her strength.”

“Poor woman,” Eyreka sympathized. “How is it that she came to be with us?”

Jillian slowly smiled. “Winslow brought her to us… unconscious.”

“He’s back, then Roderick—”

“Winslow came alone.”

Eyreka knew there was more to the tale and it would have to wait. “Tell me about our guest.”

Jillian nodded, “Her throat was injured, and the poor thing cannot speak.”

“Does she have a name?” Eyreka wanted to know.

“Aye, ’tis—”

“Eyreka!” Augustin’s voice bellowed across the chamber, his patience obviously at an end from waiting for his promised bath and more.

She placed a hand to Jillian’s forearm. “You must excuse my husband; he is over-tired. You can tell me more later.”

Jillian smiled knowingly. “And in need of your soothing touch,” she said in a low voice so that only Eyreka could hear her.

Eyreka nodded and hurried over to join her husband.

“Did you tell her about Genvieve?” Garrick asked, joining his wife.

“Not the whole of it—” she began.

“Obviously de Chauret has other more pressing needs to be seen to than visiting our wounded guest,” he said, raising his eyebrows suggestively.

“Walk with me,” Jillian suggested. “It is early yet, and the air still holds its warmth.”

Garrick reached out and placed her arm through his. Leading her across the hall to the side door, they walked outside into the night.

*

Simone left the tray laden with the evening’s meal on the table next to Genvieve. “The lord of the keep has returned,” the young woman said, making conversation, though she knew Genvieve could not respond.

“Such a handsome man,” she continued, straightening the bed linens and coming to stand beside the bed. “He’s a Norman baron,” Simone finished.

Norman. Genvieve’s mind grasped that tidbit of information and started to whirl with questions. She remembered being told they were at Merewood Keep, but could not remember why the name was so familiar. She racked her brain trying to uncover the reason while Simone continued to fuss, trying to help her eat.

The sudden wish that Winslow was here helping her eat made her jaw still in the act of chewing. Genvieve remembered the feel of his fingertips brushing against her lips as he fed her. Moisture pooled in her mouth, and she swallowed without thinking, and instantly started to choke on the half-chewed bit of venison stew.

Simone whacking her between the shoulder blades was more a hindrance than help. Finally, after a few tense moments, when she thought she’d choke to death, the offending bit of meat was dislodged, and she could draw a breath once again.

“Are you all right?” Simone asked, worry creasing her brow.

Genvieve opened her mouth to speak, then chastised herself for trying to tax her aching throat. The bout of coughing hurt like the very devil. She clamped her jaw tightly closed and nodded.

Simone seemed satisfied that Genvieve would not succumb to anymore fits of choking and continued with her monologue. “Lord A—”

Her words were cut off by her name being called from just beyond the open doorway.

“I almost forgot I’ve got to help with the bath water!” With a shake of her head, Simone hurried out of the chamber, leaving Genvieve to wonder about the Norman lord of the keep.