Claire Delacroix (21 page)

“Wits are no defense against a knight’s armor!”

“Nay, they are a greater one.” She dropped batter into the sizzling fat. “I daresay you might win against the mightiest foe, should you put your thinking to that end.” She winked at him. “But then, my opinion is biased.”

He smiled back at her, much encouraged, then dared her wrath to take two of the cakes she had set on the board to cool. At her cry of mock outrage, his grin widened. “I have need of my strength to chop that wood.”

“Oh, your father’s audacity and my wits. You are a fearsome foe, indeed, Finlay MacCormac,” she teased. “Get away with you and finish your labor this morn afore you forget it completely.”

Finlay waved cockily as he ducked out the door, then sharpened his axe with purpose, his thoughts spinning.

His mother spoke aright. Somehow, he had to outwit his competitors for Mhairi’s hand, or risk losing her forever. His heart tightened at the prospect of her wedding another.

Nay, he had to do his best to keep her from choosing one of those men. He still might lose her hand, but ’twould be better than losing her for the lack of trying at all.

He made quick work of the woodpile that morn and ’twas not merely his mother’s baking that fueled him to greater speed. Aye, with each blow of the axe, Finlay became more resolute.

He could win Mhairi.

Was it not said that the will would find the way?

* * *

Chapter Eight

In other circumstance, Bayard might have been tempted to believe that all was well once again. But his lady had surprised him more than once thus far and he did not believe that she would not do so again.

She was unpredictable, his Esmeraude.

Bayard lay beside her, determined to remain awake even though he was dead tired, and acknowledged that unpredictability was a most intriguing trait. He had always expected marriage to be an obligation, one with its pleasures to be sure, but a duty that would not occupy his thoughts overmuch. He had need of a wife because he had need of sons. ’Twould be a simple arrangement.

And now, he had need of this wife, because he had need of Montvieux, for pledging it to Richard would ensure his family’s safety. Simplicity, again.

But little was simple about Esmeraude. Bayard had certainly never anticipated that a single woman would hold his attention so surely as Esmeraude did, certainly not that any woman would do so for the better part of his life. He had anticipated that the price of his insistence upon not wedding for love - as his parents had done - could well be a lack of passion in his nuptial bed. He had expected to seek passion elsewhere. Bayard slanted a glance to his sleeping betrothed and smiled.

Esmeraude had a way of holding his eye and Bayard guessed that might never change. To his own surprise, he was untroubled by this. He liked her passion and fire. And the issue of love was resolved between them, he was certain, his own view much more sensible than her own whimsical ideal. She cuddled against him now, disheveled and flushed, her hair tumbling across his arm and his cloak in glorious disarray.

’Twas quiet in the clearing and Bayard felt more at peace than he had in years. Aye, ’twas no doubt due to how well his scheme came together. Bayard leaned back, contented with what he had wrought, and yawned mightily as he stared at the clouds scuttling overhead.

And felt a pang of guilt. There was no evading the fact that he had told his lady a lie. He knew it should not have concerned him to tell one lie to win Montvieux and ensure that the greater good was served.

But still.

But still.

He had no holding, not as yet, not until Esmeraude wedded him and Margaux knew of those nuptials. And in the strictest sense, Montvieux was not his hereditary estate, though it could be argued that it should have been. Worse, he did wed Esmeraude for an estate, though not for humble Ceinn-beithe.

He knew enough of his lady to guess that the distinction would be as naught to her.

Esmeraude need never know the truth of it, Bayard reminded himself firmly. Indeed, they would return to France and she would witness his acceptance of the seal of Montvieux and never know the full tale.

As long as none of his family told her. His heart clenched, though he knew ’twas only the possibility of her spurning him that was worrisome. He stole a glance at her and was less certain of the root of his worry than he might have hoped to be.

Then he had a cheering thought. By the time his family could divulge the truth, Esmeraude might already be ripe with his seed. That deed might have been accomplished this night or last. Though Esmeraude would almost certainly be irked to hear such a revelation, surely no woman would leave her spouse with a babe in her belly.

Would she?

Would any woman leave a life of wealth and comfort such as he could offer at Montvieux for the uncertainty of life beyond its walls? Even if she would do as much herself, surely she would not condemn her child to such a fate?

Bayard eyed his unpredictable betrothed and was not entirely certain. But what choice had he had? It had been clear how upset Esmeraude was to be wed for whatever holding she might bring to her spouse’s hand - he had understood that whether ’twas Ceinn-beithe or Montvieux would not matter. Bayard knew she had no objections to his suit otherwise, for she welcomed him between her thighs with uncommon gusto, and he would not lose her over such a detail.

His embrace tightened slightly and the lady eased closer, smiling as she did so. Aye, his lie was an insignificantly small detail, a necessity.

Was it not?

Esmeraude’s head placed so trustingly upon his shoulder made Bayard feel like a cur, but he knew he had chosen wisely. They would be wed and they would be wed soon, and they would live happily at Montvieux.

Hopefully. Bayard had best make it a priority to place a babe within his bride’s belly, with no regard for counting fingers and whispers if their first child came in haste. The lady, quite to his delight, seemed as intent upon this course as he was himself.

“What happened next?” Esmeraude murmured and he started at the sound of her voice.

Bayard glanced down to find her eyes just barely open, a sliver of sapphire visible between those luxuriant lashes. She had the look of a well-sated cat and he was pleased to be the one responsible for her contentment. He arched a brow, not understanding her question, and when she smiled, he had the impulse to make her cry out in pleasure again.

She propped herself up on her elbow, evidently unaware of how her unfastened chemise gaped open.
His
chemise. His surge of possessive pride surprised Bayard. Her hair spilled over her shoulders, her lips were ruddy and slightly swollen from his kisses. Bayard was certain that the sirens could not have looked more tempting than this.

“Tell me what happened to Tristran and Iseut,” Esmeraude said, tapping him with a playful fingertip. “You said that she welcomed him to her bed.”

Bayard smiled. “I suspect what happened was much what happened here. I could show you instead, if you prefer.”

His lady rolled to her back and laughed under her breath when he followed her, her eyes sparkling. “But I would have the rest of the tale. What happened after that?”

Bayard stole a kiss that quickly took on a heat of its own. “Perhaps they repeated the deed,” he murmured.

Esmeraude chuckled, sparing a cautious glance to the others still asleep but not far away. “After the loving, what did they do?” She poked his shoulder. “You must tell me.”

“Perhaps you should
persuade
me.”

She pounced upon him then, but to his astonishment, she tickled him to win her way. They tumbled across his cloak like playful children, trying to stifle their laughter. Bayard had not been tickled in years. Esmeraude’s giggles were the happiest sound he had heard in a long while, and he grinned himself when he discovered that the arches of her feet were particularly sensitive.

He tormented her until she begged for mercy, but when he moved to claim a victorious kiss, she eluded him. She slipped behind him, her fingers between his ribs with alarming speed, and he found himself helpless with laughter in turn.

“Surrender to me, Bayard,” she whispered in his ear.

“I surrender!” He gasped out the words even as he squirmed.

“Ooh, a knight surrendering to a mere maiden.” Esmeraude laughed. “I shall have need of a witness for none will believe me. Perhaps we should awaken the others.”

“I told you...” Bayard’s claim was never finished, for his intended leapt astride him. She caught his wrists and pinned them to the ground, so pleased with herself that he had no desire to break free.

“Aye, you told me that I had need of naught this night but you,” she whispered. She leaned closer, granting him an enticing view of her breasts. “But the truth is that now I have need of the tale only you can share. Will you not share it with me?” She punctuated her request with a kiss that stirred his soul.

“Perhaps you are not so innocent as I believed,” he teased when he could speak.

“Perhaps I have had a most diligent teacher,” she retorted.

Bayard chuckled until she kissed him again.

“Are you persuaded yet?” she asked pertly.

He shook his head, intrigued at what she might do next. “I can be most determined.”

Esmeraude rolled her eyes. “Stubborn is what we call it hereabouts,” she chided, then fell upon him in a most delightful way. She kissed his throat, then whispered into his ear so huskily that her breath made him shiver. “But I wager that I am more stubborn than you are, knight of mine.”

Hers was a persistence that met little objection from Bayard. Indeed, they loved again with sweet vigor, ignoring the increasing chill in the air. Then they curled within the warmth of his cloak, limbs entangled. The forest around them was filling with a low fog that obscured the undergrowth, as if the clouds that hid the stars had fallen to earth. It suited Bayard well enough, for that fog brought a damp chill that had his lady pressing against him.

He met her expectant gaze then heaved a sigh of mock concession. Bayard ran a fingertip over Esmeraude’s cheek, and smiled at the anticipation in her eyes. “I suppose I could tell you more of the tale.”

“All of it!”

“’Tis cursedly long. It could take a lifetime to tell you all of it.”

The prospect did not seem to trouble her. “Then tell me a measure more of it now.”

So he did.

The pair loved the journey away,

Until arrived the fateful day,

Their vessel sailed into Cornwall.

King Mark’s bride was welcomed by all,

The King was delighted in truth,

By Tristran’s bringing his pledged due.

Iseut was garbed in royal red,

A crown hung o’er the nuptial bed...

“Wait!” Esmeraude whispered in horror and pushed away. “Iseut did not wed King Mark, did she?”

Bayard could not understand her dismay. “Certainly she did.”

“But she was in love with Tristran!”

“It matters naught. She was pledged to wed King Mark by her own agreement.”

Esmeraude sat up fully, more distraught than Bayard thought the matter deserved. ’Twas clear that he and his intended saw this issue differently - and as it involved betrothals and the keeping of a pledge, Bayard thought it necessary that they come to an agreement.

“But that was
before
she loved Tristran,” Esmeraude insisted. “Her choice of spouse should change because the inclination of her heart had changed.”

This was a truly dangerous premise, to Bayard’s thinking, and he spoke even more firmly than was his wont. ’Twas critical to dissuade Esmeraude from her whimsy. Why, by such rationale, she could flee his side at any moment, having found her “love”! Where would that leave his family and his objectives?

“Her heart was of no import,” he declared. “She had given her word and her parents had given their approval, so she had no choice but to wed King Mark.”

Esmeraude pushed away from him, her lips firm with resolve. “Nay, she had
every
choice. She should have followed her heart. She should have wed Tristran. She should have done whatsoever was necessary to be with her true love in the end.”

Bayard sat up in turn, for ’twas clear that the intimacy between them was banished. “Instead of keeping to her sworn word?” he demanded, angered by this suggestion. His patience was run uncommonly thin due to his exhaustion. “Do you suggest that a pledge only be kept when ’tis convenient to do so?”

“She made the wrong choice.”

“She made the only acceptable choice.”

They glared at each other, each as convinced of their perspective as the other. Then Esmeraude stood up and began to tie the laces on her kirtle with impatient gestures, turning her back to Bayard as she did so.

To be sure, it seemed much colder in the clearing now, though the sky was lightening with the promise of the dawn. Bayard stood and refastened his garments as well, having no impulse to discuss the matter further.