Claire Delacroix (48 page)
Authors: The Temptress
And even as Bayard sang, far away at Airdfinnan, the vine grew again with enthusiasm over the walls of the keep. It spread all that afternoon and into the evening, the lord keeping a vigilant eye upon it. The fog had cleared days past and ’twas a relief to Angus that he could look over the distance again.
’Twas no relief to him that this cursed vine grew once more.
Jacqueline joined him, their newest son in her arms, as the sun sank in orange glory in the west. The light gilded the fierce thorns of the vine even as its progress suddenly halted.
Angus stared, unable to believe that the growth of the plant had halted. But it grew no more, not so much as the breadth of his thumb. He breathed a sigh of relief.
And then, as they stood there, the vine burst into blossom.
Great red flowers appeared over its entire length, a perfume of unspeakable sweetness flooded the air. Jacqueline took a deep breath of the scent, then cuddled beneath the weight of her husband’s arm. Ewen stirred, then dozed anew against his mother’s breast, contented for the moment.
Angus stared at the vine, unable to explain its flowering.
“Bayard loves her and he has told her as much,” Jacqueline asserted with the same quiet assurance his mother had had in such oddities and their reasons.
“You cannot know as much.”
“Aye. I can.” Jacqueline smiled up at him. “Because I do.”
Angus wryly surveyed the way the vine had stopped just short of the gate, then shrugged. “If his courtship is won, then he will halt his singing at least.”
Jacqueline laughed and leaned her head upon his shoulder. “You are happier about this than you would reveal,” she chided. “’Tis perfect, Angus, and I am so glad that Esmeraude is destined to be as happy as we.”
The lord of Airdfinnan looked down at his wife’s merry smile and found his own lips curving in response. She was right. He was glad that Esmeraude would be happy and that Bayard had won her hand. He bent and kissed Jacqueline, without regard for the sleeping babe and the sentries so close upon the wall.
“I suppose,” he mused when he finally lifted his head, “the vine is not such a bad addition to our defenses.”
And this time, ’twas Jacqueline who stretched up to kiss him.
* * *
’Twas a year after the thorned vine first bloomed that seed pods appeared upon it.
Those blood-red blossoms had endured all that spring and people had come from far and wide to look upon the marvel of Airdfinnan’s walls. The enchanted vine itself grew no more, much to Angus’ relief. It cloaked the great walls as if ’twere armor and made it impossible to surmount those walls without suffering a dire wound.
After Esmeraude and Bayard’s nuptials, and after the pair had paused at Airdfinnan en route to France, both flowers and leaves had fallen of one accord. The vine gleamed silver through all the autumn and the winter, as if it had been wrought of pewter.
Jacqueline had thought ’twould change no more, for Esmeraude and Bayard were in France, at Villonne, and almost certainly too far away to affect the plant with their love. And truly, Bayard had his lady’s love securely within his grip, as she and Angus had witnessed, so the matter was resolved.
Yet the following spring, instead of leaves or flowers, the vine sprouted pods not unlike those of peas. It proved Jacqueline’s expectations wrong and again prompted both speculation in the hall and discontent from Angus. He professed to fear a thousand such vines taking root in his bailey, and swore to see it torn from the walls.
Jacqueline advised him to wait. She had a feeling that there was some detail which would make the vine’s behavior clear.
And so there was. At midsummer, when the pods hung black and leathery from the vine, Jacqueline received a missive from Villonne. She smiled at the news of the arrival of Esmeraude’s first son and knew instinctively what she had to do.
She plucked one fat pod from the vine and as soon as she had done so, the others shriveled to naught. But it did not matter. Jacqueline rolled the pod into the letter she had written, then summoned Rodney to deliver it to the south.
Aye, this vine had made more than one change. Though he muttered mightily about fulfilling the whims of women, Rodney was more than pleased to ride for Esmeraude’s household.
Jacqueline had no doubt that he had a visit to make there of his own.
* * *
’Twas September and in the midst of Villonne’s harvest when Rodney appeared at Villonne’s gates. Célie chided him mightily for some transgression, then filled his ear with nonsense about the splendor of Esmeraude’s son before the man could have so much as a cup of ale.
Esmeraude climbed to the solar with the precious gift of Jacqueline’s missive. She ran a hand across the elegant handwriting, knowing she would savor every morsel of news within it. Then she touched the dry pod enclosed in the rolled letter, guessing full well what plant ’twas from. The pod sprang open at her slight touch, revealing a row of seeds, each the size of the end of Bayard’s thumb.
Esmeraude rose from her seat and leaned out the window of Villonne’s tower. Below her stretched the extensive kitchen and apothecary gardens, though she knew that no gardener here had ever known the ilk of this plant.
She closed her eyes and flung the seeds out the window, willing them to fall into good soil and prosper. Esmeraude made a fervent wish that not only her own children but every soul who had the fortune to see the vines that resulted should win their own heart’s desire and should be as happy and as blessed as she. She wondered whether plants would grow immediately or whether they would lie dormant in the soil until a man courted his lover true.
Until her son courted whichever lady stole his heart away.
Esmeraude smiled at the thought of little Burke being so grown as to seek a bride. She turned at the sound of her son’s cry and spied Bayard carrying the babe to her. No doubt Célie was occupied with Rodney.
Unaware that she watched, Bayard mimicked the way his son’s lips worked in anticipation of a meal. Esmeraude chuckled at how undignified he looked and he glanced up, then winked for her alone. His very glance could still warm her to her toes and Esmeraude hoped ’twould always be thus between them.
But how else might matters be? Her knight was known to be uncommonly fortunate, after all, and Esmeraude it seemed had become a part of that luck when she had won his heart for her own.
A woman of sense could have no complaint with that.
* * *
Author’s Note
There are many versions of the story of Tristan and Iseult - here spelled Tristran and Iseut - each of which has its characteristic elements. I have chosen to use Béroul as a source for Bayard’s song, as Béroul is believed to have written his version in the late twelfth century and thus would be contemporary with this story. Béroul’s version is considered to be an example of the ‘primitive’ strain of the story, and thus more closely echoing its probable original Celtic roots. I have also echoed Béroul’s verse structure of octosyllabic couplets in my composition - as a favored format for romances in Old French, it gives a period flavor even in modern English.
Sadly, only a fragment of Béroul’s work is preserved, and that in a thirteenth-century manuscript with many apparent errors on the part of the copyist. Some 4,400 lines of Béroul’s poem survive, but beginning only with King Mark eavesdropping on the lovers and ending with the death of the villains. For the remainder of the story recounted here, I have consulted the retelling of Tristan and Iseult by Joseph Bédier, translated by Hilaire Belloc and completed by Paul Rosenfeld for Pantheon Books in 1945.
* * *
If you enjoyed this book and post a review of it online, you could win a free book from Claire!
Each month, Claire hosts a contest in appreciation of readers who post reviews. Please visit her blog and choose Reviewers’ Contest from the Category sidebar to learn more.
http://www.delacroix.net/blog
* * *
Watch for THE RENEGADE’S HEART
first in a new series of medieval romances
called The True Love Brides
coming from Claire Delacroix
in May 2012.
* * *
Claire Delacroix sold her first romance novel in 1992 – that book,
The Romance of the Rose
, was published by Harlequin Historicals in 1993. Since then, she has published more than forty romances, including historical romances, contemporary romances, time travel romances, fantasy romances and paranormal romances. She has also written under the name Claire Cross.
The Beauty
by Claire Delacroix, part of her successful Bride Quest series, was her first novel to land on the New York Times list of Bestselling books. In 2009, she was the writer in residence at the Toronto Public Library, the first time they have hosted a residency focused on the romance genre.
Recently, Claire has published a future-set urban fantasy romance trilogy (post-nuclear, pre-Apocalyptic, featuring fallen angel heroes). She currently writes the Dragonfire series of contemporary paranormal romances which feature dragon shape shifter heroes, as well as a linked YA series called the Dragon Diaries. Both dragon series are published under the name Deborah Cooke.
In May 2012, Claire will publish a new medieval romance,
The Renegade’s Heart
, the first in a new series called the True Love Brides. For more information, please visit her website at http://www.delacroix.net
Learn more about her books at her websites:
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http://www.delacroix.net/blog
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* * *
Romances by Claire Delacroix
Time Travels:
ONCE UPON A KISS
THE LAST HIGHLANDER
LOVE POTION #9
THE MOONSTONE
Medieval Romances:
Harlequin Historicals:
THE ROMANCE OF THE ROSE
HONEYED LIES
UNICORN BRIDE
THE SORCERESS
PEARL BEYOND PRICE
THE MAGICIAN’S QUEST
UNICORN VENGEANCE
MY LADY’S CHAMPION
ENCHANTED
MY LADY’S DESIRE
The Bride Quest:
THE PRINCESS
THE DAMSEL
THE HEIRESS
THE COUNTESS
THE BEAUTY
THE TEMPTRESS
The Rogues of Ravensmuir:
THE ROGUE
THE SCOUNDREL
THE WARRIOR
The Jewels of Kinfairlie:
THE BEAUTY BRIDE
THE ROSE RED BRIDE
THE SNOW WHITE BRIDE
“The Ballad of Rosamunde”
The True Love Brides
THE RENEGADE’S HEART
Future-set Paranormal Romances:
The Prometheus Project:
FALLEN
GUARDIAN
REBEL
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