Claire Delacroix (11 page)

“After what we have learned since leaving Ceinn-beithe?” Esmeraude shook her head. “Then he could wed me for the prize of Ceinn-beithe alone. Indeed, none would stop him once he made it clear he had claimed my maidenhead, and even if I denied it, a man would be believed before me. Nay, Célie, he must remain a stranger to me. ’Tis for the best that we part this morn forever.”

“Even if he might be the suitor you seek?”

Esmeraude gritted her teeth with frustration. “I would have a spouse who loves me for myself alone. A coupling in the dark is no guarantee of that.”

“You assume much of this man of whom you know so little.”

Esmeraude’s lips set stubbornly. “We
leave
, Célie, for my quest and my adventure continues without this man.”

The maid might have said more, but Esmeraude headed for the boat, now high above the receding waterline.

Had her own mother not said that love made lovemaking all the more sweet? When she wed the man who held her heart, they would find yet greater pleasure than this, Esmeraude was convinced of it. The very prospect buoyed her; she was certain she had made the right choice. She would not be deceived by her first taste of pleasure, for surely there was more within that cup for her to sip.

The musky scent rising from the knight’s chemise seemed to taunt her, weakening her conviction, but she hurried ahead. She and Célie paused as one when they reached the craft and exchanged a glance of frustration. To Esmeraude’s dismay, the squire clearly had taken his knight’s advice most seriously.

He was fast asleep within the boat she meant to steal.

“What shall we do?” Célie whispered.

Esmeraude rocked the boat with one hand. The boy did not so much as stir. She rocked it more vigorously and he began only to snore in contentment. The women exchanged a glance, then Esmeraude backed away, Célie on her heels. She cast pebbles at the sleeping boy, who seemed oblivious to the assault. When she cast more of them, he rolled over, buried his head beneath his cloak and snored more loudly.

Esmeraude approached the boat cautiously and tried to lift the sleeping boy. He weighed more than she could have imagined. She nodded to her maid, who grasped his feet, but still the two could not lift him.

And he began to move restlessly, dangerously close to awakening and alerting the knight of what they did. Esmeraude glanced over her shoulder, for she heard a stirring that she fancied was her knight awakening.

“The boy sleeps as fast as his master sleeps lightly,” she murmured, vexed.

“Then we shall have to remain,” Célie pronounced with no small satisfaction. “Trapped betwixt two devils and the sea. That shall teach you to be so bold!”

Esmeraude surveyed the hillock to which the boy had pulled the boat, and noted that the tall grasses surrounding the boat grew almost to the water’s edge on the hillock’s far side. And they were wet with dew. The tide was retreating, the timing perfect for their departure. ’Twas too good an opportunity to waste!

“Nonsense,” Esmeraude said firmly. “We shall take him with us.”

And before her maid could protest, she gathered the oars and gave the boat a mighty push down the wet grass. It slipped quite readily and the boy snored contently as the boat rocked on its course. Esmeraude heard her maid swear in irritation behind her, but Célie trotted after her and helped her push the boat a moment later.

“We return to Ceinn-beithe,” the older woman said with resolve.

Esmeraude cast her maid a sunny smile. “Aye, of course. But only long enough to borrow a palfrey and be rid of the boy. It is too far to walk to Airdfinnan, after all.”

“Esmeraude!”

“Do not be foolish, Célie. We shall have need of a steed to reach Airdfinnan before my suitors do.”

“God in heaven, but I believe you revel in this,” Célie muttered, her own mood most clear.

Esmeraude gave the boat a last shove, then held it as her maid climbed aboard. The knight’s squire snored blissfully, untroubled and unaware of the change in his circumstance. Esmeraude imagined the expression upon her knight’s face when he awakened to find her gone and smiled broadly. “Aye, Célie, I do. Adventure is as marvelous as I had hoped.”

“But the danger...”

“Is part of the price of such a quest, Célie.” Esmeraude gauged the tide and began to row into the current. “’Twould be foolish, indeed, if I did not believe the prize to be worth the price. I cannot wait to reach Airdfinnan.”

“I can,” muttered the maid, but she rowed all the same.

* * *

Chapter Four

Esmeraude’s estimation of Bayard’s response was not too far wrong. He was sorely vexed to find himself alone upon awakening. He stood and glared at the sea, which sparkled merrily as if to defy his temper, and watched a small boat bob farther and farther away.

Three figures were silhouetted within it. In this remote place, they could be none other than the three who had abandoned him here.

That angered him truly. What madness had seized the maiden’s wits while he slept? What lack did she perceive in him? And why, for the love of Mary, would she leave him after surrendering so fully to his touch, after
choosing
him to be her spouse?

Perhaps she played some jest upon him, though Bayard was not amused.

Indeed, he feared that she would pay most dearly for her ploy. There was a reason that women should be compliant, especially if they were as compelled as this one to make poor choices when left to their own devices! Bayard recalled his own struggles against the sea the night before and feared for her survival. What would become of his quest then?

Had he won the bride only to lose her to the sea? Had her foolish choice cast his family into peril? He paced and he growled and he worried the matter through.

The fact was, regardless of his concern, that there was naught Bayard could do about the matter. ’Twas clear that the fates had turned sourly against him while he slept. Perhaps he had been too confident of success too soon. Not only was Esmeraude gone, but she had stolen his vessel, ensuring that he could not follow her. Had Andrew accompanied her so that he might inform Bayard of her whereabouts?

Bayard soundly hoped so. ’Twould not be soon that he could lend chase. He donned his garb, seeing immediately that his chemise was gone. Perhaps Andrew had taken it. Bayard did not care particularly: he had greater concerns on this day. He retrieved a clean one from his saddlebags and began to walk south to the distant hall of the King of the Isles. By dint of necessity, he must go to that court and beg, borrow, buy, or steal a vessel. Bayard did not further vex himself by worrying where precisely his bride had gone.

Yet.

He had to walk, having left his horses on the mainland in Michael’s care. ’Twas unseasonably sunny and warm, which only increased the apparent burden of his hauberk and armor. Bayard, unaccustomed to walking with all of his gear, trudged stoically toward the south.

He thought of how diligently he would have to teach his bride to obey him, for her own good.

If
she survived that crossing. His heart leapt and he glanced over his shoulder to the sea, half expecting to see her waving madly for his aid.

But the sea glinted and sparkled, not a ship upon it as far as he could see. Had she been swept away already? His heart clenched. He wondered then who had brought her to the isle in the first place, finding both encouragement and annoyance in the distinct possibility of another man having aided her.

But who?

* * *

Against the odds, Bayard’s mood improved considerably upon his arrival at the court of the King of the Isles. All was in confusion. Simon was there, but Bayard was not overly irked since the other knight looked haggard and frustrated. Indeed, Bayard granted the man a confident smile, knowing that he had had the better night of it.

’Twas then he saw that his cousins Nicholas and Connor had also given chase to the maiden, as well as a number of the local men he had seen at Ceinn-beithe. Nicholas looked well, his auburn hair fairly glowing in contrast to the dark blue of his tabard. Connor was as fair as Bayard recalled. The pair were tall and elegantly mannered, joking quietly with each other.

They did not acknowledge him and he did not blame them, but Bayard felt a pang of loss for having chosen to leave his family behind. There was a price to be paid in letting them think the worst of him, but then, they would only believe the truth if they heard it. And they would only listen, ’twas clear, if he first repaired what had gone awry with his own father. He could only do that by admitting that he had been wrong, a confession he would never make.

So Bayard held his tongue and regretted naught.

The suitors clustered closer to the rough chair of the king, though only the two older rival knights approached the king directly.

Simon was nigh double Bayard’s age and his golden hair was now touched abundantly with silver. He was tall and strong, a formidable adversary at tourney. He clearly believed that no rule had yet been created to restrain him, undoubtedly a result of being his father’s heir and favored child for all his days. There was a harsh line to his lips and a coldness in his gaze that had made Bayard distrust this knight, even before he had learned his instinct to be aright.

Bayard let his smile broaden, simply because he knew ’twould irk the other knight. “Good morning, all.”

Simon scowled. “There is naught good about this morn, and naught amusing in this,” he snapped by way of greeting. “I fail to see why you might be pleased by her doings.”

Bayard bit his tongue, keeping his advantage to himself. “What doings?” he asked innocently.

Simon fairly spat. “Esmeraude fled to the King of the Isles.”

“Ah, so she is here.”

“She was, but no longer!”

“Oh? Has she departed so quickly as that?”

“Fled in the night, the little vixen.” Simon scowled, then indicated a large Norseman who seemed to be in even more foul of a temper. A man, perhaps the king himself by his rich garb, berated the Norseman, who listened glumly. “The king had her bound to that man, by some pagan ceremony, but when they retired to consummate the match, she left him trussed, unconscious, and in a room secured from the inside.”

“Indeed?” Bayard did not have to feign his surprise. He was impressed with her feat and supposed he should count himself fortunate that the lady had merely left him sleeping.

Then he wondered what the Norseman had done to so deserve this indignity. Anger flared within him. Had his betrothed been abused? Had her flight been an act of bravery or desperation? He glared at the Norseman and the man flinched.

Simon did not note the exchange. “Indeed. She is a troublesome woman, Bayard, and clearly not the manner of wife for you.”

This blatant attempt to deflect his interest amused Bayard. “While you believe her the right woman for you?”

“I shall tame her,” Simon said with a toss of his fair hair. He smiled coldly. “I have a way of dousing the unnatural fire in such a woman.”

“Indeed?” Bayard asked. “How unfortunate a fate that would be for the lady in question.”

“What do you mean?”

“She sounds most interesting with her fire.” Indeed, he was doubly intrigued by the woman he would wed. Passionate abed and resourceful in dire situations, Esmeraude would suit him very well.

When Simon said naught to that, Bayard smiled coolly and stepped away to bow before the king. They exchanged pleasantries; the king was clearly annoyed. Then Esmeraude’s crimes against the partner chosen for her were reviewed. Bayard looked the man up and down, and was impressed anew by this maiden’s resourcefulness in eluding such a foe.

“I do not suppose,” he asked, “that she left a missive of any kind?”

The king granted him an odd glance. “Howsoever did you know?”

Bayard smiled, pleased that he was gaining an understanding of his intended. “A guess, ’tis all.”

The king snapped his fingers and a small man appeared by his side, his manner quiet as so many clerks could be. His fingers were not stained with ink as those of the clerks Bayard knew, but then, there could be precious few books kept in this simple and wild place. The small man produced a scrap of vellum and bowed low before the king.

Simon, who had followed Bayard, leaned forward to reach for the missive. The king struck him across the face for his boldness, the rough expression of authority startling both knights.

“The missive is mine,” the king declared through clenched teeth. “I have yet to decide whether its contents are yours to know.” Simon stepped back, a red mark upon his handsome features, alarm in his eyes. The clerk gripped the scrap of vellum and blinked in agitation.

Bayard, though equally shocked, said naught. He wondered how he would manage to secure a boat from this barbarian, for he had no desire to linger in this place.

The clerk meanwhile cleared his throat at the king’s gesture, and began to read.

A ford on a river beckons to me,

That river sprung from the realm of Faerie.