Claire Delacroix (32 page)

Gabriel was garbed in red and white, the matching caparisons fluttering as his horse cantered across the field. His mail gleamed in the sunlight, as did the blade he held before himself. He doffed his helmet with a flourish and leapt from the saddle before Mhairi, dropping to one knee.

Though the sight was impressive and she smiled, her heart had little to say of the knight’s presence.

Perhaps such recognition took longer than her mother had implied.

“My lady fair, all I do this day is in your honor.”

The crowd sighed as one, necks craning forward as Mhairi stood. Such a romantic gesture deserved an answering one. She had not a sleeve to bestow upon him, but her maid had woven her a circlet of flowers to adorn the silver one on her head. She removed one of the flowers and offered it to him.

At this sign of her favor, Gabriel smiled and the assembly hooted in delight. Applause filled the air, even after he had mounted his horse and ridden to the side to join the other two men.

“And Kay de Pencel has also traveled for this day, for he holds a small manor in Aquitaine.”

Eglantine groaned slightly at this detail, though she said naught about distance this time. Kay wore green and gold, and made a sight every measure as rich as Gabriel had. The crowd clapped with enthusiasm as his steed cantered across the field.

“A man long pledged to the service of the Plantagenets, Kay has served as a guardian to the women of that family, escorting them safely through treacherous lands. ’Tis for this service that he won the reward of his holding. He, too, offers a prosperous life to whichever lady takes his hand and one filled with the favor of kings.”

Kay also dismounted before Mhairi. He removed his helmet and tucked it beneath his left arm, then pulled off his right glove. He stepped forward and took her hand, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. “If ’tis your will, my lady, I shall win you this day.”

Mhairi could not resist his charm, though her heart again had naught to say of the matter. She was prepared to grant it time to decide.

She similarly surrendered a flower to Kay. He smiled warmly, sniffed the bloom, then tucked it carefully into his tabard so that ’twas over his heart. He bowed again and rode away.

Mhairi realized only then that ’twas the same kind of bloom he had brought her just the day before and understood the reason for his warm smile. She sat down again, feeling flustered because she had shown favor to two contestants but knew not how to choose.

Indeed, ’twas irksome that her heart, contrary to her mother’s predication, remained silent about the matter.

“Four competitors you see before you...” The cook’s summation was interrupted by a cry from the far side of the field.

“Five!” a man shouted. “There will be five competitors this day!”

As all turned to look, Finlay dug his heels into the sides of one of Eglantine’s palfreys. His fair hair was wild, his face flushed with the awareness that he held every gaze. He rode at a killing pace, though Mhairi saw that he was fully in command of his steed. She was on her feet before she realized what she did, her heart hammering as she noticed that he wore only a leather jerkin and carried only a small knife.

“Fool! You will be killed!” she cried.

He scowled at her as he leapt from his saddle before her and cast down the reins. “Have you no faith in my abilities? Do you not believe that the will can find the way?”

Mhairi stared at him, only now realizing why he was where he was. “You mean to win me?”

“Aye, I do. I waited for you to be old enough to be courted, and this is my reward, but it matters naught. I shall win your hand, Mhairi MacLaren, or I shall die in the trying of it.” He met her gaze, his own steely with resolve. “Either way, I shall have no regrets.”

Mhairi’s heart clenched hard for she feared that Finlay would pay dearly for his choice. She stared at him, knowing he would not take any protest from her in good will.

“But you know naught of such battle,” she began, nigh consumed with her fear for him.

Finlay’s eyes flashed and he stepped closer. “Do you have so little faith in me as that?”

Mhairi did not know what to say, for the truth was bound to infuriate him. Her heart pounded so hard that she could barely think.

“Do you grant me no token of your favor?” he demanded, his words hot. “Is that how ’twill be? You will favor foreigners and strangers before looking upon the man who loves you wholly and for your own self?”

As he glared at her, furious that she might deny him and that she did not believe he would win, Mhairi knew. Aye, her heart clamored in her breast and she knew with every fiber of her being which man she must choose.

She took off her flower circlet and handed it to him in its entirety, unable to summon a word to her lips. The crowd cheered and shouted and hollered, and Mhairi was vaguely aware of her Aunt Alienor’s laughter.

But she was caught by the fire in Finlay’s gaze.

Terror rose within her with the realization of what he meant to do. He could be killed! How could this happen, that she could lose him just when she understood his import to her?

Why had her heart been silent so long?

Finlay showed no similar fear. He stepped forward, a swagger in his step, and bowed that she might slip the flowers around his neck.

“If you mean to fail in this foolishness,” she whispered, her words uneven, “then you had best die upon the field. For if you survive wounded, Finlay MacCormac, I shall kill you with my own hands.”

He chuckled then and she smiled at him. Then he squeezed her hand, his words surprisingly anxious. “Then I have your favor?”

Mhairi leaned forward and kissed his cheek. “My heart is yours, Finlay, for this day and for all time.”

“Then I shall win,” he said fiercely. “Your choice will be my shield.” He looked deeply into her eyes and her mouth went dry. “On that, my Mhairi, you may rely.”

But as he turned away, Mhairi was not as certain of his fate as he. Indeed, she feared the worst and clasped her hands tightly together in her lap, terrified that she would lose this treasure that she had never guessed was already within her grasp.

“You could halt the tourney,” her mother suggested quietly, obviously guessing the direction of her thoughts. She laid a hand over Mhairi’s interlaced fingers.

Mhairi shook her head. “He would despise me for such weakness.”

Duncan chuckled at that. “Aye, I suspect he would.” He laid his hand over her own and her mother’s and gave both an encouraging squeeze. “We shall have to pray that love truly can conquer all.”

Mhairi eyed Finlay’s competition and was not nearly certain of that. “How long will this endure?” she whispered.

“Three days,” Duncan supplied. “Three days, or until there is only one man upon the field, whichever comes first.”

Mhairi closed her eyes and swallowed hard, wondering how she would survive this contest. Curse Finlay! He should have confessed the contents of his heart sooner!

But Mhairi knew that if he had, she would not have understood her own heart. Nay, ’twas his willingness to take a risk to win her that make her see him for the man he was.

She only hoped that she had the chance to savor that newfound understanding.

* * *

Chapter Thirteen

Four days after her arrival at Airdfinnan, Esmeraude was sorely troubled. Though Connor had departed quickly, she could not have been accused of failing to spend time with Amaury or Nicholas. Neither offered a kiss that made her toes tingle, neither’s arrival made her heart skip a beat, neither occupied her dreams.

In marked contrast to Bayard, who haunted her every thought. Worse, he seemed to have forgotten that he was at Airdfinnan because he had pursued her there, in order to win her hand. After that first night, he ignored her attempts to stir his jealousy.

This was not good. Esmeraude had spent even more time with both knights.

’Twas to no avail. Bayard brushed his horse, jested with Angus and flirted with the maids.

Esmeraude found herself gritting her teeth; only the occasional wink from her favored knight persuaded her that there was any merit in her actions. Did he tease her? It seemed unlike him, for he had been so solemn before, but truly, she knew little of his nature.

That was even more discomfiting.

Nicholas was charming, but he was also young for his years and somewhat frivolous. He enjoyed a merry tale and a hearty laugh, but confessed readily to boredom with the responsibilities of courts and administrative matters. He delighted in describing the wealth of his hereditary holding, Montvieux, but Esmeraude now knew more of such matters than he had. She could not understand how Montvieux would continue to be prosperous if its lord ignored his responsibilities while he pursued his leisure.

Surely that had been Theobald’s error?

When she asked, Nicholas waved away her question, insisting that he and his bride would let their
châtelain
manage such minor administrative details while they savored life to the fullest.

Hmm. Esmeraude could not restrain herself from asking after Bayard, an initiative which did little to please Nicholas. She learned that Bayard had always been the leader among the cousins, that he had been first to win his spurs despite the fact that Nicholas was a year older, that he had conquered every obstacle before the others and was fiercely competitive. She learned that he had left his home five years past, though Nicholas professed ignorance of the reason, and had joined King Richard’s crusade to recapture Jerusalem.

Did Bayard only seek to win her to best his brother and cousins yet again? ’Twas not a reassuring thought - though it could well explain his refusal to speak of love.

When Nicholas had told all he would of his cousin, Esmeraude found her interest in his company waning. Though she knew she was not strictly following her sister’s request, Esmeraude cornered Amaury to learn more of his brother. Amaury was charmingly circumspect, saying only that his father and Bayard had disagreed and Bayard had left their family home.

Upon what had they disagreed? Amaury would not say. He knew naught of whatever holding Bayard possessed, nor even the extent and source of his brother’s wealth. ’Twas clear that matters were strained between them, though Amaury would not speak of that either. He assumed, he said, that Bayard had been granted a holding at the behest of his lord king, whom he had served these five years, for the family holding of Villonne was now to be Amaury’s own.

On his own behalf, Amaury looked too much like his brother for Esmeraude to appreciate his own merits. ’Twould have been dangerous, indeed, to surrender to his charm, which was considerable. Esmeraude knew that if she wed Amaury, she would see Bayard every time she looked at him, and that would not be fair. She did not dare to imagine the awkwardness of family gatherings in that instance, for ’twould be most odd for one’s brother-in-law to know as much of one’s body as one’s spouse.

’Twas a most vexing circumstance, no less because Célie had predicted such trouble. Esmeraude knew that her plan would have worked beautifully if Bayard truly had been a stranger, or if he would surrender his heart to her. But Bayard being Bayard, he was not inclined to follow Esmeraude’s bidding in this or any other matter. Even his own family did not know much more of him than she!

’Twas as if he dared her to ask him directly for details of his life. Indeed, he hovered at the periphery of her vision, watching her efforts with a bemused smile.

But Esmeraude refused to grant him such satisfaction. She hated to feel that she was predictable, that she was falling prey to Bayard’s charm just as countless other women - not a one of whom could sate him, according to his cousins - had done.

Would Bayard’s interest in her fade once she surrendered fully to him? Was it the competition alone that intrigued him? That was more than plausible and the prospect was far from palatable.

Aye, since the man placed no credence in love, and did not desire her for the prize of Ceinn-beithe, his need to be victorious in every contest was the only motivation Esmeraude could credit for his enthusiasm for winning her.

A wicked part of Esmeraude delighted in vexing Bayard for the first few days of the week, for she knew he had feigned the loss of his voice. No doubt he had hoped to coax her closer, as he had once before by halting his tale at a threshold. She would show him that she was not so biddable as that!

Several times a day, she offered a kiss in exchange for the solving of a riddle, but each time Bayard opened his mouth to grant the answer, she insisted that he remain silent and not strain himself. She knew it irked him mightily that the other two knights won her kisses, but she was mightily irked herself that he had destroyed her perfectly good plan.

Clearly, she had to ignore him and Esmeraude did her best. She played with her nieces and nephews, she surveyed the vine that had suddenly grown on the garden walls along with the rest of the household. ’Twas to no avail. She lay awake each night hearing the endless sounds of lovemaking all around her and burned for Bayard’s touch.

She refused to consider how many serving wenches found their way to his bed.