As they approached the manor house, Gilda noticed there was an elaborate garden near the door and an apple orchard that stretched into the distance toward the west. She remembered Philip telling her that Emma worked hard to oversee her father’s property.
When they entered the courtyard, two servants rushed to greet them. They were taking their horses when a woman appeared at the door. Gilda recognized Emma. There was a hint of the auburn hair beneath her head covering and a puzzled expression on her face.
“Sister Gilda, what are you doing here?” Emma asked, looking from her to Sister Freda and Leonardo.
“We wish to speak with your father. It’s rather urgent as Count Cedric is due to arrive soon.” Gilda saw her startled expression and rushed on. “He wishes to press his suit for your hand in marriage. It’s our plan to suggest that Philip is a better match.”
“My father is not well. He has already made up his mind, and I fear you will be unable to change it.”
“What do you wish, Lady Emma? Do you want to marry Count Cedric?”
“No. I’ve never wished that. I remember our talk, Sister Gilda, and I thought of seeking sanctuary at a convent, but I do not want to hurt my father. He is not well and needs me,” Emma said.
“Just give us a chance to speak to him before Cedric arrives. Sister Freda knew your father many years ago and may be able to help,” Gilda said, exaggerating the connection to convince Emma.
Emma looked over at the older nun, then nodded. “I’ll see if my father will see you. Come in and have some refreshment while I speak with him.”
Freda whispered to Gilda as they moved into the great hall. “I didn’t know him. I knew of him, as you are well aware.”
Gilda nodded. “We’ll work with what we have,” she answered.
The visitors sat at a long table and were served soup, fresh bread, and ale. When they heard some shouts coming from behind the door Emma had entered, they exchanged worried glances.
“His shouts are fairly robust,” Freda commented. “Lord Metcalf can’t be feeling too poorly this morning.”
“You make it sound like that’s a good thing,” Leonardo said, fortifying himself with a long drink of ale.
Emma returned and sat beside Gilda. “He insisted I tell him why you want to see him. I had to tell him you are friends of Philip. Are you sure you want to go ahead with this, Gilda?”
“Yes. Has he agreed to see us?”
“He did, but only after I told him one of the nuns knew him from his days at court. I suspect otherwise he would have refused.”
Sister Freda stood up. “This is our chance. If Count Cedric arrives before we are finished talking with your father, try and delay him,” Freda said to Emma.
“I’ll do my best, Sister. Don’t you need me with you?”
“It might be best if we talk to him alone,” Gilda answered. “Leonardo will wait with you.”
“I told Justin I’d keep my eye on you, Gilda. I must go with you,” Leonardo said.
Gilda and Freda exchanged glances. Leonardo was a handsome young man, much as Metcalf had been in his youth. Gilda didn’t want him to distract Metcalf with thoughts of what used to be.
“I think Metcalf will be more comfortable with just the two of us,” Gilda said.
Sister Freda smiled at the worried young man. “I agree with Gilda. But don’t fret, I think I’ll be able to protect her from an ailing Lord Metcalf.”
Leonardo looked toward heaven. “Lord Justin will surely kill me,” he said.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
As Gilda and Freda entered Lord Metcalf’s private chamber, Gilda remembered her brother telling her that the old warrior was hard to look at because of his scars. When she saw that Metcalf’s face was red and puckered on the left side, she wished she had warned Freda. But she need not have been concerned as Freda’s composed expression never changed.
Metcalf used a thick staff at his side to push himself to a standing position. Although he towered over Gilda, Freda was only a head shorter than he was. After a glance at Gilda, Metcalf held Freda’s eyes. “Do I know you?” he asked.
His blunt question didn’t faze Freda. “We were at court at the same time. I knew one of your men, a soldier named Gregor.”
Metcalf narrowed his eyes and stared at her face as though searching for a clue. “A worthy warrior. He died young. Are you his wife?”
“No. He was already wed when we met.”
Metcalf nodded, as though understanding that Gregor meant something to her. “That was many years ago,” he said. Then he turned to Gilda. “I certainly didn’t know you at court. You’re much too young.”
“No, but you met my brother, Lord Chetwynd. He stopped to see you not many days ago.”
“Yes, I remember Lord Chetwynd. We had a good talk.” He paused, then continued, “So neither one of you is an old acquaintance. It was rather bold to represent yourself as such.”
Since he sounded more curious than angry, Gilda said, “I’m afraid the situation called for bold measures, my lord.”
Unfortunately, her reply turned him suspicious. “Just what situation are you referring to?”
Since it was too late to soften her approach, Gilda said, “We wish to speak to you about Lady Emma and your plan to have her wed Count Cedric. Are you aware that the count recently married Lady Mariel of Bordeaux?”
Metcalf’s dark eyes glared under his bushy eyebrows. “The man made a mistake. These things happen. The count wishes to marry my Emma, and she will have a place of honor as his wife. What possible business is this of yours?”
“I happen to know that Emma wishes to marry another.”
He held up his hand to halt her words.
