Claire Delacroix (39 page)

Surely it could be naught else?

For the first time in all his days, Bayard forced himself to consider what he would do if he lost. ’Twas not the trial of facing his grandmother that rose in his mind’s eye to torment him, nor the fact that he would never hold Montvieux, nor the fear of his family unprepared to defend Montvieux against Richard, nor even the prospect of the king and his companions laughing at Bayard’s failure.

’Twas the prospect of living without the sparkle of his Esmeraude that made his innards clench.

And that was a terrifying truth indeed.

* * *

Inside the solar and on the other side of the stones that Bayard leaned against, Esmeraude stood with her nose buried in her chemise. She felt no sense of victory in having made a sensible choice, for she knew that she had wounded more than Bayard’s pride.

Indeed, as she stood there, Esmeraude realized that he had crossed a threshold this night, for his surrender of the proof of his advantage was not a sensible choice on his part. ’Twas a concession, perhaps a strategic concession, but one that defied good sense.

Was he telling her with his deed how he felt, instead of with his words?

Esmeraude lifted the chemise, savored the mingled scents of leather and horse and a certain man’s flesh, and knew what she had to do. She slipped quietly through the solar, crept out the door, and ran across the hall in search of her one true love.

She saw Bayard striding toward the stables, and in her haste to reach him, Esmeraude unwittingly dropped the chemise. She did not return for it, even once she realized what she had done, for she could not delay a moment in pursuing Bayard.

This night she meant to win her heart’s desire. This night, she would show him what she offered in full.

* * *

Unbeknownst to Esmeraude or Bayard, a certain knight had eavesdropped upon their conversation, greedily listening to every word. He stepped from the shadows now and retrieved the errant chemise, smiling to himself when he saw the distinctive mark of a maiden’s blood.

Then Simon de Leyrossire tucked the chemise into his tabard and returned to the hall, wanting very much to whistle in satisfaction but knowing ’twould only reveal his advantage too soon.

Oh, he would enjoy this vengeance, of that there was no doubt.

* * *

“Bayard!”

Bayard glanced over his shoulder, uncertain he had heard his name. But Esmeraude ran toward him, her hair flying loose behind her and her feet bare.

And he knew from her jubilant expression that he had finally persuaded her to accept him. He knew not how and he knew not why and he did not care. She came to him! Bayard turned fully and smiled himself, opening his arms to her. She laughed and leapt and he caught her, holding her fast as he turned in place.

“You have decided?” he demanded and the lady looped her arms around his neck.

“There is no choice,” she declared then lifted her lips to his.

Bayard kissed her, delighting in her unabashed response. His blood quickened and he held her tighter, his desire nigh taking him to his knees. He lifted his lips from hers, knowing he would be unable to last unless he paced himself, and Esmeraude kicked her feet in dissatisfaction.

“Do you not desire me any longer?”

Bayard laughed beneath his breath. “I have never desired a woman as much as I desire you, my Esmeraude,” he admitted. “And each time seems only to redouble the effect of your kiss.”

“Aye, ’tis this way for me as well,” she whispered. “Is loving always thus?”

“Nay.”

She smiled. “Because our match is destined to be.” Bayard had no opportunity to argue the matter, for Esmeraude kissed him to silence. She wound her hand into the hair at his nape and drew him closer, the heat of her kiss enflaming him beyond belief.

She demanded pleasure of him this night, and did so with such passion that he knew he had tasted but a mere increment of what she had to offer. They tasted and teased each other, oblivious to whether others watched their ardor. When their kiss ended, they both were breathing heavily and Esmeraude’s eyes were filled with stars.

“I want to know every way there is for a man and a woman to love each other,” she whispered huskily. “And I choose you, Bayard, to teach me.”

He made a mock sigh of concession. “If my lady wills as much, there is naught I can do but agree.”

Esmeraude laughed and scanned the bailey. “I would also be alone this night with you. How clean are the stables?”

“There is a goodly abundance of straw there and ’tis warm and dry.” Bayard strode in that direction, carrying the lady who would shortly be his wife. “Though one of these nights, my Esmeraude, we shall love in a bed, upon a plump mattress piled with furs, as is right and proper.”

Her answering smile made him yearn to kiss her anew. “I predict that the first time we meet abed, my lord, shall be in our nuptial bed, as is proper for any couple.”

Bayard laughed, but not for long, for as soon as he stepped into the shadows of the stable, Esmeraude’s lips were on his and her hand was under his chemise. Her urgency was infectious and they were both hasty in their responses. He tumbled into the straw and grinned with the realization that he faced yet another sleepless night.

Though this was not one he would regret.

Bayard coaxed his lady to pleasure, reveling in the flush that dawned upon her cheeks and the stars that lit within her eyes. He savored her every sigh as a triumph and felt more of a champion than ever he had when she crested the rise of desire for the third time.

And when Esmeraude arched against him, three words burst from her lips, three words he had never expected to hear, three words that gave him more joy than ever he could have expected.

“I love you,” was what she said. Their gazes held until the pleasure consumed her and her lids closed heavily, but still her claim echoed in Bayard’s thoughts.

She loved him. Bayard knew ’twas only relief that made his own heart clamor in response, for a wife who loved him would never leave him or betray him.

It could be no more than that.

But Bayard pleasured his lady with all the passion within him. From this night on, he and Esmeraude were as one and naught, to Bayard’s thinking, could tear them asunder.

* * *

Angus of Airdfinnan did not wish to be disturbed. He had made as much clear to his men, so he willfully ignored the whisper of a sentry in the solar. His wife was curled against him, so ripe that he dreaded the moment this child chose to enter the world. He held her close and knew he was unwilling to sacrifice so much as a moment in her presence, even when she slept, for such moments might prove to be too few.

“My lord!” the sentry whispered again, his voice more urgent.

Angus feigned sleep. His children were tucked into the great bed, nestled beneath the covers on either side of himself and Jacqueline. ’Twas warm and comfortable here, but that was not the reason he would not leave.

The import of his life was here, dozing all around him, in his trusting, happy children and the security of his hall. He was blessed with the happiness he had found without expecting it, happiness wrought by his Jacqueline. ’Twas she who hung the moon and the stars for him and he could not bear to imagine how barren his life would be without her.

The babe stirred and his gut clenched. Aye, Angus was afraid and more afraid than ever he had been. Jacqueline carried such a large child that he feared one of them would not survive its arrival.

Worse, there was naught he could do about the matter, no way he could influence which of them it might be.

He tightened his arm around Jacqueline and kissed her hair, closing his eye when the sentry whispered again.

“I do not need to see it,” Angus said flatly. “’Tis enough that you tell me that it grows again.”

“Nay, my lord, ’tis worse than that.”

How could it be worse? Angus turned to stare into the darkness where the man stood. “Has it barred the gates?”

“Nay, not quite. But it has grown twice its length this past night alone, and my lord-” the man’s voice faltered as if he were incredulous himself “-it has sprouted leaves.”

Angus swore. He swung from the bed and dressed in haste. He knew enough of magic to recognize its presence, and knew that this vine’s growth was linked in some mysterious way to the affair of Esmeraude and Bayard. Though they had arrived separately, there was some bond between them. The vine grew when the knight sang for the damsel, which meant ’twas of his making.

Angus was shocked to see how vigorously the vine had grown the night before and cursed his indulgence of Bayard’s song even as he climbed the ladder to the summit of the walls.

Glossy green leaves had indeed erupted over the plant’s entire length, making the walls look cloaked in finery. In truth, it looked more lush than it had.

But when Angus bent to examine the vine, his heart stopped cold. Beneath the leaf he examined, he found a bud. Not only did the vine come close to growing over the gates itself, not only did it cloak the walls with its shiny thorns from the bailey to the surface of the river, but now ’twould blossom and scatter seeds everywhere.

The last curse that Angus needed was another of these plants, let alone a thousand of them, all growing in his bailey! He might be able to do naught about the threat to his wife’s welfare, but this matter he could see resolved.

Angus set out to find the man responsible for this wizardry, for Bayard alone could put a halt to its progress.

Enough was enough.

* * *

Bayard awakened slowly, smiling as he savored the sweet scent of the straw of their bed and the even sweeter perfume of his Esmeraude. She burrowed against him, placing her cold nose against his flesh and making him jump.

“So you are awake,” she teased, her eyes sparkling. “I had thought you overtired.”

“Aye? And you are not tired? Perhaps I did not please you sufficiently.” The lady laughed but Bayard silenced her laughter with a thorough kiss. They parted reluctantly and he studied her flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes.

She loved him. All would now be well.

Bayard thought to celebrate this once more but a masculine voice cleared at such proximity that both he and Esmeraude jumped.

“Good morning to you,” Angus said wryly. “Though I would not intrude on your merriment, there is a matter of greater import which must be addressed.”

The lord did not look as if ’twas a cheerful matter. Indeed, he looked more grim than Bayard had ever seen him.

Esmeraude sat up hastily and gathered her chemise before her bare breasts. “Is Jacqueline well?” Her hair hung down the perfection of her bare back in a tangle of curls that Bayard could have spent the day combing to some order.

But Angus passed a hand across his brow and his lips tightened. “Thus far. That is not the sole matter that troubles me this morn.” He cocked a finger at Bayard. “You will halt what you have begun and you will do so on this very day.”

Bayard sat up in turn. “What have I done?”

The lord beckoned, then turned away. Bayard donned his chemise and chausses hastily, then laced the sides of Esmeraude’s kirtle. She looked to him, her gaze full of questions, and he shrugged, for he knew not what the lord meant. He plucked a strand of straw from her tresses, then kissed her brow.

“’Twill come aright. I shall ensure it,” he whispered and she smiled with an ease born of confidence.

“I know.”

They left the stables hand in hand and were within a few paces of Angus, who stood stiffly facing the opposite side of the bailey, when a woman’s scream rang through the air. Angus straightened and Esmeraude gasped.

“Jacqueline!” she whispered, squeezed Bayard’s hand then ran for the hall.

The lord did not move, indeed, he seemed struck to stone. Bayard halted beside him and noted the sudden pallor of his features. “Do you go to the solar as well?”

Angus shook his head. “Nay, my restlessness there only troubles my lady wife. Let us address a matter with an outcome to be determined by the will of men.”

He strode away then, and Bayard followed him, noting again how the vine had grown during the night. It cloaked the walls in glossy green leaves now and was a striking sight. “Does this vine grow here every year, or only at intervals?” he asked, hoping to distract the lord from his evident fears. “I have never seen the like of it.”

The lord granted him a hostile glance. “’Tis as alien to these parts as the knights who court Esmeraude’s hand.” He climbed the ladder to the crest of the wall without a backward glance, though he flinched when his wife’s cry of pain carried from the hall once again.

Bayard followed, feeling no small measure of confusion.

Angus halted at the boundary of the vine. In face, ’twould have been impossible to walk farther along the wall, for ’twas thickly adorned with the vegetation. And the leaves hid the vicious thorns upon the plant, making it dangerous to attempt such a feat.