The Damsel's Defiance - Meriel Fuller Mills & Boon Historical

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she explained, a dull flush staining her face as she grabbed the bread, ashamed, and held it against her. ‘Please don’t…’ pity me, she wanted to say, but the words would not come.

      ‘You’d better eat that on the way, mam’selle. I don’t want you falling off your horse with hunger. We’ve still a way to go.’ Talvas chucked the satchel back into her lap, scooping his cloak from the ground and striding over to where his horse waited patiently.

      Guillame was already leading her roan over to where she sat; now, he helped her up with an easy smile and boosted her into the saddle.

      ‘Thank you,’ she murmured gratefully. ‘You have better manners than your master.’

      Guillame’s large hazel eyes assessed her gently. ‘Don’t judge him too harshly, mam’selle. He means well.’ He patted the neck of her mare.

      ‘Guillame, get a move on,’ Talvas shouted over. ‘Stop fussing over the maid!’ Sprinting over to Talvas, Guillame jumped into his saddle, pulling on his reins to steady his horse. Shielded from Emmeline by Talvas, he looked askance at his master.

      Talvas frowned. ‘I know that look, Guillame—what ails thee?’

      Guillame acknowledged Emmeline with a slight incline of his head. ‘That maid…’

      ‘What of her…?’

      ‘I didn’t see it before, but just then, up close, well, she looks remarkably like…’

      ‘Do not speak that name, Guillame. Never speak it!’

      Emmeline’s eyes widened in amazement as she stared up at the castle of Torigny. It rose, fortresslike, from the surrounding forest vegetation, stretching above the tree tops to perch high on a craggy granite outcrop. Built directly onto the jagged contours of the rock, the smooth, slick face of the grey, angular walls glistened with a smattering of rain. The metallic gleam of the sentries’ chain-mail could just be seen through the deep crenellations at the top of each of the four towers. The red flags, the symbol of the Empress and her husband, Count Geoffrey of Anjou, fluttered vividly from the top of the towers, spots of brilliant colour in the bleakness. Behind the castle, behind this impressive symbol of power, the village of Torigny straggled out behind along a ridge in the gathering gloom, a jumbled collection of cottages and huts, woodsmoke already beginning to stream from the holes in the thatched roofs.

      Emmeline drew a deep, teetering breath, her horse slowing to a stop as if sensing her trepidation as they approached. The persistent drizzle had finally worked its way through the fabric of her cloak and now crept, damp and clammy, through the soft material of her bliaut.

      ‘How do we get in?’ she called ahead to Talvas, viewing the towering promontory before them.

      ‘We must ride around to the front gate, through the town,’ Talvas explained. Pulling on his reins slightly, his leather saddle creaked as he turned toward her, his horse’s pace slackening. ‘There’s no access from this side.’ In the dusky half light, she could scarcely decipher his features, just the brilliant flash of his cerulean eyes and the suggestion of a smile. Emmeline shivered, her muscles aching from the long ride. Talvas caught her movement. ‘Having second thoughts?’ he murmured quietly. ‘’Tis formidable, is it not? Like its owner.’

      ‘Are you trying to scare me?’ Emmeline replied firmly, ignoring the fiery leap of fear in her veins. She lifted her arm to rub the back of her neck, trying to ease the tension.

      ‘Nay, mam’selle, just trying to prepare you. Come, we must continue if we are to arrive before darkness falls completely.’ Emmeline kicked her horse into a gentle walk, reluctantly acknowledging her private relief at their escort. She sincerely doubted that her courage would have pushed her to enter such a castle on her own.

      Once through the town, the small party started to ride up the steep ramp to the castle entrance, until their horses’ shod hooves began to slip on the greasy cobbles.

      ‘Let’s dismount,’ Talvas suggested, his cloak flowing out as he swung his leg over the horse’s rump. ‘The going will be easier.’ Emmeline nodded, aware of the precipitous drop on either side of the slope; there was a distinct possibility of plunging into the undergrowth far below. Before them, two sentries stood guard at the outer gatehouse, the metallic skin of their full armour shining against the bright red of their surcoats emblazoned with the royal arms of King Henry. The two gold lions stood out against the background of red, one lion representing England, one representing Normandy. Both guards stood immediately to attention when they recognised Lord Talvas, remaining still until he and Emmeline had passed under the heavy portcullis before raising a hand in greeting to Guillame.

      ‘Talvas, my Lord Talvas!’ A gaunt, elegantly dressed noble strode forward across the bustling inner courtyard as eager servants ran to take their horses.

      ‘Earl Robert!’ Talvas’s face set with an immediate wariness as he swept the hat from his head and ran a hand through his ebony locks. ‘I had no idea that you would be at Torigny.’ His hair gleamed in the flickering light thrown by a rush torch held by Earl Robert’s servant.

      ‘Wherever you find the Empress, you will normally find me,’ Earl Robert replied.

      ‘Then your loyalty as a brother is to be admired,’ said Talvas, formally.

      ‘And about to be sorely tested.’ Earl Robert frowned, his interested gaze skimming Emmeline’s neat figure, the sweet pale face almost hidden in the voluminous folds of her hood. ‘I know the knight—’ Earl Robert indicated Guillame ‘—but does the maid belong to you? She’s a beauty.’

      Emmeline flushed hotly in the darkness, immediately annoyed by her extreme reaction. Talvas scanned her face and body slowly, deliberately. ‘Nay, my lord, we met on the journey from Barfleur. Mam’selle de Lonnieres seeks an audience with the Empress on a particular business matter.’

      Earl Robert scowled, the withered lines of his face stern and forbidding. ‘’Twill be difficult,’ he muttered, almost to himself. Suddenly he grabbed Talvas’s arm. ‘I need to speak to you…alone.’ The two men huddled into a corner of the courtyard, deep in the shadows. The torch bearer was ordered to stay by Emmeline, throwing a circle of light over her trim figure as she shifted uncertainly on the spot, conscious of servants rushing about her, intent on some chore or another. Guillame had already left, helping the servants with their horses.

      Emmeline stared grimly down at the hem of her bliaut, the fabric spattered and stiff with mud from the journey. Saturated with rainwater, her cloak hung heavily from her slim shoulders, as if weighted down with boulders. In her haste to reach Torigny, she had given no thought to her impending appearance before the Empress, or to how she would look, or to what words she would choose. Bubbles of doubt peppered the surface of her consciousness. What in the name of Mary had she been thinking? She was in no fit state to meet the daughter of the King! But then, if she possessed the one thing the Empress needed, would it matter how she appeared?

      Her eyes traced the shadowed breadth of Talvas as he emerged through the gloom, his mouth set in a forbidding line.

      ‘It is not convenient for you to see the Empress,’ he announced brusquely, ‘but you can stay the night here, and return to Barfleur on the morrow.’

      ‘Not convenient?’ she squawked, her eyes wide with incredulity. Her body sagged a little with exhaustion. ‘But surely if she knew I was offering my ship, she would wish to see me?’

      ‘Hush, keep your voice down!’ Talvas clamped a warning hand around her forearm, his piercing eyes glinting dangerously in the darkness.

      ‘Nay, I will not!’ She rolled her right shoulder in annoyance, trying to shake off his hold. ‘I haven’t come all this way to be fobbed off like this!’ Without thinking, she poked a slender finger into the middle of his chest.

      He grabbed her hand and held it fast against the rich wool of his tunic, hauling her nearer to his muscular frame. ‘It is not convenient,’ he repeated under his breath. Under the amber torchlight,

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