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Authors: The Temptress

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Esmeraude lifted her chin. “I will not wed a man who thinks to own me.”

He smiled slowly and her blood heated. “I shall change your thinking,” he purred, and his hand rose to cup her breast. “I shall teach you what prize can be yours, my Esmeraude, and you shall be powerless to refuse.”

“I invite you to try,” she said, her voice breathless though she tried to sound bold.

“Oh, I shall,” Bayard whispered. He bent and nuzzled her ear, his expert touch making Esmeraude dizzy. “And I shall begin this very night.”

Esmeraude returned his ardent kiss, welcoming its heat. Though he might seek to conquer her with his touch, she would begin her own conquest of his heart. On the morrow, they would reach Airdfinnan and she would have Jacqueline’s counsel.

In the interim, she saw no reason to deny herself this pleasure. Aye, this man could be shaped to her expectation, Esmeraude knew it well.

Indeed, she looked forward to the challenge.

 

* * *

 

The weather worsened as they rode, though the storm clouds that had gathered quickly in their wake that morn stayed behind them. ’Twas as if the storm kept pace with them, a most unusual sensation. The wind was frisky and gusting, but though stray drops of rain splattered upon them at intervals, the storm never broke. Bayard kept expecting the clouds to burst, but they merely hung upon their heels.

He tucked his cloak around Esmeraude and she soon forgot her audacious manner, huddling against him for shelter. There was one good consequence of all of this - the weather was too foul for idle chatter, and that kept his brother and cousins from asking too many questions. Bayard glanced back at one point and his face was stung by the bitter wind that pushed them onward.

Perhaps he sacrificed little in sating the lady’s whim in this. He doubted they could have ridden against this wind to return to Ceinn-beithe after all. They made a wretched camp that night, for they could not coax so much as a spark from the wood with the wind dancing wildly about them. They huddled together for warmth, their steeds gathered around them, and shared what bread and cheese they had in virtual silence.

On the second morn, the wind was worse and the sky blacker than black behind them. They saddled up and departed early, the sky only faintly light in the east. There could not have been a one of them who did not anxiously look forward to Airdfinnan’s walls.

’Twas early when the sky fell dark, a final rogue streak of orange gracing the western sky. The woods on either side of the road were thick with shadows and the cries of wolves had begun to echo again in the hills. Fog crept through the forest on either side, pressing on the flanks of the road like a silvery wall. The hoof beats echoed oddly through the stillness and Bayard was uncommonly glad to see the silhouette of Airdfinnan rise ahead of them. Andrew cheered and the other squires took up the cry.

“Airdfinnan,” Esmeraude said with undisguised satisfaction. She looped her arms around his neck, looking like some wench he had pillaged in a battle. Her pose irked him, for it made her look like the tavern wench she was not.

He caught her closer, making her catch her breath with the possessiveness of his embrace. “Perhaps ’twill be more easy to persuade you on this night, as ’twas not yesterday,” he murmured for her ears alone, then smiled when she shivered.

Then Bayard shed his helmet and left his blade sheathed to show that he came in peace. His cousins and brother glanced quickly to him, then did the same, leaving him wondering what they would have done without his presence.

And then he looked upon Airdfinnan.

The fortress was set upon an isle in the midst of the river Finnan, that isle strategically sited at a fork in a large glen. ’Twas a crossroads of a kind, the glen cutting a course between Skye and points east, the river cutting a path more southwesterly toward Mull.

’Twas among the most impressive fortresses Bayard had seen in this land, though both smaller and younger than Montvieux. The walls of the keep rose directly from the river, the keep filling every increment of the isle. The walls were wrought of heavy cut stones where they met the river, then changed to mud as they rose higher.

There was only one gate and one bridge to the fortress itself, its village sited on the riverbank outside its walls. Though the village was surrounded by palisades, as Ceinn-beithe was, its occupants could certainly retreat to the fortress if need be.

’Twas splendidly defendable and perfectly sited, both of which met with considerable approval from Bayard.

The sentries hailed the party in Norman French, evidently guessing their origin by their garb.

They exchanged greetings and Bayard declared their names and their mission when his companions said naught. ’Twas as if the years had not passed and he was still expected to speak for all of them. But a moment passed before they were beckoned onward.

Bayard heard the sentries whistle as they rode past, then the cry echoed at the gates. He was not surprised as a result to find a formidable party awaiting them inside the portcullis.

Indeed, he approved of the tactic heartily.

Bayard noted that there was but one single-level structure within the enclosure of those high walls. ’Twas clearly the hall, with a chapel at one end and the solar at the other. The kitchens were beneath thatched roofs between the hall and walls, sensibly sited thus in case of fire; the stables, smithy, and armory were similarly housed.

Bayard spared the keep no more than a cursory survey before looking to the men gathered before him once more. The man who clearly held possession of Airdfinnan stood in their midst, arms folded across his chest. The rich embroidery upon his tabard and the deference of the men surrounding him betrayed his station.

He was armed as Bayard was, the hem of his dark tabard higher than that of the mail hauberk that hung to his knees. His mail coif was pushed back off his head and gathered around his neck. There were spurs on his boots, a sign of his knightly status. His hair was as dark as the night and he wore a patch over one eye that only partly obscured the scar upon his face.

’Twas more than these signs that told Bayard that he had met a man as experienced in battle as he, if not more so. There was a wariness in this man’s gaze, a knowledge that could only be won in war. And the lord was surrounded by a party of sentries, as if to emphasize his uncertainty of Bayard’s intentions.

Bayard wondered what threat the lord expected to arrive at this hour, or whether he was inclined to anticipate trouble at every turn. Perhaps ’twas the pending inclement weather that prompted such caution - there was an ominous mood emanating from those clouds, one that made a man glance over his shoulder in apprehension.

Bayard dismounted and doffed his gloves, offering his hand in peace as he stepped forward. “I am Bayard de Villonne, knight and crusader. This is Amaury of Villonne, Connor of Tullymullagh, and Nicholas of Montvieux.” His gaze strayed to Esmeraude, who returned his glance boldly and he recalled their ruse. “If this is Airdfinnan, we come here seeking one Esmeraude of Ceinn-beithe.”

“Why?” The lord did not move to take Bayard’s hand and his French was crisp. His gaze, too, strayed to Esmeraude, though he did not comment upon her presence or reveal her identity.

“I would make her my lady wife.”

“As would I,” cried Nicholas, and the other two cousins added their assent.

The lord’s expression was skeptical. “Perhaps you err. Ceinn-beithe lies to the west and is, I understand, the location of a contest for that lady’s hand.”

“I know. We have been there. The lady left a riddle to her suitors, to which the answer is clearly Airdfinnan.” Bayard recited the riddle and irritation flickered across the lord’s features.

“No doubt you will not be the last.” He cast a quick glance at Esmeraude that might have made a less bold woman flinch. Esmeraude smiled.

Bayard felt obliged to continue their charade, for the benefit of his companions. “Has Esmeraude arrived at these gates? I am most anxious to see my lady and assure myself of her welfare.”

The lord eyed Bayard carefully. “It seems to me that a woman would not flee any man whose suit she intended to accept. If she truly were favorable to your offer, would she not be in your company now?”

Bayard could not fully suppress his smile and he saw a flicker in the lord’s eye. They understood each full well, it seemed.

“It has become clear to me that my lady Esmeraude is inclined to confound expectation.” Bayard shook his head as though much tested by this woman. “She was amenable to my suit until I declined her request to visit her sister afore we were wed.”

“She was not!” Nicholas said and dismounted, casting his reins at his squire. “You told us naught of this.”

“It did not seem to be pertinent.” Bayard gritted his teeth against another lie. “I had hoped that she had taken it upon herself to come here of her own volition. Is she here?”

The lord almost smiled, but then his expression turned stern once more. “I am disinclined to grant admission to my hall to any knight come begging at my portal. Grant me a reason why you should be admitted.”

“Esmeraude, I believe, concocts a test for the men competing for her hand by granting riddles to them. I had solved them, I thought to her satisfaction, but ’tis clear she still has doubts of me. This is no deterrent, for a lady must be convinced of her choice that she may cling to it once ’tis made.”

The lord inclined his head in acknowledgment of that, though he seemed to fight against a smile.

“I intend to see Esmeraude’s hand firmly in mine and I shall conquer any obstacle she sets before me in order to see that end achieved.”

“As will I,” Nicholas interjected.

“And I!” Amaury dismounted and joined them.

“I, as well.” Connor then stood there as well.

The lord seemed amused by these declarations. His gaze flicked over the knights, but he did not speak.

“If she is here,” Bayard said deliberately, “I would ask your permission to court her favor anew.”

The lord studied him carefully. “Airdfinnan lies betwixt two kingdoms and two kings. I cannot trust strangers to be armed within my walls in such circumstance. You will each surrender your weapons and the bridle of your steed to my men, or you will pass beneath the portcullis again and leave Airdfinnan for good.”

“But I come to seek a bride!” Nicholas protested.

“’Tis an ill omen to be so distrusted,” Connor concurred.

Amaury held his tongue, watching Bayard with bright eyes.

“I fully understand your concerns,” Bayard said simply. “But I have no means of knowing whether you will not turn against us once we are bereft of our weapons.”

The lord nodded. “Do you pledge that your blade will not be used against me?”

“Nay, I cannot, not without knowing your intent.”

The lord’s gaze was bright, his tone resolute. “This then is my intent. If you truly court a bride and make no trouble in my hall, then no arms will be used against you. I give you my word of honor.” He paused, his steady gaze boring into Bayard’s own. “If you lie, though, any one of you, you may rest assured that you will regret your course.” He smiled slightly. “Indeed, in such a case I may find a certain pleasure in using your own blade to cut out your black heart.”

’Twas the promise of an honorable man and Bayard was not insulted. “I shall have your pledge in exchange for mine.”

The lord nodded once. “Each of you, then, choose your course. ’Tis high time the gates were closed against the night.”

Bayard did not hesitate. He unbuckled the scabbard from his belt and surrendered his sword to the lord. “I pledge to make no disruption in your hall, to seek the hand of Esmeraude honorably and to depart with her and my possessions alone once my cause is won.”

The lord nodded. “And I pledge to inflict no harm upon you, so long as your vow is kept.”

A man stepped forward to take Argent’s reins. The beast followed willingly, telling Bayard that the stallion would see good care. Argent had good instincts for the will of men. Bayard lifted Esmeraude from the beast’s saddle, then gave her a gentle push toward the hall, as if she were no more than a tavern wench.

“Perhaps you might find shelter and a meal in the kitchens,” he said dismissively, then winked when she glared at him.

Esmeraude tossed her hair over her shoulder and strode away, Célie fast behind her.

He thought the lord stifled a chuckle, but then he offered his hand. “I am Angus MacGillivray, Lord of Airdfinnan. Welcome, Bayard de Villonne.” The knights shook hands, then Nicholas stepped forward to echo Bayard’s vow.

’Twas not long before all the knights had sworn that they came in peace, that they had been welcomed, and that all the steeds had been led away. The other knights trailed their steeds and their squires, to assure themselves that all was well. Bayard lingered with the lord. ’Twas good to find the company of a man with similar experience to his own and he did not doubt that they would have much else in common.

Angus spoke slowly, a glint of humor in his eye. “I am not certain whether I should encourage your suit or express my reservations. My sister-in-law is a most uncommon woman.”

Bayard shook his head. “I know the truth of it.”

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