PROLOGUE
NORMANDY, 1179
Emma gazed through the window at the busy square, wishing she was outside, enjoying the morning, the light and the voices of the people around her. She would be under the sun rather than in this oppressive chamber, listening to her uncle’s commanding voice.
“This new match is pleasing,” Roland de Fael now told her in self-satisfied tones.
Emma strived hard to suppress a bitter smile. Pleasing? Pleasing to whom? To her uncle most certainly, just as the first match she’d made, seven years ago, had been pleasing to her mother. At fifteen, Emma had become Lady Belfort, leaving England to go to Normandy. Now that her husband was dead and King Henry more favourably disposed towards her family, she’d hoped she would be allowed to return to England. Yet her uncle had other plans for her.
“What does Mother say?” Emma asked, clinging on a last shred of hope.
Her mother was in England, having taken the veil at the Priory of Severborough, at King Henry’s behest. Emma was well aware her mother would not care her daughter did not wish to wed again, just as she’d not cared when Emma had tried to plead against her first match. Yet, if her mother frowned upon this new, second match, Emma could stall for time. She did not want to wed, knowing already this new husband was just as ready to use his fists upon her as Lord Belfort had been.
“Your mother is also in favour of the match,” her uncle replied, thwarting the last of Emma’s hopes.
“Oh, then I suppose there’s nothing I can further say.”
Her uncle gave a dismissive shrug, and then began to talk to Emma of the marriage contract. Emma shut her ears against most of what he was saying, knowing he would not care to hear her thoughts upon anything anyway. If she dared protest, he might slap her and tell her to be silent, just as her late husband had done, because he'd never cared to hear her talk. She self-consciously rubbed the bruise she bore on her arm, after the encounter with her new betrothed, who’d attempted to caress her against her will in order to have a sample of what he was going to savour on his wedding night. Her future bridegroom, Lord FitzUrse, had been displeased she’d not been more welcoming of his advances, and he had squeezed her arm painfully, promising he’d school her to obedience as soon as they were wed. Emma supposed Lord Belfort had been a slightly milder husband, because he’d never bothered to speak of obedience whenever he’d treated her roughly. He’d just struck her across the face when he’d been angry or displeased with her. Fortunately, he’d been often absent from home, so he’d not gotten to strike her as often as he would have if they’d spent more time together. Emma now contemplated her marriage to Lord FitzUrse, understanding he might prove even more of a trial than her first husband. And she told herself, as so manytimes before, that she should no longer subject herself to such a trial.
“Your marriage will take place in a fortnight,” Roland de Fael concluded in the same self-satisfied voice as before.
Emma said nothing. She pictured herself far away from here, in a place where she could enjoy the sunlight upon her face and the sweet wind ruffling her uncovered hair. In a place where she could make a life for herself with no one to lord over her.
As soon as her uncle left the chamber, she decided to take the outing she wanted, knowing today he would not frown upon the liberty she was taking because he was quite pleased with himself. Later, as she walked, accompanied by one of her serving women, Emma attempted to think calmly upon what she had resolved to do. In less than a fortnight, once she’d carefully prepared everything, she would leave this place, never to return. And she would never be Lady Emma de Laval or Lady Emma Belfort or Lady Emma FitzUrse for that matter. She would be just Emma, a common woman trying to make a good, simple life for herself, away from noble manors and palaces and courts, away from lords who thought they owned rights of life and death over her.
“Milady!”
A voice behind her interrupted the train of her thoughts. Emma spun to face the one who’d spoken. It was a woman wearing a tattered cloak and a heavy hood, which did not allow anyone to discern her features.
“Away with you,” Emma’s serving woman said sharply. “We’ve brought no alms to give today. Come back on Sunday, when milady gives her charity.”
Emma heaved a sigh, knowing the servant had spoken true. She had not brought coin or bread with her and there was nothing with which she could help the woman at this time. Yet she thought upon the urgency in the woman’s voice. This woman required charity, and Emma knew she could not refuse herthis. Few people in Emma’s life, apart from her nurse, had ever shown her kindness and mercy and charity, so she made it her business to provide others with what she herself ardently wished for. Kindness was scarce in this world, so she attempted to do the little she could do and bring a measure of kindness to the lives of those who were in dire need of it. And, by the look of her garments, it was plain this woman's need was dire.
“Perchance,” Emma said, “if you could come with us, good woman. There is a warm meal and ale to be had.”
The hooded woman bowed her head in gratitude, but Emma’s serving woman harrumphed.
“Your heart’s too soft, milady. We cannot feed all the beggars who come upon us.”
“Hush,” Emma rebuked. “This good woman is in need of help and we’ll aid her however we can.”
Emma knew only too well her uncle would frown upon her actions, as he’d done many times before. He might decide to punish her for what he called her recklessness in squandering their coin on all and sundry, but this morning Emma found she did not fear the punishment. She felt content and strong in her resolution to leave her uncle’s house before the match was made.
The serving girl would not let the hooded woman into the house, bidding her to wait by the door, but Emma waved her hand, telling the stranger to follow them inside.
“Thank you, milady!” the woman said with feeling, and Emma noted her voice was not as old as she’d assumed at first, but quite young.
“And if milady will heed me,” the woman added softly, as Emma’s servant was walking ahead of them. “I have a portentous thing to tell milady, that is only for milady’s ears. Will you listen?”
Emma stopped in her tracks with a frown. Who was this woman? And what could she have to say to her?
“Milady, if you please! I swear I’ll go if what I have to say is displeasing to you,” the woman now uttered with deep feeling.
Emma knew her uncle would rage over this, and she also knew her serving woman was bound to speak to him of what she’d done, yet at this time, she found she no longer cared. She assumed the stranger would ask her for coin. Emma decided to give her some of the money she’d stashed away for her escape because it was plain the woman was in need. It was always right to help those who were less fortunate than oneself, her nurse had often told her, and Emma, whose own mother had been cold and distant and harsh, had loved her kind, generous nurse as if she’d been her true mother, and had done the best she could to heed the wise advice.
“Come then. To my chambers,” Emma called out, dismissing her frowning serving woman.
She was well aware the sour servant would make a point of letting Uncle Roland know of what she’d done, but there was time enough to offer help, and Emma knew her uncle was otherwise occupied and would deign to look upon a servant only in an hour or so.