Claire Delacroix (37 page)

’Twas a choice which clearly startled Angus and prompted Jacqueline to blush. Esmeraude knew that Robert did not know his host and hostess personally and thus could not have heard the tale from them.

Indeed, Angus called an early halt to the tale, citing the falsity of its details as his reason. Angus glared at Robert as that man retired red-faced from the floor and Esmeraude knew that her earlier decision about this suitor had been accurate.

“Pretentious fool,” Calum whispered to Esmeraude.

Simon smirked and sipped his ale, wincing at the taste of it. He had already made his preference for wine clear, and Angus had apologized so elaborately for the absence of wine in his cellars that Esmeraude knew her brother-in-law did not like this new guest in the least.

Perhaps if she did not encourage Simon, he would leave.

The parsimonious Hamish sang a tale of a small Fairie tricked of his hoard of gold. His impressions of the little crooked man made Jacqueline laugh merrily and the children giggle. Applause rang through the hall when he finished and Esmeraude was surprised to see this side of the man who had oft sat silently in Duncan’s hall.

But still, the revelation did not change her opinion of him.

“How like him to sing of winning gold undeserved,” muttered Calum, the words pitched for Esmeraude’s ears alone.

Calum was handsome, ’twas true, though his smile did not prompt much more within Esmeraude than a polite answering smile. He sang an old tale of the lovers for which Ceinn-beithe had won its reputation as a fortunate place to be wed.

Esmeraude had always loved this tale and she was in the midst of cheering it when Bayard stepped into the hall. She halted and stared, despite her intention to greet him coolly. His tan seemed more ruddy and his manner more impatient. He spared her no more than a glance, then his lips set grimly as he took a seat and called for ale.

Esmeraude wondered where he had been, what he was thinking, why he was annoyed with her. Had he changed his thinking about her? He certainly looked disgruntled enough to have done so. She half rose to go to his side before she recalled herself.

“I see that Bayard de Villonne courts you with vigor,” Simon mused. “Has he any land to his name these days?”

“He has an estate.”

Simon laughed, much to Esmeraude’s surprise. “What holding is that? Amaury takes Villonne since Bayard abandoned his father and there is no other holding in Burke de Villonne’s possession, not since he lost Montvieux.”

Surely Bayard could not have lied to her? Esmeraude knew it could not be so. “He has won another holding by his valor.”

“Ah, is it one he holds as yet or one he hopes to hold?” Simon smiled into his cup and his eyes gleamed. “You must be certain to know the truth of what a man offers before you accept him, Esmeraude. Bayard is well known for his conquests of ladies, but I fear there is naught of substance behind his facade of charm.”

“He is a knight -”

“Spurs can be bought, for a father’s favor or an exchange of land.”

“And a crusader -”

“Aye, aye, a member of that fool’s company which failed in their objective.”

“I do not understand what you mean.”

“Richard did not take Jerusalem from the infidels.” Simon spoke to her as if she were a stupid child, a tendency which did little to enchant Esmeraude. “Indeed, he did not so much as try. Twice he approached the Holy City and twice he retreated, being no closer than eight miles from its gates. This is no victory, my dear.”

“Bayard is a champion,” Esmeraude insisted, though Simon laughed again at this.

“Indeed? Well, I see that our tourney at Tours has been remembered rather differently by the other party.” Simon stood and flicked back his cloak, raising his cup to indicate Bayard and interrupting the conversation in the hall. “What ails you, Bayard de Villonne, that you feel so compelled to tell falsehoods to win a maiden’s heart? I had long heard that your charm was beyond compare.”

Bayard stood, his expression impassive. “I tell no falsehood.”

“Where is this estate you claim to hold?”

“The holding comes to me in its own time.” Bayard looked most grim. “’Tis premature to speak of it.”

Simon laughed. “Because it does not exist or ’tis not assured to be yours! Ask any man in this hall, Esmeraude, and he will tell you of the richness of the Château Leyrossire, which I have held in mine own hand for ten years.” He sipped his ale, smiling slightly as chatter broke out in the hall. “And what of your illustrious crusade, Bayard? How do matters fare in the Holy City?”

“You know that ’twas not claimed, for lack of men and power. Indeed, Simon, if you had the courage to sacrifice your leisure time to a great cause, your presence would not have been unwelcome.” Bayard sipped his own ale and his gaze turned assessing. “Providing, of course, that you still have an ability to wield a blade. Are you not rather aged to take a young bride, Simon?”

“I am as virile as any man in this hall!”

“And widowed many more times. How many wives have you buried, Simon?”

The older man flushed a dull red. “’Tis not of import.”

“I suspect the lady would find your seven brides of great import.” Bayard held Esmeraude’s gaze, as if he would grant her a warning. What did he know of these wives? “Seven wives in ten years,” he mused and Esmeraude gasped at the timing. “Such short lives they lived in your fine château, Simon. Perhaps life there is not so filled with pleasure, after all.”

The older man gritted his teeth. “Childbirth is fraught with danger for women, as any fool knows.”

Jacqueline caught her breath at this untimely reminder, her hand falling to the ripe curve of her belly.

Angus stood in his turn, his expression most dour. “There shall be no talk of losses in childbirth in my hall, or you may all leave this very night!”

Bayard inclined his head toward his host in apology and Simon grudgingly did the same. “’Tis odd you should suggest as much, Simon, when the rumor is that not a one of your brides conceived.”

“That is a lie!”

“Oh? How many heirs have you?”

“None and you know it well.” Simon cast his cup toward a squire - who barely caught it - then leaned upon the board. “But what of your last lie, Bayard de Villonne? What of this tale that you are a champion? I recall the outcome of our tourney at Tours rather differently.”

Bayard’s eyes narrowed. “Do you?”

“Who won? Tell them all who was the victor of that contest?”

“You did,” Bayard said softly. “You won because you cheated.”

“There is no proof of that.”

“Is there not?” Bayard smiled and sipped his ale, then took his seat. Chatter broke out anew in the hall and Esmeraude wondered what had transpired. Her instinct was to believe Bayard, though she did find it disturbing that he would not name his holding.

Did he truly not have one?

Did she care?

The knight beside Esmeraude fumed silently for a moment, then turned a winning smile upon her. “He lies, as is his wont. Surely you can see the kind of man he is?”

“Aye, I can.” Esmeraude watched Bayard, knowing he was angry and guessing why. He was much concerned with fairness and justice and if Simon had cheated to defeat him, ’twas not a deed Bayard would forget.

Simon frowned while Seamus, tall and angular, began his song. He was blessed with a deep voice that resonated beautifully in the hall. He told a sad tale of a seal turned to woman, then back again, at the price of losing her love, and won a smattering of applause.

Then all in the hall sat forward, Esmeraude as well, remembering where Bayard had halted his tale the night before. Would he tell of the execution of the lovers, or would he offer love a reprieve? Esmeraude had to know, for she believed ’twould tell much of this knight’s secret yearnings.

* * *

Chapter Fifteen

As Esmeraude and all the company in the hall listened, Bayard sang of Tristran being brought to the pyre where King Mark intended to burn the lovers alive. That knight deceived his captors by begging for one last chance to pray when they passed a small chapel, one said to have no means of escape.

But Tristran leapt through the small window that faced the sea, daring the drop of the cliffs there. He was saved from dying in the fall by a large flat rock partway down the cliff face. His loyal Governal met him with his armor and his steed and Tristran set out to save his lady fair.

The company applauded this deed with such vigor that Bayard had to wait for silence. Esmeraude was intrigued that the knight evidently thought a lie to escape death was permissible.

A sentry came, as one had the night before, and whispered in Angus’ ear. That man excused himself and strode from the hall so quickly that the sentry had to run to match his pace. The company barely glanced up.

For Iseut meanwhile had been led to the pyre, her wrists bleeding from the tightness of her bonds. She was so lovely that all the people mourned her pending death, though the king was not swayed. He would not even heed her pleas for his forgiveness and the company hissed at his cold-heartedness. Annelise crept into Esmeraude’s lap and clutched her hand in her fear for Iseut. Esmeraude gripped the child’s fingers with equal vigor.

Bayard sang that there was a leper, name of Yvain, who had come to the burning with his company of a hundred lepers. When he saw Iseut, he made a gruesome offer to the king. He suggested that a burning would lead to a quick death for the queen. He said that giving her to the lepers for their pleasure would make Iseut wish she was dead a thousand times over, thus prolonging her punishment.

To Esmeraude’s horror, the king agreed and surrendered his lady wife to the leper colony. Bayard would have halted there, but the entire assembly roared in protest.

Esmeraude could not be silent, not when Bayard sang of such marital cruelty. Did he think the king had chosen aright? “This is beyond foul!” she cried. “’Tis a shocking travesty of the king’s nuptial vows.”

“’Tis indeed,” Bayard agreed easily, his eyes gleaming.

“’Twas wicked and undeserved and wrong beyond belief! One owes better to one’s sworn spouse, do you not agree?”

“Aye. I, too, share your faith in the holiness of a nuptial pledge.” Bayard captured her hand, and Esmeraude had a moment’s disappointment that he would only bestow a kiss there before he murmured, for her ears alone, “I like it well that we share such convictions, my Esmeraude. ’Tis a good portent for our own match.”

He kissed her hand with a proprietary ease that pleased her mightily and made Simon inhale with a hiss.

“Tell me, my Esmeraude,” Bayard said. “Is it truly to comment upon the tale that you continue to hail me, or is it my kiss that you seek?”

Esmeraude smiled. “I would bestow far more than a kiss upon the man I favor,” she declared, “but only if he proves himself worthy of my love.”

“How do I fare?”

Esmeraude liked the competitive light that dawned in his eyes and knew ’twould be good to encourage it. “Well enough,” she conceded. “Though only the fate of the lovers will prove the truth of it.”

The company fell into rapt silence as soon as Bayard began to sing again. He told of Tristran killing the leper as soon as he reached the forest, thus freeing Iseut only moments after she had been condemned to such hideous penance.

Esmeraude applauded this conquest for love as mightily as all the others gathered there. She could not guess how Bayard could fail to see the merit of love conquering wickedness in this episode. He grinned at her, than told how the lovers had fled into the forest and lived there in exile, content in their love though they had naught else.

There was a fine sentiment! The company cheered, Esmeraude among them, but Bayard held up a warning finger and they caught their breath as one. That favor was doomed to change, for after two years of living in the forest, the pair chanced to be sleeping one afternoon when the king’s hunt brought him near. Esmeraude was not the only one who leaned forward so as to not miss a morsel.

Though discovered by King Mark, the lovers again had Fortune’s smile upon them, for they slept clothed and with Tristran’s blade between them. This the king interpreted as evidence of their innocence and his own error in condemning them. He traded his blade for Tristran’s and his ring for the lady’s own. His choice proved his presence to the lovers when they awakened and persuaded them that they were in danger of his wrath.

To Wales the loving pair did flee,

Fearful of King Mark’s dire decree.

In Wales they saw the third year pass,

That the potion was doomed to last.

Their love was gone, as quick as that -

And both saw how much life did lack.

The time had come for Tristran to

Return Iseut to spouse she knew,

And put love’s madness in the past,

For ’tis an ill that cannot last.

Esmeraude frowned, much disappointed by this verse. The story lost a certain luster for her then. Indeed, she folded her arms across her chest and glared at Bayard.