The Bride Quest II Boxed Set

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The Bride Quest II Boxed Set Page 77

by Claire Delacroix


  “What did you say afore we crossed the current?” Esmeraude asked the boy archly.

  He inclined his head to her. “I beg pardon. ’Tis clear that a maiden can, indeed, row better than I.” He sighed. “My knight and I were flung out to sea last evening, and though we battled valiantly, I feared we would not survive. I see now that there is an art to conquering the ocean’s current.”

  “Indeed, there is. You must have endeavored to sail directly across the strait.”

  “Aye, we did and we struck a fair line, but at a high cost.” He dropped his voice, and shivered. “’Twas terrible. The sea seemed intent upon swallowing us whole.”

  Esmeraude felt a twinge of pity for him, for it must have startled him to awaken upon the sea once more. He might well have imagined that he was caught within a nightmare. “If you crossed when the tide was fully in motion, then you are most fortunate that you were not carried beyond the isle.”

  The boy smiled. “My knight is strong beyond all others. And he says oft that Dame Fortune favors him above all others. I did not believe it myself afore I rode with him, but ’tis true enough. He is fortunate beyond compare.”

  Célie made a muttered comment about ungrateful maidens abandoning Fortune’s prizes, but Esmeraude pretended not to hear. Indeed, her heart skipped a beat at the mere mention of the knight.

  But she was no more than a local maid as far as this boy was concerned. She had best recall her disguise and ask appropriate questions.

  “If you are unfamiliar with these waters, you should have taken a local soul along as a guide,” she said, watching the shore.

  The boy scoffed. “My knight has no fear for he...”

  “Is fortunate beyond all,” Esmeraude continued, as she navigated their boat closer to the shore below Ceinn-beithe. “So you have said.”

  “Does your fortunate master have a name?” Célie asked and Esmeraude’s heart leapt.

  “Bayard is his name, and he has been on crusade with Richard, King of England, and he has battled Saracen and Corsican.”

  Bayard. Esmeraude’s pulse quickened. And he had crusaded to the East! He must have lived countless tales of adventure. No doubt this Bayard rode to Mull on some mission from the king himself, some secret endeavor filled with dire peril.

  But she would never see him again. Esmeraude shook her head and forced herself to think sensibly.

  To ensure the success of her plan, she had to be rid of the knight’s squire. However, her own understanding of the harshness of these lands meant that she could not simply abandon him. She would not be tormented by fears for his survival.

  She began to row toward the silhouette of Ceinn-beithe’s village, thinking to leave the boy there. “Have you been to Ceinn-beithe?”

  “Aye, we halted there and there was much merriment.”

  “Indeed?” Esmeraude asked as if she knew naught of it. A common maid would surely be anxious for gossip, would she not?

  “Aye, knights were invited there to compete for a maiden’s hand, but she left a riddle and fled instead.”

  “Aye? And the men all lent chase?”

  “Nay!”

  Esmeraude spun to face the boy at this revelation. “Were they not interested in her jest?”

  “They had not the chance.” He leaned forward, his eyes shining. “There were but two boats to be had and my master bought this smaller one. There was much arguing, for the others did not wish to share the second boat, though ’twas larger, and we left while still they squabbled.”

  Esmeraude’s oar stilled. There were competitors yet lingering at Ceinn-beithe! And if they wished to go to the island, no doubt they would meet her boat on arrival in hopes of claiming it from her. Her ruse would not last long before all who would recognize her there.

  She let the boat drift for a moment as she thought. Célie did not look inclined to be helpful, so Esmeraude addressed the boy. “Yet your knight claimed this boat?”

  “Aye, and he was not inclined to share.”

  “’Tis not very charitable.”

  “’Tis not a big boat,” the squire observed. “And he departed on a mission of import, not a pilgrimage.”

  The women’s gazes met, though Esmeraude did not ask what business of import the knight had with the King of the Isles.

  ’Twas better if she knew less of him. “Did your knight make provision as to where you might meet if you were separated?”

  “Nay.” The squire frowned, then brightened. “But he will have to return to Michael, for Michael is hidden with our steeds.”

  “Aye? Where would I find Michael?”

  “I said he is hidden.” The boy rolled his eyes that even a peasant maid could be so slow of wit. “I cannot guide you there!”

  “Yet I would not abandon you to starve on these wild shores.”

  “You could take me to Ceinn-beithe.”

  “And have my boat seized by men anxious to chase a demoiselle?” Esmeraude chose to ignore the fact that ’twas not truly her boat. “I should think not!” She slowed the boat with her oar as the boy eyed her stubbornly. “’Tis not so far to shore from here. Leap over the side and swim.”

  “I cannot swim!”

  “Yet I will not take you further.” Indeed, she dared not do so. The sun was already rising high and Esmeraude knew she must hasten. The possibility of suitors yet at Ceinn-beithe meant that ’twas dangerous to linger so close. “Tell me where to find Michael or you shall be left to swim.”

  “You would not do it,” the boy said, challenge bright in his eye.

  But Esmeraude was not one to cede to such a challenge. She moved quickly and seized him, holding him over the surface of the water. He kicked and fought but she held fast, even as the boat rocked.

  Célie hung on to the sides and looked most grim. “Aye, drown a knight’s squire,” she muttered. “That will see all come aright in the end.”

  “Tell me,” Esmeraude insisted, looking the boy dead in the eye. She had no intention of dropping him, but he did not need to know as much.

  “You are not a common peasant maid!” he charged.

  Esmeraude did not answer that. “’Tis a harsh land we occupy and one that demands difficult choices of those who would survive here.” She let her smile broaden. “Like the one before you in this moment. Do you think the water will be cold?”

  He glared at her. “I gave my pledge to my knight to keep the secret. No maiden will compel me to break my word.”

  “Ah, well.” Esmeraude sighed and let him drop a little closer to the surface. He squirmed and his eyes widened in fear. “How curious that men and boys are prepared to die for their pledges.”

  He spared a glance to the water and swallowed visibly. Esmeraude knew his resolve wavered.

  “What you must do, if you cannot swim,” she suggested amiably, “is float.”

  “I cannot float, either,” he snapped.

  “Aye, you can, if you do not fight the water. The current should carry you, oh, not more than a dozen miles past Ceinn-beithe afore casting you ashore.” She shrugged. “Or you might be carried out to sea and lost forever. ’Tis difficult to be certain.”

  The boy’s eyes narrowed as he glared at her. “’Tis over there,” he said through gritted teeth, his words nigh inaudible. When she set him back into the boat, his gaze was so clouded with disappointment that Esmeraude felt churlish for compelling him to confide in her.

  But not for long.

  It seemed that the boy, whose name proved to be Andrew, could not precisely recall the locale of the other boy. At first, Esmeraude believed this to be true, for she knew that even the most familiar land could look so different from the ocean as to be unrecognizable. And evidently the second boy was hidden so that no others could happen upon him or steal the steeds. She had heard tales of the fortunes invested in a fine destrier or warhorse and could not blame the knight for protecting their worth.

  But as the sun crested its zenith and still they rowed back and forth, Esmeraude suspected
a trick.

  “There is another boat crossing from the isle,” Célie noted.

  “’Tis probably a fishing boat,” Esmeraude muttered, then shook a finger at Andrew. “You have not broken your word at all,” she said. “You have lied and deceived me.” Célie harrumphed but Esmeraude ignored her. “Indeed, I shall cast you over the side of the boat here and now...”

  “Why, there he is!” Andrew cried and pointed to the shore. “I remember that tree.”

  Having heard all the morn long that he remembered this tree or that stone, Esmeraude was disinclined to believe. But she followed his gesture and looked, startled to find another taller boy standing upon the shore. He waved and shouted a greeting and Andrew shouted back.

  Finally! She rowed to the shore, determined to be on her way to Airdfinnan with all haste. Her arms were aching from this morning’s labor.

  She would sail down the coast again and abandon the boat near Ceinn-beithe. She would tell Andrew this so that Bayard could retrieve his investment. From there, she could borrow a horse and be gone again without anyone knowing she had been home. The horses were grazed in the afternoon and the ostler’s boy who so oft accompanied them was inclined to lie in the grass and sleep. Though it often vexed Duncan, that habit would suit her well on this day.

  Célie, if she was disinclined to continue on the adventure, could return to Ceinn-beithe, there to sit by the fire and complain. Aye, Esmeraude thought that a most fitting solution to the maid’s dissatisfaction.

  She was not so immune to the concerns of others as that!

  “There!” Esmeraude said, when the boat was close to the shore. “I shall keep the craft here while you jump.”

  “Oh, I could not jump over the water,” Andrew insisted, backing up toward Célie.

  “Of course you can jump.” Esmeraude’s growing impatience showed in her tone. “’Tis not far.”

  “’Tis too far for me.” Andrew turned sad eyes upon her. “Unless you would carry me.”

  “You are too old to be carried like a babe,” Esmeraude insisted. “And indeed, I jumped farther than this when I was half your age. Are you no more brave than a small girl?”

  “Andrew is afraid, Andrew is afraid,” the other boy taunted.

  “I am not afraid!” the boy cried, though still he would not leave the boat.

  Esmeraude swore and scooped him up into her arms, determined to see the matter resolved quickly. She leapt to the shore and put him down on his feet none too gently. She would have turned back to the boat, happily leaving him there, but he seized her sleeve.

  “Oh, I thank you,” he said fervently.

  Esmeraude tried to shake off his grip. “’Twas of no consequence. Now, let me be.”

  “Nay, nay, there is a bond betwixt us now that you have saved my life.”

  “I did not!”

  “You are so modest, ’tis fetching in a maiden,” he said and Esmeraude was startled by his sudden charm. “Perhaps you would do a small favor for me, then.”

  “I have done your favor.”

  “Nay! You must see my palfrey,” he insisted. “She is the finest chestnut in all of France, my master says as much, and she is gentle and she is fleet of foot and—” he heaved a sigh “—and she has need of a name. I would be honored if you would bestow upon her a fitting name.”

  Esmeraude gritted her teeth, sorely tempted by the prospect of seeing a horse—for she was overly fond of horses—but well aware that time slipped away. Célie folded her arms across her chest, complacent and smug.

  “Name her Lightning if she is so fleet,” Esmeraude said. She tried to return to her boat, but Michael had managed to step between her and her goal.

  “That is no way to name a steed!” Andrew cried. “You must see her first to pick a fitting name, then see whether she likes it. Please! You must come and see her, I beg of you.”

  ’Twas true enough that Esmeraude was curious. Her sister Jacqueline had told her how beauteous the steeds of France could be. Indeed, Jacqueline’s spouse, Angus, had a fine destrier as well as a mare from Persia that was graceful beyond belief.

  Esmeraude did wonder what manner of horses her knight had.

  Surely it could not take long.

  “Only for a moment,” she said, impulsively claiming the boy’s hand. She walked so quickly into the shadow of the woods that he had to trot behind her.

  Andrew’s palfrey was indeed a lovely beast, far finer than any in her parents’ stables. The mare was of deepest brown, its mane and tail nigh black. There was a streak upon its brow, a mark that further justified Esmeraude’s suggested name, and it had one white sock. It nuzzled Esmeraude’s neck, taking great interest in her hair and Esmeraude was so enchanted that she forgot her need for haste.

  The knight’s destrier, too, was a marvel to Esmeraude, being a remarkably large beast of dappled silver and white. Angus’ mount was blacker than midnight and she much preferred the hue of this one. The destrier stomped when the three palfreys fetched more of the attention than it evidently thought they should. It stretched its nose out to Esmeraude so inquisitively that she had to scratch its ears, as well.

  “His name is Argent,” Andrew contributed.

  “It seems a most fitting name.”

  “Michael brushes him. I am only allowed to polish weaponry.” Andrew heaved a sigh. “My knight has far too many blades and pieces of armor for my taste. His hauberk is most vexing to coax to a shine, but he says that I do it well.”

  Esmeraude smiled as the destrier pushed its soft nose into her hand demandingly. “Aye, you do a fine job,” she murmured, remembering how the knight’s armor had glinted in the moonlight.

  All four of the knight’s horses were fine creatures, so affectionate and curious that Esmeraude had to greet each in turn. They were well tended and well fed, another good sign of the knight’s character.

  “Why are there four steeds? Does one carry provisions?” Esmeraude was impressed by the knight’s apparent wealth, for such steeds were costly both to acquire and to maintain.

  “They all carry provisions of some amount,” the boy informed her, obviously pleased that he knew more of such matters than she.

  “But does your knight not ride Argent?”

  Andrew clicked his tongue. “A destrier is ridden only in battle, at least by any knight who can afford to live properly. ’Tis called a destrier, for the knight leads the warhorse by his right hand, whilst riding another steed.”

  “Oh.” Esmeraude had not known as much.

  “Such steeds are wrought so heavily for battle that they tire on long journeys. Argent is better prepared to do his duty when he has traveled with only his saddle upon his back.”

  ’Twas interesting, to learn such a detail, and Esmeraude had no trouble pretending to be an ignorant peasant maid. The horses were marvelous. She was nuzzled and nibbled, and she had her hair bitten, but she loved every moment of it. She was there far longer than she had anticipated.

  A sudden splash made her remember her plan to be quickly away.

  “Oh, nay, I must depart!” Esmeraude fairly fled back toward Célie and their boat.

  “But wait!” Andrew cried, racing behind her. “You have not named my steed!”

  “I must hasten! I will be late. You choose her name.” Esmeraude plunged through the last veil of the trees and stopped short.

  She already was too late.

  A knight, her knight, had pulled her boat fully onto the shore and tipped it so that it might dry in the sun. The oars were stowed high out of reach and Célie stood back, watching with undisguised satisfaction as Esmeraude took in the scene before her.

  Then the knight turned slowly, his smile brightening as he spied her and his eyes turning a deeper hue of blue.

  “My lady,” he whispered, then blew her a kiss from his fingertips. “Well met.”

  Chapter Five

  Esmeraude’s heart began to thunder and she could not take another step. She heard the splash of oars as the second boat
was rowed back toward Mull, but had eyes only for the knight before her.

  Perhaps Bayard’s mortality was not such a fault, after all. He seemed vibrantly alive this morn, as vital as a dancing flame. He was taller and broader than she had recalled, no less striking in sunlight than in moonlight.

  “I did it!” Andrew cried behind her. “I knew you would come, my lord.”

  A smile touched Bayard’s firm lips, though his gaze did not waver from Esmeraude. His words were softly uttered and filled with pleasure, his voice deep. “Aye, Andrew, you did very well.”

  In the darkest corner of her heart, Esmeraude could not claim to be disappointed to see this knight again. Bayard, crusader and companion of kings, had pursued her.

  Bayard. She whispered his name, savoring the taste of it upon her tongue. Bayard had lent chase to her like a hero in an old tale.

  His hair was wet and his face was ruddy, and Esmeraude knew that he had rowed hard to come quickly ashore. She could smell the clean tang of his perspiration. ’Twas thrilling to realize that ’twas important to him to pursue her and to do so with such haste. The growth of dark stubble upon his chin made him look wild and unpredictable, a rogue come to claim what he already knew to be his own.

  He smiled as if he read her very thoughts, then closed the distance between them with easy strides. His gaze swept over her, leaving heat in its wake, and when he lifted one hand toward her, Esmeraude could not take a breath. Aye, she remembered the sure touch of that hand upon her flesh and tingled in anticipation of another gentle caress.

  His fingertip slid along the gathered neck of her chemise, the linen visible above the neckline of her kirtle, his caress leaving no disappointment. Esmeraude inhaled sharply at the heat of his touch and his eyes twinkled as he evidently noted her response.

  His hand slipped up her throat, leaving fire in the wake of his touch, and she stood spellbound. His fingertips lingered upon the wild pulse of her heart, then slid into the hair at her nape. He cupped her chin in his hand, a gesture of startling possessiveness yet one that felt perfectly right all the same.

 

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