He laughed. “I knew it! Are your father and mother still alive?”
“My mother is,” she answered sadly, “but my beloved father passed away last year. We think it was his heart. I miss him so sorely that it hurts me sometimes. But my mother and I are very close.”
“I am so sorry to have mentioned it.” He gazed at her anxiously. She looked around to answer him and became lost in his deep blue eyes. There was a perfect moment when they could not take their eyes away from each other, and then Emilia smiled and turned her gaze back to the road.
“My father was a good man, but not a perfect one,” she laughed. “Do you have parents?”
“No,” he replied. “My mother died when I was very young. The Black Plague got her, and my father died when I was sixteen. I have a younger brother, though. His name is Wilfred and he is the funniest, wickedest person I have ever known. We were mostly brought up by nannies and priests and when I reached the age of eighteen I rebelled. I drank too much, played dice till dawn sometimes. God knows how I did not bankrupt myself. And I went around to...to…” He broke off, not knowing quite what to say.
“Whorehouses?” Emilia supplemented, seeing that he was trying to spare her feelings.
“Yes. I was trying not to say that word.” He was embarrassed.
She shrugged. “Many men frequent such places. We all know they are there so why not talk about them?”
Adam looked at her in admiration. “I have never met a woman who speaks so freely about such things. You speak as though you are not shocked at all. Do you not despise women like that? Most of my friends' wives do.”
Emilia suddenly exploded with anger as the injustice of this statement hit her.
“Why should I?” She rounded on him, her eyes blazing with anger. “You do not know their stories! They are most likely hungry and desperate with families to feed, and no other means to earn a living. Do you think they enjoy being used by men? It is hypocritical, is it not, to despise someone whom you are using for your enjoyment? I do not despise these poor women. I respect them, and if I were in the same predicament I would do exactly the same myself.”
He stared at her, open-mouthed with astonishment, for a moment, then said, “I had never thought of it that way before, Emilia. Once again I must beg your forgiveness. You are right, of course. You are an astonishing person. Quite unlike anyone I have ever met before.”
She saw that he was sincere. He was not a bad man, merely a little boastful with an ego that was too big for him, but she suspected that underneath the skin he had a heart of gold. He looked genuinely distressed. “How could I say such a thing—I, who have never wanted for a thing in my miserable life, or done an honest day’s work?”
Emilia gradually made herself calm down. She was still wondering how she was going to use her “wiles,” as her mother had put it, to enchant this man who had values that were so different to her own.
She forced herself to smile. “Perhaps I am too sensitive,” she suggested, “but I think I have probably seen more of the real world than you have.”
“I am so glad to have met you.” He was smiling at her, having the greatest trouble resisting the urge to lean over and kiss her. Those full lips looked so inviting, but he knew that at this time all he would get for an attempted kiss would be a slap in the face. Or so he thought.
He was wrong. He had no idea how much Emilia wanted to kiss him at that moment, and how much she wanted to do even more.
Presently, they came to a fork in the road.
“This leads to my house,” Emilia told him. “I was wondering if you would like to see some of the countryside around here tomorrow?” she asked suddenly. “We could go out riding and I could take you to see some of the local scenery and meet the people on the farms. I am sure you would enjoy it. I can pack something to eat too as long as you enjoy simple fare.”
“That would be wonderful!” he cried, a little too eagerly. “I will bring some wine. I know it is extravagant but it will only be enough for a goblet each.”
She laughed. “I am sure God will forgive us! Meet me here just after dawn tomorrow. Goodbye!”
He watched her ride up the hill till she was out of sight, then turned for home. He could hardly wait for the night to be over.
“I am taking him riding tomorrow,” Emilia said to Agnes as she entered the house and slumped down into a chair. She had just realized that she was desperately hungry, and as soon as her mother put down a plate of vegetable stew and bannocks, she dug in and finished the whole plate in a matter of moments.
Agnes felt like weeping. “Are you sure you want to do this, Daughter?” she asked anxiously.
Emilia stood up and hugged her mother. “Do not worry, Mammy,” she said soothingly. Her mother might have been worried, but Emilia had a different reason to be concerned. She was afraid he might push her away, and her mission would have failed, and for the sake of everyone in the village she needed it to succeed. However, a bigger reason was that she was so attracted to him that she might let things go too far, and who knew what would happen then?
8
The next morning Emilia packed her food and was about to leave when Agnes put a little sharp knife, encased in a small sheath, into her hand.
“Mammy!” Emilia exclaimed. “I will not need this. Adam is a good man.”
“They are all good till they are not,” Agnes replied in a voice that was hard as stone. She closed Emilia’s fingers around the knife. “Take it and stop arguing.”
They hugged each other, then Emilia rode away while Agnes stood watching her and weeping. What had she done?
