And Esmeraude was coming to have a thousand of them. What if she had been but a pleasant diversion for Bayard? What if he had no desire to pursue her, if it required considerable inconvenience to himself? What if he had found another wench to sate him?
What if her declaration of love had done naught but persuade him that she was not the woman for him?
If she was to be left to save herself from Simon’s clutches, that man seemed determined to offer no such opportunity. Esmeraude was glum despite the merry sunlight of May that shone upon them. She was despondent when Simon commandeered the hunting lodge of a local lord and sent both his own servants and those in residence to make ready for their night there. She splashed in her bath with disinterest and glared at the trio of maids left to tend her. Simon had told all that pregnancy had made his fiancée quarrelsome so even the local women kept their counsel to themselves.
She was particularly demanding at the board that evening, determined to have some compense from Simon for the disaster he wrought of her life. “Careful, my love,” he whispered beside her. She looked up to find his gaze cold. “Push me overmuch and I shall ensure that you die in the delivery of this child.”
Esmeraude lifted her chin and spoke harshly, for she was sorely vexed. “Push my overmuch, my lord, and I shall ensure the child dies rather than surrender it to you.”
Simon blanched. “You would not!”
“You know not what I would do to protect mine own,” Esmeraude retorted and pushed her trencher aside with force. She would not injure her own child, of course, but she was irked with Simon’s control of her fortunes.
“My lord.” The resident châtelain appeared before them and bowed low. He was a portly man, tanned from his days at the hunt, and looked kindly. “A troubadour has come to the portal, seeking a meal in exchange for a song. Shall I admit him?”
“Are you accustomed to welcoming troubadours in this distant corner of the world?” Simon asked in surprise.
“Nay.” The châtelain shook his head, looking equally surprised. “He is lost, my lord, by his own claim and by his presence here. He seeks Stirling’s halls.” The company laughed at this, for Stirling was far afield.
“Then perhaps he would make a better fool than troubadour,” Simon jested. “He will not make Stirling this night and my lady has a great fondness for a tale. Admit him.” He slanted a glance at Esmeraude. “There is no price too large to cajole my lady’s sweet temperament.”
Esmeraude smiled thinly, though she nigh gasped moments later when the troubadour straightened from his low bow before Simon. He was dirty and dressed in disreputable garb, but Esmeraude was certain ’twas Andrew.
Bayard’s squire.
Which meant that Bayard was near. Esmeraude felt suddenly giddy with expectation. Bayard had come for her and she would soon be in his company again!
She surreptitiously scanned the hall, but caught no glimpse of anyone else she recognized. She felt Simon’s gaze upon her and cast him a smile. “Indeed, my lord, you speak aright. My mood improves at merely the prospect of a tale.”
Simon’s expression turned assessing.
Esmeraude knew she had to allay his suspicion, so she pouted like a spoiled child. “I hope he can sing or I shall be annoyed indeed. ’Tis worse to have no present than one that is less than expected.”
“In truth, he looks somewhat familiar,” Simon mused.
Esmeraude tried to distract him from such thoughts. She chuckled, then yawned as if mightily disinterested. “They are no better than beggars, these troubadours, and indeed, look much alike in their filth.”
“’Tis true enough.” Simon covered her hand with his own. “How pleasant to discover that we agree on some matter.”
“We agree as well on the import of my babe,” Esmeraude said, smiling sweetly when Simon glanced her way.
“Our child,” he corrected quietly. “I will have no doubts cast upon his parentage.”
Esmeraude bowed her head, deciding not to provoke him when escape was so close. ’Twas critical that he trust her slightly now, so let him think her demure.
Simon patted her hand, then he flicked his hand at Andrew, indicating he should begin. “You shall feel better soon, my dear.”
Andrew had a clear voice, one that resonated like a bell in the rustic hall. “I would sing to you a tale of lovers denied their due,” he said, then began Bayard’s tale of Tristran and Iseut.
“These two again,” Simon muttered and snapped his fingers for more wine.
Andrew took care to recount only those parts of the tale that Simon had not heard Bayard sing at Airdfinnan. He skimmed quickly through the beginning of the lovers’ adventures, while Esmeraude sought some message in his tale for her from Bayard.
She found it in the new verses, when Iseut agreed to a trial before King Mark and King Arthur that she did not love Tristran.
For though the potion’s time was past,
Iseut’s true love was doomed to last.
Tristran, too, was smitten fully,
Loved his lady well and truly.
Esmeraude’s heart pounded at this confession, for she knew ’twas Bayard’s way of telling her that her regard was returned.
The fact remained Iseut would die,
If her spouse caught her in a lie.
Iseut sent word to her Tristran,
Insisting he cede to her plan.
She bade him come to the river,
Where her pledge would be delivered.
A ford there was, called Perilous
Where many feared their steeds to cross.
Esmeraude recalled very well they had forded a stream this very day and one that had churned quickly down from the hills. Indeed, they had halted early at this dwelling, much to Simon’s dissatisfaction, because several in the party had been overwhelmed by the raging river. All had been soaked and tired and in need of a reprieve.
Esmeraude knew that she could find her way back there.
She bade him garb as a leper,
And cry for alms like a beggar.
When those barons three did draw near,
Tristran told them the way was clear,
And so their steeds were mired in muck.
What poor fortune! What sorry luck!
The men all laughed at their sad plight,
So Tristran set that debt aright.
Iseut would not cross mud aboil,
Lest her fine garments be despoiled.
She bade the leper lying there,
Carry her o’er river fair.
And to the merriment of all,
Iseut avoided mire and fall.
She mounted Tristran like a steed,
Complained mightily of his speed,
And when she reached the farther side,
She did not thank him for the ride.
She then swore on the relics there,
That King Mark had no knight to fear—
No man had been between her thighs,
Save spouse and leper. ’Twas no lie!
The company laughed aloud at Iseut’s cleverness and Esmeraude was struck again by Bayard’s endorsement of a lie to see the greater good victorious. She did not miss his import.
She turned and plucked Simon’s sleeve. “My lord, the meat does not sit well with me.” She made a show of discomfort. “The smoke and din does naught to improve my state. If it pleases you, I would retire for the good of the babe.”
“I thought the song would amuse you.”
Esmeraude grimaced. “Perhaps if his voice were finer, ’twould. As ’tis, the song but makes me more aware of my belly’s protest.” She waved a hand before her face and hoped she managed to summon a certain pallor. “The smell of this barbaric hall is most troubling.”
“Then you must retire, of course. I shall send servants with you. The chamber above has been made ready for us.”
Esmeraude shrugged as if indifferent. Indeed, she clutched her belly as she rose. “If you wish it to be so, my lord.” She
feigned a heave and Simon recoiled.
“Do not be ill upon me!” he cried.
Esmeraude heaved again, just to see him fret about the matter. She managed to summon a bit of spit and took perverse pleasure in letting in land upon his tabard. Simon was immediately distracted, calling for his squires and much agitated about a stain upon the silk.
“My apologies!” Esmeraude cried with a certain glee, pretending with greater vigor that her meal would shortly reappear.
“Begone!” Simon cried.
Esmeraude fled the hall, those cursed serving women in close pursuit. Andrew, she noted, began to sing another verse.
“My lady, the stairs are this way,” said one woman as they left the hall. There were no less than six of them surrounding her and Esmeraude realized she had done a poor job in persuading Simon to trust her.
Though she had no intention of being trapped upon the second floor, Esmeraude found she had little choice. The women herded her up the stairs as if they could read her very thoughts. She found herself tucked into bed, surrounded again by the cursedly vigilant women and wondering how she might best escape.
She had to meet Bayard! She had to get to the ford. ’Twas clearly her part in this rescue. There was one window in the chamber, and Esmeraude noted that ’twas sufficiently large that she might leap through it.
She feigned further discomfort and cried for fresh air, much against the counsel of her guardians. No sooner were the shutters upon the window opened fully than hoof beats could be heard outside. Two of the women hastened to look, while three others—curse them!—diligently guarded the stairs.
“Thieves!” cried one woman.
“Bandits!” whispered another. They leaned further out the opening in an attempt to see what transpired.
Or perhaps a distraction wrought by Bayard to allow Esmeraude to escape more readily!
A man shouted from below and the women turned toward the stairs, their fear evident. Esmeraude seized the moment. She leapt from her bed in naught but her chemise. She lunged for the window, shoved the two women out of the way, then leapt through it even as the women cried out behind her.
Esmeraude landed heavily on the ground, for ’twas a longer drop than she had expected and the ground was rocky. Esmeraude was undaunted—she picked up the hem of her chemise and ran into the woods.
“She is escaped!” shouted one, but there was so much din in the hall below that Esmeraude hoped the woman was not heeded. She prayed that none of the women were sufficiently bold to leap after her.
She glanced back and saw the women clustered in the open window, the light from the lantern behind silhouetting them. One cried out, and they turned to face an assault from the stairs.
Esmeraude might have laughed aloud at their plight for they behaved as witlessly as chickens, but in that moment she tripped over a root. She sprawled into the dirt, landing so heavily that the breath was briefly driven from her. She blinked dazedly, losing precious time in rising to her feet once more.
Only her fear of Simon’s retaliation drove her onward. Esmeraude had no doubt that she would have no other opportunity to escape. She had to make the most of this opportunity—for herself and for her child.
Her heart in her throat, Esmeraude headed into the darkness of the woods as quickly as she could. As the darkness of the forest closed around her, she became aware of the realities of her circumstance. She was poorly garbed for such an adventure, without food, without shelter, and in a region she did not know. And Simon’s men would pursue her once they vanquished the bandits invading their meal.
Esmeraude hurried onward and hoped with all her heart that she could find the ford again—and that Bayard would reach her in time.
Chapter Eighteen
At Bayard’s signal, the company of knights broke from the darkness of the forest and bore down on the hunting lodge. There was only one door to the structure and the knights surged through that portal with a speed that clearly startled the occupants.
The festivities following the meal ended rather abruptly. Simon’s guards were astonished when the “minstrel” drew a blade and felled one of them before they could defend themselves.
“We are besieged!” Simon cried as he drew his blade. The other men leapt to their feet and the battle began. The hall rang with swordplay, and Bayard scanned it even as he fought his way toward Simon.
There was no sign of Esmeraude. He had hoped to reassure her with Andrew’s presence, hoped that she would guess he was close at hand and perhaps make her way to a secure corner. But she was not in the hall. Perhaps she had not even heard Andrew.
Perhaps Simon had already killed her.
The prospect made Bayard’s heart clench. Filled with fear, he worked his way diligently toward Simon, letting no foe stand in his course. He was determined that this man taste the bite of his own blade and surrender an answer as to the lady’s fate. Simon edged toward the stairs at the back of the hall.
Either he meant to flee from some portal Bayard had not glimpsed, or Esmeraude was trapped back there. Bayard increased his pace, cutting down a trio of men before him, then glanced up as Simon disappeared up the stairs.
Simon could not escape him! Bayard bounded after the man, then eased his way cautiously up the dark stairs. There was only a small light coming from above and, knowing his foe, he suspected a trick.
His suspicions proved correct. Near the summit, Bayard parried a sudden strike from an unseen attacker. He fought back, then dashed up the remaining stairs. Simon backed across the sparsely furnished upper chamber, a woman held captive before himself.
She was not Esmeraude. Indeed, there were six women in the chamber but Esmeraude was not among them.
“Where is Esmeraude? What have you done with her?”
Simon touched his blade to the woman’s throat and she gasped. He smiled. “Would you not love to know the truth of it?”
“If you have injured her, I shall see your blood upon my blade.”
“Aye? Then why do you not attack, Bayard? Surely you cannot be concerned for the fate of a mere serving wench?”
“Surely you are not so much of a coward that you must hide behind a servant,” Bayard taunted. He lifted his blade in challenge. “Cast aside the woman, Simon. A man should not die without battling fairly once in all his days.”
“A man should not surrender any advantage he holds.”
Bayard laughed. “Ah, then the rumor is true.”
“What rumor?”
“That you cannot best me unless you cheat.” Bayard smiled with bravado, determined only to see the serving woman out of this. “’Tis no wonder that Esmeraude favored me.”
“She rode with me!”
Bayard glanced pointedly around the chamber. “But it seems she abandoned you, Simon. She is a passionate woman—were you unable to sate her? Ah, perhaps that is what happened to all your wives. Perhaps they, too, found your capabilities abed to be lacking. Perhaps ’tis not the women who failed to keep their marital due, perhaps they abandoned you.”
Simon’s eyes flashed and he threw the woman aside with such force that she stumbled. “No woman leaves me!” he cried and dove at Bayard. Their blades clashed, bringing the two men face-to-face. “And no woman leaves my bed unsated,” Simon spat. He raised his knee suddenly, but Bayard anticipated his move and flung off the weight of his blade.
“You cannot unman me so readily as that,” he taunted, knowing that Simon would battle poorly if provoked.
Simon swung his blade toward Bayard’s groin with startling speed. He jabbed immediately afterward, backing Bayard toward the stairs once more. Bayard feigned weakness and the women gasped as Simon raised his blade for the kill.
But Bayard slashed at the man’s midriff, his blade singing through the air. The blow took the wind from Simon, even though his mail absorbed the weight of the blade. He backed away, and the men circled each other in the small room, the women whispering fearfully as they backed into the corners.
“Wher
e is Esmeraude?” Bayard demanded. He attacked and nicked Simon’s jaw.
Simon smiled. “I thought you knew.”
Bayard’s gut chilled but he parried a blow, following with a quick thrust that sent Simon back against the wall. “Where?” he asked again.
“She agreed to wed me,” Simon mused, his breath coming more heavily as they fought. “Perhaps she feared that this estate you will not name could not provide sufficiently for her child.”
Bayard missed a step, so surprised was he by this comment, and Simon landed a blow upon his shoulder. “What child?”
Simon began to laugh and fought with newfound vigor. “What estate?” he asked merrily. “It seems that you have met your match in this woman, Bayard de Villonne, a woman who sees all you have to offer and finds it lacking.” He attacked and Bayard parried, fury rising within him with every stroke.
A child! Any delight Bayard might have felt that Esmeraude would bear his child was destroyed by this man’s intent to steal that babe. What had happened to Esmeraude? He understood fully the mixed reaction of Angus to his wife’s labor with their son, for he could not imagine that any child would be worth the slightest injury to his lady.
“It seems that she found you similarly lacking, Simon. Indeed, I will willingly relieve you of the burden of her.” Three quick blows from Bayard left Simon gasping. He thrust again, and caught the hilt of Simon’s blade with his own, flicking the sword from the other man’s grasp.
It clattered across the floor as the men’s gazes held. Bayard smiled and lifted his blade to Simon’s throat. The man closed his eyes and even averted his face slightly as he stepped backward in evident fear. He cast the room in shadow as he backed toward the lantern in one corner, his silhouette swallowing the room.
“’Tis as I long suspected,” Bayard mused. “You cannot win a match fairly made.”
“I will not lose,” Simon whispered. “You do not know where Esmeraude is, and if you kill me, you shall never know.”
Bayard hesitated for only a heartbeat at the truth in this. Did Simon know more than he had confessed?
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