to seek a wife other than Jemma.
But knowing it was the best choice, the one rooted in logic, didn’t keep him from nursing disappointment all the way back to his castle.
Jemma was late to supper. Curan narrowed his eyes until he noticed the way she walked. Her brother processed a keen sense of sight, one he’d developed while riding across hostile territory in France at the side of the king.
“Is Bridget feeling better?”
Her brother’s face reflected his frustration. “My wife claims that she is well and balanced, yet she cannot enter this hall without her belly heaving.”
Jemma froze with one hand on a round of bread. “Oh . . . I see . . . oh, how wonderful. That is welcome news. Amber Hill needs a baby.” She smiled, joy filling her.
But Curan looked far from feeling wonderful, deep concern etched into his face.
“It is the way of it. You should take one thing at a time to her and see what does not cause her stomach upset. Then we shall know what it is that does not agree with her. I understand that all women have something that they cannot bear to smell while they are with child.”
One of her brother’s eyebrows rose. “Is that so?” His gaze went to the table, scanning the dishes that were laid out for their supper.
“Father’s constitution was very delicate . . . when he was ill . . .” Her voice trailed off, and she broke a piece of bread off the round in her hands but discovered she had no appetite. Grief renewed its grip on her, making her ache with loneliness. “I shall take this bread to her now and see if it pleases or not.”
Her brother caught her wrist before she rose from her chair. “I am sorry I was not here to share in the duties, Jemma.”
She shook off his grip and picked up a wooden plate holding warm bread. Snapping a cloth, she covered the bread with it. “It was a daughter’s place, Curan, and I do not regret a moment of it, only that I seemed to be unable to resume my life once father had gone. You were correct to take issue with me this morning. I didn’t realize that I had turned my back on everything until you forced me to see it. It is time to move on with my own life. I will meet Lord Barras if you still wish to consider a union between our houses.” She lifted the plate up and offered her brother a steady look. “But I do know a bit about soothing unsettled bellies. Let us see if Bridget finds my methods of any comfort. It is time for Amber Hill to have new life again.”
Approval shone in her brother’s eyes along with relief. For all his strength, there was a good heart buried deep inside his hardened exterior. Turning her back on him, she made her way through the corridors of Amber Hill. It was a modern fortress, one of the towers being completed even now. Her brother hoped to have the roof in place before the weather turned foul. That would allow the builders to finish the inside of the tower during the frozen months when building furniture and finishing window shutters might be done.
Bridget Newbury was sound asleep in the huge bed she shared with her new husband. Her hair was flowing across the pillow, but her face had a pinched look that betrayed how her condition was needling her. Jemma knew well how to keep her steps light and silent. She placed the bread on the table, pulling back the cloth cover enough so that her sister-in-law might see it when she awoke. She would eat at some point and her belly would ripen.
That was a pleasant thought.
Jemma walked back down the stairs and turned to go toward the stable. The sun was beginning to set, the horizon turning scarlet. But there was still an hour of light, and today she had earned her riding time. That fact gave her satisfaction, and she realized that she had not felt so in a very long time. There had been nothing save worry and dread filling her, but it was beginning to drain away now, allowing her relief. She noticed the beauty of the evening sky, the manner in which the sun illuminated the drying plants covering the ground. Even the air smelled sweeter.
Her mare let out an eager snort, dancing from side to side in the stall. There was no one about, because supper was on the table in the hall. Jemma saddled the mare herself and led her out into the yard.
“Hold, Mistress,” Synclair bellowed at her from the battlements. He was the senior knight among her brother’s men and heir to a title as well. But he seemed to have a liking for earning his place. With expert agility, he came down the stone stairs that were set into the back side of the curtain wall, one hand on the pommel of his sword to keep the weapon steady where it hung from his hip. Synclair aimed his blue eyes at her.
“Where are you heading, Mistress?”
This knight always did the unexpected. While everyone supped, he was the one walking the curtain wall.
“Just taking a short ride.”
“The sun will be gone soon, Mistress. Best you plan to do your riding when the morning has broken.” His eyes suddenly darted to something past her, and his expression tightened.
Jemma turned to see Lady Justina making a rare appearance on the walkway that was attached to her tower-top chamber. Or what it should be called was a prison, for the lady was not free to go where she wished. Synclair was captivated by her, yet she seemed to avoid the knight to the point of secluding herself within her chamber; that was the one place Synclair would not venture. To do so would be to infringe upon the code of chivalry. But the lady was making her way along the curtain wall now, walking where she might be intercepted without honor being tarnished. Synclair began moving toward her without any further protests, drawn to her with a light in his eyes that made Jemma slightly jealous.
No man had ever looked at her in such a manner, and it was the truth that she was partially to blame for such. She watched the way the knight took to the stairs that would connect with the wall Lady Justina was moving across. Silently but with firm purpose, he climbed those steps with hard motions of his legs.
Jemma mounted her horse, taking the chance to leave the yard before one of the other knights worked up the courage to challenge her. She had done what she should, performed to everyone’s satisfaction, but there was part of her that still ached for her father. She needed a ride, even a short one, even if she knew that she had been using her riding to escape from harsh reality. Tonight, she would use the ride to soak up the life about her.
She wasn’t escaping today, simply tempering the feelings of loss that still lived inside her. Her mare took to the open land quickly, stretching her legs out after being kept inside most of the day. Above Jemma the sky was afire with gold and crimson, the night breeze beginning to whip up around her. It turned her cheeks cold, but she only laughed. Her dress was good English wool, and on her feet was a sturdy pair of boots that kept her ankles warm even when her skirts flipped up and away from her legs.
She crested a hill and gasped when she found herself galloping toward a body of armor-clad men. The mare let out a frightened squeal before rearing up. Fear making her skittish, the horse pawed at the unexpected arrival. Jemma battled to remain in the saddle, but it proved impossible with the mare so far up on her hind legs. Jemma’s thighs lost their grip, and she fell to the ground while the horse landed on her front feet and charged off, away from the men who had frightened her.
Jemma lost every bit of breath in her when she hit the ground. Pain speared through her from the side of her hip where she landed first and then all the way through her body, right up into her mouth. Her teeth slammed together so fast, every tooth hurt from the impact. All the pain felt trapped inside her, building and burning while she struggled to draw in one single breath. She was powerless to do anything but suffer. Her heart felt as if it might burst, and her lungs burned for want
