Claire Delacroix (52 page)

But the older man shook his head in disapproval. “ ’Tis not right. Why, your grandsire must be rolling in his grave …”

Before Alys could warn the keeper of his impertinence, the thunder of hoofbeats rang in her ears. She turned in the same
moment that Godfrey did, only to find a great black warhorse galloping toward the gate.

’Twas a destrier of flawless ebony with a mane of midnight silk, a proud beast of rare size.

Indeed, Alys had seen its like only once before.

“Hold!” the knight roared, riding closer. “Hold the gate!”

Alys’s mouth went dry in recognition. She blinked, certain her eyes would prove her wrong, but the knight pulled his steed to a halt before the gates with a flair she well recalled. Every servant and peasant milling inside the gate halted to stare, Alys as good as invisible within their ranks in her simple garb.

The knight doffed his helmet and shook out his black hair as the steed stamped impatiently. Aye, Burke de Montvieux had returned to Kiltorren.

Alys’s heart simply stopped. She stood as if struck to stone by his unexpected appearance.

For Burke was not only here, he was far more handsome than Alys remembered. The years had etched attractive silver threads at his temples. His jaw was square, his nose aquiline, his eyes that silvery blue that seemed to pierce straight through artifice.

There was a new terseness in the line of his firm lips, and his eyes narrowed in shrewd assessment of Godfrey. Burke’s shoulders seemed even more broad, his physique more superbly muscled than the man who stubbornly occupied Alys’s dreams. There was a sense of command about this knight that had not been there when last she saw him.

“I am Burke de Montvieux,” he declared, the very sound of his voice setting Alys’s heart to hammering. “And I ride on an urgent errand to Castle Kiltorren.”

“Aye?” Godfrey stepped deliberately into the middle of the gateway and propped his hands on his hips. The stalwart gatekeeper was not a small man, and his disapproval was tangible. “And what might that be?”

“I come,” Burke confessed in a low voice threaded with humor, “at the Princess Brianna’s behest.”

An uncharacteristic pang of jealousy shot through Alys, though she tried to stifle her response. She knew Burke was a man of charm, a knight well used to successfully courting the affections of noblewomen. She should not be surprised that he served the will of a legendary beauty.

“Aye?” Godfrey demanded in a most unwelcoming manner.

“Aye.” Burke grinned outright and arched one dark brow. “I come to Kiltorren in search of a bride.”

Alys gasped aloud. Surely it could not be so! The small sound she made was all that was needed to draw Burke’s eyes her way.

The knight caught his breath in a most satisfactory way. Alys thrilled to see recognition light his eyes even as Godfrey dispatched a runner to the keep.

“Alys!” Burke murmured, and swung from his saddle with an enthusiasm that could not be denied. “ ’Tis truly you!” His eyes glowed with a heat Alys well recalled, a warm smile curved his lips. “I cannot believe this good fortune!”

Burke closed the distance between them with a few long strides. He captured Alys’s hand and pressed a gallant kiss upon her knuckles with an intensity that fairly melted her knees.

Just like Heloise’s favored tale, her hero cared naught for her humble circumstance. Burke had not abandoned her, he had not left her shamed as Aunt maintained.

“Good day, Burke,” Alys whispered, unable to find any more fitting greeting. Her pulse fluttered and she felt herself flush beneath his perusal. Burke doffed his gloves and lifted one strong hand to her cheek, the warmth of his fingers making Alys tingle in recollection of his tenderness. His gaze seemed to devour the sight of her, and she chided herself for ever doubting his intent.

Burke bent his head, clearly intending to kiss her in a
most suitable manner, and Alys rose to her toes to meet him midway.

“It seemed too much to hope that you might be here as well,” he murmured, his breath warm on her lips.

“As well?” Alys asked, startled.

Burke smiled down at her with the confidence she well recalled. “As well as your cousins. I
knew
they would yet be unwed.” He winked but Alys drew back.

“You did not expect me to be at Kiltorren, yet still you came here for a bride?”

“Aye, I was quite certain you would be gone.” Burke’s smile did not waver. “Indeed, ’tis most wondrousrly convenient.”

Convenience did not fit with the romantic tale as Alys knew it.

Indeed, the pieces fell into place with alarming speed. Burke came to Kiltorren for a bride, convinced that she would not be here.

Which could only mean that Alys was not a candidate for that position. Just as Aunt had long insisted, just as Alys had feared, this knight found her a fitting mistress but not a fitting bride.

“You shameless cur!” Alys slapped Burke’s handsome visage as hard as she could, then spun away, cursing her own foolish hope and blinking back her tears.

“Alys!” Burke shouted, but she would not listen to anything he might have to say.

Indeed, she fairly tripped over her skirts in her haste to retreat. Alys snatched up her basket, strode a distance away, then spun to shake her finger at the astonished knight.

“Do not even think of laying your hand upon me again!”

No doubt he would have rolled her to her back three years past without a qualm if they had not been interrupted, and now he only savored the
convenience
of having her available while he courted her cousin.

Oh, she could just spit.

Burke halted, looking like a man who faced an incomprehensible foe, and Godfrey watched them both with narrowed eyes. “Alys, what is this? But a moment past, you were prepared to welcome my embrace.”

“But a moment past, I misunderstood the fullness of your intent!” Alys retorted, the heat rising in her words. Indeed, her cheeks must be burning crimson they were so hot. “You may have forgotten what passed between us—”

“Alys,” Burke interrupted, his words low and beguiling. “I forget
naught
of you.”

The intimacy of his tone stopped Alys’s tirade cold. She swallowed and stared back at him. The sensuous gleam in Burke’s eyes made her flush spread to her toes.

Instinctively she wanted to trust him, even knowing what trouble he had caused her in the past. Alys’s resolve wavered dangerously as Burke took a step closer; her heart pounded.

“Indeed, my lady,” he continued smoothly, his gaze filling with affection, “ ’tis the prospect of your smile alone that brings me back to these gates.”

That fulsome lie broke the spell.

“Oh!” You
lie
! You just declared you did not even expect to find me here!” Alys danced backward, infuriated at herself for even thinking of believing in him again.

Burke’s smile faded with a nearly audible snap. He frowned, looking suddenly boyish. “ ’Tis true, I
knew
you would not be at Kiltorren …”

Alys propped her hands on her hips, letting challenge filter into her tone. “Then what is this nonsense of my smile?”

Burke stepped closer, his eyes gleaming. “I fully intended to seek you out, Alys.”

“
After
you wed one of my cousins?” she asked, still stung by his claim that he came in search of a bride. “Or perhaps during your engagement? How very gallant!”

Burke’s eyes flashed silver. “Alys, that is not what I meant.
You misunderstand me!” He shoved a hand through his hair and glared at their very interested audience. He leaned closer and dropped his voice. “Alys, we must have a moment alone …”

“You will have no moment alone with me, of that you may be certain.” Alys took a backward step, wanting only to put distance between them. How many times did this man have to disappoint her for her to realize that he was
not
the knight of her dreams?

Burke visibly gritted his teeth. “Alys, the truth has gone astray in this. We must have a moment …”

But Burke would have no opportunity to finish his plea, for the family entourage spilled suddenly out of the keep. Aunt’s voice carried all the way to their ears, the shrillness of her tones making the goats scatter into the far corners of the bailey.

“Burke de Montvieux!” Lady Deirdre cried. “It truly is you! Hasten yourself, girls, hasten. ’Tis Burke, the most eligible knight ever to have crossed our threshold!”

Alys turned in time to note her aunt snapping her fingers at her eldest daughter. “Malvina! Straighten your circlet. And square your shoulders!”

Malvina did as she was bidden, her greedy eyes shining at the sight of the new arrival. “Burke!” she crowed, nearly stumbling over her rich skirts in her haste to reach the knight’s side. “Is it true you have come for a bride?”

’Twas evident enough who Malvina thought that bride should be.

But then Malvina believed that all the goods of this world should rightly be her own. Typically, Alys’s cousin dressed in garb far too ornate for a simple day, her jewels sparkling, her cloak fur-trimmed. Alys noted that Malvina had already begun to test the strength of the new garment’s seams.

Aye, she knew well enough who would have to mend the garment. Again. ’Twas not in Malvina’s nature to deny herself any treat—nor that of her parents to deny their eldest any trinket.

“My boy, I knew you would return for one of my beloved and beauteous daughters!” roared Alys’s uncle, Cedric of Kiltorren. His bulk slowed him slightly in the procession, and his hasty breathing became audible as he drew near.

The gleam in Cedric’s eyes was unmistakable. Alys shook her head, knowing that her uncle had spied another gift fitting for his beloved daughter.

Indeed, she almost felt sorry for Burke.

But mostly she felt ill. Oh, she should have had the wits to know better than to believe a romantic tale had come to life! Burke was not the noble Aucassin of Heloise’s tales—he was but a man, interested in his own satisfaction. Though she had once nearly succumbed to his charm, she would not repeat the error.

“Your bride arrives,” she informed Burke coldly. “I would not deign to keep you.” And Alys lifted her chin and swept away as regally as she could, despite her tattered garb and the weight of flour on her hip.

“Alys! Do not leave!”

Alys frowned and hefted her burden higher, deliberately ignoring the knight. She ducked through the swirl of fine wool and trailing hems edged in fur that already closed around the arrival, without any of her family noting her passing.

But Burke called out. “Alys! Halt!”

Despite herself, Alys found her heart give a little skip of pleasure that he noticed her departure.

Then she called herself seven kinds of fool and continued without stopping.

After all,
this
was the knight to whom she had nearly surrendered her maidenhead.
This
was the man who had whispered sweet tales in her ear.
This
was the man who compromised Alys in her aunt’s eye, then rode away untroubled by what he had done.

And left Alys to bear the brunt of Aunt’s wrath for three years.

That was not chivalrous in the least.

’Twas no consolation that the sweet heat of Burke’s last kiss had never faded from Alys’s thoughts. Oh, she was once a fool for loving him, twice a fool for submitting to his kiss, and thrice a fool
still
to be yearning for him. She was supposed to be older and wiser, to know better than to trust a man’s beguiling kisses and sweet pledges.

Had she learned naught? Alys stormed across the bailey, as disgusted with herself as with the new arrival.

“Alys! I would speak with you!” Burke roared. Alys flicked a glance over her shoulder to note how he tried to ease his way free of the throng that had surrounded him, but without success. Burke raised a hand to beckon to her.

And Alys enjoyed turning her back upon his summons, striding to the kitchen, her chin held high.

Convenient.
Alys growled the word beneath her breath, even as tears blurred her vision. ’Twould be a cold day in hell that she was fool enough to spend a private moment in Burke de Montvieux’s company again.

’Twas clear to Burke that something had gone awry, for his sweet Alys was angry with him.

Indeed, his jaw stung with the weight of her conviction.

And where had she conceived of the idea that he meant to court her cousins? Did she imagine that her spurning of his proposal had driven him to that? Burke could not imagine that any setback could force him to such extremes, though the very evidence of her fury convinced him that Alys was not without regard for him.

Nay, she still loved him, or else she would not have cared who he wed. ’Twould take but a moment to explain the truth to her and have her tipping her face up for his kiss once more.

Burke could not wait to do precisely that.

But now he was cornered. Deirdre had effectively trapped
him against the gates, and Burke recalled how he disliked this woman and her manipulative ways.

He glanced in the direction Alys had fled, only now seeing the import of her clothing. She had been attired in a kirtle so worn ’twas nearly rags held together by will alone. Indeed, it seemed her status in this household had only worsened in his absence.