Claire Delacroix (17 page)

Bayard knew who that rider must be. Annoyance simmered through him. Why would she flee only to trail him? What manner of feminine game was this? Indeed, a man could readily conclude that she sought to vex him apurpose, perhaps to hold his interest.

His Esmeraude had no need of such a ploy. They rode onward, Bayard setting a pace that he knew his palfrey could readily match, and he pondered the complexities of women.

Or more accurately, of one particular woman.

Once Bayard ceased to be thoroughly irked, he had to admit that he was impressed by her tactics. The other three with him were unaware of the lady’s presence, for she kept a goodly distance between them. He glanced back once or twice, but she was always behind a curve of the road. And he only heard the palfrey’s hoof beats when he suddenly halted his own steed.

She was clever, his Esmeraude. Pride warmed him and dismissed the last of his irritation. A wife of such resource would suit him well. He listened to her progress, glad that he could ensure her safety so readily as this, and even allowing the lady a measure of the adventure she evidently craved. ’Twas harmless to continue thus, for he heard no others upon this rural path.

Perhaps she merely wished to be wooed and courted, as women so often did. Bayard had no argument with that. Indeed, he knew that the finest prizes were those less readily won.

He caught a glimpse of Esmeraude when they paused at midday, though Bayard gave no outward sign of having done so. He “forgot” a satchel of provisions and a wineskin when they packed up to ride again, for his lady had need of sustenance and he knew she had none.

Aye, he was protective of those beneath his hand and he told no lie when he pledged to the maid that he believed Esmeraude to already be his lady.

When dusk fell, they made a camp in a clearing not far from the road. The boys gathered wood and lit a fire, then brushed down the steeds. They had dried meat with which to make a simple stew, bread and cheese and apples, which along with the wine would make a fine repast. The smell of the cooking meat carried through the woods and Bayard noted one slender shadow drawing nearer.

He liked that she had the good sense to not linger too far from the fire. He had heard tell of wolves in these woods and he would lose neither steed nor betrothed.

Indeed, ’twould suit him well if Esmeraude joined their camp for then he would be fully assured of her safety. As he stirred the meat, Bayard knew precisely how he would encourage her to do so.

He had remembered a tale he had heard sung recently in France, a long tale of love and loss. It had come into his thoughts with an abruptness that was not characteristic of his memory, but Bayard was reassured by the timeliness of the idea. ’Twas no doubt a portent of success that he should recall this tale now, when he sought to win a lady with a love of tales.

He could not fail.

* * *

Esmeraude settled in the woods as close to Bayard’s fire as she dared, knowing that the woods were filled with predators on her every side. The palfrey needed no command to remain by her side, its ears flicking.

Esmeraude had one frightening moment shortly after her arrival. The palfrey nickered suddenly, when it clearly spied its usual companions on the far side of the clearing. To Esmeraude’s dismay, one of them nickered in return. She feared discovery and rose to cover the palfrey’s muzzle to encourage it to silence.

But no one in the camp appeared to notice. They were all occupied with their tasks - the boys gathering wood, Célie aiding with the preparation of a meal, Bayard tethering the beasts and beginning to groom his destrier.

The scent of their meal made her belly growl in protest, but Esmeraude had no intent of making her presence clear. She nestled against a tree, cursed the fact that she was unprepared to spend a night in the woods, then yawned mightily.

Though Esmeraude intended to remain awake, she was more tired than she had hoped. She flushed, even in solitude and shadow, recalling all too readily why she had not slept much the night before. She dozed to the murmured sound of conversation and could not halt herself from slipping into the realm of dreams.

Esmeraude awakened abruptly some time later and blinked in the darkness, disoriented and sleepy. Her heart was skipping, as if she had been startled, and she listened for a hint of what had disturbed her. The horse dozed beside her, evidently untroubled.

Night had fallen fully but she was still alone. It had not been a footfall she had heard, or the snap of a twig, or the growl of a wolf. She saw no eyes glowing in the shadows surrounding her. She eyed the patch of star-filled sky visible through the canopy of trees overhead as she listened carefully.

Naught.

Esmeraude peeked over her shoulder to Bayard’s camp. The fire had died down to embers, but she could still discern the silhouettes of the horses on the far side of the small clearing. Célie lay bundled against the night and was clearly lost to dreams. Bayard’s squires were nestled together near the horses, their hair tousled. They were also obviously asleep.

Esmeraude caught her breath as she spied the silhouette of the knight. He leaned against a tree on the closest side of the clearing, his back to her. She had no way of knowing whether he slept, dozed, or was wide awake.

Until he cleared his throat. Esmeraude nigh jumped from her skin. To her astonishment, Bayard began to softly sing.

There was a knight name of Tristran,

Of wide repute throughout the land.

Trained by faithful Governal,

He soon had no foe left in Gaul.

Seeking love, fame, and fortune all,

He came to the King of Cornwall.

“Take me, King Mark, into your hall

I shall be most loyal of all.”

King Mark looked on the noble knight.

“We are blessed you arrive this night.

For we are beset by a giant,

Fearsome, hungered and adamant.

He demands youths, to eat his fill,

Else vows to see each of us killed.

I shudder that this creature came.

Morholt is his most dreaded name.”

Esmeraude shivered in delight. There was something deliciously forbidden about hearing Bayard recount a tale, even while he was unaware of her presence. He sang so softly that she was certain he did so for his own amusement alone.

He had a fine voice, as well. ’Twas rich and deep, and she recalled all too readily how huskily he had whispered sweet words to her. Esmeraude hugged her knees and strained her ears to listen, for his quiet words were not easily overheard. She shivered, noting that the air had taken a new chill.

Tristran took this task with a bow,

Proved his intent by solemn vow.

The maidens wept, the old men sighed,

As they watched the bold knight ride,

Faithful Governal by his side.

This knight arrived upon the tide:

He was unlike men they had known -

His armor gleamed, his blade it shone,

His horse was fierce, his face was stern.

“So valiant he,” the women cried,

“’Tis more than sad that he must die.”

For none believed he would return;

As Morholt’s strength they had well learned.

Esmeraude eased around the trunk of the tree, hoping to better hear what promised to be a most interesting tale. No child raised at the knee of Duncan MacLaren could be immune to the allure of a tale. For Esmeraude, tales were wrought of the adventure she so avidly sought.

She slipped closer, then huddled against the darkness of a massive tree, where the shadows were deeper. She closed her eyes and listened.

Brave Tristran rode out without fear.

How bold was he, his intent clear!

’Twas early morn he left the gate,

And soon he stood before his fate.

The giant slept upon the shore;

The ground trembled as he snored;

As tall as five men he would stand;

A horse he could crush within his hand;

A third eye he had in his brow;

And this it was that opened now.

He saw Tristran and made a shout,

That would have turned most men about.

But Tristran met the monster’s glance,

Without a quiver in his stance.

He raised his blade and winked his eye,

“Attack me, Morholt, and you die.”

Morholt cried, “I shall prove you wrong!

It is to me this land belongs,

And all her spoils shall be mine own,

Even the youths of that fair town.

I shall eat all whom I desire,

Your attack will but earn my ire.

Know well, Tristran from o’er the seas,

You first will see my belly pleased.”

Esmeraude hugged herself, knowing the tale would come aright but anxious for this Tristran before such a foe all the same. ’Twas a heroic tale and one she had never heard before.

That must be the reason her heart raced so wildly.

’Twas most curious, though. Even though she had drawn closer, it seemed that Bayard’s voice was even fainter than before. No doubt he did not wish to awaken the others, but Esmeraude could not bear to miss a morsel of his tale.

She slipped around this tree and crept yet closer. The palfrey she had stolen snorted and Esmeraude froze, certain Bayard would hear the beast. But he began to sing again, evidently also unaware that the horse stepped heavily in pursuit of Esmeraude.

Oh, what dire threat that giant made!

What fear he fed in man and maid.

But Tristran did not hesitate.

’Tis valor which makes a knight great.

He spurred his steed and struck a blow,

So harsh the giant did bellow.

The pair fought most ferociously,

But they were matched nigh evenly:

To each wound Tristran did bestow,

The giant matched with another blow.

So terrible was their long fight,

That the townsfolk hid far from sight.

But as the darkness made descent,

Morholt leaned down to make his threat:

“You have valor beyond compare

O Tristran, a knight bold and fair,

I know that when I eat your heart,

I will be stronger than King Mark.

All those children will then be mine,

With leisure too for me to dine.”

But while the monster made his claim,

Tristran carefully took his aim.

No sooner had boast passed black lips,

Than Morholt’s power was eclipsed.

For Tristran’s blade sank in his eye,

And the monster gave a pained cry.

The eye that was betwixt the pair,

No longer would see foul or fair.

That roar carried to King Mark’s hall,

Where townsfolk huddled, one and all.

They climbed the walls in time to see,

Morholt stride back into the sea.

Esmeraude sighed with relief that the fiend was banished, then gasped when the palfrey nibbled on the hair at her nape. The beast’s lips tickled, but she dared not laugh and draw attention to herself. She shooed the palfrey away silently and the beast snorted loudly enough to wake the dead.

’Twas cursedly cold and she rubbed her arms, sparing a glance to the sky. The stars were nigh obscured, the sky darkening with clouds driven hard by a wind that had not been blowing moments past.

Before Esmeraude could think much of this abrupt change in the weather, Bayard sang again.

Aye, the giant fled Cornwall’s coast,

Cursing both Tristran and his host!

The people then were filled with glee,

For noble Tristran set them free.

They cheered when he rode through the gate,

Their gratitude did not abate!

King Mark embraced the valiant knight,

And showered him with jewels bright.

“Tristran is my favored servant

None in this court are more gallant!

No hope had we of a champion.

Only a knight as brave as a lion,

Could succeed at this great task,

And ensure Morholt gone at last.”

The people danced, they ate and drank.

Tristran, they could not fully thank.

Bayard stopped to take a sip of wine. Esmeraude watched his arm and heard him lick his lips. She desperately wanted him to continue, for surely this could not be all of Tristran’s adventure.