The assembly cheered and some of the tension eased from Esmeraude. Margaux looked sorely displeased, but she tightened her lips and glared at Nicholas. “It seems I shall have to make aught of you, after all,” she muttered. Esmeraude did not envy Nicholas his grandmother’s tutelage, for she seemed a formidable old crone.
She cared naught for that, though. She looked at Bayard, her pulse fluttering in expectation. “Why do you refuse Montvieux now when I have chosen you?” she asked, needing to hear the truth.
Bayard eyed her steadily. “Because I have learned much these past weeks, and I have learned it from you.” He fell silent though, just before he told Esmeraude what she most wanted to hear.
Duncan cleared his throat. “Ceinn-beithe comes to you, if you accept Esmeraude’s hand.”
Bayard shook his head. “Nay, for that, too, would mean that I wed my lady for my own gain.” A smile touched his lips. “I would suggest, with respect, that your own daughter Mhairi and her betrothed would administer this holding quite well.”
“Aye!” Finlay cried in such delight that the assembly laughed. He reddened. “I long thought that ’twas Mhairi who should inherit,” he said gruffly. “For she is the child of you and Eglantine and thus a true heiress of Ceinn-beithe.”
“So she is,” Duncan agreed amiably. He glanced to Eglantine, who nodded firmly. “And so it shall be her dowry.”
The assembly cheered again, but Bayard walked toward Esmeraude. His eyes were vividly blue, his expression somber. “And so you see, Esmeraude, there is naught binding between us, naught that one might gain in the wedding of the other. There is no child to compel me to wed you with honor, nor to force you to accept me for that child’s sake. There is no property to pass upon our pledges to each other, no gain for either of us.”
He smiled slightly. “And thus, there can be no doubts between us. I hope that you truly desire what you claimed you did. I would wed you, and that for yourself alone, though I have naught to offer to you in return but myself alone.”
Esmeraude’s heart was in her throat. “Why?” she whispered.
Bayard smiled and opened his arms to her. “Because I love you, with all my heart and soul. What better reason could a man have to pledge himself to a woman for all time?”
“None!” Esmeraude leapt over the board and ran to him, laughing as he caught her close and swung her high. He kissed her soundly, even as the company shouted encouragement.
She touched his throat as toasts were made, oblivious to all but Bayard, and felt the thunder of his heart beneath her fingertips. “You feared I would refuse,” she whispered in wonderment.
Bayard shrugged, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “I did not know what you would do, though I hoped for the best. You are somewhat unpredictable, my Esmeraude, though that is part of why I love you so.”
“I shall never tire of hearing you tell me that,” she whispered and Bayard laughed as he caught her closer.
“I shall endeavor to tell you often.” Then he sobered. “But Esmeraude, our life may well be the adventure you say you crave. I must ride to meet the king and hope that he will grant me a holding despite my not delivering the holding he sought. Or I can joust in the tourneys and win what I can. We shall find a way.” His embrace tightened. “And we shall have children, as many as you desire, upon that you can rely.”
Esmeraude smiled at him, well content with what she had won. “We shall have each other, Bayard, and that is enough for me.”
The pair kissed with enthusiasm, much to the delight of all, and such was the commotion in the hall that Amaury had difficulties winning silence in the hall.
“I have a wedding gift to offer!” he finally shouted. He lifted a cup in salute to his brother and Esmeraude. “I drink to the health of my brother and his bride, and heartily anticipate repairing the loss of five years apart.”
“Hear, hear!” Bayard cried.
“Hear this,” Amaury retorted. “Villonne is not rightfully mine, as I am the younger brother of we two. Bayard should be heir and he was heir until he departed our gates five years past. In honor of this day and this betrothal, I relinquish his gift to me and return the legacy of Villonne to his hand.”
“But what will you do?” Bayard demanded, his astonishment obvious.
Amaury grinned. “I will ride out to seek my fortune, just as you did. You speak aright, Bayard, for I have lived too sheltered a life. I look upon you and catch a glimpse of all that I might see and all that I might learn. With Father’s blessing, I will seek to learn of the world and its ways.”
Burke nodded approval and chatter broke out on all sides. The ale was poured anew and the meat was brought, more than one cup raised to the two newly betrothed couples. Esmeraude had never been so happy, though there was one thing that would make this marvelous day complete.
She stood after the meal and clapped to win the attention of all. “I have one request this day for there is one deed which must be done to make all come aright in the end.” She gestured to Bayard who smiled indulgently. “I would have my betrothed finish the tale he began in his quest to win my hand.”
Bayard kissed her fingertips and rose in turn. “My lady’s desire is as mine own,” he declared, then gave her hand a squeeze. He took to the floor and sang again the ballad of Tristran and Iseut. He sang long into the night and Esmeraude was not the only one who wept at how close those lovers came to a reunion in the end.
There was not a dry eye in the hall when Bayard ended the tale by turning to Esmeraude and singing a tribute to the power of love.
* * *
And even as Bayard sang, far away at Airdfinnan, the vine grew again with enthusiasm over the walls of the keep. It spread all that afternoon and into the evening, the lord keeping a vigilant eye upon it. The fog had cleared days past and ’twas a relief to Angus that he could look over the distance again.
’Twas no relief to him that this cursed vine grew once more.
Jacqueline joined him, their newest son in her arms, as the sun sank in orange glory in the west. The light gilded the fierce thorns of the vine even as its progress suddenly halted.
Angus stared, unable to believe that the growth of the plant had halted. But it grew no more, not so much as the breadth of his thumb. He breathed a sigh of relief.
And then, as they stood there, the vine burst into blossom.
Great red flowers appeared over its entire length, a perfume of unspeakable sweetness flooded the air. Jacqueline took a deep breath of the scent, then cuddled beneath the weight of her husband’s arm. Ewen stirred, then dozed anew against his mother’s breast, contented for the moment.
Angus stared at the vine, unable to explain its flowering.
“Bayard loves her and he has told her as much,” Jacqueline asserted with the same quiet assurance his mother had had in such oddities and their reasons.
“You cannot know as much.”
“Aye. I can.” Jacqueline smiled up at him. “Because I do.”
Angus wryly surveyed the way the vine had stopped just short of the gate, then shrugged. “If his courtship is won, then he will halt his singing at least.”
Jacqueline laughed and leaned her head upon his shoulder. “You are happier about this than you would reveal,” she chided. “’Tis perfect, Angus, and I am so glad that Esmeraude is destined to be as happy as we.”
The lord of Airdfinnan looked down at his wife’s merry smile and found his own lips curving in response. She was right. He was glad that Esmeraude would be happy and that Bayard had won her hand. He bent and kissed Jacqueline, without regard for the sleeping babe and the sentries so close upon the wall.
“I suppose,” he mused when he finally lifted his head, “the vine is not such a bad addition to our defenses.”
And this time, ’twas Jacqueline who stretched up to kiss him.
Epilogue
’Twas a year after the thorned vine first bloomed that seed pods appeared upon it.
Those blood-red blossoms had en
dured all that spring and people had come from far and wide to look upon the marvel of Airdfinnan’s walls. The enchanted vine itself grew no more, much to Angus’ relief. It cloaked the great walls as if ’twere armor and made it impossible to surmount those walls without suffering a dire wound.
After Esmeraude and Bayard’s nuptials, and after the pair had paused at Airdfinnan en route to France, both flowers and leaves had fallen of one accord. The vine gleamed silver through all the autumn and the winter, as if it had been wrought of pewter.
Jacqueline had thought ’twould change no more, for Esmeraude and Bayard were in France, at Villonne, and almost certainly too far away to affect the plant with their love. And truly, Bayard had his lady’s love securely within his grip, as she and Angus had witnessed, so the matter was resolved.
Yet the following spring, instead of leaves or flowers, the vine sprouted pods not unlike those of peas. It proved Jacqueline’s expectations wrong and again prompted both speculation in the hall and discontent from Angus. He professed to fear a thousand such vines taking root in his bailey, and swore to see it torn from the walls.
Jacqueline advised him to wait. She had a feeling that there was some detail which would make the vine’s behavior clear.
And so there was. At midsummer, when the pods hung black and leathery from the vine, Jacqueline received a missive from Villonne. She smiled at the news of the arrival of Esmeraude’s first son and knew instinctively what she had to do.
She plucked one fat pod from the vine and as soon as she had done so, the others shriveled to naught. But it did not matter. Jacqueline rolled the pod into the letter she had written, then summoned Rodney to deliver it to the south.
Aye, this vine had made more than one change. Though he muttered mightily about fulfilling the whims of women, Rodney was more than pleased to ride for Esmeraude’s household.
Jacqueline had no doubt that he had a visit to make there of his own.
* * *
’Twas September and in the midst of Villonne’s harvest when Rodney appeared at Villonne’s gates. Célie chided him mightily for some transgression, then filled his ear with nonsense about the splendor of Esmeraude’s son before the man could have so much as a cup of ale.
Esmeraude climbed to the solar with the precious gift of Jacqueline’s missive. She ran a hand across the elegant handwriting, knowing she would savor every morsel of news within it. Then she touched the dry pod enclosed in the rolled letter, guessing full well what plant ’twas from. The pod sprang open at her slight touch, revealing a row of seeds, each the size of the end of Bayard’s thumb.
Esmeraude rose from her seat and leaned out the window of Villonne’s tower. Below her stretched the extensive kitchen and apothecary gardens, though she knew that no gardener here had ever known the ilk of this plant.
She closed her eyes and flung the seeds out the window, willing them to fall into good soil and prosper. Esmeraude made a fervent wish that not only her own children but every soul who had the fortune to see the vines that resulted should win their own heart’s desire and should be as happy and as blessed as she. She wondered whether plants would grow immediately or whether they would lie dormant in the soil until a man courted his lover true.
Until her son courted whichever lady stole his heart away.
Esmeraude smiled at the thought of little Burke being so grown as to seek a bride. She turned at the sound of her son’s cry and spied Bayard carrying the babe to her. No doubt Célie was occupied with Rodney.
Unaware that she watched, Bayard mimicked the way his son’s lips worked in anticipation of a meal. Esmeraude chuckled at how undignified he looked and he glanced up, then winked for her alone. His very glance could still warm her to her toes and Esmeraude hoped ’twould always be thus between them.
But how else might matters be? Her knight was known to be uncommonly fortunate, after all, and Esmeraude it seemed had become a part of that luck when she had won his heart for her own.
A woman of sense could have no complaint with that.
* * * * * * * * *
Author’s Note
There are many versions of the story of Tristan and Iseult—here spelled Tristran and Iseut—each of which has its characteristic elements. I have chosen to use Béroul as a source for Bayard’s song, as Béroul is believed to have written his version in the late twelfth century and thus would be contemporary with this story. Béroul’s version is considered to be an example of the ‘primitive’ strain of the story, and thus more closely echoing its probable original Celtic roots. I have also echoed Béroul’s verse structure of octosyllabic couplets in my composition—as a favored format for romances in Old French, it gives a period flavor even in modern English.
Sadly, only a fragment of Béroul’s work is preserved, and that in a thirteenth-century manuscript with many apparent errors on the part of the copyist. Some 4,400 lines of Béroul’s poem survive, but beginning only with King Mark eavesdropping on the lovers and ending with the death of the villains. For the remainder of the story recounted here, I have consulted the retelling of Tristan and Iseult by Joseph Bédier, translated by Hilaire Belloc and completed by Paul Rosenfeld for Pantheon Books in 1945.
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The Beauty Bride
The Beauty Bride
Book 1 in The Jewels of Kinfairlie series
More cherished than gold are the Jewels of Kinfairlie, and only the worthiest may fight for their love... The Laird of Kinfairlie has unmarried sisters, each a gem in her own right. And he has no choice but to see them all wed in haste.
Lady Madeline’s heart is not for sale... especially not to a notorious outlaw like Rhys FitzHenry. Yet Madeline’s hand has been sold, to none other than this battle-weary warrior with a price on his head. A more dutiful maiden might cede to the Laird’s command and meekly accept her fate, but Madeline has never been obedient.
She decides to run away, though she never dreams that Rhys will pursue her.
She does not expect this taciturn man to woo her with fanciful stories, much less that each of his enthralling tales will reveal a scar upon his shielded soul. She never imagines that a man like Rhys could imperil her own heart while revealing so little of his own feelings. When Rhys’ past threatens his future, Madeline takes a leap of faith. She dares to believe him innocent—and risks her own life to pursue a passion more priceless than the rarest gem.
Chapter One
Alexander, newly made Laird of Kinfairlie, glowered at his sister.
There was no immediate effect. In fact, Madeline granted him a charming smile. She was a beautiful woman, dark of hair and blue of eye, her coloring and comeliness so striking that men oft stared at her in awe. She was fiercely clever and charming, as well. All of these traits, along with the score of men anxious to win her hand, only made Madeline’s refusal to wed more irksome.
“You need not look so annoyed, Alexander,” she said, her tone teasing. “My suggestion is wrought of good sense.”
“It is no good sense for a woman of three and twenty summers to remain unwed,” he grumbled. “I cannot imagine what Papa was thinking not to have seen you safely wed a decade ago.”
Madeline’s eyes flashed. “Papa was thinking that I loved James and that I would wed James in time.”
“James is dead,” Alexander retorted, speaking more harshly than was his wont. They had had this argument a dozen times and he tired of his sister’s stubborn refusal to accept the obvious truth. “And dead the better part of a year.”
A shadow touched Madeline’s features and she lifted her chin. “We have no certainty of that.”
“Every man was killed in that assault upon the English at Rougemont—that no man survived to tell the tale does not change the truth of it.” Alexander softened his tone when Madeline glanced away, blinking back her tears. “We both would have preferred that James’ fate had been otherwise, but you must accept that he will not return.”
He was pleased to note how Madeline straightened and how the fire returned to her eyes. If she was spirited enough to argue with him, that could only be a good sign. “Though I appreciate a wound to the heart takes long to heal, you grow no younger, Madeline.”
Madeline arched a brow. “Nor do any of us, brother mine. Why do you not wed first?”
“Because it is not necessary.” Alexander glared at her, again to no avail. He knew that he sounded like a man fifty years older than he was, but he could not help himself — Madeline’s refusal to be biddable was annoying. “I ask only that you wed, that you do so out of regard for your four younger sisters, that they too might wed.”
“I do not halt their nuptials.”
“They will not wed before you and you know it well. So Vivienne and Annelise and Isabella and Elizabeth have all informed me. I try only to do what is best for you, but you are all in league against me!” Alexander flung out his hands then rose to his feet, pacing the chamber in his frustration.
Madeline—curse her!—regarded him with dawning amusement. Trust her to be consoled by teasing him!
“It is no small burden to become laird of the keep,” she noted, the expression in her eyes knowing when he spun to face her. “No less to be burdened with the lot of us. You were much more merry a year ago, Alexander.”
“And no wonder that! This is hell!” he shouted, feeling better for it. “Not a one of you makes this newfound duty any easier for me to bear! I am not mad to demand that you wed! I am trying to assure your future, yet you all defy me at every step!”
Madeline tilted her head, her eyes beginning to sparkle and a smile lifting the corner of her lips. “Can you not imagine that it is a sweet kind of vengeance for all the pranks you have played upon us over the years? How delicious it is to foil you, Alexander, now that you are suddenly stern and proper! Think of all the frogs in my linens and snakes in my slippers for which I can now have vengeance.”
The Bride Quest II Boxed Set Page 102