Claire Delacroix (42 page)

Simon shrugged. “I fear I must attend my own nuptials.” He watched her closely, too closely for Esmeraude’s taste.

Why would he think that she would care? “Who shall be your bride?” she asked, more from a sense of duty than any curiosity.

“’Tis premature to speak of it,” Simon said smoothly. He turned and gestured to his party, now gathering on the far side of the bailey. “It occurs to me that I have not introduced you to my fine steeds. Perhaps you might like to see them before we ride south.”

Esmeraude was always tempted to see horses and ’twas no fault of the beasts that they were owned by Simon. She spared a glance to the walls and reasoned that Bayard had much work yet to do if he meant to cut the vine back fully.

Surely ’twould hurt naught to spend a moment with the horses?

She smiled and took Simon’s outstretched hand. “I should be delighted.”

* * *

Simon let Esmeraude pat the horses and run her fingers over their manes. He was content to grant her time enough to be at ease in his presence before he sprang his trap. His bait had been well chosen, for she was particularly interested in the horses.

And Simon gradually coaxed her farther back toward the surrounding walls of the keep, where the shadows gathered beneath a leaning roof and his plan would be fulfilled. Like most women, Esmeraude was not sufficiently keen of wit to perceive the brilliance of his scheme, or even to notice that he guided her apurpose.

He caught her elbow in his hand and tightened his grip when she might have pulled away. She cast him an enquiring glance, perhaps one tinged with a bit of fear, and Simon felt a thrill of victory. He urged her more deliberately toward the shadows, though she bucked him more openly now.

“Perhaps there is naught to lose in admitting the truth to you,” he mused, feeling a need to boast of his cleverness. “I came to win your hand, Esmeraude, and ’tis clear that now ’tis mine.”

Esmeraude tried to free her elbow. “’Tis not clear to me!”

“Ah, then let me explain matters slowly to you, so slowly that even you might understand.” Simon spoke deliberately, noting the mutinous set of the lady’s lips. “I had a walk in the bailey last evening and could not help but note a certain measure of...
activity
in the stables.” He arched a fair brow, inviting Esmeraude to guess what he had heard.

She tried to tug her arm from his grip with greater force but Simon was far stronger than she. “I cannot imagine why such
activity
would be of concern to you. ’Tis not uncommon for a man and a woman to anticipate their nuptial vows thus.”

Simon chuckled, well satisfied with what he had learned. “Nay ’tis not uncommon,” he agreed easily. “Though ’tis somewhat rare for a man to learn that his wife has borne another man’s child.”

Esmeraude blinked in confusion. Simon conjured her stained chemise from his tabard and shook it before her, holding it out of her grasp when she tried to snatch it from him.

“Why, look how my claiming of your maidenhead stained the cloth,” he mused. “And I, as any sensible man would do, have kept the proof of our dalliance. Do you think I should challenge Bayard in his own hall with the fact that his wife did not come innocent to his nuptial bed, or should I have him summoned to the king’s court to confront the truth?”

“’Tis not the truth,” Esmeraude argued vehemently. “And you know it well!”

“I may know as much and you may know as much, and Bayard may know as much. But that is not the point, my dear. If I offer such evidence before a court and insist that your first child is my bastard, do you not think that your child will be surrendered to me?”

“Nay! I will not permit you to claim my child!” Esmeraude tugged her arm fiercely, and this time Simon let her slip from his grip. “No one would heed you! No one would permit this travesty!”

Simon shook his head, amused by her innocence. “You place much credit in the minds of men. Do you truly believe that a woman would be believed, especially one intent upon preserving her reputation and marriage? ’Tis no small thing to be accused of disguising a bastard as a legitimate child, no less of adultery.”

“I have not been adulterous! Bayard would defend me.”

“Would he? A man cannot be home in his hall all of the time, my dear. I could arrange to visit both your hall and your chamber in his absence. We could cast doubts on his surety without much trouble at all.”

She recoiled in horror and quickly glanced about herself for some means of escape. But she was cornered in the shed most effectively, Simon’s squires having appeared on all sides. She was clearly frightened and clearly impressed by the thoroughness of his planning.

“What do you mean to do?”

“I mean to wed you.”

“I mean to wed Bayard!”

“Ah, then I could discredit you. How long would he keep you if he doubted your integrity?” Simon leaned closer to whisper before she could protest. “Would he believe that I had not known you intimately, when I know the sweet sounds you make abed?” Simon mimicked Esmeraude’s cry of pleasure so perfectly that she flushed scarlet. She retreated in horror but Simon pursued her. “How else would a man know this of you, Esmeraude?”

“’Twould be a lie!” she protested, as though she could not fathom that a man would tell a falsehood to win his greatest desire.

Simon found himself greatly amused. “And what of Bayard’s much vaunted sense of honor? Surely this is dependent on having no scandal attached to his name. How much shame would he be prepared to endure to keep you by his side? We know well how much he values the favor of the king. Perhaps he would not enjoy the displeasure of the king in this matter. Perhaps he would cast you aside if you brought infamy to his hall.”

“Perhaps he would not!”

“Are you prepared to wager upon that?”

She stared at him, her eyes wide, and Simon knew, he
knew
, that she was prepared to make that wager. He felt a resounding disappointment, but then, he was always disappointed in women.

He would take her for the child, and after ’twas born, he could be rid of her as well.

Esmeraude did a reasonable task of feigning compliance, but Simon was not fooled. She heaved a sigh and passed a hand over her brow. “You speak aright,” she conceded softly. “I could not bear to bring such shame upon his house, nor, indeed, could I bear to lose any child I had borne. What do you desire of me, Simon?”

He seized her elbow. “We shall be wed, of course.”

“At Ceinn-beithe?” she asked, clearly hoping for his agreement.

At her family’s home, she would have aid in destroying him and his plan. ’Twas irksome that she tried to deceive him for her wits were no match for his own.

’Twas premature for her to guess that he understood the fullness of her treachery though.

Simon smiled, the image of an indulgent suitor, and lied through his teeth. “If ’tis your desire, my dear, then of course we shall be wed there. We shall depart for Ceinn-beithe this very morn.”

Esmeraude smiled, unable to hide her delight. “If we mean to depart, then I must gather my belongings. And I shall have to fetch my maid and say farewell to my sister...”

“Oh, nay. We leave immediately, without word, without servants, without farewell.”

“But ’twould be rude!”

Simon held Esmeraude’s gaze resolutely. “Let us understand each other, my Esmeraude. I shall decide what you will do and when you will do it. You will comply, without protest or argument because ’tis my will and I am your lord. We shall leave immediately, in silence and in secrecy.”

The lady’s eyes flashed. “You cannot leave Airdfinnan in secrecy for the gate is barred against the strange fog.”

“Perhaps ’twas.” Simon held up a finger and the unmistakable sound of the portcullis being raised carried to their ears. Esmeraude’s eyes widened. “My squire shows great promise, for he accomplishes all he is assigned to do and does so when he is intended to do it. A bright boy indeed. Our party leaves this very moment.”

“I must say farewell,” Esmeraude insisted. “Indeed, all will know that something is amiss otherwise.”

“I doubt that. All know that you are disinclined to fret about others, as was your father.”

“I am not like my sire! I will say farewell!” The lady spun and would have marched away, had Simon not been prepared for her defiance. He lifted a finger and the two squires met his gaze. Esmeraude strode past them and they spun silently. One snatched her shoulders and, in the same moment, the other struck her in the back of the head with a blunted hilt.

Esmeraude slumped into the first boy’s arms. She was quickly bound as Simon watched, and tucked into an ornate trunk, one which usually carried his bedding.

’Twas, indeed, fortunate that Simon traveled with all the accoutrements of home, though it made his journeys burdensome. He sorely regretted that he had had to cast the usual contents of this trunk into the river the night before, but one must make compromises to achieve one’s ends.

Esmeraude was an expensive prize, there could be no doubt of that, for the bedding had been particularly fine. This bride seemed in particular need of a lesson regarding his authority.

Cheered by the prospect of only enduring her company for eight months more, Simon sent his regrets to the lord of Airdfinnan, who was still in his solar, and prepared to depart with his party for the welcoming walls of Leyrossire. By the time Esmeraude knew he had lied to her about going to Ceinn-beithe, they would be halfway to France.

Perfect. He flicked a glance at the high defensive walls and knew he could not leave without turning one knife in a wound.

“Bayard de Villonne!” Simon cried, and grinned when the knight looked over the crest of stone. “Have you no words of farewell for a departing comrade?”

* * *

Chapter Seventeen

The last soul in Christendom to whom Bayard wished to speak was undoubtedly Simon de Leyrossire. All the same, ’twas most intriguing that the man chose to leave now, and most uncharacteristic for him to cede defeat.

Curiosity brought Bayard down to the bailey, his chemise soaked with sweat once again. He eyed Simon’s entourage, nigh all packed and mounted in preparation for his journey.

Simon truly did intend to leave.

“I am surprised by your choice,” he said by way of greeting.

Simon smiled in that unctuous way he had. “Why? ’Tis more than clear that the lady’s hand will be your own.”

Bayard found himself wary, for he recalled all too well how untrustworthy this knight could be. “I had no idea that ’twas so evident.”

Simon laughed. “I have eyes, Bayard, and ears!” He winked. “And I get no younger, though I should dearly like matters to be otherwise. I have need of a bride soon to ensure that Leyrossire has an heir and therefore I cannot afford to linger overlong in pursuit of one woman in particular.”

“There are other women in these parts,” Bayard felt compelled to note. “The lord of Ceinn-beithe had another daughter, Mhairi, if you recall.”

“Oh, I recall well enough.” Simon’s manner was remarkably jovial, considering that he had journeyed all this distance for naught. “But this place is too wild for my taste. I yearn for a cup of wine and the luxury of mine own hall.”

“I would have thought you to be more troubled by failing to win Esmeraude.” Bayard could not understand the other man’s mood.

Simon watched an ornate trunk being loaded upon a wagon, and that with no small effort from three squires. Simon watched them avidly and Bayard assumed the trunk was of some value.

The other knight then shook his head. He leaned closer to Bayard, his eyes twinkling in a most uncharacteristic way, and dropped his voice. “In truth, I wonder whether marriage is the choice for me. A wife, as you may not know, can be a tremendous burden.”

His hand fell upon the trunk, which clearly was a burden, and stroked the carving on its lid with a gloved hand. “Perhaps I shall indulge myself with mistresses and acknowledge a bastard as my heir instead.”

And he began to laugh. Indeed, Simon laughed so hard and so long that he had to wipe away a tear. Bayard stood silently and stared at the other man, who had clearly lost his wits.

Simon recovered himself, apologized, and smiled brightly as he offered Bayard his hand. “Godspeed to you. But then, you have always been blessed with uncommon fortune, have you not?”

Simon seemed to be on the verge of another burst of laughter. Bayard could see naught in the situation to prompt amusement. He shook Simon’s hand solemnly and wished the man Godspeed in return, though he lingered long in the bailey, staring after the departing party.

Simon had gone mad. Bayard could think of no other explanation for the man’s curious manner. The portcullis closed with a clang and Bayard tipped back his head to survey his progress upon the vine.

It seemed, oddly enough, to be withering even where he had not begun to cut. Aye, the leaves that had so recently burst forth were wilting along its entire length.

He was vanquishing it! It surrendered to his assault, knowing that ’twas defeated. Perhaps his fortune had returned with Simon’s departure.