“I am leaving for London this morning,” he told her. “The queen’s requirements may keep me in London for quite some time, so I do not know when I will return. It could be months.”
“Bon voyage, Julian,” Emberley murmured.
He paused, irritated, still clutching one of his gloves in his hand. “Is that all you will say?”
She opened her eyes and looked at him, feeling the familiar fear at his tone. “We will look forward to your return, my lord.”
That seemed to satisfy him. The man had no use for her but he wanted to feel appreciated and wanted, as if she werecompletely dependent upon him and longed for his return. The wrong words would result in another thrashing and Emberley was in no condition to receive another beating. She had to make him feel as if they loved him if there was any hope of her survival.
Julian lingered, eyeing her and the children, before turning on his heel and marching towards the door. Romney was standing there, holding it open for his father, and Julian paused in front of the boy, gazing down into his sweet little face.
“Perhaps I shall take you to London with me someday,” he put his hand on his son’s shoulder. “It is time you are introduced to Court. While I am there, I shall also make arrangements for you to foster. The time has come.”
Romney looked up at him innocently, leaning back against the door and sandwiching Gart between the heavy oak panel and the wall.
“Aye, Papa,” he said.
That was as far as Julian could go in showing his son attention. He went to put on his second glove but it fell from his hands, slipping on the floor and falling partially behind the panel. Emberley, watching the exchange between Julian and Romney, was seized with terror as Julian bent over to pick it up. It was very close to Gart’s boot, the toe of which she could see a couple of inches from the glove in the shadow of the open door. But Romney was fast and he picked up the glove and handed it to his father before the man could make a reasonable effort.
“Here, Papa,” he pushed the glove at the man. “Will it take you a long time to get to London?”
Sharp even at his young age, Romney was trying to divert his father’s attention and get him out the door. The situation was becoming too uncomfortable for the young man and he knew what his father was capable of. He wasn’t fearful for Gart as much as he was fearful for his mother. But Julian didn’t know his son very well. He’d spent the majority of the boy’s lifeignoring him or in London or France, so he had no idea what was deep in the lad’s heart and the fear he had for what his father was capable of.
At his son’s words, Julian simply felt important as his son seemed eager to glean his knowledge. Now that the boy was getting older and more intelligent, Julian began to think that perhaps he was worthy of his attention.
“I will be gone at least a month, perhaps more,” he told him. “It is a long journey to London.”
“May I see you off, Papa?” Romney asked eagerly.
Julian slapped the boy on the shoulder as he quit the chamber. “Of course.”
“Papa, why are you going to see the queen?”
Julian winked at him. “Because she is my very special friend, boy. We are linked, body and soul, and if she were to die, I would die as well. I will explain more to you when you grow older.”
Julian went first through the door and Romney followed. The boy shut the door softly, leaving the room oddly still in his wake. Gart stood against the wall, listening to the fading sounds of Romney and his father descending the stairs before moving away from the wall and silently throwing the bolt to lock it. He listened until the distant voices fell silent before turning to Emberley.
She was looking at him from the bed, her dark blue eyes wide with apprehension. When she realized that Julian had come and gone from the room without discovering Gart, it was more than she could bear. She had been living the last few minutes in total terror, especially when Julian dropped his glove. She was sure her life was over at that moment. As Gart watched, her features crumpled and her head fell to the mattress. Frightened and relieved sobs filled the air.
Gart went over to the bed, his gaze moving over the children who were looking at their mother with confusion and fear. He put an enormous hand on Emberley’s shoulder.
“Be at ease, kitten,” he comforted. “He is gone, hopefully for a very long time. All is well.”
She began wiping at her cheeks furiously, smearing green slime from the crushed herbs across her face. It took him a moment to realize the sobs had turned to weepy giggles.
“You called me kitten,” she sniffled. “I have missed it.”
He gave her a half-smile, looking around for the wet linen he had used to clean off her ear and using it to wipe the green smears on her cheek.
“I shall call you it often if it pleases you,” he replied softly.
Emberley heard something in his tone, something that suggested other than brotherly concern, and it jolted her. She was wildly resistant and wildly thrilled at the same time. Muddled, confused, she thought perhaps she was reading too much into it. The man had literally been her shadow since their reunion yesterday and he had brought her a great deal of comfort, reminding her of times when she didn’t live in daily fear of a brutal husband.
She didn’t want to become dependent on Gart somehow, clinging to the vaporous memories of a dead brother, one who had always protected her. But even as she entertained those thoughts, she knew it wasn’t true. Gart was different. He was a proud and powerful man.
Sickened by her thoughts, she simply smiled weakly in response to his statement.
“Would you please do something for me, Gart?” she asked softly.
