The agreement

Chapter Eight

The night had passed slowly for Emma. She'd kept Maude with her, the small mouse of a thing had shared half her bed, thrilled by the soft coverlet and mattress. Emma sighed slightly regretting her act of kindness, her nose catching the faint whiff of unwashed child and possibly a slight tang of goat. The bed clothes would need to be washed, or possibly burnt.

She'd tried to encourage the child to have a wash in the morning but the girl had looked horrified by the idea. In the end she'd reluctantly pushed a coin and a scrap of bread into her hands and watched through the castle window as Maude had scampered out through the gates to her village. The agreement was over, she'd given the girl the message to pass on to Robin. She'd tried to hold back the evitable, like Canute and the North Sea, and like Canute, she had failed.

Over the next few days her uncle had only spoken to her once, to inform her that he had accepted the great honour afforded to her by Robert de Vieuxpont, custodian of Bowes Castle and close friend of the King. Robert had promised her his son's hand in marriage but rather sensibly she thought, had demanded that she travelled to the north for the wedding and to begin her new life as a wife. The journey would start in two weeks he told her, a grin on his meat splatted lips. He must have done well from the deal, given his good humour, although he'd taken great amusement in his parting shot to her that evening as she had walked from the hall.

"Make sure you get the lad very drunk on his wedding night, hopefully he won't notice that his new mare has been ridden before" he sniggered.

Since that night she had arranged to eat in her room , she couldn't stand to see the look of victory in his eyes.

She couldn't wait to be rid of Nottingham. She spent her days pacing her room so bored she had even considered trying to sew tapestry to fill the hours. Emma picked up some sewing a maid had abandoned in her rooms, but then threw it in the corner in disgust. No, she wasn't quite that bored she thought, and even mindless distraction wouldn't soothe the longing she felt.

Emma had never been one to feel lonely, a childhood without many friends her own age, growing up in a hall full of men and a loving, but often distant father, she had learnt to find peace in her own company. This feeling was new, and more painful for it. She wouldn't admit to herself, but she kept to her rooms in self-imposed exile because that way she could lie to herself that she was avoiding Guy, when the reality was the opposite. At dawn she would watch him and his men ride out through the castle gates, not returning till late. Her fingertips brushed her lips with the memory of that night, longing to feel the weight on him on her, his touch on her skin. God's bones, she cried, she was driving herself mad.

The following days were filled with preparation for her departure. She hadn't brought a maid with her from Ireland, thinking that it was hard enough for her to lose her home after her father's death and his estate being managed by another 'friend' of King John, let alone dragging an innocent girl away from her family as well. The peasant girls employed at the castle had been standoffish, serving her when called, but not friendly. So she spent her days mostly alone, pacing, waiting and alternately dreading and allowing herself to hope that anywhere would be better than this. To be completely away from him could be the only salvation now.