Her answering smile made him yearn to kiss her anew. “I predict that the first time we meet abed, my lord, shall be in our nuptial bed, as is proper for any couple.”
Bayard laughed, but not for long, for as soon as he stepped into the shadows of the stable, Esmeraude’s lips were on his and her hand was under his chemise. Her urgency was infectious and they were both hasty in their responses. He tumbled into the straw and grinned with the realization that he faced yet another sleepless night.
Though this was not one he would regret.
Bayard coaxed his lady to pleasure, reveling in the flush that dawned upon her cheeks and the stars that lit within her eyes. He savored her every sigh as a triumph and felt more of a champion than ever he had when she crested the rise of desire for the third time.
And when Esmeraude arched against him, three words burst from her lips, three words he had never expected to hear, three words that gave him more joy than ever he could have expected.
“I love you,” was what she said. Their gazes held until the pleasure consumed her and her lids closed heavily, but still her claim echoed in Bayard’s thoughts.
She loved him. Bayard knew ’twas only relief that made his own heart clamor in response, for a wife who loved him would never leave him or betray him.
It could be no more than that.
But Bayard pleasured his lady with all the passion within him. From this night on, he and Esmeraude were as one and naught, to Bayard’s thinking, could tear them asunder.
* * *
Angus of Airdfinnan did not wish to be disturbed. He had made as much clear to his men, so he willfully ignored the whisper of a sentry in the solar. His wife was curled against him, so ripe that he dreaded the moment this child chose to enter the world. He held her close and knew he was unwilling to sacrifice so much as a moment in her presence, even when she slept, for such moments might prove to be too few.
“My lord!” the sentry whispered again, his voice more urgent.
Angus feigned sleep. His children were tucked into the great bed, nestled beneath the covers on either side of himself and Jacqueline. ’Twas warm and comfortable here, but that was not the reason he would not leave.
The import of his life was here, dozing all around him, in his trusting, happy children and the security of his hall. He was blessed with the happiness he had found without expecting it, happiness wrought by his Jacqueline. ’Twas she who hung the moon and the stars for him and he could not bear to imagine how barren his life would be without her.
The babe stirred and his gut clenched. Aye, Angus was afraid and more afraid than ever he had been. Jacqueline carried such a large child that he feared one of them would not survive its arrival.
Worse, there was naught he could do about the matter, no way he could influence which of them it might be.
He tightened his arm around Jacqueline and kissed her hair, closing his eye when the sentry whispered again.
“I do not need to see it,” Angus said flatly. “’Tis enough that you tell me that it grows again.”
“Nay, my lord, ’tis worse than that.”
How could it be worse? Angus turned to stare into the darkness where the man stood. “Has it barred the gates?”
“Nay, not quite. But it has grown twice its length this past night alone, and my lord-” the man’s voice faltered as if he were incredulous himself “-it has sprouted leaves.”
Angus swore. He swung from the bed and dressed in haste. He knew enough of magic to recognize its presence, and knew that this vine’s growth was linked in some mysterious way to the affair of Esmeraude and Bayard. Though they had arrived separately, there was some bond between them. The vine grew when the knight sang for the damsel, which meant ’twas of his making.
Angus was shocked to see how vigorously the vine had grown the night before and cursed his indulgence of Bayard’s song even as he climbed the ladder to the summit of the walls.
Glossy green leaves had indeed erupted over the plant’s entire length, making the walls look cloaked in finery. In truth, it looked more lush than it had.
But when Angus bent to examine the vine, his heart stopped cold. Beneath the leaf he examined, he found a bud. Not only did the vine come close to growing over the gates itself, not only did it cloak the walls with its shiny thorns from the bailey to the surface of the river, but now ’twould blossom and scatter seeds everywhere.
The last curse that Angus needed was another of these plants, let alone a thousand of them, all growing in his bailey! He might be able to do naught about the threat to his wife’s welfare, but this matter he could see resolved.
Angus set out to find the man responsible for this wizardry, for Bayard alone could put a halt to its progress.
Enough was enough.
* * *
Bayard awakened slowly, smiling as he savored the sweet scent of the straw of their bed and the even sweeter perfume of his Esmeraude. She burrowed against him, placing her cold nose against his flesh and making him jump.
“So you are awake,” she teased, her eyes sparkling. “I had thought you overtired.”
“Aye? And you are not tired? Perhaps I did not please you sufficiently.” The lady laughed but Bayard silenced her laughter with a thorough kiss. They parted reluctantly and he studied her flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes.
She loved him. All would now be well.
Bayard thought to celebrate this once more but a masculine voice cleared at such proximity that both he and Esmeraude jumped.
“Good morning to you,” Angus said wryly. “Though I would not intrude on your merriment, there is a matter of greater import which must be addressed.”
The lord did not look as if ’twas a cheerful matter. Indeed, he looked more grim than Bayard had ever seen him.
Esmeraude sat up hastily and gathered her chemise before her bare breasts. “Is Jacqueline well?” Her hair hung down the perfection of her bare back in a tangle of curls that Bayard could have spent the day combing to some order.
But Angus passed a hand across his brow and his lips tightened. “Thus far. That is not the sole matter that troubles me this morn.” He cocked a finger at Bayard. “You will halt what you have begun and you will do so on this very day.”
Bayard sat up in turn. “What have I done?”
The lord beckoned, then turned away. Bayard donned his chemise and chausses hastily, then laced the sides of Esmeraude’s kirtle. She looked to him, her gaze full of questions, and he shrugged, for he knew not what the lord meant. He plucked a strand of straw from her tresses, then kissed her brow.
“’Twill come aright. I shall ensure it,” he whispered and she smiled with an ease born of confidence.
“I know.”
They left the stables hand in hand and were within a few paces of Angus, who stood stiffly facing the opposite side of the bailey, when a woman’s scream rang through the air. Angus straightened and Esmeraude gasped.
“Jacqueline!” she whispered, squeezed Bayard’s hand then ran for the hall.
The lord did not move, indeed, he seemed struck to stone. Bayard halted beside him and noted the sudden pallor of his features. “Do you go to the solar as well?”
Angus shook his head. “Nay, my restlessness there only troubles my lady wife. Let us address a matter with an outcome to be determined by the will of men.”
He strode away then, and Bayard followed him, noting again how the vine had grown during the night. It cloaked the walls in glossy green leaves now and was a striking sight. “Does this vine grow here every year, or only at intervals?” he asked, hoping to distract the lord from his evident fears. “I have never seen the like of it.”
The lord granted him a hostile glance. “’Tis as alien to these parts as the knights who court Esmeraude’s hand.” He climbed the ladder to the crest of the wall without a backward glance, though he flinched when his wife’s cry of pain carried from the hall once again.
Bayard followed, feeling no small measure of confusion.
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Angus halted at the boundary of the vine. In fact, ’twould have been impossible to walk farther along the wall, for ’twas thickly adorned with the vegetation. And the leaves hid the vicious thorns upon the plant, making it dangerous to attempt such a feat.
“I am a man who believes in what he sees and what he can hold within his hands,” Angus said quietly. “But in my time, I have learned a respect of the unseen.”
He turned to face Bayard, his gaze quelling despite the fact that one of his eyes was hidden behind a patch. “I recognize the presence of magic when I see it. This vine is not natural, and its like has never been seen in these parts. Its root was undoubtedly a gift to my mother—as so many of the roots within that garden are—probably from some guest, perhaps a guest from France. I know only that it has never flourished here.” Angus kicked the vine with his boot, holding Bayard’s gaze all the while. “Until you sang for Esmeraude.”
Bayard took a step back in horror at the implicit accusation. “Are you accusing me of witchery? I am not responsible for this!”
“Are you not?” Angus seemed unpersuaded. He took a step back and almost smiled. “Then sing, and prove me wrong.”
“’Tis nonsense.”
“Prove it.”
Bayard glared at the other knight. He stood straight, threw back his head and sang, knowing that he would prove this foolishness wrong.
But Iseut found that Mark’s embrace,
Tristran’s sweet kiss did not replace.
The old potion meant naught at all
For Tristran held her heart in thrall.
To his horror, the vine sprouted as soon as the first line left his lips. It grew with vigor all the while he sang, twining across Angus’ boot and sprouting leaves as it went. Bayard halted, staring at it in astonishment, and the vine halted as well.
This monstrosity was of his own making!
Chapter Sixteen
“This cannot be!” Bayard wished his denial would make it so. He stared at the vine, stunned that he could be responsible for its presence.
“Nonetheless it is,” Angus retorted.
“But ’tis illogical. No plant grows in this manner. No song prompts a plant to grow!”
“’Tis not so devoid of sense as that.”
“What is that to mean?”
“Why do you court my sister-in-law?”
Bayard felt his gaze narrow, for he was not prepared to confess his secret to another, not even this knight of such similar experience as his own. “Because I have need of a bride,” he said mildly.
“Bah!” Angus kicked the vine. “That would not account for your diligence. Nay, there is another reason for your suit, a greater reason than the mere desire for a wife.”
Bayard feared the man knew the truth about Montvieux and Richard, that he might confess it to Esmeraude and destroy the tenuous victory Bayard had won. “You cannot know that.”
“Nay, I cannot know your secret desire, but I can look with the eye I have got.”
“And what do you see?” Bayard challenged, fully expecting Angus to claim knowledge of Margaux’s pledge.
Angus flung out a hand to encompass the range of the vine. “This is conjured by a man’s love. Look, how it moves to bar the gate, to keep Esmeraude from departing this hall without accepting you.”
Bayard was astounded. “That is madness!”
“Nay, ’tis not. The vine grows when you sing for Esmeraude, it grows when you seek to enchant her with a tale, it grows when you offer the one gift that you believe will persuade her to accept you.” Angus shook his head. “Esmeraude’s love of tales is well known, Bayard de Villonne, but a song is not sufficient to coax a woman to your side. I would suggest that if winning Esmeraude means as much to you as this that you offer her more than a mere tale.”
“What do you mean?”
“Offer yourself.” Angus held his gaze for a long moment. “Tell her that you love her. ’Tis that alone that will persuade her.” He smiled slightly. “Eglantine has raised her daughters with a healthy esteem for love.”
“But I do not love her!”
“Do you not?” Angus surveyed the vine and shook his head. “And I had hoped that you might confess the truth of it to her before we are all sealed within these walls forever.”
“I cannot confess what is not true.”
“Not true?” Angus smiled. “The vine is a testament to the truth, Bayard.” He dropped his voice and let his hand rest on the younger man’s shoulder. “There is no weakness in confessing to love of a woman. Indeed, you might be surprised at the strength her love can grant you.”
“You did not seem strong when Jacqueline cried out,” Bayard felt compelled to observe.
The lord’s smile faded. “Because I know that all the treasures of my life would be as naught without my Jacqueline. There is naught worse for a warrior than to know that his skills are insufficient to affect any outcome. I cannot aid Jacqueline in this labor, though I do what I can. The finest midwife I could find is with her now.” His manner was so grim that Bayard touched the man’s sleeve.
“She has borne four children. Surely this one will arrive without incident.”
Angus nodded briefly. “I hope so.” Then he slanted an incisive glance at Bayard. “And what would your life be without Esmeraude? Would your riches seem as dust in your hands if she wed another?”
Bayard blinked. Had he not thought much the same just the night before?
Surely he could not love Esmeraude?
The truth hit Bayard like a blow to the chest. Aye, the reason he pursued this woman beyond all rhyme and reason was more than the loving of all her characteristics, more than honor and duty and reason.
He loved her.
’Twas a stunning realization, all the more stunning for his long-held determination to never love another. He understood with sudden clarity the desire to have an especial woman by his side that had driven his own father for years. He understood that ’twas unthinkable to wed another, to live out his life without the sparkle of Esmeraude. He had known many women and not one of them had caught him so securely, nor so quickly.
Bayard loved how Esmeraude made merry; he loved how she laughed. He loved the agility of her wits and the passion of her kisses. He loved her hunger for adventure and her willingness to pursue new experiences. He loved her determination to not accept less than her true desire.
Bayard loved Esmeraude. He rolled the thought through his mind, marveling in it, familiarizing himself with it. ’Twas, indeed, an unexpected development. Though he had had his suspicions, he had ignored their portent well.
But what was he to do about the matter?
Angus studied him for a long moment, as if he wondered much the same, until another cry of pain rose from the solar. The other man inhaled sharply, then turned away, gripping Bayard’s shoulder before he left. “Pray for my Jacqueline,” he whispered, then left Bayard alone upon the crest of the wall.
There was naught he might say to that. Bayard watched the man go, and acknowledged that he spied no weakness in Angus MacGillivray. Indeed, he offered a prayer to the survival of the lady of Airdfinnan, though he was not a man who spent much time upon his knees. He felt battered by the realization of his love, by the fact that he could conjure such sorcery as this vine by the force of his feelings for Esmeraude.
It made no sense, yet made perfect sense. He loved Esmeraude. Bayard frowned, seeing that he was in the same predicament as his father had been. He could not wed Esmeraude without incurring the risks he feared. Yet he could not countenance Esmeraude wedding another, or worse, confront the rest of his life without her.
He turned to pace and halted in horror. Before his eyes, buds unfurled over the length of the vine, one after the other after the other.
The vine knew of his realization.
Bayard’s gut chilled. Nay! He loved Esmeraude but none could guess the truth of it! He would not see his own affection used against him, as his father’s love for his mother had
been used once against their family.
And Bayard remembered suddenly the terror that had passed through their household, the expression upon his father’s face, the vulnerability of Villonne that had been shown by his mother’s capture. He recalled the sense of vulnerability which had been unfamiliar until that moment, and the fear that they would lose both beloved mother and prosperous holding.
His own vehement pledge to never put himself in a similar position of weakness echoed anew in his ears; he recalled his arguments with his father, his abandonment of his family with so much still left unsaid between them.
There was naught for it. A grim resolve settled within him, a determination to keep his vow and avoid such vulnerability. A pledge of love could never pass Bayard’s lips, to the lady herself or any other. He would not grant any man—especially as the kings of France and England postured for war—any knowledge that could be used against him, any whisper that could cost him the holding he would do any deed to hold.
But as he watched, the vine grew buds at any unholy rate, as if invigorated by his decision to deny his love. Nay! It could not betray him!
Bayard drew his blade and hacked at the nearest bud. The vine, which had resisted all attempts to cut it back, surrendered to the blow of Bayard’s blade. The cut bud fell lifeless to the stone.
Because the vine was of his own devising.
And if the lord guessed its import, then so would others. Bayard slashed at the new buds with a strength he had not known he possessed, but the vine sprouted three buds for each one he cut. ’Twas as if it would defy Bayard to tell Esmeraude the truth.
Or perhaps it would challenge him to consider the price of not confessing his love to Esmeraude. She had told him of her love and he had not answered in kind, and in the clear light of morning, Bayard knew that this would trouble his lady.
But as long as she aided her sister, he could not make amends even if he desired to do so. Indeed, if he truly wished to avoid his father’s error, he could never make amends.
He sliced through another cluster of buds and they grew back with frightening speed, the vine seemingly compelling him to make a choice. ’Twas whimsy, or madness, and Bayard was sorely troubled by what great sense it made to him in this moment. Indeed, he feared mightily what his life would be without Esmeraude by his side.
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