The agreement

Chapter 1

By the time that Emma de Vaisey's horse drew up to the city gates she was thoroughly peeved. The ride had been long, hard and it had started raining heavily after lunch. She was soaked to the skin; even her fur-lined clock had failed to save her from the weather. Her delicate hands were blue underneath their expensive kid leather gloves and her temper had frayed to such a point that even her rugged guard of men-at-arms were now shooting her looks of wary nervousness.

It wasn't just the weather that had put her in such a foul mood; it was the thought of having to live with her damned uncle for who knew how long! God's teeth, she muttered as they rode in through the gates of Nottingham castle, why here?

The grim stone castle was bustling with all the usual activity of a market day. People from wealthy merchants to the lowest of the common folk scuffled for space and opportunity to sell their goods. The pitiful bellows of penned livestock blended with the noisy chatter of housewives crowded around makeshift stalls. The air was thick with the smell of cooking food and animal dung. Emma viewed the scene, it reminded her of where she had grown up in Ireland, even if the language and the curses were often in the different language. She sighed and tucked the thought away, memories of home could only bring her pain.

They dismounted at the foot of the stairs to the great hall, Emma grimaced at the ache of her legs as she climbed down from her horse. Although she had ridden since childhood, she had always secretly hated the activity, much preferring to walk. In her experience horses were just large smelly brutes that seemed to wait for the perfect opportunity to dump you in a large puddle of mud when you least expected it.

Her attention was diverted from the discomfort in her neither regions by a call from the great hall that sent small, ragged grooms scurrying out of the nearby stables to tend to the horses. Emma gritted her teeth and stalked up the stairs lifting her heavy skirts out of the mud and filth. She found herself in the doorway of the dark smoky cavern of the great hall, leaving her bedraggled men to trail behind her in a grubby train.

Nottingham castle was nothing like the airy and well-lit hall that she had grown up in Ireland. Clean rushes had always graced the floor and the sweet smell of herbs had hung on the air, masking the sourer scents of men and dogs. Her mother had always seen that the place was clean and comfortable and even after her death her father had always ensured that the place had been welcoming. Emma's heart tightened at the thought of her father, the loss was still too close, too sharp for comfort.

As she picked her way down the centre of the large hall she noticed that the place seemed as fresh as old kennels and the inhabitants little above squabbling curs. Whoever was master here obviously little importance to either cleaniness or decorum she concluded, raising an eyebrow at the servants ignoring tables covered in last night's feasting.

The room was lined with grubby tables and trestles, separated by space to walk up to the main table that sat on a raised dais at the end of the hall. At the tables men were lounged about, some still in chainmail, others in various states of undress with tankards grasped in their hands and tongues loosened with cheap ale. While a lesser woman may have quailed at the sight, Emma was made of sterner stuff and had never lacked in confidence even as a child. Her father had always told her that even a woman could be brave and act with honour, and she hoped that these lessons would serve her well through her current troubles.

Avoiding breathing through her nose, she lengthened her stride and made for the raised dias visible at the end of the hall through the smoky gloom. She was gratified that once the surrounding company caught sight of her presence that almost all conversation ceased. The only two that continued conversing were the two men sitting at the main table, one dark, tall and obviously some sort of soldier given his functional leather attire. The other man was smaller, also dark in complexion but without the regular features of his companion and to be honest, with a distinct rodent quality to his face. That, she concluded must be Robert, his looks were like those of her father, although his had always been softened by a smile. Luckily, she had taken after her mother and had inherited her tall stature and fairer complexion.

Her uncle's companion noticed her approach, appraising her appearance and then suddenly turning away. Robert noticed his second-in-command's inattention and turned towards her. His face registered at first vague curiosity and then hardened into resigned acceptance.

Robert de Vaisey poked the other man's arm and roughly pointed in her direction. "This must be my niece Guy" he arranged his furs about him and settled further into his chair ignoring any polite conventions.. Emma was wet and dishevelled and Robert viewed her with faint disgust and Guy with apparent disinterest, his emotions veiled from view. She didn't miss her uncle's expression though, but didn't let it cause her any undue concern. Overly tall for a girl perhaps, she knew she was far from plain. Then again, from what she had heard rumoured about her uncle he wasn't particularly interested in the fairer sex as a whole.

"Indeed dear uncle, I am Emma de Vaisey daughter of your poor departed brother, Jocelyn, may God rest his soul" she said quietly, her tongue emphasizing the 'dear'. Her blue eyes flitting from her uncle's companion to Robert. Guy looked questioning at his lord; apparently he had been unaware that the Vaisey clan had sired another brother. He had been uneven less aware that the brother had produced such a daughter.

"Wonderful" the sheriff replied, his expression indicating that it was anything but.. Ever since he had received the letter informing him of her coming he had had a faint hope that she might have been attacked by pirates or brigands on the journey, leaving him her fortune without the inconvenience. Where was Robin Hood and his band when you really needed them? Obviously God wasn't feeling generous on this occasion. Why he had to get stuck with brat? It certainly wasn't because he had been close to his youngest brother. They had hardly keep in contact after he had been married off to the daughter of some peat farmer in Dublin. For a younger son it had been a good marriage, he grudgingly conceded, she had been rather wealthy, but still, Ireland and a love match to top it off? It was had been almost too embarrassing for the family to bear.

The things he had to put up with he thought, inwardly sighing. It was just another example of the King making his life difficult, if he hadn't demanded in putting some jumped up toady a bit to free with his hands to manage the estate after her father's death then she could have stayed there until Vaisey had managed to get a share of her dowry and sold her off to one of his cronies instead.

Emma sensed his lack of enthusiasm for her arrival, and was almost relieved that he appeared to not like her as much as she had already determined that she wasn't going to like him. He looked a cruel man, nothing like her father who had been as sweet and gentle as the land and wife that he had taken for his own. While her mother had died five years ago and she missed her still, it had always been her father that she had been closest too. He had permitted her to run a little wild perhaps, but she had loved him with a fierce fury and now he was gone, she felt alone and adrift in the world. The one thing that she clung to was the spirit of independence that he had taught her and a deep-seated wariness of men in general.

.

After she was perfunctorily dismissed, a ragged servant escorted Emma to the upper level of the great hall to a room that had been set aside for her use. After meeting the man downstairs she was less than surprised to find the apartments draughty and decidedly damp. The only thing that looked slightly appealing during this whole experience was her uncle's companion, whom he had pointedly not introduced her to. He was obviously his master at arms or some sort and therefore, a man in a position below her notice. After all, her family may be reasonably loathsome, but she was the heiress to a considerable fortune through her mother even if the King and her uncle had designs on it.

Choosing to eat in her room as the safest option, Emma settled herself into the damp sheets and huddled under the slightly foul smelling furs. Her thoughts before sleep came were of rebellion. She may have no choice in where she was living given that the alternative had proved to be worse (she shuddered in memory), but if her uncle thought he could marry her off to the nearest pox-marked hunchback, he had another thing coming.