Claire Delacroix (7 page)

“All the more time to be rid of the one encumbrance to my quest,” Esmeraude said firmly.

“And what might that encumbrance be?” the maid asked faintly.

Esmeraude did not answer immediately, for she knew that Célie would not approve. She blew on the ink, then tucked the missive into the lace of the Norseman’s boots. As an afterthought, she removed the lace from about his neck, though she placed the talisman on the floor beside him.

She scooped up the lamp and beckoned to Célie, pausing to loop the lace over the latch. She drew it through the door as ’twas closed, used the lace to drop the latch, then flicked the lace so that it came free. The door had no means to lift the latch from the outside.

She grinned triumphantly at her maid, who shook her head. “Now, let him learn what it is like to be helpless at the will of another.”

Before her maid could chastise her, Esmeraude scooped up the satchel and headed away from the clamor of the hall. The two slipped as quietly as shadows from the hall, then ran as quickly as they could.

The night was black, the moon high, and Esmeraude knew they had much distance to put behind themselves this night. They ran toward the rocky outcropping on the shore where they had hidden their small boat.

“Did I not ask what this encumbrance might be?” Célie asked when they slowed to a fast walk.

Esmeraude granted her maid a sparkling smile. “My maidenhead, of course.”

“What nonsense is this?”

Esmeraude had not expected ready agreement to her scheme, although it made perfect sense to her. She tried to explain in a reasonable manner. “’Tis my maidenhead alone that is responsible for the events of this eve. I think it only sensible to be rid of it.”

Célie made a choking sound.

“’Tis perfectly clear - a maiden can be forced to couple with any man who happens to be stronger than she. ’Tis an unfair advantage, for most men are stronger than most women.”

“But still...”

“If men mean to use me as a pawn to win Ceinn-beithe, then I dare not allow them such an advantage,” Esmeraude said firmly. “Nay, I shall surrender my maidenhead to the first stranger of promise, and then no man can compel me to wed him because he has seized the prize of my virginity.”

“Esmeraude, this is too bold by far!”

“’Tis but a small price to pay for the surety of wedding whomsoever I desire.”

Célie shook her head again. “But Esmeraude, in your innocence, you underestimate the obsessions of men. You may have no spouse as a result of this folly. What if the man you desire wishes only a virginal bride?”

Esmeraude smiled, and dismissed her maid’s well-intentioned concerns. “The man I wed will love me sufficiently to forgive such a small detail.”

“’Tis not a small -” Célie began, then shook her head anew. “’Tis clear I cannot make you see the truth of it on this night. Know this then - ’tis your mother who will have both my hide and yours should you pursue this madness,” the maid concluded testily. “Mark my words, Esmeraude, this is an ill-fated scheme.”

But Esmeraude was not inclined to heed advice in this moment for there was a greater trouble before them. She retraced her steps and counted the rocks anew, but the truth was inescapable. “Célie, our curran is gone!”

“Nay, it cannot be so!”

But it was. And without the small boat they were trapped on the Isle of Mull. Both turned to look back to the hall of the King of the Isles, knowing how readily he could exact his due for the insult rendered to his man. They pivoted and looked across the deceptively narrow stretch of water betwixt the isle and the mainland. In the distance, Esmeraude spotted a dark shadow bobbing insouciantly along.

She swore, knowing that she had not tucked the boat high enough to be safe from the rising tide. “Oh, ’tis all my own fault!”

“Esmeraude! Such language is unfitting for a lady!”

“But fitting under the circumstance. I will not sit patiently to await the vengeance of the King of the Isles.” Or indeed of the Norseman. Esmeraude spoke fiercely and drummed her fingers on her crossed arms as she thought. “I shall swim if need be.”

“If you survive such a folly, then I shall throttle you myself!” Célie muttered with equal ferocity. The pair glanced at each other and laughed at their own ferocity. Bickering would serve naught. They sat together on the rocks and watched the waves in frustration.

“There must be a way,” Esmeraude declared.

“From the fat to the fire is what my mother would say,” the maid said with a shake of her head. “I wager you did not plan on such a challenge as this.”

“Nay. But is it not exciting, in a way, Célie? We must resolve our own predicament, as all fortune-seekers and adventurers must do.”

“If this is excitement, ’tis a quality I can well live without.”

“Not I!” Esmeraude considered the length of the shoreline. “There must be a villager with a boat, or a fisherman who would see us away from here.”

“Again, I ask you, for what price will such a man grant your favor?”

Esmeraude waved off this concern. “A fisherman can demand little of me indeed.”

The maid snorted, but Esmeraude was looking up and down the coast. There was neither a hint of a dwelling within eyesight, nor a glimmer of lantern light. She recalled Duncan’s assertion that the fishermen lived on the ocean side of the island. She cast a longing glance toward their errant curran, which had now disappeared from view.

But not everyone had tallow for a candle or oil for a lamp. There could easily be a dwelling not far away, appearing as one with the rocks for lack of a light. The mist was gathering over the ocean and creeping to the shore, reflecting the moonlight like spun silver. She thought of the elves and fairies of Duncan’s tales, the stories that she so loved to hear, and wondered whether wandering into that mist would take them to another land.

“Come, Célie, let us walk up the shoreline away from the king’s hall. If we are fortunate, then we shall find some hut or person to aid us.”

“Or at least ’twill take the king’s men longer to retrieve us,” the maid commented darkly.

“Célie, ’twill aid naught to sit and wait for disaster to find us. Let us use our wits to make the most of whatever small advantage we have!”

They walked along the shore then, the maid shooting her charge a bright glance. “You are enjoying this,” she accused.

Esmeraude smiled. ’Twould have been futile to deny it when she knew the truth shone in her features. Instead she told Célie one of Duncan’s tales, her favorite, that of the knight Tam Lin snatched away from his lady love by the Faerie Queen to serve in her ethereal court. She loved the determination of the mortal lady to win back her beloved and found it a most inspiring tale. She sang it, as Duncan was wont to do, and the tune lent a lightness to their step.

The mist swirled around their ankles, the ocean beat against the rocks, and the moon rolled across the sky as they steadily put the king’s hall farther behind them. ’Twas a night not unlike the enchanted night when Tam Lin’s lady won his release from the Faerie host.

Esmeraude realized that she was ridiculously happy. She felt as though she alone could shape her own destiny, that she could contrive her own happiness. She had shaken the burden of expectations, however fleeting that might be, and it only increased her desire to live an unconventional life. She knew as she had only guessed before that she would have a great love in her life, though she might have to sacrifice much to hold it.

Esmeraude was well prepared to do so.

She followed her song with two more, then her maid had one, then Esmeraude told another. They sang of elves and sprites and Faerie forges, of houses wrought of moonlight and cobwebs, of enchanted blades and wishing stones and cloaks that might make a person invisible to all. On this night, each tale might have been the blessed truth.

When the lilt of Esmeraude’s last song had been carried off by the wind, Célie suddenly clutched the maiden’s arm. “Look!” She pointed to a craft somewhat larger than their own had been, riding the evening tide to shore ahead of them.

Esmeraude halted and stared. The boat was silhouetted against the mist as if it were darker than the night itself, and it seemed touched by starlight in a manner not wholly of this world. A man stood alone in its prow, his cloak flaring behind him in the wind. He appeared master of all he surveyed, in Esmeraude’s fey mood, a returning champion come to claim his due.

What treasure did this one bring? What lands had he seen? What dragons had he conquered? She had no doubt that they were legion. The moonlight gleamed on what could only be a mail surcoat, revealing his status as a knight.

But no ordinary knight, Esmeraude was certain. Nay, this one was an emissary from Faerie, not unlike the enchanted Tam Lin. She watched the boat draw closer and felt a curious sense fill her, an odd certainty that he was her destiny. Aye, he had been summoned by her desire to be rid of her maidenhead as surely as if she had called to him by his own name.

This, her heart told her with surety, was the man.

The coast was deserted here, wrought of rocks that might have been scattered by giants interspersed with beaches of ivory sand. The sea reflected the moon and the stars, the wind was cool and filled with the scent of salt and shore.

The knight drew closer. Esmeraude’s mouth went dry and she urged a dubious Célie farther along the beach. The sea lifted the craft on a great dark wave as they watched and fairly deposited it upon the shore, like a great hand facilitating what should be.

A young boy leapt into the shallows to haul the boat ashore. The knight called to him, his voice melodic, the words tinged with a foreign accent. When a rogue wave pulled the boy down, the knight laughed and waded into the water himself, plucking his squire from the ocean with ease. Esmeraude’s heart missed a beat as the knight turned and the moonlight caught at his rugged features.

He was the most handsome man Esmeraude had ever glimpsed. His jaw was square, his profile proud. Starlight glinted in the dark waves of his hair, as if stars dwelt there as readily as within the midnight sky, and she wondered what hue his eyes might be. He could not be mortal, such a man, or if he was, she had never heard tell of the land where such men were bred.

But he was brought by the sea for her alone. Some higher force granted him to her as a gift and Esmeraude had listened too often at the knee of Duncan MacLaren not to understand her part in this unfolding tale.

Ignoring Célie’s protest, she leapt over the last scree of rocks, standing tall so that she might be clearly seen against the isle when her knight glanced up.

But he did not. He and the boy hauled the boat onto the sands together. The knight jested with the boy, aiding him so subtly that the young boy seemed convinced that he had brought the craft to safety himself. The knight, whom Esmeraude already thought had a fine character, ruffled the hair of the boy with undisguised affection. They laughed together and roughhoused on the beach, and he looked so masculine a man that she ached to feel his gaze upon her.

If not more.

“Oh, Célie,” Esmeraude whispered in awe when her panting maid reached her side atop the rocks. “My mother knew of what she spoke when she said that knights had an unholy allure.”

The maid groaned. “Esmeraude! What madness has seized your wits?”

Esmeraude gave her maid no more than a smile.

“Nay!” Célie’s eyes rounded with horror and her voice dropped to a hiss. “You would not do as you pledge to do!”

Esmeraude began to climb down the rocks, to be closer to the man who would be her partner this night.

“Not...
that
! Not with a knight and a stranger and...” Célie sputtered briefly to silence, then began again. Her rebukes were so distant to Esmeraude as to be unheard. The maid seemed to sense as much for she spoke with greater vehemence. “Nay, I forbid you to do this deed. Why, I shall stop you if I must throw myself betwixt you...”

But Esmeraude knew what she would do and naught could change her mind. She moved as a maiden snared in a dream from which she desired no awakening. Esmeraude would surrender her chastity to a nameless knight in the moonlight, a man wrought of moonbeams and Faerie dust, a man whom she knew she would never see again.

’Twas perfect. Her heart pounded at her own audacity.

“He is a stranger,” she interrupted Célie’s tirade with a calm she was far from feeling, “for I know without doubt that he was not among those who came to compete for my hand.”

“A man like this has no good reason to be in these parts!”

“Perhaps he has a matter to discuss with the King of the Isles.”

“He arrives too far north to seek that court. Nay, he is a scoundrel, fleeing the courts, upon that you may rely! A thief, perhaps a murderer. Esmeraude, you have no means of knowing the character of this man!”

“The sea is capricious, as you well know. Does he look sufficiently familiar with this locale to know its tricks?” Esmeraude shook her head. “And did you not note his manner with his squire? Nay, he is a man of honor, or a knight from Faerie, I care not which. I have chosen him to aid in my quest.”

“Esmeraude! We flee that same king whom you believe he may visit. Surely you have not forgotten as much? What if he tells the king of us?”