Claire Delacroix (98 page)

Burke smiled. “I told her that an insult to my lady was an insult to me. How unfortunate you did not guess as much yourself.”

Burke sheathed his sword and Talbot sagged bonelessly against the hut, but his relief came too soon. Burke quickly landed a trio of punches—two blows to the face and one to the belly—the sum of which left Talbot hunched over in pain and moaning.

“Burke!”

That knight flicked a telling glance to Alys. “ ’Tis better than he deserves and less than I would have preferred,” he said grimly. “As always, my lady, you speak with good sense.”

Burke offered his hand to her, dropping kisses upon the marks on her wrists before anxiously studying her face. “You are otherwise unhurt?”

“I am fine,” Alys insisted, and leaned against his welcome strength with a sigh. “I knew that you would come.”

Even if she had not known Burke would reject his mother’s
command. Alys thrilled at this sign of his love and cursed herself anew for doubting him. Never would she err that way again.

Talbot moaned pitifully, but they both ignored him.

“I nearly did not,” Burke confessed, his fingertips trailing her cheek. “For I feared you had abandoned me.”

Alys knew her astonishment showed. “
You
had a doubt?
You
feared the power of your allure? No less, that you did not know best?”

A ruddy flush rose on the back of Burke’s neck. “I thought perhaps you tired of my determination.”

Alys could not permit him to continue. “ ’Tis your determination that won my heart, Burke, and do not doubt the truth of that.”

His eyes shone silver for a heartstopping moment, he kissed her brow, then he gestured quickly to Kerwyn. “Let us bind their hands and feet and cart them back to Montvieux. We shall have the truth from them soon enough.”

And Talbot groaned, as if he guessed the import of that.

Indeed, Alys suppressed her own shiver of trepidation, for the moment of meeting Margaux was upon her as well.

Burke did not permit his mother a single moment to celebrate his return. Her eyes lit up at the sight of him, but he dragged Talbot across the hall and cast the man at her feet. “He says my Alys is the blood of Millard de Villonne. I thought you would care to know this.”

But his mother was unsurprised; indeed, she did not cast a glance to Talbot’s whimpering form. “I suspected as much.”

Burke surveyed the hall warily, then stepped back to join Alys. He watched his mother fix her gaze upon his lady and felt Alys stiffen. She stood regally straight, though, despite the fact that her hair was unbound and her kirtle stained.

Ye gods, but he was proud of her.

“She stands tall enough,” Margaux conceded. She eased closer, leaning heavily on her cane as she circled they two, her gaze bright. “And I suppose she is pretty. But too slender by far.”

“Alys is perfect.” Burke won a quick smile from his lady for his endorsement.

But Margaux snorted. “But likely too thin to bear sons.”

“I am not a broodmare.” Alys’s golden eyes fired with annoyance, and Burke stifled a smile at his mother’s start of surprise.

“She has a tongue in her head,” Margaux said softly, bracing her hands atop her cane.

“And
she
prefers to be addressed directly.” Alys met Margaux’s gaze steadily. “Here I had thought manners were finer in France.”

Margaux inhaled sharply and Burke could restrain his chuckle no longer. His mother glared at him, then at his intended, then stalked to her customary seat. She surveyed them in poor temper.

“I could respect a woman with steel in her spine,” she acknowledged, then inclined her head. “Alys.”

“As could I,” was the lady’s soft reply. “Lady Montvieux.”

His mother, for the first time that Burke could recall, smiled.

Talbot squirmed restlessly against his bonds. “What about me?” he demanded. “What shall happen to me?”

Margaux actually chuckled. “I have a gift for you, Talbot d’Annoceaux. Or perhaps you shall be a gift for my guest.”

Talbot’s eyes widened, Burke frowned, Alys looked to Burke.

And suddenly a roar carried from the far side of the hall. “TALBOT! Trust you to have made such a mess of matters!”

“God’s blood,” Talbot muttered, and squeezed his eyes closed. “Anyone but Uncle.”

An older knight strode into the hall, his silver mane catching the light, his green tabard graced with a unicorn rampant. His eyes snapped with fury and he shook his fist. “Aye, and you should be quaking to see me, for if ever your mother had a thought that I should make you my heir, ’tis scattered for good on this day. What excuse of a man are you to take a noblewoman hostage …”

“She is a whore,” Talbot argued weakly.

“A
whore
!” the older man roared. “You spend so much time in their company that you can see naught else! Not all women are whores, you witless fool, and this one may indeed be my daughter!”

Alys clutched Burke’s hand.

“I am Millard de Villonne,” the arrival declared, his survey of Burke curt. “And you must be Burke de Montvieux.”

“Indeed.”

Millard’s gaze swept over Alys and he nodded. “I have a matter to resolve before we speak.” He drew his dagger and cut the bonds on Talbot’s ankles, hauling that knight to his feet.

Talbot’s knees quivered. “Please, Uncle, I beg of you …”

“You have the right to beg naught of me,” Millard snapped. “I sent you on an errand to fetch Isibeal of Kiltorren, or indeed her child, but you were not bringing this woman to me. You intended to break your pledge to me, which is no small thing.”

Talbot shuddered. “Nay, Uncle.”

“Aye! You saw only your own advantage. In hindsight I perceive the twisted course of your thoughts—you intended to kill this woman to ensure your own legacy of Villonne.”

Talbot squeezed his eyes shut, but Millard leaned closer. “But I would never have made such a sorry excuse of a knight my heir. You would never have inherited Villonne, even if there was no fruit of my union with Isibeal. I would have
granted it all to the Church, if only to spite you and my sister for expecting otherwise.”

“But—but …”

“But you are a fortunate man, Talbot.” Millard exhaled heavily. “For I saw fit to follow you to Kiltorren and thence to Montvieux, where Alys was said to be destined with her betrothed. You are fortunate that I travelled swiftly and saved you from the wrath of a warrior like Burke de Montvieux, no less that of his mother.”

The older man paused and all held their breath.

“Indeed, ’tis a mercy that you have to deal only with me.” Millard lifted the blade with cold intent, and Talbot began to babble for forgiveness.

As Alys held her breath, uncertain what this older knight would do, another party spilled suddenly into the hall.

“Do not kill him!” cried a woman.

“Malvina!” Alys gasped, and Burke turned in her wake.

“Do not kill him, I beg of you, sir!” Malvina pleaded as she flung herself at Millard’s feet.

“The Lord and Lady of Kiltorren,” Montvieux’s chatelain announced belatedly. “And their daughter.” He bowed and retreated.

Millard looked astonished to find Malvina at his feet.

“We followed you, sir, for I had to find Talbot,” she declared. “He is my one true love, he is my betrothed.”

Talbot looked more than ready to faint.

Deirdre strode across the hall. “He took my daughter’s maidenhead, sir, then fled on the very eve of their nuptials.”

“Aye, ’tis true,” Cedric affirmed.

“We demand he pay his due!” Deirdre cried.

Millard looked to his nephew. “What excuse have you for this unseemly behavior?”

Talbot licked his lips. “I thought she was a whore, sir.”

Alys heard Burke’s unwitting chuckle and did not dare to meet his gaze for fear they should both laugh aloud.

Millard drew himself up taller. “Is there any vestige of honor in your soul?” Clearly he expected no answer, for he pivoted to face the family of Kiltorren. “Know that I despair of this knight and his lack of honor. Know that on this day he has abducted a noblewoman, intending no good to her person. Know that his heart is blackened with greed and that you may never safely turn your back upon him. Know all of this and tell me whether you still would have him wed your child.”

“Aye!” Cedric cried. “We shall take him and willingly.”

“Aye, he is perfect for Malvina,” Deirdre agreed.

Millard seemed stunned by this, but he turned to the prostrate Malvina. “And you? What have you to say of this?”

“I love him, sir.” Her smile turned as cold as her following words. “And he will cross me at his own peril.”

“God’s blood,” Talbot whispered.

Millard chuckled in surprise. Then he voiced the very thought in Alys’s mind. “Indeed, Talbot, you may oft wonder whether you truly were saved this day.” Millard waved to the family of Kiltorren. “Take him, and welcome.”

They descended upon the sagging knight with glee, Malvina landing a smacking kiss upon his lips. Talbot staggered away, surrounded by them and looking somewhat dazed.

Millard turned then, shoving his dagger into his belt, and fixed a gaze upon Alys so bright that it stopped her heart. “The question remains now as to who this lady truly is.”

Alys straightened, reassured by the solidity of Burke’s presence behind her. “You spoke of my mother, Isibeal of Kiltorren.”

Relief lit the older man’s features. “Then you are her child!”

“Aye.”

The older knight took a step closer, his expression intent.
“I loved my Isibeal,” he admitted, a catch in his deep voice. “And she was stolen away from me, her family name hidden that I might not retrieve her. Though I sought her from sea to sea, I never did find her. I never meant her any dishonor, though I can only wonder if our two Isibeals were indeed the same.”

“My mother died when I was young,” Alys confided. Millard’s expression saddened immediately. “Heloise said ’twas of a broken heart.”

“Heloise! My Isibeal had a maid name of Heloise!”

“Heloise was my mother’s maid.” Their gazes held for a moment and Alys felt a tantalizing possibility.

Or was it just coincidence? How many maids named Heloise had served how may ladies named Isibeal?

“
There
was loyalty,” Millard conceded. “The Heloise I knew did much for your mother and me, and I never had the chance to thank her. Dare I hope that she at least is with you? Perhaps she might recognize me and solve this mystery.”

“She died recently.”

Millard looked suddenly older. “And you were too young to remember much of your mother, no less anything she might have said.” He rubbed his temples and Alys felt a sympathy for all he had lost. “You cannot possibly recall what she looked like, or the sound of her voice. Either way, my Isibeal truly is lost to me.”

How would Alys feel if she lost Burke in this moment? She could not imagine the heartbreak of seeking him without success for twenty years.

“I know one thing,” she offered, wanting to ease the other man’s pain. “ ’Twas a tale that Heloise told me of my father and mother, a tale of their love for each other.”

The older knight’s head snapped up. “Aye?”

“Aye.” Alys fumbled with the neckline of her chemise. “Heloise said my father granted this token to my mother as a
sign of his esteem.” She pulled the chain over her head and offered her pendant.

Millard caught his breath as if he did not believe his eyes. He stepped closer, raising a shaking hand. “
My
Isibeal,” he whispered brokenly, and his tears began to fall.

Then he looked to Alys with new intensity. “How old are you?”

“Twenty summers.”

“And your name?”

“Alys, Alys of Kiltorren.”

“God in heaven, she named you for my own mother.” Millard shook his head as if incredulous, his gaze raked over Alys. “You are
my
daughter. Isibeal of Kiltorren was my own Isibeal.”

Alys was stunned to find this old tale to be the truth.

“My daughter,” Millard declared with growing conviction. He grinned and opened his arms to Alys, and she stepped forward.

“My father,” she whispered, and touched his cheek.