Forced into marriage after the death of her father, Anselm, Emmeline had stood by as Giffard inherited her family’s shipping business, watched him make mistakes and lose money through bad deals. She’d learned not to challenge him, even though he’d driven the business nearly into the ground. It had been a blessed relief when he had been killed in a hunting accident, and Emmeline, as his widow, had won the right to run the business. She had vowed to make it successful once more, making it her whole life, despite her mother’s repeated nagging to make herself more attractive to the opposite sex. She could never tell her mother what Giffard had done to her behind closed doors. The petty humiliations, the constant verbal abuse, the pinches and the sideways kicks, until the day he had pushed her down the stairs. She shook her head, trying to dispel the memory.
‘So, we worried for nothing, eh, petite amie?’ Marie drew Emmeline into a hug. ‘What the sea puts us through!’ Her tone was confident, but Emmeline noticed the way she gripped her husband’s tubby fingers.
Geoffrey had turned his attention back to the unloading of the ship. ‘I need to get to the warehouse,’ he announced. ‘Those men are unloading faster than I thought and I need to count the sacks in…make sure nothing’s damaged.’ He caught Emmeline’s eye. ‘As I’m sure they will not be.’ He took in her pale face, her sensitive skin reddened by the cold, whipping wind. ‘Why not break your fast with us, Emmeline? I’m sure Marie has something good prepared.’ He cast a benevolent smile toward his wife.
Emmeline shook her head. ‘’Tis kind of you, my friend, but I need to wait for Captain Lecherche; I must pay the crew.’
‘But, Emmeline,’ Marie protested, ‘they will be hours yet; you’ll freeze to death on this jetty. Come on, I haven’t seen you for ages.’ As the shivering air whipped around the hem of her woollen bliaut, chasing underneath the hem-line and up her icy legs, Emmeline was sorely tempted to change her mind.
‘Tell the crew where you will be; Captain Lecherche will come and find you when they’ve finished,’ Geoffrey added. Eyes watering against the cold, Emmeline looked toward the warehouses lining the riverfront harbour. Geoffrey’s warehouse, the largest and most imposing with vaulted under-arches leading to a ground-floor store, also housed his family’s living accommodation, a comfortable abode that was always welcoming.
‘I’ll come, my friends, just for a few moments.’ Emmeline laughed at their persuasiveness. ‘But I’ll catch you up…look, I can see Captain Lecherche on deck. He’ll be across in a moment. Let me speak with him, then come to you directly. I promise.’
Long muscular legs braced against the gentle rolling of the ship, Lord Talvas of Boulogne stared impatiently at the small harbour. Coming into Barfleur meant a journey on horseback north to visit his parents in Boulogne, a much more substantial port, which would have been his chosen destination if he had been on board his own ship. Too bad that the sail had ripped from top to bottom on the previous crossing, a lengthy repair that had forced him to seek passage on the next available ship to France before the winter storms prevented him. His intention was to spend Yuletide with his parents and check on his lands in France before returning to his preferred country, England. He didn’t like to stay too long in France; the country held too many painful memories for him. Yet Stephen, his sister’s husband, on hearing of his proposed journey to Boulogne, had asked Talvas to visit the Empress Maud, to check on the Empress Maud, at her estate in Torigny. The woman was kin to both of them and a well-known troublemaker, being the only daughter of the current king, Henry I. It would not be above a sennight before he could escape this God-forsaken country! Gripping the wooden guard-rail with lean, tanned fingers, Talvas prepared to swing his legs over and climb down into one of the lighter boats.
As the sun rose, the port began to wake up. Some of the fishing boats that had been out since the early hours were starting to return, the heaps of fish in their hulls gleaming slickly. They would unload farther upstream, directly beside the market, bumping and scraping their wooden hulls together as they jostled for the best position to pull up on the beach.
As Emmeline rolled back and forth on her toes in an effort to warm her feet, the massive cross-beam of the one crane at Barfleur began to swing round behind her, lifting the oak wine casks from two hulks that had tied up at the jetty. The barrels were so huge that only three could be fitted lengthways into the little boats. The two men at the one end of the crane grunted with exertion as they pulled down on the rope hanging from the end of the cross-beam to heave the wine cask from the rounded hull. Once the cask was level with the timber jetty where Emmeline stood, the familiar creaking began, the noise of the vertical wooden post pivoting in its stone turning-hole to swing the cask up and into the waiting cart.
Emmeline watched idly as the lighter boat holding Captain Lecherche approached the shore. She narrowed her eyes; the harsh brilliance of the winter sun dancing on the water made it difficult to see clearly, muddling her perspective. Captain Lecherche appeared much larger and broader than normal. But then maybe he’d padded himself out with warm clothes just as she herself had done. Normally he would have stayed until the last of the cargo was off the ship, usually as a safeguard to make sure there was no thievery from his crew. But his men were a trusted bunch, and Emmeline feared that he intended to tell her about some damage or other that needed to be fixed.
Her mouth dropped open as the boat tore up the loose stones at a cracking pace and two large booted feet jumped agilely onto the shingle. Perturbed, she scanned the horizon for another large keel ship, for this man was no Captain Lecherche! He must have come in off another vessel, but there was none to be seen! What on earth had this man been doing on her ship? It was her strict policy to never carry passengers; her captain was well aware of that.
Resisting the temptation to take a few steps back, she gaped as the man ran up the slipway and straight toward her, powerful strides carrying him forward with imposing momentum. He would stop soon, Emmeline thought, determinedly holding her ground. She had the briefest impression of fierce brooding eyes, a harsh aquiline face and hard, slashing brows before his heavy bulk smashed into her slight figure, carrying her several feet away from the edge of the jetty with the weight of his body, knocking her flat to the ground. Behind them, a wine cask crashed to the ground, splitting open with a shuddering violence to soak the wooden planks of the jetty with Gascony wine.
With her nose and mouth pressed into a woollen cloak that smelled of the sea, Emmeline spluttered furiously, trying hard to catch her breath. The vast body above her squeezed the air from her lungs, squashing her limbs into the hard wood of the jetty. With her arms pinned beside her, she had no way of levering this man off her, of pushing him away.
‘Get…off me!’ she managed to struggle out. The crushing weight rolled away with astonishing swiftness. Her bones felt mashed and bruised, her chest sore as she fought to breathe normally. Sitting up, hands shaking, she lifted one hand to rub the back of her head where it had hit the jetty on impact. Soft, silky locks slipped between her fingers. Her hair spilled down from her shoulders, looping traitorously down the front of her cloak. Where was her hood? Her fingers scrabbled for it at the back of her neck in a vain effort to preserve her dignity, but not before a livid blush swept over her face. Pulling the hood back over her head, tucking her hair viciously behind her, she lifted her eyes to meet the intense, mocking blue gaze of the man standing at her feet.
‘Methinks ’tis a little early to ply your trade, madame,’ he remarked drily, his glance immediately condemning. ‘Or is it still the night for you?’
Emmeline closed her eyes in shame.
Chapter Two
‘You have the devil of a nerve, monsieur, to speak to me like that!’ Vexed, she shunted to a sitting position, strands of pale golden hair falling forward from beneath her hood. Raising exasperated eyes to her accuser, she forced herself not to flinch at his overbearing size.