Claire Delacroix (28 page)

Bayard smiled. He was pleased that Michael was beginning to think in a strategic manner, yet the boy did not know all of the details of this quest. “Have you ever known me to abandon a battle simply because it will not be readily won?”

“Nay, sir.” Michael shook his head as Andrew watched the exchange with wide eyes.

“And have you ever known me to risk an advantage, like the king’s favor, for a prize not worth pursuit?”

“Nay, sir.”

“Then know that I do not do as much this time either.”

“But sir, never have I known you to pursue a matter beyond reason, either.” Michael held his ground beneath Bayard’s glare. “Perhaps such a willful lady is not well suited to you. Perhaps ’tis not
logical
to pursue her further.”

Bayard was stung by the ring of truth in the boy’s words. He had taught him too well. “You are not privy to all the details of this matter, Michael,” he said firmly. “Know that no conquest easily won provides such satisfaction as one that tests the fullness of one’s wits and resolve.”

“Aye, sir.”

Bayard smiled at the boys, speaking with his usual confidence. “I do not lose. I
will
not lose in any quest. And this lady shall learn that my resolve is greater than her own. That and that alone will make a fitting bride of her in the end. Now, find yourselves a cup and a place by the fire!”

“Aye, sir.” The boys bowed and ran to fetch refreshment, leaving Bayard with his own thoughts.

’Twas true that Esmeraude was not the wife he had expected to win or even to seek in these hills. His Esmeraude was more clever, more complicated, and more stubborn than he had initially understood. It might not be easy to teach her to be compliant with his will, but he found himself remarkably anxious to try.

Aye, he had spoken the truth to his squires. Bayard heartily anticipated the conquest of Esmeraude of Ceinn-beithe. Indeed, he could not recall a battle that had engaged him so much as this. Surely that was a good omen for their match.

He whistled as he signaled for another mug of ale, more than prepared to match wits with this lady once more. He was by far the most fitting suitor for her hand and she had surrendered her maidenhead to him, which gave him a certain advantage. ’Twas true that they did not agree upon every matter, but ’twould have been more troubling otherwise, to his thinking, for ’twas unnatural for two souls to agree in all things.

Clearly, she but tested him. And he was well accustomed to tests.

Still, ’twas irksome that he did not know precisely what to expect of his Esmeraude. He supposed that was what added a spice to the pursuit of her.

Indeed, Michael spoke with a certain truth. Bayard would have abandoned any other woman by this point, knowing that he had done his best to persuade her of the error of her thinking. He might have returned to his grandmother, intent upon persuading her to abandon this whimsical test of his resolve.

But not Esmeraude. ’Twas unthinkable. Bayard guessed that his urge to win Esmeraude was beginning to go deeper than the challenge set by his grandmother, though he refused to speculate further upon that matter.

Aye, he had need of sleep and a hearty meal, so whimsy claimed his thoughts. ’Twas no more than that.

When the shadows drew long, the far portal opened and children spilled out into the hall, first a dark-haired boy, then a flaxen-haired girl. A smaller girl followed, even as the boy ran to the lord’s side. The lord’s features softened and he smiled at what were obviously his own children. He stepped forward to greet them, his guests momentarily forgotten.

Bayard deliberately hung back, expecting to see his lady and wanting to savor the moment in some privacy. The lady of the keep was the next to step into the hall. She walked with some difficulty, being ripe with the lord’s seed once again. Her skirts were clutched by yet another girl, a dark-haired toddler who seemed shy of the noise of the hall.

The lord moved toward his lady, putting down the boy and picking up the little girl, offering his lady his arm. She leaned heavily upon him, clearly tired, though her smile for him was radiant.

Then Esmeraude stepped into the hall and it seemed to Bayard that the entire hall halted to gaze upon her. He stared himself, grateful for the concealment of the shadows, and studied her, suddenly greedy for every detail about her.

She was more beautiful than he had guessed.

* * *

Chapter Eleven

Esmeraude was garbed as a noblewoman. Her chestnut hair was braided and threaded with ribbons and pearls. She wore a fitted kirtle of a dark blue damask, its hem and cuffs rich with golden embroidery.

The hues emphasized her own coloring, making her hair appear more lustrous and, no doubt, her eyes more blue. The vibrant crimson embroidery upon her chemise was visible at her neck and again at the hem. When she walked, the deep green of her embroidered leather slippers were visible, as was the yellow of her stockings.

The vivid hues suited her well. Bayard envisioned her in plum and red, in vermilion and green, in gold and deepest red. She sparkled in these colorful garments, like a jewel set among fitting finery, and he knew that he would have to see her garbed so lavishly always. She drew every eye and it suited her to be at the center of attention.

There were roses in her cheeks on this evening and pure mischief in her smile. Though garbed as a noblewoman, she did not assume the demure demeanor of one.

And Bayard did not care. Indeed, he found himself smiling to see that clothing could not change the essence of his Esmeraude. She hovered in the doorway, her gaze fixed upon the knights at the board, and seemed to tap her feet in impatience like a trickster awaiting the last line of his jest.

Bayard smiled, knowing she anticipated the moment her identity would be revealed to the three knights. He acknowledged to himself that ’twas not merely the prospect of winning Montvieux that prompted his interest in this lady.

Esmeraude intrigued him as no other woman had done before.

Bayard liked her passion and her desire for adventure. He liked her quick wits and her determination to influence the rest of her days. He was troubled far less than he had expected that she was not remotely obedient.

Indeed, it made the conquest of her all the more sweet to know that ‘twas not easily won. Esmeraude had a way of turning him to her will, of prompting him to anger, of bringing words to his lips that he had not meant to utter. And Esmeraude wished a confession of love beyond all else. ’Twould not be easy to deny her.

But he would not lie to her, not again. One lie was sufficient between them and he would prefer that there were none at all.

’Twas good that Bayard had been well trained to face a challenge and that he had a rare determination to be victorious at any quest he undertook. ’Twould suit him well to have such a lady by his side. He eased to a seat at the back of the hall.

For the moment, he would watch, unobserved. Her gaze flicked over the hall, no doubt seeking him, and consternation touched her features when she did not see him. Bayard smiled into his mug.

She was more than half won.

The lord of Airdfinnan introduced his wife and children to the noble guests, then turned and offered a hand to Esmeraude. “And of course, you must know my wife’s sister, Esmeraude of Ceinn-beithe.”

Esmeraude smiled and sailed triumphant to the board, even as Amaury choked upon his ale. Connor frowned and Nicholas’ eyes were uncommonly wide.

“You are Esmeraude?” Nicholas demanded.

Esmeraude took her seat with such perfect poise that Bayard felt a burst of pride. “Of course.” She granted them a brilliant smile. “I had said that I would be at Airdfinnan and here I am. I thank you for your accompaniment. One hears that there are oft bandits upon the road.” She smiled at the astonished men, searched covertly for Bayard again, then tucked her napkin into her lap.

“But you rode with us and said naught,” Connor said darkly. “Indeed, you deliberately deceived us by pretending to be a peasant maid.”

“I did not expect you to be so readily tricked.” Esmeraude said archly, then smiled as a servant filled a chalice with ale for her. “Indeed, Bayard was not fooled for a moment by my ruse. Is he the sole one in your family with his wits about him?”

Bayard’s heart leapt at the sound of his name on her lips. He was delighted that the lady mentioned him with favor. The lord glanced up, evidently recalling the guest he had forgotten in his concern for his wife. He met Bayard’s gaze but Bayard shook his head, content to remain unnoticed for the moment.

“Aye, you
rode
with Bayard,” Connor muttered, then quaffed his ale. “He always had a desire to be first in all matters.”

Nicholas looked alarmed at this innuendo and glanced between Esmeraude and Connor.

“Does this mean that you have spurned my brother?” Amaury demanded.

Esmeraude smiled. “A man who does not believe in the merit of love is not the man for me.”

Connor inhaled, his disapproval evident. “Perhaps you should have thought of that afore you coaxed him into the woods.”

The silence that descended upon the hall was broken only by the snap of Connor’s fingers as he summoned more ale. All on the dais turned to Connor, their expressions either inquiring or condemning.

“What do you mean by this comment?” the lord asked coldly. “Do you cast accusations upon the reputation of a guest at my board?”

“Bayard always had to be
first
,” Connor repeated firmly. “And I do not doubt that he has been first in this deed as well.”

Esmeraude flushed and her maid Célie looked exasperated.

“My cousins may choose for themselves, but I will not court another man’s leavings.” Connor leveled a cool glance at Esmeraude. “I have always thought that a lady of grace and temperance would come virginal to her nuptial bed.”

“The children!” the lady of Airdfinnan cried. She placed her hands over the ears of the toddler even as the color drained from her own face. She sent an imploring glance to the lord, who rose to his feet. Indeed, Bayard took a step forward himself to defend his lady.

But Esmeraude needed the aid of neither of them. She rose, her color high, and urged her brother-in-law aside as she made her way toward Connor. “And you, of course, will be chaste yourself until your own wedding night?”

Connor smiled. “’Tis not your concern what I do and do not do.”

“But what I do is yours?”

“’Tis different for a bride.”

“Aye? It may be different for the bride you choose, but I would never wed a man who judges women by such a triviality.”

“’Tis hardly a triviality!”

“Nay? But on the morn after the nuptials, ’tis gone either way. And then the couple must make a life together, a marriage dependent upon their character and their strengths, not upon the presence or absence of blood upon the linens.”

Connor’s lips tightened. “No man of honor weds a whore.”

“So, now a woman who is not chaste must be a whore! Surely, sir, there is another choice betwixt the two?”

“Not enough of one to be of import.”

Esmeraude leaned toward Connor, her voice low and her eyes dangerously narrow. “There are women, Connor of Tullymullagh, who do not bleed upon the linens of their nuptial bed, though indeed they are virginal. Would you spurn a bride for the sake of a few drops of blood?”

Connor leveled a stare at her. “You lie. And aye, I would.”

“Yet men wed widows all the time. How is it that my mother was wed thrice? She bore children in each marriage, therefore could not have been virginal after those first nuptials.” Esmeraude lifted her chin in challenge and propped her hands upon her hips. Bayard had the distinct sense that she enjoyed this argument.

And she argued well, this he had to admit.

Connor waved away her objection. “Widows are wedded all the time, though ’tis oft more for their holdings than their person.”

“Not true!” Esmeraude protested hotly. “Duncan wed my mother for the love of her!”

“Or was it for the title to Ceinn-beithe?” Connor shook his head. “None can know the heart of any man, only the contents of his own. When I see that a man has wed and won a grand holding, then I cannot trust any such pledge of love.”

Esmeraude’s expression turned chilly. “So you would suggest that I believe all men come to court me lie when they claim to desire me for my own self?”

Connor shrugged. “You should ask one you might count among that company. I court your hand no longer.”

“On the basis of a suspicion alone?” the lady demanded.

“I know what I saw.”

“You saw naught!”

“I saw enough. Do you confess, then, to surrendering your chastity?” Connor demanded. “Tell us the truth of it, then, and make an argument in your own defense.”

The lady of Airdfinnan appeared to hold her breath but Esmeraude’s color rose yet further. “I will confess naught to those determined to believe ill of me. Why should I believe that you would grant credit to any truth I might utter?”

Connor snorted and sipped his ale. “For you know the truth will show you no favor. Your reluctance is condemnation enough for me.”