’Twas enough time, though, for Simon to seize the lantern. He flung it across the chamber, the oil spilling as the vessel shattered against the far wall. The flame leapt into the oil and spread with astonishing speed. The wooden walls were old and dry and quickly began to burn as well.
Bayard glanced back to find Simon advancing with his dagger in hand. “I do not lose,” he hissed.
“You lost Esmeraude.”
“I abandoned her, dead in a ditch, finally sated for all her days and nights.” Simon smirked. “My men enjoyed her mightily.”
“Nay!” Bayard dove after the other man, fury in his blood. He fought as he had never fought in all his days for he fought for the honor of his lady love. He would permit no man to sully Esmeraude’s name with such filth.
He would permit no man to live who could even suggest that Esmeraude had deserved such a fate. The growing flames painted the chamber in bright orange and yellow and the men danced back and forth, oblivious to the fire’s peril.
Simon was quickly divested of his blade and he fell to his knees. He seized the hem of Bayard’s tabard with desperate fingers. “Would you kill a man defenseless?”
“You are not defenseless so long as you have a viper’s tongue in your mouth,” Bayard said coldly. “This time, Simon, you lost.” And he drove his blade through the other man’s throat. Simon made a gurgling sound, then fell lifeless to the floor. Bayard felt no vindication in the deed—’twas but a duty fulfilled to his lady, a pledge to his mother he had seen achieved.
He turned away, fearing that what Simon had said was true and that Esmeraude was lost to him for all time. Though the women had fled to the hall below, the one whom Simon had held captive still lingered there. He wiped his blade and shoved it back into his scabbard, seeing that the flames leapt up the stairs and closed that path to them.
“You saved my life, sir.”
“’Twill be lost if you do not flee this place.”
“I could not go, sir, not without knowing that he was finally dead.” The woman took a deep breath. “He lied, sir, he lied about your lady.”
Bayard crossed the room with haste and peered out the window. ’Twas a long drop but the only chance they had. “Aye?”
“Aye.” The woman came to stand beside him. “She leapt from the window. She took advantage of the distraction to see herself freed from him.” The woman shuddered. “I could not blame her for that.”
“Did he touch her?”
“Nay. She insisted he not do so, for the sake of the child, and he, to his meager credit, did not.”
Relief surged through Bayard. And then his heart rose in his throat. Esmeraude had done what she could to protect their child. ’Twas like her to show disregard for her own welfare when she felt passionately about some action to be taken.
Such valor could not go unrewarded.
Bayard noted suddenly how the flames engulfed the wall beside the stairs, the draft from the window fanning them to greater heights. “We, too, shall leap from the window,” he insisted, grasping the woman’s hand.
But she shrank back. “Nay, sir, I fear heights. I could not.”
“You will. Your lingering to tell me of my lady’s fate could not win such a poor reward as that.” Bayard seized the serving woman around the waist and jumped from the window before she could protest.
She clung to him in terror, but quickly stepped away from him when they were on the ground. “Perhaps ’twas the song,” she said, her eyes still wide from the jump. She clutched Bayard’s hand. “Perhaps the tale of those intrepid lovers gave her the strength to defy that wretched man.”
“’Twas my squire who came to sing. I had hoped to reassure Esmeraude with his presence and the implication of mine.”
The woman seized his sleeve, her eyes bright. “That is it, then! I noted that the lady brightened when the troubadour sang of the Perilous Ford. We crossed a ford this day, it cannot be far.”
“I know it!”
“Perhaps she has gone there. Perhaps she thought you summoned her there.”
It made perfect sense to Bayard. He kissed the serving woman’s hand in his gratitude, the gesture making her blush, then told her that she would have a home in the household of himself and his lady if she should so desire. He whistled for Argent and rode with all haste through the forest, cutting as direct a path as he could to the ford they had crossed only hours before.
He heard Esmeraude sobbing before he spied her. Bayard dismounted, fearing that some minion of Simon’s had found her first and given her cause to weep.
But when he peered through the trees, he saw only Esmeraude. She wore naught but a chemise, that garment glowing white in the moonlight, and her face was buried in her hands as she wept. She looked no more substantial than a wraith and he feared anew that she had been injured.
“Esmeraude?” he called. “Esmeraude, are you injured?”
She straightened abruptly. “Bayard?”
“Aye, ’tis me. What of you? Are you well?” Concern had put an edge in his voice, and Esmeraude’s continuing tears did naught to assure him. “Do not weep, Esmeraude.” He strode toward her, disregarding the effect of the water upon his boots, fully expecting her tears to cease.
But Esmeraude ran toward him, her tears falling anew. Bayard caught her in a tight embrace and whispered into her hair. “Are you injured? Who hurt you?”
“None. They did not dare.”
Still she wept into his tabard. “You need not fear Simon any longer. I have seen him dead.”
“He meant to steal our child, Bayard, our child! He meant to claim the babe as his own.”
“Aye, I know.” Bayard held her close. She had been so sorely frightened by Simon that Bayard half-wished that man had not died so easily. “But he is dead and can trouble you no longer.”
This, to his surprise, did not reassure his usually intrepid lady. Perhaps she had been afraid when she arrived here to find no one awaiting her. Perhaps she had feared that he would not come.
“The child,” she whispered brokenly.
“Hush, Simon will not threaten the child.” Bayard shed his cloak and wrapped it around her, for she was shivering in the cold.
“But Bayard, the child, our child...” Her weeping shook her shoulders again and he swept her into his arms, intending to see her warmed before a fire with all haste. ’Twas clear that she had been out in the cold too long and endured too much in Simon’s custody.
He carried her back toward Argent, settling her carefully in the saddle before himself. “The child will be well, for you will be well. I shall ensure that you are both warm and hale in no time at all.” He gave her a quick squeeze as he touched his heels to Argent’s side.
But Esmeraude took a shuddering breath. “But Bayard, I am losing our child. ’Tis too late.”
Bayard met her gaze, incredulous, and she lifted her chemise so that he could see the blood upon her thighs. “I fell, I fell hard when I fled from the house,” she confessed unevenly. Her tears fell with greater speed. “I wanted only to hasten to you, I wanted to be free of him for the sake of the child. I knew I would have no other chance. But Bayard, oh Bayard, this is too high a price.”
She fell against his chest, weeping as if her heart were breaking, and he held her fast as they rode through the shadowy forest. He had a question, one that had to be asked but not when she was so distraught as this. Indeed, its portent might ease her sense of guilt.
When his lady’s tears slowed, Bayard bent down to whisper to her. “Esmeraude, it has not been so long since we first lay together. Are you certain you were with child? This might be your courses, no more than that.”
“But Jacqueline said that she knew I was with child!”
He shook his head. “She might have been wrong, Esmeraude.”
The lady’s lips set mutinously. “Do not tell me that ’tis not logical to know such a thing so soon.”
Bayard smiled slightly. “Nay, I would not say as much. Who is to know what a m
other knows and when she knows it? I would merely have you think upon the matter. Jacqueline might have been wrong, and thus you would have no reason to blame yourself. Or she might have been right, but there was aught amiss with the babe. This might have happened, whether you had fallen or not.” He took a deep breath and held her hopeful gaze. “My own mother brought a dead child into the world before myself. I suspect she would tell you that ’tis far easier for all if the babe is lost sooner rather than later.”
“I would still mourn the babe.”
“Of course. And I would still have you know that Simon was wrong.”
“In capturing me?”
“In claiming that I pursued you only for the child. I pursued you and you alone Esmeraude.” He looked down into her eyes. “Do not for a moment believe otherwise.”
And marvel of marvels, his lady smiled. “I know. I love you, Bayard, and I knew that you would come for me.”
He kissed her then, for he could not make an answering pledge. Not yet. Nay, Bayard still believed that words alone offered precious little consolation. ’Twas a man’s deeds that spoke the truth of his convictions, and Bayard’s declaration would be emphasized by his deed.
Which meant that his pledge must be made at Ceinn-beithe, before the witness of all and after he had confessed all of the truth to his lady. ’Twas only there that he could dispel any doubts that lingered in his lady’s heart and ensure that no shadow ever touched their match.
Aye, ’twas not a course without risk. Bayard would offer Esmeraude naught but himself and he could only pray that ’twould be enough.
* * *
’Twas nigh a week later that they reached Ceinn-beithe. Though Bayard had been gracious and attentive to her every whim, Esmeraude knew that all was not right between them. He did not come to her bed, he did not even steal kisses from her. ’Twas as if he thought her uncommonly fragile, but even when she teased him that she was hale again, he kept a measure of distance between them.
Bayard did not confess to any tender feelings for her, even after she pledged her own love again, which surprised Esmeraude. All in the company seemed to assume that they were as good as betrothed, save the knight himself.
’Twas clear that her loss of their child had wrought the change in him. In her darker moments, Esmeraude feared that Jacqueline had told Bayard of the babe and, despite his insistence otherwise, that child had been the sole reason for his retrieval of her. He had told her from the outset that he was a man who guarded what was his own.
Did he not consider her to be his own any longer? Esmeraude ached to know the truth and was astounded by how little difference the answer might make to her own feelings. She loved him and would never love another, regardless of whether her love was returned.
’Twas a terrifying realization.
Did Bayard think her unfit to be his bride now? Did he think her unable to bear him sons, and thus an illogical choice of bride? Esmeraude could not guess. She tried to prompt some sign of affection from him but though he returned what kisses she began, he did not pursue her. She confessed her love for him, though was confused when he only smiled sadly and touched her cheek.
Aye, some change had been wrought in the man she loved and Esmeraude was vexed that she could not name it.
She was more vexed that she apparently could not change it.
There was a great assembly waiting at Ceinn-beithe for them, and much merriment resulted from her safe return. A fine meal had been prepared and ale ran bountifully in the hall. Mhairi and Finlay held hands tightly; the other competitors for Mhairi’s hand had returned to France after his victory.
Esmeraude felt her mother’s keen gaze upon her as she congratulated her half-sister, but she had no wish to confess the doubts in her heart.
Célie gave Esmeraude a hug so tight that she nigh broke her bones, then touched her charge’s cheek. “What is amiss?” she whispered.
Esmeraude shook her head tiredly. “I have merely had more than my share of adventure, Célie.”
The maid frowned in concern, but Esmeraude summoned a smile and turned as she was called to the dais.
If Bayard no longer desired her, she did not know what she would do. Aye, the world seemed a dark and dreary place at the prospect of being without Bayard. She realized only now that the married life she had dreaded, one with daily duties such as Jacqueline’s, would be most wondrous with a knight like Bayard in her bed each night. No wonder Jacqueline’s cheeks were always flushed.
If only she might be so fortunate.
As if he had heard her thoughts, Bayard appeared at her elbow to escort her to her seat. His touch was cool and impersonal and Esmeraude watched him with uncertainty. “Do you not sit with me?” she asked softly when he stepped away, knowing the gazes of all were upon them.
“Not yet.”
Bayard melted away into the crowd, leaving Esmeraude feeling alone. She thought to pursue him and demand an explanation for his odd behavior, but Duncan rose in that moment and called for silence.
“Some weeks back, we gathered here for a Bride Quest,” he reminded them all, then turned to smile at Esmeraude. “Though the bride in question departed upon a quest of her own. Indeed, Esmeraude was the cause of an adventure which will make a fine tale of the ilk she so favors.”
The company laughed, then Duncan lifted his cup of ale. He beamed at the couple with their hands yet entwined. “I am delighted to announce the betrothal of my daughter Mhairi and Finlay MacCormac, a match which has been made in the interim and one with which I am most heartily pleased. May you both live long and be happy together.” The company applauded, then drank to the health of Mhairi and Finlay.
“And now, the moment we have all awaited is finally upon us, when the quest we gathered to witness comes to a conclusion.” Duncan turned and winked at Esmeraude. “Esmeraude, have you chosen which man has won your hand?”
Esmeraude stood, her mouth uncommonly dry, though she knew full well what she wanted. Perhaps a confession before all would convince Bayard that she was the one for him.
Perhaps there was naught else she could do at this point. “Aye, I have chosen. Indeed, my heart knew him from the very first, though I long neglected its counsel.” There was a smattering of laughter at this, for her stubborn nature was well known. “I choose Bayard de Villonne, for I love him as never I thought I might love a man.”
The company broke into cheers, and the other knights turned without surprise to offer their congratulations to Bayard. His aged grandmother thumped her cane with vigor, but Bayard did not smile. He stepped forward, lifting up one hand for silence, as he held Esmeraude’s gaze.
“The lady does not know all of the truth,” he said firmly. “And ’tis only logical that such a great choice as this, one that will shape all of a woman’s life, should be made with knowledge of all of the facts.”
Esmeraude frowned.
Bayard turned to the murmuring company. “The truth is that I lied to this lady.”
The assembly gasped as one and craned their necks to miss no detail. Esmeraude found herself gripping the board, her knuckles turning white. Her mother reached over and placed a hand upon her shoulder. Esmeraude feared that she would be ill.
Bayard could not have lied! Not this knight who placed so much value on honor and duty!
“’Tis true enough,” he asserted as if she had protested audibly. “Esmeraude made it most clear to me that she did not wish to be wed for Ceinn-beithe, or indeed for any holding, but for her own self. This is as is right and good. I have no desire to govern Ceinn-beithe and I told her as much, but here, Esmeraude, here is my lie. I did seek your hand to win a holding. I came upon this Bride Quest because my grandmother pledged to surrender Montvieux to me if I won you.”
Bayard heaved a sigh even as Esmeraude’s heart hardened into a tight knot. “I had thought that this rich prize would make a fine holding to pledge to the service of my liege lord, King Richard. He is determined to possess it for his own, to thwart the ambit
ions of his rival, the King of France. I thought myself the only knight in our family capable of defending Montvieux and believed possessing it myself the sole solution. Truly I thought little of cheating my cousin of his due, and even less of the woman I would wed to gain Montvieux. ’Twas not a noble objective.” Bayard held her gaze steadily, leaving Esmeraude no chance of doubting that he now told her the truth.
His family exchanged glances of dismay behind him.
“But Montvieux is my inheritance!” Nicholas protested.
“And its lord my choice!” Rowan, Nicholas’ father, glared at Margaux. “You have already granted the seal to me. You have no right to grant it to another.”
“And I can rescind my gift, if I so desire,” Margaux argued. “You are not my blood, Rowan, and we all know this well. Only Burke is the child of my own womb and only his sons carry the blood of Montvieux in their veins. Though Burke may have spurned what I could have offered him, though he abandoned his rightful legacy, I knew that Bayard would not be such a fool. I knew that Bayard was wrought of the same fortitude as my own father. I knew that he alone should rule Montvieux.”
The company whispered at this development. Margaux stood with an effort, bracing her weight upon the cane, and offered a small sack to Bayard. “’Tis the seal of Montvieux and your own rightful due.”
To Esmeraude’s dismay, Bayard crossed the floor and took the small sack. He opened it and turned the ornate seal in his hand. Surely he did not mean to do this thing?
Then Bayard smiled and shook his head as he dropped it back into the sack. “You are wrong, Margaux,” he said softly. “’Tis not my rightful due, though there was a time when I believed that as much as you.” He turned and tossed the small sack toward Nicholas, who snatched it out of the air even in his surprise. “’Tis yours, Nicholas. Guard our legacy well. Know that if you have need of me, against any foe at your gates, you have but to summon me.”
Nicholas turned the seal in his hand. “You would fight even your liege lord?”
“Aye, for blood is thickest.” Bayard held his cousin’s gaze steadily as Esmeraude watched, then a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “And I shall tell him so with all haste, you may be certain of it.”
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