Claire Delacroix (89 page)

“ ’Tis a poor welcome that leaves a lady falling from her steed in a faint.” He grimaced, though apparently not at her stammer.

“But you were r-r-right. Alys had to know that Burke l-l-loves her,” she insisted. She smiled wanly for the knight’s mother, who watched her carefully.

The lady smiled and came closer. “You are a sweet one to ignore your own discomfort for the sake of your cousin. Such
selflessness is rare indeed.” She reached to touch Brigid’s shoulder. “But you have no more to fear,
ma petite.
Now they will wed and you shall have your broth.”

But Brigid frowned and shook her head. “Nay, nay, they cannot.” She tasted again her certainty that she alone would stand in the way of Burke and Alys’s love. Even her illness delayed matters further, for Brigid could tempt no man in her current sorry state. For two weeks Brigid had fretted aboard the ship, and now she was fairly bursting with concern.

These people seemed so nice—surely they would understand?

Maybe they knew a man who would feel sympathy for her plight. That single thought sent Brigid’s confession spilling forth.

“Alys cannot wed before me and I have no betrothed,” Brigid admitted in a rush. “Burke said he would find me a husband, he would take me to P-P-Paris, but Mother said no man in Paris would have me.” She took a shaking breath and dared to look to the older lady again, who frowned worriedly as if she shared Brigid’s concerns.

Brigid heard her own voice rise in her anxiety. “I have no fine P-P-Paris manners, I will not find a husband, and Alys will not be able to wed Burke. ’Twill b-b-be all my fault!”

Shaking in the wake of the longest speech she had ever made, Brigid began to cry. She leaned against the knight’s shoulder and wept from the depths of her soul, as ashamed of her behavior as her ineligibility yet unable to stop.

“Oh,
ma petite.
You are so tired that all hangs heavy on your shoulders.” The lady brushed the hair back from Brigid’s brow with unexpected tenderness, her voice low and soothing. “But rest assured, fine manners are not such an asset as that.”

Brigid sniffled and, compelled by the certainty in that woman’s tone, looked at Lady Crevy. “Nay?”

The lady smiled warmly. “Nay,
ma petite.
You have a generosity of heart that is far more compelling than any manners
could be.” She flicked a glance to her son. “Do you not think so, Guillaume?”

“Indeed,” that man said with unmistakable resolve. “Perhaps you might be persuaded to linger a few days at Crevy,” he suggested with a quietude that Brigid found very appealing.

But protest rose immediately to her lips. “But I cannot linger! Alys and Burke—”

“Cannot expect you to travel when you are ill,” the knight interjected firmly. “Indeed, I could not countenance your departure before your health is restored.” He lifted one brow and smiled, just for her. “Please agree to stay.”

Brigid found herself wanting very much to do precisely that. She looked to Lady Crevy who nodded vigorously, then smiled shyly for the knight. “I should like to linger here. ’Tis very pretty.”

His smile flashed brighter than the sunlight. “Good!”

Before Brigid could respond, he strode toward the keep, calling for stablehands to take the horses. Brigid was amazed at the way all leapt to do his bidding. His mother called for a chamber to be made ready, and the bailey burst into activity. Cook and Edana ran behind them, Cook muttering about stock, Edana gasping in delight as they stepped into Crevy’s hall.

But Brigid was watching the knight who carried her and thinking that he was not only handsome but very noble indeed. She liked how his eyes sparkled when he smiled at her.

But a knight like this must have a beautiful heiress as a betrothed. Brigid chewed her bottom lip and worried that she truly would be the cause of Alys’s unhappiness after all.

urke!”

Burke spun in the shadows of Crevy’s familiar stables to find Alys silhouetted in the portal. She was slightly out of breath and her cheeks were flushed, her hood cast back.

“Again I owe you an apology,” she said with a fleeting smile. “But this I hope will be the last. I am sorry that I did not trust the fullness of your intent, I am sorry that I feared you would lose interest in me over time, I am sorry that I have always heeded the endorsement of others before your own pledge, and I am sorry that I doubted your fidelity.”

Burke blinked, astonished by this confession.

“I have not trusted you fully, Burke, and that is no way to begin our match.” Alys stepped closer, her eyes gleaming. “And I would seal my apology with a kiss.”

Burke’s pulse pounded at the prospect. Alys smiled as if she read his very thoughts, casting her arms around his neck and lifting her lips to his. Burke pulled her to her toes, slanted his lips across hers, and kissed her fully.

Alys trusted him fully. ’Twas all the more of a marvel for its unexpectedness—and perhaps worth the embarrassment Guillaume had extracted.

Their kiss quickly became incendiary, the tangling of their tongues setting a fire in Burke’s blood that threatened to burn
out of control. Alys pressed against him, her hands gripping his hair as if she would urge him to eat her whole.

And Burke was sorely tempted to do that. Ye gods, but Alys learned quickly! Everything within him clamored that he claim a stall in this very stable and bolt the door until they had had their fill of each other.

But ’twould be a dishonor to her.

Instead, Burke dragged his lips from hers and took an unsteady breath. Alys too was out of breath. Her eyes were wide and dark, her lips were swollen. More of her hair than usual hung in tendrils against her neck.

She was the most beguiling woman he had ever seen.

And she would be his bride.

“What is amiss?” she asked unevenly. “Why did you halt?”

“All is aright, Alys.” Burke lifted a hand to her jaw, struck anew by her mingled softness and strength. “But as before, I would not dishonor you. We will wait for our nuptial night.”

To Burke’s surprise, his lady shook her head with vehemence. “Nay, Burke. We have waited long enough, you and I.” She stretched to brush her lips across his. “I do not want to wait any longer.”

Burke caught his breath. “But, Alys …”

“But, Burke, I trust you to do as you say in this,” she insisted, her eyes filled with conviction. “I
trust
you to wed me as you have vowed, and I would give you evidence of that trust. Indeed, I have doubted you too long.”

“But, Alys, there could be a child.”

She smiled up at him, confidence lighting her features. “Then you have best keep your pledge soon.”

Burke could not refuse her. He captured her hand within his and glanced over the stables, seeing only now that there were many watchful eyes.

“Not here,” he said under his breath, then suddenly recalled
the perfect trysting place. None would disturb them and he had oft envisioned Alys in that very spot.

He kissed her palm, then wordlessly lifted her to Moon-shadow’s saddle. Burke swung up behind her and gave the destrier his spurs, not caring who saw them depart together.

’Twas on the eve of his scheduled wedding that Talbot left Kiltorren. Indeed, it had taken that long to induce Cedric and all those around him to drink themselves to a stupor.

Talbot glanced back only once, and that from Kiltorren’s own gates. He paused beneath the open portcullis—Godfrey’s objections silenced with a quick blow to the back of the guard’s head—and felt an uncharacteristic pang of guilt.

For Malvina would not have the wedding day she so desired. ’Twas more than her disappointment at root, though. Talbot had taken the maidenhead of a noblewoman, and his very flight left that woman compromised. His uncle would not approve of that, and indeed, a corner of his own heart felt the shadow of shame.

Malvina would likely
never
have a wedding day, and that troubled Talbot much more than he had thought it would. To be sure, the woman was a virago when denied her desire, but Talbot could well understand her frustration with that circumstance.

Aye, there was something about Malvina that intrigued him, that Talbot could not deny. He had savored her lust, he liked that she strove to win what she desired, regardless of the cost.

And he could well understand her sense of inadequacy.

But there was no question of abandoning his uncle’s quest or even his own agenda. Talbot had to ensure his own future. He could not let this Alys challenge his legacy.

He had to leave Kiltorren.

But ’twas with surprising reluctance that Talbot turned his back upon that keep, snarled at Henri, and rode with all haste
for the coast. He had to return to France, and with all speed possible, for his prey was two weeks’ ahead of him in this.

Nay, Talbot did not imagine for a moment that any man would be fool enough to cast aside a wealthy estate in exchange for naught. Burke—and Alys—would be at Montvieux.

Talbot could only hope he arrived there in time.

Burke dismounted when Crevy’s keep was lost behind a bend of the river and reached to lock his hands around Alys’s waist. The sky was a perfect hue of blue overhead, there was not a cloud to be seen, the river gurgled and splashed to their right. Even the village was out of view, the tolling of the church’s bell echoing distantly over the land. Crevy’s fields sloped away from the river on either bank, and the shadow of the forest loomed just ahead.

Burke folded his hand around Alys’s own and led her into the shadows of the woods. There, by the river, the trees did not grow as densely and the sunlight scattered on the forest floor. Alys watched as he tethered Moonshadow within the shelter of the trees, where the beast could reach both river and undergrowth. Burke took his great fur-lined cloak, smiled for Alys, then led her onward.

Within a half-dozen steps, it seemed as if they two were alone. Alys heard the distant movement of small creatures, the call of birds, the incessant chortling of the river. Burke led her to a sun-dappled glade where the branches arched high overhead and the pale green leaves fluttered against the azure sky. She could see the flash of the river through the shrubbery on one side and knew she had never visited a more peaceful spot in all her days.

Burke cast his cloak upon the ground and turned to her with a smile, propping his hands on his hips as he glanced about himself. “What do you think?”

“I think it most odd that you knew exactly where this place
could be found,” she teased, bold with new confidence that he cared for her alone.

Burke grinned. “I
have
visited tore before.”

“In those years before you came to Kiltorren?”

“Nay, ’twas Eglantine’s choice when she sought to win Guillaume’s wager.”

“Without success.”

Burke glanced at Alys, as if amused by her certainty that he had been faithful. “Aye.” His lips twisted. “You shall mock me if I confess that the sunlight through the trees reminded me of the gloss of your hair.”

Alys sobered. “And that is why you declined her.”

Burke’s smile faded in turn and he lifted one finger to her jaw. “I could only think of you, Alys. I have oft imagined you here, with your hair loosed over your shoulders.” He stroked her cheek, heat dawning in his gaze and beneath Alys’s flesh. There was a catch in his voice when he continued. “Will you unbind your hair?”