Archangel (11 page)

Gart went to the bed, standing over the crying boy as Romney pulled on his shoes.  Orin saw Gart’s bags against the wall and gravitated towards them, only to be warned off by Gart.  He cocked a stern eyebrow at the boy, who pretended not to notice the rebuking expression. As Brendt wept, Gart went over to his bags and pulled out an old tunic. 

It was threadbare and worn, normally used under heavy armor, and Gart took it over to the bed and draped it on Brendt’s head.  The sun immediately shined again as Brendt happily struggled to pull the tunic over his head. Gart stood with his hands on his hips, watching the commotion going on around him. The morning was starting out on a whirlwind.

“Boys!” Emberley was suddenly in the doorway with Lacy in her arms, her lovely face awash with chagrin.  “I told you not to bother Sir Gart. What are you doing here?”

Gart turned to her. He’d not seen the woman out of bed in two days and now, here she was and looking absolutely exquisite. Dressed in a stunning yellow silk surcoat with a neckline that emphasized her delicious figure to a fault, she looked rested and healthy. Gart noted that she had even washed her hair because it was still slightly damp, pulled back from her face with a comb in a very attractive style. Other than a slight bruise to her left cheek, she looked completely normal. He just stood there and stared at her, entranced, as Romney answered his mother’s question.

“Brendt had my shoes,” Romney told her. “He would not give them back.”

He was pointing to his feet. Emberley gave Brendt her best motherly scowl, but the boy was having too much fun playing with Gart’s tunic.  

“Brendt,” she scolded. “I told you that it is not nice to take things that do not belong to you. Are you listening to me?”

Brendt’s blond head was peeking out from the arm of the tunic.  He nodded seriously at his mother.  Then he grinned brightly. “Ooo-nic, Mama!”

Emberley shook her head in resignation. “You mean tunic, sweetheart,” she said with a sigh.  Then she turned to look at Gart for the first time since entering the room.  She smiled at the man. “I am sorry if they disturbed you.”

He returned her smile, feeling himself go weak and giddy.

“They did not disturb me,” he said. “But I am sorry if they woke you up. I have spent the past two days trying to keep them from upsetting you.”

Her smile broadened and the baby squirmed to be set down.  As Lacy toddled over to the bed where Brendt was frolicking, Emberley focused on Gart.

“You have been an angel, Gart,” she said softly, her dark blue eyes warm with appreciation. “Had it not been for you, I do not know what would have become of me and the children. I do not know how I can adequately thank you for spending your precious time with us.”

Gart was caught up in a storm of warmth and excitement. He could feel the lightning flash every time their eyes met.  He wanted to reach out and take her hand in the worst way but he held himself steady, reminding himself that it would not be appropriate. So he dipped his head gallantly in response to her statement.

“My time has never been so well spent,” he told her, looking her over. “Are you sure you feel well enough?”

She nodded. “I feel fine,” she said. “My ear is a little sore but for the most part, I feel very well thanks to your kind attention. You make a fine healer.”

He wriggled his eyebrows. “Perhaps,” he said modestly.

She gazed at his handsome face, realizing for the first time that he was without any clothes on from the waist up.  She tried not to let her eyes drift to his naked chest but she couldn’t help herself; the man was muscular and sculpted, with a broad chest, narrow waist and enormous arms. He was spectacular. The sight was enough to set her heart to racing somewhat and her cheeks to flush, and she struggled to overcome her reaction to him.  She felt like that giddy young girl again, the one who used to follow Erik and Gart around with adoration in her eyes. She was feeling that adoration again and it frightened her.

“Will you be leaving us now?” she asked, not knowing what else to say and hoping he didn’t notice her pink cheeks. “Surely you have pressing duties elsewhere.”

Now that she was looking away from him, he took the opportunity to let his gaze drift over her body.  Even though she had given birth to four children, the woman was magnificent.  She had full breasts and a slender torso, and he could only imagine that what was covered by layers of fabric was just as luscious.  

“I do not, at least at the moment,” he said, his gaze moving back to her delicate profile. “In fact, I was hoping you could help me to that regard.”

She turned to look at him. “How?”

He lifted his big shoulders, noticing from the corner of his eye that Orin was back over with his bags. Rather than scold the boy, he called to him.

“Orin,” he said in his deep, bass voice. “Look down into the bag in front of you; there is a dark blue tunic.  Can you please bring it to me?”

Orin gleefully did as he was told as Gart returned his attention to Emberley.

“According to my liege, your husband has commandeered four hundred of de Lohr’s men to support his efforts for the Queen in France,” he said. “I am told that I will be heading to France at the head of this contingent in three or four weeks.  I was hoping you would allow me to stay here and keep you company until that time. I have not seen you in twelve years and I would like to get reacquainted with my best friend’s sister from long ago.  Would that be acceptable?”

Emberley gazed steadily at him, feeling joy at his request that she couldn’t begin to describe. She’d spent eight years with Julian in a hellish existence and the thought of kind male attention was incredibly inviting. But she just as quickly knew that allowing him to stay might not be a wise decision in more ways than one.  Not only would Julian become furious if he ever found out, but given the way she felt about Gart when she looked at him… nay, it would not be wise at all.  Disappointment flooded her and she averted her gaze.

“I am not sure…,” she started and then regrouped. “Surely we hold no particular interest for you.  We live very ordinary lives, without excitement. You would become grossly bored within a week.”

He gave her a half-grin. “With these children?” he looked to the group of them; two on the bed and two going through his bags. “You underestimate their entertainment value. I would like to get the chance to know Erik’s nephews. Will you please allow me this privilege?”

“But….”

“I have nowhere else to go, Emberley.”

She cocked her head, her expression somewhat curious. “Do you not have a home?”

He shook his head. “Only Denstroude Castle or Bellham Place in London, neither of which are my home. They are de Lohr’s homes.”

“But your father’s brother is William de Fortibus, the Earl of Albemarle,” she pointed out. “Surely your father….”

He shook his head, cutting her off. “If you remember anything about me, then you will also remember that my father and his brother had a disagreement long ago that severed all ties between then,” he reminded her. “That is why my father changed his name from de Fortibus to Forbes.  My father has been dead and buried for quite some time in the dark soil of Shropshire and left nothing for his only son.”

She grew serious as the children around her began to play more loudly. Her gaze upon him was intense. “I remember,” she murmured. “But it does not seem right, Gart. You are a great knight from a great family.  Your uncle is an Earl. Surely he is proud of his nephew and has provided for you.”

His murky green eyes were riveted to her, ignoring the fact that Romney and Orin had emptied all three of his bags and were happily looking for valuables.

“The only thing my uncle ever did was ensure I fostered in a prestigious house,” he said quietly. “I am sure you do not remember all of my past, as it was long ago when you and I last knew each other, but I have had to fight for everything I have accumulated.  Fortunately, serving de Lohr has allowed me to build my fortune and someday, I will have a home of my own. But not yet.”

Emberley watched his handsome face, sensing no distress and only determination. She shook her head sadly.

“It is not right that you should have to fight for everything when birthright alone should have dictated some manner of secure future,” she sighed after a moment. “Perhaps you can marry well and that will seal your status. There must be a worthy bride for you somewhere.”

He just looked at her, thinking of a thousand different replies and not one of them was appropriate.  He couldn’t say what he was thinking.
I should have married you
.  After a moment, he smiled weakly.

“Perhaps,” was all he would say. “Meanwhile, will you allow me to remain as your guest until I am called back to battle?”

Her expression grew serious. “I do not like the sound of that,” she muttered, hardly noticing when Brendt climbed off the bed with the tunic over his head and began running around with Lacy toddling after him. “The last time I saw someone off to battle, he did not return. I should not like it if you did not return.”

He smiled faintly. “I would not want to disappoint you. May I stay, then?”

Against her better judgment, she reluctantly nodded. “Very well,” she said softy. “I would like that.”

His smile broadened in a warm gesture but he was cut short from replying when Brendt, still with the tunic over his head and running from his sister, bashed into his legs. He reached down to steady the boy.

“Orin?” he called over his shoulder. “Where is my tunic? Have you forgotten? And stop robbing my bags.”

Orin popped up from the pile on the floor with a dark blue garment in his hand, running it over to Gart.  Gart took the tunic, pulling it over his head as he turned to Romney and Orin and the complete mess they had made out of his saddle bags. 

He sighed heavily at the sight, resting his giant fists on his hips as he surveyed the situation. Everything was all over the place.

“You two have made a mockery out of my possessions,” he grumbled. “Start repacking those bags and if it is not neatly done, I will make you repack them again until you get it right.”

Romney and Orin may have thought it great fun to go through Gart’s possessions but they did not think it fun to repack everything.  They scowled and made faces but did as they were told, trying to figure out where to start in the mess they had made. They looked a little lost. Gart pointed to the pile of tunics.

“Start there,” he told them. “Roll them up neatly and pack them tightly together.”

Romney sighed with displeasure and started to do what he was told but Gart suddenly grabbed the boy’s arm and began frisking him.  As Romney grumbled and tried to pull away, Gart began pulling all sorts of valuables out of Romney’s pockets.

“My purse,” he pulled out a heavy leather pouch from the front of Romney’s tunic and tossed it into his bags. “What else of mine have you stolen?”

As Emberley stood by, mortified, Gart removed two small daggers, a pouch containing flint and stone, a couple of other small pouches, one of which contained white willow powder for the terrible headaches that Gart was prone to, and two spoons.  He patted the boy down until he was sure there was nothing else of his that the boy had stolen before letting him go.

“Now,” he pointed at his bags. “Pack. And if I find anything else of mine that you have stolen, you shall be very sorry.”

Romney was defiant and contrite and the same time. “The money was not for me,” he insisted. “It was for Mother.”

Emberley rolled her eyes. “Romney de Russe de Moyons, you will not dare pull me into your thievery.”