Claire Delacroix (46 page)

Simon’s eyes flashed and he threw the woman aside with such force that she stumbled. “No woman leaves me!” he cried and dove at Bayard. Their blades clashed, bringing the two men face-to-face. “And no woman leaves my bed unsated,” Simon spat. He raised his knee suddenly, but Bayard anticipated his move and flung off the weight of his blade.

“You cannot unman me so readily as that,” he taunted, knowing that Simon would battle poorly if provoked.

Simon swung his blade toward Bayard’s groin with startling speed. He jabbed immediately afterward, backing Bayard toward the stairs once more. Bayard feigned weakness and the women gasped as Simon raised his blade for the kill.

But Bayard slashed at the man’s midriff, his blade singing through the air. The blow took the wind from Simon, even though his mail absorbed the weight of the blade. He backed away, and the men circled each other in the small room, the women whispering fearfully as they backed into the corners.

“Where is Esmeraude?” Bayard demanded. He attacked and nicked Simon’s jaw.

Simon smiled. “I thought you knew.”

Bayard’s gut chilled but he parried a blow, following with a quick thrust that sent Simon back against the wall. “Where?” he asked again.

“She agreed to wed me,” Simon mused, his breath coming more heavily as they fought. “Perhaps she feared that this estate you will not name could not provide sufficiently for her child.”

Bayard missed a step, so surprised was he by this comment, and Simon landed a blow upon his shoulder. “What child?”

Simon began to laugh and fought with newfound vigor. “What estate?” he asked merrily. “It seems that you have met your match in this woman, Bayard de Villonne, a woman who sees all you have to offer and finds it lacking.” He attacked and Bayard parried, fury rising within him with every stroke.

A child! Any delight Bayard might have felt that Esmeraude would bear his child was destroyed by this man’s intent to steal that babe. What had happened to Esmeraude? He understood fully the mixed reaction of Angus to his wife’s labor with their son, for he could not imagine that any child would be worth the slightest injury to his lady.

“It seems that she found you similarly lacking, Simon. Indeed, I will willingly relieve you of the burden of her.” Three quick blows from Bayard left Simon gasping. He thrust again, and caught the hilt of Simon’s blade with his own, flicking the sword from the other man’s grasp.

It clattered across the floor as the men’s gazes held. Bayard smiled and lifted his blade to Simon’s throat. The man closed his eyes and even averted his face slightly as he stepped backward in evident fear. He cast the room in shadow as he backed toward the lantern in one corner, his silhouette swallowing the room.

“’Tis as I long suspected,” Bayard mused. “You cannot win a match fairly made.”

“I will not lose,” Simon whispered. “You do not know where Esmeraude is, and if you kill me, you shall never know.”

Bayard hesitated for only a heartbeat at the truth in this. Did Simon know more than he had confessed?

’Twas enough time, though, for Simon to seize the lantern. He flung it across the chamber, the oil spilling as the vessel shattered against the far wall. The flame leapt into the oil and spread with astonishing speed. The wooden walls were old and dry and quickly began to burn as well.

Bayard glanced back to find Simon advancing with his dagger in hand. “I do not lose,” he hissed.

“You lost Esmeraude.”

“I abandoned her, dead in a ditch, finally sated for all her days and nights.” Simon smirked. “My men enjoyed her mightily.”

“
Nay!
” Bayard dove after the other man, fury in his blood. He fought as he had never fought in all his days for he fought for the honor of his lady love. He would permit no man to sully Esmeraude’s name with such filth.

He would permit no man to live who could even suggest that Esmeraude had deserved such a fate. The growing flames painted the chamber in bright orange and yellow and the men danced back and forth, oblivious to the fire’s peril.

Simon was quickly divested of his blade and he fell to his knees. He seized the hem of Bayard’s tabard with desperate fingers. “Would you kill a man defenseless?”

“You are not defenseless so long as you have a viper’s tongue in your mouth,” Bayard said coldly. “This time, Simon, you lost.” And he drove his blade through the other man’s throat. Simon made a gurgling sound, then fell lifeless to the floor. Bayard felt no vindication in the deed - ’twas but a duty fulfilled to his lady, a pledge to his mother he had seen achieved.

He turned away, fearing that what Simon had said was true and that Esmeraude was lost to him for all time. Though the women had fled to the hall below, the one whom Simon had held captive still lingered there. He wiped his blade and shoved it back into his scabbard, seeing that the flames leapt up the stairs and closed that path to them.

“You saved my life, sir.”

“’Twill be lost if you do not flee this place.”

“I could not go, sir, not without knowing that he was finally dead.” The woman took a deep breath. “He lied, sir, he lied about your lady.”

Bayard crossed the room with haste and peered out the window. ’Twas a long drop but the only chance they had. “Aye?”

“Aye.” The woman came to stand beside him. “She leapt from the window. She took advantage of the distraction to see herself freed from him.” The woman shuddered. “I could not blame her for that.”

“Did he touch her?”

“Nay. She insisted he not do so, for the sake of the child, and he, to his meager credit, did not.”

Relief surged through Bayard. And then his heart rose in his throat. Esmeraude had done what she could to protect their child. ’Twas like her to show disregard for her own welfare when she felt passionately about some action to be taken.

Such valor could not go unrewarded.

Bayard noted suddenly how the flames engulfed the wall beside the stairs, the draft from the window fanning them to greater heights. “We, too, shall leap from the window,” he insisted, grasping the woman’s hand.

But she shrank back. “Nay, sir, I fear heights. I could not.”

“You will. Your lingering to tell me of my lady’s fate could not win such a poor reward as that.” Bayard seized the serving woman around the waist and jumped from the window before she could protest.

She clung to him in terror, but quickly stepped away from him when they were on the ground. “Perhaps ’twas the song,” she said, her eyes still wide from the jump. She clutched Bayard’s hand. “Perhaps the tale of those intrepid lovers gave her the strength to defy that wretched man.”

“’Twas my squire who came to sing. I had hoped to reassure Esmeraude with his presence and the implication of mine.”

The woman seized his sleeve, her eyes bright. “That is it, then! I noted that the lady brightened when the troubadour sang of the Perilous Ford. We crossed a ford this day, it cannot be far.”

“I know it!”

“Perhaps she has gone there. Perhaps she thought you summoned her there.”

It made perfect sense to Bayard. He kissed the serving woman’s hand in his gratitude, the gesture making her blush, then told her that she would have a home in the household of himself and his lady if she should so desire. He whistled for Argent and rode with all haste through the forest, cutting as direct a path as he could to the ford they had crossed only hours before.

He heard Esmeraude sobbing before he spied her. Bayard dismounted, fearing that some minion of Simon’s had found her first and given her cause to weep.

But when he peered through the trees, he saw only Esmeraude. She wore naught but a chemise, that garment glowing white in the moonlight, and her face was buried in her hands as she wept. She looked no more substantial than a wraith and he feared anew that she had been injured.

“Esmeraude?” he called. “Esmeraude, are you injured?”

She straightened abruptly. “Bayard?”

“Aye, ’tis me. What of you? Are you well?” Concern had put an edge in his voice, and Esmeraude’s continuing tears did naught to assure him. “Do not weep, Esmeraude.” He strode toward her, disregarding the effect of the water upon his boots, fully expecting her tears to cease.

But Esmeraude ran toward him, her tears falling anew. Bayard caught her in a tight embrace and whispered into her hair. “Are you injured? Who hurt you?”

“None. They did not dare.”

Still she wept into his tabard. “You need not fear Simon any longer. I have seen him dead.”

“He meant to steal our child, Bayard, our child! He meant to claim the babe as his own.”

“Aye, I know.” Bayard held her close. She had been so sorely frightened by Simon that Bayard half-wished that man had not died so easily. “But he is dead and can trouble you no longer.”

This, to his surprise, did not reassure his usually intrepid lady. Perhaps she had been afraid when she arrived here to find no one awaiting her. Perhaps she had feared that he would not come.

“The child,” she whispered brokenly.

“Hush, Simon will not threaten the child.” Bayard shed his cloak and wrapped it around her, for she was shivering in the cold.

“But Bayard, the child, our child...” Her weeping shook her shoulders again and he swept her into his arms, intending to see her warmed before a fire with all haste. ’Twas clear that she had been out in the cold too long and endured too much in Simon’s custody.

He carried her back toward Argent, settling her carefully in the saddle before himself. “The child will be well, for you will be well. I shall ensure that you are both warm and hale in no time at all.” He gave her a quick squeeze as he touched his heels to Argent’s side.

But Esmeraude took a shuddering breath. “But Bayard, I am losing our child. ’Tis too late.”

Bayard met her gaze, incredulous, and she lifted her chemise so that he could see the blood upon her thighs. “I fell, I fell hard when I fled from the house,” she confessed unevenly. Her tears fell with greater speed. “I wanted only to hasten to you, I wanted to be free of him for the sake of the child. I knew I would have no other chance. But Bayard, oh Bayard, this is too high a price.”

She fell against his chest, weeping as if her heart were breaking, and he held her fast as they rode through the shadowy forest. He had a question, one that had to be asked but not when she was so distraught as this. Indeed, its portent might ease her sense of guilt.

When his lady’s tears slowed, Bayard bent down to whisper to her. “Esmeraude, it has not been so long since we first lay together. Are you certain you were with child? This might be your courses, no more than that.”

“But Jacqueline said that she knew I was with child!”

He shook his head. “She might have been wrong, Esmeraude.”

The lady’s lips set mutinously. “Do not tell me that ’tis not logical to know such a thing so soon.”

Bayard smiled slightly. “Nay, I would not say as much. Who is to know what a mother knows and when she knows it? I would merely have you think upon the matter. Jacqueline might have been wrong, and thus you would have no reason to blame yourself. Or she might have been right, but there was aught amiss with the babe. This might have happened, whether you had fallen or not.” He took a deep breath and held her hopeful gaze. “My own mother brought a dead child into the world before myself. I suspect she would tell you that ’tis far easier for all if the babe is lost sooner rather than later.”

“I would still mourn the babe.”

“Of course. And I would still have you know that Simon was wrong.”

“In capturing me?”

“In claiming that I pursued you only for the child. I pursued you and you alone Esmeraude.” He looked down into her eyes. “Do not for a moment believe otherwise.”

And marvel of marvels, his lady smiled. “I know. I love you, Bayard, and I knew that you would come for me.”

He kissed her then, for he could not make an answering pledge. Not yet. Nay, Bayard still believed that words alone offered precious little consolation. ’Twas a man’s deeds that spoke the truth of his convictions, and Bayard’s declaration would be emphasized by his deed.

Which meant that his pledge must be made at Ceinn-beithe, before the witness of all and after he had confessed all of the truth to his lady. ’Twas only there that he could dispel any doubts that lingered in his lady’s heart and ensure that no shadow ever touched their match.

Aye, ’twas not a course without risk. Bayard would offer Esmeraude naught but himself and he could only pray that ’twould be enough.

* * *

’Twas nigh a week later that they reached Ceinn-beithe. Though Bayard had been gracious and attentive to her every whim, Esmeraude knew that all was not right between them. He did not come to her bed, he did not even steal kisses from her. ’Twas as if he thought her uncommonly fragile, but even when she teased him that she was hale again, he kept a measure of distance between them.

Bayard did not confess to any tender feelings for her, even after she pledged her own love again, which surprised Esmeraude. All in the company seemed to assume that they were as good as betrothed, save the knight himself.

’Twas clear that her loss of their child had wrought the change in him. In her darker moments, Esmeraude feared that Jacqueline had told Bayard of the babe and, despite his insistence otherwise, that child had been the sole reason for his retrieval of her. He had told her from the outset that he was a man who guarded what was his own.