The flickering light from the lamp in the chamber accentuated his size and his every muscle when he turned to face her. She supposed his expression might be considered a smile of invitation.
Esmeraude was not inclined to accept. Aye, there was no mistaking the glint of avarice in his pale eyes. Clearly he knew what wealth would come to his hand with this deed.
If he could do it.
He peeled off his shirt, kicked off his chausses, and approached her in a state of expectation. Esmeraude backed away and his smile faded at her defiance.
He lunged for her but Esmeraude ducked out of his way just in time. He fell heavily against the wall, muttered a curse in Norse that had no need of translation, then came after her once again. A new flame burned in his eyes and he scowled. Her mouth dry with fear, Esmeraude evaded him once more by dodging at the last moment.
He roared fit to shake the roof, then moved with lightning speed. He caught her around the waist and flung her over his shoulder. Esmeraude bit and kicked, but he barely acknowledged the blow of her heel slamming into his calf. He was as hard as a rock and as strong as a bear.
When he flung her onto the hard pallet, the breath was momentarily knocked from her. Esmeraude tasted terror, for she knew that she would not survive a year and a day of bedding with this man.
’Twas then she began fighting for more than her maidenhead.
She wrestled and bit, struggled and tried to escape from the bed with unholy vigor. He caught her easily every time, chuckling to himself at the futility of her efforts, and she hated him more than she had ever hated another in her life.
Esmeraude suddenly recalled a saying of Duncan’s. A foe greater in size is seldom greater in wits.
Aye, she could outwit this oaf, she knew it well.
Esmeraude smiled at her new spouse when he cast her again onto the pallet. He halted, puzzled. She sighed as if happily surrendered and touched his face with her fingertips. He stared at her, eyes narrowed.
She lay back on the pallet as if prepared to accept his touch. He watched warily and she smiled a welcome. She stretched her arms over her head, noting how he fairly devoured the sight of her. She smiled anew and crooked a finger, which finally won her a wide smile and a growl in response. He shed his loincloth with a smile, then seized the hem of her kirtle to push it over her waist.
Esmeraude struggled not to flinch. His hand moved heavily over her legs, and he grasped her thigh with the strength of one accustomed to winning his way with force. She caught her breath but did not draw away, which seemed to please him well. He crawled over her and Esmeraude knew she had to keep him from settling atop her. She would never shift his weight once he had done so!
She sat up abruptly, clasped her hands behind his neck, and pulled him down onto the pallet beside her, echoing his rough play. His eyes glinted and he smiled. His hand landed assessingly upon her breast, as if assuring himself that he had been paid his due in full. He squeezed none too gently and she wondered whether he intended to milk her like a goat.
Esmeraude forced herself to breathe in a normal fashion. He began to utter some encouragement as his hands roved over her, his voice low and rough. Clearly, he thought her shy. He stretched out beside her, at ease and evidently convinced that she had no inclination to avoid him any longer.
But when he bent down to nuzzle her neck, Esmeraude, in her turn, moved with startling haste. She jabbed her fingers at his eyes, drove her elbow into his ribs, and slammed her knee into his crotch.
He howled in mingled pain and outrage as he rolled away. Esmeraude did not waste her chance. She bounced to her feet and ran to the door. He roared with frustration, his foot landing heavily on the floor, and she knew she had not long to flee.
And even then, he might catch her. Esmeraude refused to think about what he might do after that.
Her cursed fingers shook so much in her desperation that she dropped the latch, losing precious time. She glanced back to find him diving after her.
Esmeraude impulsively snatched up the lantern and waved it before his face. He yelled and fell back, raising his arms against the flame, then tripped over the tangled garments on the floor. He bellowed in fury and fell slowly, like a great tree toppling. His head made a thunk as it hit the floor.
He moved no more.
Esmeraude stood and stared, her heart hammering in her throat, her breath echoing loudly in the chamber. Was he dead? She did not know. Perhaps he feigned his state to lure her closer, the better to pounce upon her once more. Esmeraude swallowed as she considered the response of the king if she had, indeed, killed his trusted man.
The latch jiggled and she nigh jumped through the roof. Surely they could not know her crime so soon!
“Esmeraude!” Célie hissed and Esmeraude steadied herself against the wall in relief. “Is this where they have taken you, child?”
“Aye, Célie! I am here.” Esmeraude put down the lamp and opened the latch.
The maid took one look at her face and hugged her tightly. “Did he...” she began fiercely, but her gaze slipped past Esmeraude to the fallen man and she gasped. “What have you done, child?” she whispered.
“He would have forced me. I fought him and he fell.”
Célie leaned closer to peer at him. “Is he dead?”
“I do not know.”
“Then we had best discover the truth.” Célie stomped over to the large man, surveyed him thoroughly, then bent down to listen for his breath. “He yet lives,” she said as if disappointed, and poked him with her toe. He stirred, much to Esmeraude’s relief. “Though he will not be pleased when he awakens.”
“Nor will the king be pleased with what I have done.” Esmeraude eyed the open door, easing closer to listen to the distant sounds of revelry. “We could escape, Célie, and none would know the truth of it soon.”
“Save this one. He stirs even now.”
“We can ensure he does not stir far.” Esmeraude unfastened her girdle, and used it to knot his wrists securely together. Célie rummaged through the satchel she carried, examining the few things they had brought. She produced a short length of rope. The two women exchanged a smile, and Esmeraude bound the man’s ankles together.
He stirred, groaned, and was still once more.
“The beauty of a handfasting,” Esmeraude said with quiet resolve as she stared at her would-be spouse, “is that either party has the right to leave the match if it proves unsatisfactory. I find you an unsatisfactory partner, sir, and thus I leave you.”
Célie clicked her tongue. “He may insist otherwise. If you are not present to defend yourself, who knows what will be said of you? Are you yet a maid?”
“Aye!”
“But he may lie. There is much at stake in this.”
Esmeraude had to think for a mere moment. “Then I shall leave a note, one that will make the truth clear. Aye, I shall leave a riddle so that those men who pursue me know the fullness of the truth on their arrival.”
Célie sat down heavily and crossed herself. “Esmeraude, you have no lack of audacity. What if the King of the Isles follows you?”
“Then I shall tell him before all that he has treated me poorly.” She dug through the satchel’s contents grimly. “Either way, I shall insist that whoever weds me pledges himself to any king other than the King of the Isles.”
“’Tis not your place!”
“I do not care! I have been poorly served, Célie, used as no more than a means to an end by a king I came to in trust. I was his guest!”
“Your trust was poorly rewarded.”
“Indeed ’twas! I did not agree to handfast with this one, yet I was forced. We both know ‘tis not customary to do such a thing.” She gestured to the Norseman with disgust, her anger now replacing her fear. “He would have injured me without remorse. The king wants Ceinn-beithe secured for all time, regardless of the price to me, even though ‘tis through me he would win it. ’Tis unfair! I shall make sure Ceinn-beithe is never his again.”
&n
bsp; “God in heaven!” The maid regarded Esmeraude in shock.
“I know my words are uncommonly bold, Célie. But I am vexed and I am right. A man would see blood shed over such an indignity.”
“A man has the right to mete justice.”
“If the suzerainty of Ceinn-beithe is so coupled with my maidenhead, then I should have some right to say what shall be done.” Esmeraude smiled for her aghast maid. “I think my response quite temperate, under the circumstances.”
Célie blinked and protested no more. In the satchel, Esmeraude found the nib and the stoppered vial of ink, drew out a snippet of used vellum that had been carefully cleaned, and began to write.
“What shall we do now?”
“We shall do what I should have done in the first place. We shall visit my sister Jacqueline, for she will defend my right to choose the man I should wed. A woman will understand, as the King of the Isles did not.”
The maid shook her head. “But Airdfinnan is so far away!”
“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 th
e 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.
The Bride Quest II Boxed Set Page 72