Claire Delacroix (22 page)

Indeed, he was sorely vexed that his lady did not have the sense to agree with him.

And much worried about the portent of their disagreement over such a key principle.

Esmeraude turned suddenly, facing Bayard anew, her expression one of appeal. “Do you give no credence to love? Do you give no value to the love that she and Tristran found?”

“’Twas
found
, surely enough. ’Twas the result of the potion they drank, no more.” Here was logic with which she could not argue, he was certain, and Bayard was emphatic as a result. “’Twas destined to last three years and no longer. You cannot break your word for the sake of a madness that will pass!”

Esmeraude smiled. “And because ’twas due to a spell you refuse to trust it? If ’twas genuine love, would you still say that she had chosen rightly?”

’Twas clear what answer she expected him to give, but Bayard shook his head. One lie was sufficient between them. “The sanctity of a pledge is tantamount. Iseut had made a vow and ’twas her responsibility to fulfill it.”

Esmeraude’s disappointment in him showed. “Even if it made her unhappy?”

Bayard touched her shoulder, hoping to console her. “She could have been happy with King Mark in time. Affection could certainly have grown between them.”

Esmeraude looked worried still. “But she did not love him.”

“Yet.”

Esmeraude rolled her eyes in evident disgust. “She could not fall in love with Mark when she already loved Tristran, Bayard. That is not how love occurs.”

“Not in tales, at any rate,” he retorted.

“Not in life either. A person has but one true love. Iseut found hers in Tristran and was sorely mistaken to wed King Mark instead.”

“Nay, for to do otherwise would be breaking a pledge for the sake of madness.”

Esmeraude’s eyes widened. “Madness?”

“Aye, love is a fever in the blood, no more than that.” The lady took a step back, clearly appalled. Bayard knew that he must speak with temperance to persuade her of her own wrong thinking, and do so despite his own vexation. “Esmeraude, love is a whimsy for peasants and for fools. No man of sense would place himself in the company of either group.”

Esmeraude’s color rose, and her consternation was clear. “But I heard tales that your father adored your mother so greatly that he would have no other by his side. All the world knows how he pursued her so ardently, and thus won her hand.”

“’Tis indeed true that my father is besotted beyond belief with my mother.”

“You make it sound a liability.”

“It most certainly is.”

Esmeraude’s eyes widened and she backed away.

Bayard pursued her, determined to make her see reason. “Make no mistake, my mother is a marvelous woman: a most affectionate mother and a talented lady of the manor. However, my father surrendered much to take her to wife, too much in my view.”

“You speak of her as if she were chattel.”

Bayard frowned, then shoved a hand through his hair, frustrated that he failed in persuading her of his view. “’Tis not good sense, Esmeraude. His well-known affection for her has been a weakness, one that has proven ripe to be exploited by his foes.”

“How?”

Bayard disliked the prospect of more of this discussion but knew that his intended would settle for no fraction of the truth. “Seven years past, a neighbor of ambition desired Villonne. Knowing of my father’s affection for my mother, he captured her and swore to kill her if my father did not surrender Villonne in exchange.”

Esmeraude’s eyes were wide. “Did he do it?”

“Aye, he did,” Bayard said bitterly. “Just as he had surrendered Montvieux when my grandmother opposed his intent to wed my mother years past.”

“But...”

“But the neighbor, to my father’s good fortune, was poorly organized to seize his prize. My father’s experience at war stood him in good stead and he recaptured both my mother and Villonne.” Bayard shook his head and his tone was dark, for he well recalled his father’s disinterest in preserving the estate. “It could have turned the other way.”

Esmeraude propped her hands upon her hips. “So, you would discount his valor for it might have cost you an inheritance?”

Bayard gritted his teeth. “’Twas folly to take such a risk! ’Tis a responsibility to hold and defend an estate, and all its residents are dependent upon the lord making choices for the greater good. More than my mother could have perished in her retrieval. The price defied good sense.”

“So in the interest of good sense, we should all wed those whom we despise,” she said scathingly. “Thus to better preserve our property.”

“There is no need to be so extreme,” Bayard chided. “Another woman, one whose hand did not cost my father so dearly, could have been just as fitting a bride. This whimsy of love blinded him and did so more than once.”

Esmeraude exhaled in exasperation, but Bayard held up a hand that he might finish. “I vowed long ago not to allow such a weakness to hamper my ambitions. Surely you can see the reasoning in this? Surely you can see that ’tis far safer for all involved to not have this madness called love betwixt them?”

“’Twould not have been safer for your mother if this neighbor had killed her.”

“Aye, if my father’s unreasonable affection for her had not been so well known, she would never have been used as a pawn in this game. He would have simply attacked Villonne, and the battle would have been between men, as it should have been. Do you not see the sense of this?”

Esmeraude stared at him, her expression impassive. “Then you will not love your wife?”

“’Tis a matter of principle. A man of sense can believe in only what he can hold in his hands.”

“So you would wed me to win what you can hold in your hands? Or in your bed?”

’Twas clear this did not proceed well. Esmeraude’s chin jutted out and fire burned in her eyes, though ’twas not the same flame that had kindled there earlier.

Bayard took a conciliatory step closer, for she was obviously upset, and dropped his voice. “I have no objection to affection blossoming between man and wife over time, but I would never wed for the fleeting folly of love. ’Tis a poor master and one that steers too many men false.”

Esmeraude’s lips thinned and she looked away, her arms folded across her chest. Bayard thought that she would argue the matter further with him, but was surprised once more.

“If you say as much, then it must be true,” she said tightly.

Bayard felt his eyes narrow, for he was skeptical of this sudden change of view, but Esmeraude flashed him a smile that dazzled him.

Was his intended learning to be biddable? ’Twould be a fine change if ’twere so.

If.

Esmeraude inclined her head slightly. “I would speak with Célie, if you will excuse me.”

Bayard watched his betrothed with suspicion. “Is aught amiss?”

But the lady merely patted his arm in reassurance, changing moods as quickly as a summer sky. “What would be amiss?” She smiled pertly, and he considered that for all her distinctive qualities, Esmeraude was as much an enigma as other women he had known. “I would assure my maid that I am well after my adventure yesterday, that is all. If you would excuse me.”

Esmeraude turned away, leaving Bayard wondering what was in her thoughts. She seemed so outwardly cheerful that he was half-convinced that he made much of naught...and yet.

And yet. He rubbed the bridge of his nose, knowing he was too tired from the enthusiasm of their lovemaking and his own lack of sleep these past days to solve this particular riddle now.

At least Esmeraude seemed to have put whatever the trouble was behind her. And he was glad to have made his perspective on matters of duty clear. Perhaps she came to agree with him.

Perhaps she chose to hold her tongue. Bayard watched warily as Esmeraude greeted her maid with good cheer and he was reassured by her manner. Her dismissal of their argument suited Bayard well, for they would have years to discuss such matters.

After
they were wed.

Then the boys awakened and questions were asked and tasks had to be assigned and there was so much to be done before their departure that he had no time to fret over his betrothed’s moods.

Aye, they could be back at Ceinn-beithe by the evening meal and perhaps exchange their nuptial vows then. Bayard calculated quickly, liking well the prospect of riding out with the morrow’s first light to meet the king. He eyed the sky and knew he would be much relieved to have his lady comfortably sheltered before the foul weather that gathered was fully upon them.

To Ceinn-beithe then, and the nuptials he desired above all else. Bayard could not hasten quickly enough.

* * *

’Twas good that Esmeraude liked a challenge. Indeed, the greatest adventure of her days might lie in winning this knight’s heart. He would certainly not surrender it without a fight.

But a man who would sing to coax her closer, a man who teased her and pleasured her, a man who showed such care for all beneath his care was not devoid of a heart. She had a suspicion that Bayard’s talk about love was too vehement to be the truth.

Nay, he simply hid his heart safely away. Perhaps it had been wounded once, so dreadfully that he sought to avoid such pain again. She slanted a glance at him and could well imagine that he had no shortage of women seeking his favor.

Clearly, the man had never met her match in determination. Nay, ’twas another sign that they were destined to be together, that she was the woman perfect for him. Esmeraude would not only expose that heart, but convince him to acknowledge its presence and its power. No less than her life’s happiness was at stake, after all.

Esmeraude had hoped to discuss her impressions with her maid, who would recall much of knights from her days in France, but that hope proved to be short-lived. Célie embraced her with delight, then proceeded to enumerate all the marvels of Bayard.

But Esmeraude had a dilemma. She was determined to win Bayard’s heart and to do so before their nuptials were performed. The difficulty was that she had no idea how to begin. She watched him through her lashes and knew that she had never known a man the like of him.

Bayard would certainly not aid her in this quest.

’Twas then that Esmeraude recalled a pertinent detail. The sole man similar to Bayard she had ever met was wedded to her step-sister, Jacqueline. Only ten years Esmeraude’s senior, Jacqueline had not only found love, but married the man in question. Angus was not only a knight and a warrior, like Bayard, but Esmeraude sensed that he had been reluctant to credit love as well.

There was naught for it. She had to seek out Jacqueline’s advice. They would have to continue to Airdfinnan.

At home there were only her parents, after all. Duncan, Esmeraude’s stepfather and the man who held her mother’s heart in thrall, was a poet by his own admission, so her mother’s advice would offer no aid in this puzzle. Esmeraude could imagine that Duncan would speak readily of love and its charms, that he would know when that emotion filled his heart and soul. In her experience, he was always quick to express affection, as her brother-in-law Angus was not.

Esmeraude could not, in fact, imagine resolute Angus making sweet confessions at all, regardless of what he felt. Perhaps ’twas not uncommon for a man of war to speak as Bayard did. Certainly, Jacqueline would know the truth - and perhaps supply a key.

“Bayard is such a fine man, Esmeraude,” Célie enthused. “A man of honor, of wealth and chivalrous intent. I know that this knight will make you happy for all your days.”

Esmeraude summoned a smile but said naught, her thoughts yet whirling. Would Bayard continue to Airdfinnan willingly?

“Why, you might have a babe of your own in no time at all. And you can be certain that a man who tends to those beneath his care as carefully as this knight will make a fine father.”

Célie sighed rapturously. “Babes! Oh, how I adore them. I must confess that I had always hoped that your mother would have a son. Girls are all well and good, and you were a most charming charge, but a boy is special as well.” The maid slanted a sly glance at Esmeraude. “Perhaps you will have a son.”

“Perhaps.” Esmeraude had more pressing matters on her mind than to speculate about what children she and Bayard might have.

Célie tore the loaf of bread with more vigor than the task deserved, her gesture drawing Esmeraude’s eye. She then tore it again and again, though the loaf was already in sufficiently small pieces.

Célie’s voice dropped as she shredded one piece of the bread to oblivion. “Perhaps you might have need of an old maid who knows a bit about small children,” she murmured, then glanced up. “Perhaps, Esmeraude, you might still have need of
me
in your household.”

Célie’s gaze was bright with hope, her fingers so busy that the bread was nigh in flakes in her lap. When Esmeraude did not respond immediately, the maid spoke in great haste. “I am not too old to be of service, Esmeraude, and I should dearly like to see France’s shores once again. At least, I assume that that is where your knight’s holding lies. And if you had such a son, I should be able to aid you, I know I should...”