But the chemise? What could have come of the wretched garment? She would have expected it to be the most readily found, being woven of fine white linen that would fairly glow in the moonlight.
But she had not caught a glimpse of it. This was vexing indeed, not only because she had to make haste to depart, not only because the wool of her kirtle would scratch her tender flesh without the chemise beneath, but because that chemise bore the sole sample of embroidery Esmeraude had ever troubled herself to finish. She had wrought that chemise with her own needle and embellished it—under protest, ’twas true—and ’twas like a talisman to her.
She was loath to leave without it, but it seemed as if the garment had grown legs of its own and walked away! A more superstitious maid than she might have considered the absence of the chemise to be a portent, an omen that she should not leave the knight’s side.
But the sky was lightening and the moon had fled and Esmeraude had regained what measure she had of common sense. Her lover was a mere mortal, as revealed by the shadow of whiskers growing upon his chin, and she dared not linger lest he be as inclined as the Norseman to claim her for his own. That she would not risk.
On the other hand, ’twould be most galling to be present when he made it clear that he had had all he wanted of her. Nay, Esmeraude would disappear as surely as her knight had appeared and never again would their paths cross.
Aye, her deflowering had been as marvelous and magical as she had always hoped it might be, and Esmeraude was disinclined to let the sun shine its harsh rays on the memory she would always treasure. ’Twas like a dream that she knew she would savor over and over again. There was not even blood upon the fur lining of his cloak, though she had heard that some maidens did not bleed on their first time.
That she would not be able to prove that her virginity was gone with such firm evidence was a problem, but Esmeraude would have to resolve that later. Célie might be a reliable witness of her deflowering.
Much cheered, Esmeraude searched again, then tapped her toe and considered the man. ’Twas cursedly difficult to leave his side, though she supposed such an inclination was sentimental and foolish. He might be relieved to find her gone!
His flesh had been warm this morn and her heart had been full, but Esmeraude knew that remaining was fraught with complications. She needed no such complications. She had to leave him, and she would be happy to do so if only she could find her chemise!
She swore through her teeth, then jumped when the knight rolled over. He frowned when his hand closed upon naught and Esmeraude took a step back, not daring to breathe. His scowl deepened and he mumbled something, stretching his arm across the cloak as he sought her.
Esmeraude feared that he would awaken before she could be gone. He might then try to stop her flight. His eyelids fluttered and she knew she had but a heartbeat to act.
She crept closer, rolling his cloak as she went, then whispered to him as she pushed the bundle of cloth and wool into his embrace. Then she stood back and watched, terrified that he would not accept her ruse.
But he murmured and drew it close, evidently mistaking the empty bundle of cloth for one with her within it.
Esmeraude did not imagine ’twould deceive him for long. She had to hasten away! She scurried backward, scanning the area one last time for her chemise with no success. His saddlebags lay some distance away but she could not imagine that the chemise had found its way in there.
He rolled over, muttering something in his sleep and scowling again. Esmeraude dared dally no longer.
Knowing she would not be able to bear the wool directly against her flesh, she seized his chemise and hauled it over her head. It smelled of his flesh, a most disconcerting fact, and the sleeves were far too long, but she dared not waste another moment. She pulled on her kirtle, knotted her belt, and impatiently shoved her stockings through it. She retrieved her small knife and fled, her shoes in hand and her hair unbound.
At least she did not have to look for Célie.
Though that was hardly a good omen. The maid stood on the beach side of the grasses beyond which they had retreated, her arms akimbo and her expression disapproving.
Esmeraude held a fingertip to her lips, to no avail.
Célie snorted. “I will not be asking how it was, or whether the deed met with your expectations,” she huffed. “No doubt the King of Jerusalem himself heard you cry out like a she-cat.”
Esmeraude blushed, and was momentarily grateful for the relative darkness. “I had to feign enjoyment,” she lied, “otherwise he would have guessed that I was virginal. If his suspicions were roused, we should never be able to steal his boat.”
“Ha!” Célie gave Esmeraude a look so knowing that she knew that naught had been hidden from the older woman. “I am surprised you managed to recall that we had need of his boat.”
Esmeraude stepped past her maid, determined to discuss the matter no further. What was done was done, and she had nary a regret. “We must hasten lest he awaken before we are gone.”
“You did not sound like a woman intent upon leaving a man,” Célie muttered.
Esmeraude spun to face the maid, hands on her hips. “Would you prefer that it had been horrible for me?”
“I would rather you had been in your marital bed,” the maid snapped. “Then there would be no shame in your finding pleasure with a man.”
“Well, I feel no shame.”
“Perhaps you should.” Célie marched beside her as they began walking toward the boat once more. “Perhaps one day yet you will.” She slanted a glance at her charge. “Perhaps we should linger, that you might have no illusions of the way men treat their whores. He might well give you the back of his hand this morn and tell you to begone.”
Esmeraude did feel a twinge of dread at leaving this knight, not only without saying farewell, but also knowing so little about him. It seemed odd to know the shape of him and the smell of him, but not to know his name.
But then, exchanging their names could be dangerous. She forced herself to recall her objective and not look back. ’Twas not as easy as she might have hoped. ’Twould be a marvel, indeed, to love again while the dawn slipped over the horizon. She could imagine how his lips would curve in a slight smile and his eyes would darken with passion as he leaned over her.
And he would kiss her again, very thoroughly, as if it did not matter how long the task took. Esmeraude shivered with delight and felt her flesh heat.
Unless, of course, he kicked her from his makeshift bed with a curse and a slap, then went upon his way.
’Twas better, far better, not to know for certain.
Célie evidently read more of her thoughts than Esmeraude might have preferred. “Why flee this man on this morn?” the maid demanded. “He seems to be wealthy enough and clearly you found naught lacking in his allure.”
“Nay, Célie, we must depart.”
“He might wed you. He might be the man you seek.”
“What foolery!” Esmeraude said sharply, for her own heart called her a liar. “He was only a means to be rid of my maidenhead.”
“You would not have permitted him between your thighs if you believed him to be so little as that.”
“I am but a country maid to him. He would not treat me with honor, despite what we have done. Are you not the one always telling me of the lusts of men?”
“You might ask him,” the maid countered. “You might ensure that you chose aright.” Célie’s glance was sly. “You might tell him the truth of who you are.”
“After what we have learned since leaving Ceinn-beithe?” Esmeraude shook her head. “Then he could wed me for the prize of Ceinn-beithe alone. Indeed, none would stop him once he made it clear he had claimed my maidenhead, and even if I denied it, a man would be believed before me. Nay, Célie, he must remain a stranger to me. ’Tis for the best that we part this morn forever.”
“Even if he might be the suitor you seek?”
Esmeraude gritted her teeth with frustration
. “I would have a spouse who loves me for myself alone. A coupling in the dark is no guarantee of that.”
“You assume much of this man of whom you know so little.”
Esmeraude’s lips set stubbornly. “We leave, Célie, for my quest and my adventure continues without this man.”
The maid might have said more, but Esmeraude headed for the boat, now high above the receding waterline.
Had her own mother not said that love made lovemaking all the more sweet? When she wed the man who held her heart, they would find yet greater pleasure than this, Esmeraude was convinced of it. The very prospect buoyed her; she was certain she had made the right choice. She would not be deceived by her first taste of pleasure, for surely there was more within that cup for her to sip.
The musky scent rising from the knight’s chemise seemed to taunt her, weakening her conviction, but she hurried ahead. She and Célie paused as one when they reached the craft and exchanged a glance of frustration. To Esmeraude’s dismay, the squire clearly had taken his knight’s advice most seriously.
He was fast asleep within the boat she meant to steal.
“What shall we do?” Célie whispered.
Esmeraude rocked the boat with one hand. The boy did not so much as stir. She rocked it more vigorously and he began only to snore in contentment. The women exchanged a glance, then Esmeraude backed away, Célie on her heels. She cast pebbles at the sleeping boy, who seemed oblivious to the assault. When she cast more of them, he rolled over, buried his head beneath his cloak and snored more loudly.
Esmeraude approached the boat cautiously and tried to lift the sleeping boy. He weighed more than she could have imagined. She nodded to her maid, who grasped his feet, but still the two could not lift him.
And he began to move restlessly, dangerously close to awakening and alerting the knight of what they did. Esmeraude glanced over her shoulder, for she heard a stirring that she fancied was her knight awakening.
“The boy sleeps as fast as his master sleeps lightly,” she murmured, vexed.
“Then we shall have to remain,” Célie pronounced with no small satisfaction. “Trapped betwixt two devils and the sea. That shall teach you to be so bold!”
Esmeraude surveyed the hillock to which the boy had pulled the boat, and noted that the tall grasses surrounding the boat grew almost to the water’s edge on the hillock’s far side. And they were wet with dew. The tide was retreating, the timing perfect for their departure. ’Twas too good an opportunity to waste!
“Nonsense,” Esmeraude said firmly. “We shall take him with us.”
And before her maid could protest, she gathered the oars and gave the boat a mighty push down the wet grass. It slipped quite readily and the boy snored contently as the boat rocked on its course. Esmeraude heard her maid swear in irritation behind her, but Célie trotted after her and helped her push the boat a moment later.
“We return to Ceinn-beithe,” the older woman said with resolve.
Esmeraude cast her maid a sunny smile. “Aye, of course. But only long enough to borrow a palfrey and be rid of the boy. It is too far to walk to Airdfinnan, after all.”
“Esmeraude!”
“Do not be foolish, Célie. We shall have need of a steed to reach Airdfinnan before my suitors do.”
“God in heaven, but I believe you revel in this,” Célie muttered, her own mood most clear.
Esmeraude gave the boat a last shove, then held it as her maid climbed aboard. The knight’s squire snored blissfully, untroubled and unaware of the change in his circumstance. Esmeraude imagined the expression upon her knight’s face when he awakened to find her gone and smiled broadly. “Aye, Célie, I do. Adventure is as marvelous as I had hoped.”
“But the danger...”
“Is part of the price of such a quest, Célie.” Esmeraude gauged the tide and began to row into the current. “’Twould be foolish, indeed, if I did not believe the prize to be worth the price. I cannot wait to reach Airdfinnan.”
“I can,” muttered the maid, but she rowed all the same.
Chapter Four
Esmeraude’s estimation of Bayard’s response was not too far wrong. He was sorely vexed to find himself alone upon awakening. He stood and glared at the sea, which sparkled merrily as if to defy his temper, and watched a small boat bob farther and farther away.
Three figures were silhouetted within it. In this remote place, they could be none other than the three who had abandoned him here.
That angered him truly. What madness had seized the maiden’s wits while he slept? What lack did she perceive in him? And why, for the love of Mary, would she leave him after surrendering so fully to his touch, after choosing him to be her spouse?
Perhaps she played some jest upon him, though Bayard was not amused.
Indeed, he feared that she would pay most dearly for her ploy. There was a reason that women should be compliant, especially if they were as compelled as this one to make poor choices when left to their own devices! Bayard recalled his own struggles against the sea the night before and feared for her survival. What would become of his quest then?
Had he won the bride only to lose her to the sea? Had her foolish choice cast his family into peril? He paced and he growled and he worried the matter through.
The fact was, regardless of his concern, that there was naught Bayard could do about the matter. ’Twas clear that the fates had turned sourly against him while he slept. Perhaps he had been too confident of success too soon. Not only was Esmeraude gone, but she had stolen his vessel, ensuring that he could not follow her. Had Andrew accompanied her so that he might inform Bayard of her whereabouts?
Bayard soundly hoped so. ’Twould not be soon that he could lend chase. He donned his garb, seeing immediately that his chemise was gone. Perhaps Andrew had taken it. Bayard did not care particularly: he had greater concerns on this day. He retrieved a clean one from his saddlebags and began to walk south to the distant hall of the King of the Isles. By dint of necessity, he must go to that court and beg, borrow, buy, or steal a vessel. Bayard did not further vex himself by worrying where precisely his bride had gone.
Yet.
He had to walk, having left his horses on the mainland in Michael’s care. ’Twas unseasonably sunny and warm, which only increased the apparent burden of his hauberk and armor. Bayard, unaccustomed to walking with all of his gear, trudged stoically toward the south.
He thought of how diligently he would have to teach his bride to obey him, for her own good.
If she survived that crossing. His heart leapt and he glanced over his shoulder to the sea, half expecting to see her waving madly for his aid.
But the sea glinted and sparkled, not a ship upon it as far as he could see. Had she been swept away already? His heart clenched. He wondered then who had brought her to the isle in the first place, finding both encouragement and annoyance in the distinct possibility of another man having aided her.
But who?
* * *
Against the odds, Bayard’s mood improved considerably upon his arrival at the court of the King of the Isles. All was in confusion. Simon was there, but Bayard was not overly irked since the other knight looked haggard and frustrated. Indeed, Bayard granted the man a confident smile, knowing that he had had the better night of it.
’Twas then he saw that his cousins Nicholas and Connor had also given chase to the maiden, as well as a number of the local men he had seen at Ceinn-beithe. Nicholas looked well, his auburn hair fairly glowing in contrast to the dark blue of his tabard. Connor was as fair as Bayard recalled. The pair were tall and elegantly mannered, joking quietly with each other.
They did not acknowledge him and he did not blame them, but Bayard felt a pang of loss for having chosen to leave his family behind. There was a price to be paid in letting them think the worst of him, but then, they would only believe the truth if they heard it. And they would only listen, ’twas clear, if he first repaired what had gone awry with his own father. He cou
ld only do that by admitting that he had been wrong, a confession he would never make.
So Bayard held his tongue and regretted naught.
The suitors clustered closer to the rough chair of the king, though only the two older rival knights approached the king directly.
Simon was nigh double Bayard’s age and his golden hair was now touched abundantly with silver. He was tall and strong, a formidable adversary at tourney. He clearly believed that no rule had yet been created to restrain him, undoubtedly a result of being his father’s heir and favored child for all his days. There was a harsh line to his lips and a coldness in his gaze that had made Bayard distrust this knight, even before he had learned his instinct to be aright.
Bayard let his smile broaden, simply because he knew ’twould irk the other knight. “Good morning, all.”
Simon scowled. “There is naught good about this morn, and naught amusing in this,” he snapped by way of greeting. “I fail to see why you might be pleased by her doings.”
Bayard bit his tongue, keeping his advantage to himself. “What doings?” he asked innocently.
Simon fairly spat. “Esmeraude fled to the King of the Isles.”
“Ah, so she is here.”
“She was, but no longer!”
“Oh? Has she departed so quickly as that?”
“Fled in the night, the little vixen.” Simon scowled, then indicated a large Norseman who seemed to be in even more foul of a temper. A man, perhaps the king himself by his rich garb, berated the Norseman, who listened glumly. “The king had her bound to that man, by some pagan ceremony, but when they retired to consummate the match, she left him trussed, unconscious, and in a room secured from the inside.”
“Indeed?” Bayard did not have to feign his surprise. He was impressed with her feat and supposed he should count himself fortunate that the lady had merely left him sleeping.
Then he wondered what the Norseman had done to so deserve this indignity. Anger flared within him. Had his betrothed been abused? Had her flight been an act of bravery or desperation? He glared at the Norseman and the man flinched.
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