Claire Delacroix (29 page)

“You do not know that!” Esmeraude cried.

“I know what I saw,” Connor insisted.

“And what did you see, Connor?” Bayard asked, sauntering forth from the shadows as he did so. “Do tell us all.”

Everyone upon the dais as well as those in the hall turned to face Bayard, but he held his cousin’s gaze. He arched a brow, as if to dare his cousin to make his accusation openly, but Connor flushed, then buried his nose in his ale.

Bayard glanced to his lady and his heart leapt at her evident joy in seeing him. He knew as he smiled back at her that they would wed shortly indeed.

He strolled across the hall confidently, knowing that a way would be cleared before him. “What you witnessed, Connor, was a kiss of favor bestowed by a lady upon the suitor with whom she was most pleased.”

He paused before Esmeraude and bowed low, then took her hand in his and kissed its back. Under the watchful gazes of all, he turned her hand in his, then kissed her palm. She shivered as he folded her fingers over his embrace.

“Lady mine,” he said quietly, but not so quietly that the others at the table could not hear, “your beauty challenges the splendor of the heavens this night and your smile is more radiant than the sun itself.”

Esmeraude smiled and pulled her hand from his grip. “You probably say as much to all the demoiselles whose hands you court.” Her tone was light and teasing, so Bayard could not take offense.

“Nay, Esmeraude, only the ones I intend to win.” He winked at her and when her smile broadened, he felt a most uncommon surge of relief.

Buoyed, Bayard turned to gesture to the assembly. “Greetings, cousins and brother, and well met. Your argument, Connor, puts me in mind of a tale, one concerned with a knight winning his lady’s hand against every adversity.”

“Tell it!” cried the oldest of the lord’s daughters. She bounced on the bench in evident excitement as the others turned to Bayard inquisitively. “We love to hear tales! Do we not, Aunt Esmeraude?”

“Aye, I have learned that the lady is fond of a tale,” Bayard said smoothly. “Let all those suitors gathered here offer compensation to the Lord of Airdfinnan by entertaining his household.”

“I have heard the tale that you would tell, and I care naught for it,” Esmeraude said with a proud lift of her chin, her mood changing sharply against him.

Bayard smiled. “You have heard but the beginning of the tale, and little of the adventures to follow. I would wager that you will find the continuation of the tale more pleasing than you expect.” He saw her indecision and knew ’twas fed by her curiosity.

“We could each tell a tale,” Nicholas suggested. “And Esmeraude could choose which one she loved best.”

’Twas clear he meant more than the tales themselves. Esmeraude glanced to the other knights, then back to Bayard, her gaze lingering upon him. “Do Tristran and Iseut truly fall in love?” she asked with challenge in her tone. “For otherwise, I do not care to hear it.”

Bayard let his smile broaden. “I can tell the tale or not tell the tale. ’Tis your choice, lady mine.”

She eyed her very pregnant sister, then nodded once crisply. “’Tis a good evening to remain at the board and to rest,” she said, then put an arm around her sister’s shoulders. “If ’tis my bidding that you suitors will follow, then I bid you each to tell a tale that will make my sister smile.” Esmeraude turned then to face Bayard, and granted him a knowing smile. “And yours had best improve, sir, if you intend to see me pleased.”

“You know that your pleasure is my sole desire,” Bayard murmured, meaning more than the pleasure won by a tale.

Esmeraude blushed and laughed lightly, her eyes dancing. Bayard felt a most illogical sense of victory, as if he had won a prize more tremendous than any he had won before. Aye, he dared not lose this contest. Montvieux, after all, hung in the balance.

But as Bayard watched Esmeraude, he knew that Montvieux was not the only prize he desired.

* * *

The children were nigh as excited as Esmeraude, though she knew their reasons were different than her own. For them, ’twas a rare treat to have an evening of new tales. Esmeraude found she was impatient with the offerings of the other men, wishing only to hear how Bayard’s saga progressed.

Indeed, she thought it a good sign that he was so intent upon winning her favor. Surely a man with no heart, as he claimed to be, would not put himself to so much trouble to charm her? She watched Bayard through her lashes, not wanting him to be so certain of her heart as she. It seemed that there was a thread stretched taut between the two of them, a ripple of awareness that Esmeraude was half-certain all the hall could discern.

It had been gallant of Bayard to pretend that theirs had been naught but a kiss, though his choice had surprised her. Surely the truth would have only strengthened his claim? It intrigued her that he defied her expectation and she was thrilled that he defended her honor.

What else did she not know about this man?

Annelise squeezed onto the bench between Esmeraude and Jacqueline, her expression bright with anticipation. Ysembel and Alina were quick to follow suit, one sitting on each side of the sisters. Fergus remained beside his father, who gave Esmeraude a slow nod of approval. Aye, Jacqueline would have bustled about this night to see to the accommodations of her guests and she was far better simply sitting at the board.

Amaury began to tell a tale and Esmeraude’s gaze wandered between the two brothers. She could not help but compare them to each other, for their coloring and features were so similar. Any fool would have known them to be brothers.

But there was something different, for Bayard looked to have sipped from the world’s cup of experience. His expression was wary and wry, his eyes glittered with an understanding of both people and events. In comparison, Amaury seemed young and soft, unshaped to manhood as yet, though she knew that she would have found him most handsome had she not met his elder brother first.

Amaury’s tale was fair enough, for he told the legend of Melusine. The younger girls were particularly enthralled by this story of faeries good and wicked. Though Esmeraude had heard it oft before, ‘twas a fine tale and Amaury recounted it well.

Connor told a thin tale of a ghost at his ancestral estate of Tullymullagh, his disinterest in this contest evident to all. ’Twas clear that he had no desire to seek Esmeraude’s favor, but perhaps felt ’twould be a slight to Jacqueline to not participate.

Nicholas recounted a tale that he said he had learned in Venetian from his grandfather. Esmeraude was fascinated by this exotic tale of an immortal doomed to wander in search of his beloved and the salvation only she could grant. There was a tale of lovers true! Surely ’twould sway Bayard to her thinking.

Or not. She could guess naught of his thoughts from his guarded expression.

Then ’twas Bayard’s turn. Esmeraude’s heart leapt to her throat when he stood. His manner was that of a man with no doubt that he would win. He cleared his throat several times, then bowed to the lady of the manor.

“With your forgiveness, my tale is also one of lovers whose path was fraught with disappointment. Theirs is a fine tale, however, and though I first heard it sung recently in France, ’tis said to have long roots hereabouts. ’Tis the tale of Tristran and Iseut.” He glanced toward Esmeraude and her heart thumped. “Would you hear it or shall I think of another?”

Jacqueline smiled and spoke before Esmeraude could do so. “I should love to hear this tale, for ’tis unfamiliar to me by such a name. We have a great fondness in this house for all tales of local origin.”

“As my gracious hostess commands, such is my will.” Bayard bowed low, then straightened and began to sing.

He sang the verses he had already sung to Esmeraude, addressing them to all of the company and evading her gaze. But when he came to the part she had yet to hear, he pivoted and caught her gaze, then held it unswervingly as he sang solely for her ears.

Esmeraude was enchanted.

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.

’Twas not Mark’s bride who met him there,

Not Iseut, bride beyond compare:

’Twas Iseut’s maid, virgin Brangain,

For Iseut had with Tristran lain.

King Mark never did guess the truth,

For Night allied with Love and Youth.

Esmeraude was horrified that this Iseut could ask her maid for such a sacrifice, and that the king had been so readily fooled. But what would she do on the night of her nuptials? Would she lie to the man she loved? Or would she deceive him? It seemed that men put more value than she had hoped in the virginity of their brides. Esmeraude belatedly saw the value of her maid’s counsel.

Still, she could not regret the pleasure that she and Bayard had shared.

Bayard dropped his voice and the assembly leaned closer to hear the words.

Now hear about the dwarf Frocin,

Allied with barons Denoalen,

And Godoine and Ganelon.

These four had envy for Tristran,

For he was King Mark’s favored man.

They saw the lovers meeting when

The King was out upon his lands.

King Mark did not believe their tale,

He refused to credit such detail.

And so they four contrived a plot,

To show the King how he was mocked.

They told him of the lovers’ tryst,

An interval he dared not miss.

The pair met oft in the garden,

A quiet spot without warden.

They met beside a small fountain,

Each evening meeting there again,

And there they loved the night away,

Certain the King knew not their game.

Bayard coughed, none too delicately. Esmeraude leaned forward in consternation. ’Twas true that the lovers should not have continued to meet, but surely they could not be discovered? Bayard cleared his throat with an effort, then forced a smile and began to sing again.

King Mark thought he would prove a lie,

By seeing this with his own eye.

He hid himself within a tree,

Above the place they had decreed.

And there he sat as night did fall,

Certain his bride would not be false.

He listened when he heard a sound,

Saw his lady, her hair unbound.

She waited there, her eyes so bright,

He feared his barons spoke aright.

He withdrew further in the leaves,

To wait and see what he would see.

Now, Bayard coughed with a vengeance. He let one of the men thump his back, he accepted a cup of ale, and he coughed again. Every soul in the hall watched him avidly, Esmeraude notwithstanding.

What had the king seen? She knew she would not sleep without knowing the truth. Finally Bayard straightened, holding up a hand and smiling as if he were recovered, and opened his mouth to sing.

But no sound came forth. The company gasped.

Bayard shook his head, as if sorely disappointed, then tried again.

This time his voice came as only the barest and most hoarse whisper. The assembly cried out in dismay and Bayard looked alarmed. Esmeraude began to rise to her feet, fearful that he had injured himself in seeking her favor. This was her fault! Bayard tried one last time, then bowed before the lady of the manor with evident regret.

He made a gesture of helplessness when no apology came forth from his lips.

“But we must know the end of the tale!” Annelise insisted.

Bayard coughed heavily, then gestured to the other suitors, as if inviting one of them to finish the tale for the ladies.

Glances were exchanged and protests were made, for no others here had heard this tale.

Jacqueline smiled prettily. “Can we not implore you to finish? Perhaps after a cup of ale?”

Bayard cleared his throat with tremendous effort, as if valiantly trying to do the lady’s bidding, then shook his head with regret. “On the morrow?” he suggested quietly and with obvious effort.

“The morrow!” Annelise echoed. “We have to wait an entire day to know what he saw? You might give us a hint!”

Bayard coughed, then opened his mouth as if to do precisely thus. Not a sound erupted from his lips when he tried to speak.

Esmeraude sat back upon the bench, her sympathy for him much lessened. Aye, she was highly skeptical of how Bayard’s voice seemed to come and go. She glared at him and he smiled fleetingly, the glint in his eyes one of pure devilry.