Claire Delacroix (9 page)

The maiden leaned against Bayard’s chest, her cheek nigh against his heart. “I am where I shall remain, my dear friend, and you need not fear for me.”

The maid’s lips worked in silence for a moment.

“She speaks aright. You need not fear for the maiden,” Bayard said softly. “I grant you my word of honor that she will not be injured in this.”

“She knows not what she does!” The maid’s dismay was evident.

“Perhaps not,” Bayard said firmly when the maiden might have spoken. “But I do.” He held the older woman’s gaze and watched understanding dawn there.

“You will treat her with honor, sir?”

Bayard smiled and spoke with conviction. “With all the honor a man of worth grants his lady wife.” He arched a brow, willing the older woman to understand, and that woman seemed somewhat reassured. “Upon that you have my pledge.”

“Célie,
please
!” the demoiselle entreated and Bayard noted that the maid had a French name. ’Twas another confirmation of what he already knew to be true, for Esmeraude’s mother Eglantine was of the noble family of Crevy-sur-Seine, a holding southeast of Paris.

The maid, clearly torn, growled acceptance and marched away, though not without several long backward glances, each filled with accusation and concern. The maiden ignored her, turning back to Bayard immediately. Bayard’s arms tightened protectively around his intended as she reached up and kissed him with more assurance than she had before.

And he surrendered to the moment fully, tasting her, savoring her, ensuring that she, too, found pleasure in the embrace. Her eyes sparkled when they drew apart and her cheeks were flushed with delight.

Aye, she had chosen him and he would meet every word of his pledge. Not only would he treat her with honor, but he would ensure the lady was not disappointed with her first experience of matters betwixt a man and a woman.

’Twas not a single night without repercussions before them, after all - ’twas a lifetime they would share, and on this evening he would lay the foundation for years of mutual pleasure.

’Twas the least he could grant to the woman whose choice of him so readily resolved so much for so many.

* * *

He was not a knight from Faerie - Esmeraude realized as much in a far corner of her thoughts. At the same time, though, she had a delicious sense of this match being more than the exchanges betwixt unblessed mortals. Aye, ’twas mythic and wondrous and the stuff of the epic tales she loved so much.

Perhaps she had truly stepped into such a tale. There could be no more delicious possibility than that.

Indeed, this knight might as well have come from an immortal realm, for he was not characteristic of her own. His every gesture was filled with confidence, his garb was richer than any she had seen before, he was as alien to her as a man could be.

For he was a man, as none of those who had come to court her had been. He made them look callow and uncertain in comparison and Esmeraude knew with all her heart and soul that she would never have been happy with any of those who had called.

This was the manner of man she wanted!

Her knight’s kisses were splendid, each more stirring than the last. His every touch stirred her soul and made her heart clamor for more. His embrace was possessive and masterful, both firm and tender, and as unlike the wet offerings of Hamish and Seamus as Esmeraude could imagine. She had chosen her partner aright, there could be no doubt of that.

He scooped her into his arms and carried her away from the stones of the beach, edging into the lush grasses that grew thickly here. He cradled her against him, with one strong arm around her waist as he kissed her again. The rocky outcroppings rose high around them, secluding them from all but one another, the stars above, and the lap of the waves upon the shore.

When she opened her eyes, dizzy from his kiss, his cloak was spread across the ground. The silvery fur shone in the light of the moon, looking silky and sensuous. He tipped up her face to his, and she thought he would grant her another thrilling kiss, but his gaze searched hers.

“What is your name?”

“It matters naught.”

He smiled then, his lips quirking up in one corner. “And you care naught for mine?”

Esmeraude twined her arms around his neck. “There is but one thing I desire of you, sir, and ’tis not your name.”

He chuckled, a deep sound that made something quiver deep inside her. His hand slid from her hip to cup her breast and he watched her as he slid his thumb across her nipple. Even through the thickness of her wool kirtle, his touch made her tingle. She shivered and reached for the tie of her chemise.

“Are you oft so bold?” he asked, amusement not censure in his tone.

“Nay.” Esmeraude smiled. “But I thought to try such boldness this night with you.”

“There is no shame in a maiden’s shyness,” he said, making short work of the tie of the chemise. He parted the cloth with a fingertip, baring her breasts to the touch of the wind and his view. Esmeraude felt her eyes widen at the wanton sensation of chill air against her flesh. “Nor is there shame in a lady’s desire, if her partner serves her well.”

“Do you mean to serve me well?”

“Aye.” His eyes twinkled with unexpected mischief and the warmth of his hand cupped her breast. “Though you, my lady fair, may tell me later how well I have done.” And he ducked his head.

Esmeraude caught her breath as the warm wet heat of his mouth closed around her nipple, then closed her eyes when his tongue flicked its hardening tip. She heard herself moan and felt herself lean back in his embrace.

She knew not how he loosed the laces at the sides of her kirtle without her awareness of what he did, though she suspected that playful tongue of his did much to distract her. He treated each breast to the same attention, then pushed her kirtle and chemise over her hips, lifting her from the tangle of cloth and setting her upon the fur lining of the cloak.

It felt sinful and pagan to be seated with naught against the night but her stockings and shoes. Esmeraude knew that Célie would be dismayed, but her knight regarded her with much appreciation in his gaze. She kicked off her shoes and stretched out against the cool smoothness of the fur.

She watched as the knight unbuckled his belt and laid it aside with care. He shed his dark tabard, folding it carefully before he lifted his mail hauberk to his waist.

“You must aid me, or I shall have to call Andrew.”

Esmeraude scrambled forward, uncertain what precisely she had to do. He leaned forward and instructed her to pull the mail over his head. ’Twas like a shirt fitted too tight to remove readily on one’s own, wrought of myriad small metal rings, each sealed to its four neighbors. She did as bidden and it fell into her lap in a clatter, so cold against her flesh that her nipples beaded anew.

He chuckled and shed his own chemise. Esmeraude looked up, fascinated by the differences betwixt them. The hair upon his chest was dark and thickly curled, his own nipples flat, his skin tanned to a deep bronze. He was muscled beyond any of the men who labored bare-backed in Ceinn-beithe’s fields in summer. As she laid the weight of the hauberk aside, she could well imagine why. He doffed his boots and joined her on the cloak, clad only in his chausses.

“You shall have to shed those afore the deed is done,” she said, hoping she sounded as if she knew more of such intimacy than she did.

He lay back and folded his arms behind his head as he watched her, his eyes gleaming. “Aye, but there is no need for haste. Have you seen a man before?”

“None like you.” She was proud that her response was true without revealing her innocence fully, though she doubted that he was deceived.

“Then touch me, at your leisure. We have all the time in eternity together.”

Esmeraude thought that one night was rather less than that, but it seemed churlish to argue the matter with him. Instead, she came close and laid one hand upon his arm. His flesh was different from her own - coarser, heavier, warmer. She could feel the corded strength of his muscles as she slid her hand up his arm.

He watched her, his expression unfathomable, and she felt bolder before his stillness. She slid her hands across his shoulders and then down his chest, noting the flat rigidity of his belly, the way the hair grew toward his navel like a dark river.

She flattened her palms against him and moved her hands up to his nipples, running her hands across them, then through the wiry hair upon his chest. When her hands found his shoulders again, she looked up to find his gaze upon her, his eyes darker than they had been before.

“Now me,” he murmured. He echoed her every gesture, beginning with one fingertip on her arm. He moved with a deliberation that left a stream of tingles behind that finger as it roved to her shoulder, across her chin, and down her throat. The warmth of his hand slid down her chest, pausing on the pounding of her heart, turning so that the width of his knuckles slid down to her waist.

Esmeraude felt as if her flesh were enflamed.

He fitted his hands around her waist and drew her closer to him. His lips closed over hers with gentle urgency and his hands slid ever higher. Esmeraude gasped when his palms brushed her nipples, then he closed his hand over her, making circles with his thumbs that made her yearn for something she could not name.

They tumbled down to lie side by side, his hand cupping her jaw as he kissed her over and over again. Esmeraude reached for the tie of his chausses, only to be halted by his chuckle.

“There is no need for haste,” he whispered, then ran his tongue around her ear. He kissed her and tickled her there, making her shiver with delight.

“But...” Esmeraude tried to loose the lace once more.

“But naught.” He caught her hands in one of his and entwined her fingers with his own, stretching her arms over her head. He looked down at her, his expression so filled with admiration that she did not fight him. “You shall have all you desire of me, my lady fair. All I ask of you in exchange is the leisure to enjoy.”

His free hand landed on her waist, rising to caress her breast once more. Esmeraude gave a cry of delight as he rolled her nipple between his finger and thumb.

“Are we agreed?” he asked, arching a brow in a way that made him look most diabolical.

“Aye,” she whispered breathlessly and saw but a flash of his smile before he bent to nip at her flesh with a deliberation that made her shiver to her toes. She found herself stretching to meet his questing lips, arching back and wriggling against the luxurious fur. He kissed and nibbled at the underside of her breast, the hollow in her throat, the curve beneath her ear. He kissed her temple, her brow, her eyelids, the tip of her nose and finally - just when she thought she could bear it no longer - her lips.

And as he kissed her, his tongue teasing her own, his fingers slipped between her thighs. Esmeraude caught her breath but he whispered to her, easing his fingers even farther and holding her fast as he touched her in a way she had never been touched before.

Heat raced through her from a tender spot that she could not believe she had never known existed. She found herself spreading her legs wider to welcome his touch, matching his kiss with increasing ardor.

She clutched at his shoulders as the tide rose within her, feeling her fingertips dig into his flesh and not caring. Indeed, he smiled down at her, urging her, proud of the storm he summoned within her.

“I want,” she managed to say.

“Aye? What do you want?”

“I do not know!”

He grinned as his fingers danced boldly against her. “But you shall have it all the same, my lady fair.” He bent and nuzzled her ear, the sensation nigh driving her mad. “I pledge it to you,” he growled and she believed him, as she had never believed another before.

She gripped his shoulders tightly, loving the smell of his flesh, the warmth of him leaning over her, wanting desperately whatever it was he meant to give her. The hair upon his chest tickled her breasts, his hand coaxed the fires stoked within her to rage wildly, the tension rose within her to unbearable heights.

It exploded suddenly, like a shooting star blazing across the sky. She arched high and he kissed her soundly, devouring the sound of her startled cry. And when she collapsed against him, trembling, and he rolled to his back with her cradled against his chest, Esmeraude felt the evidence of his own arousal.

“’Tis not done,” she guessed, her hand shaking as she pushed the tangle of hair back from her face.

He laughed, and eased her hair behind her ear with a possessive fingertip. His eyes twinkled in a way that made her want to smile. He was so confident, so large, so splendid that for a moment she dreaded that they would never meet again.

She wanted a man like this one. Not this particular one, for ’twas critical to her scheme that they part forever after this night. But one like him would suit her very well. She wanted a man who looked at her as if she were a marvel, one who loved her as if ’twas a deed he had invented, one who had sipped fully from the cup of life and could show her what best to try.

Such a man understood adventure. Indeed, he might have been wrought of it.

Esmeraude resolved that after Airdfinnan, she would go to France. Her mother, after all, spoke often of knights and if they were of this one’s ilk, she could well see why. And his words were tinged with the same French accent as her mother’s. Aye, ‘twas there she would go. ’Twas there she would find a man like this to love her.