“This time, my lady,” Jordan murmured as Alienor passed him, but she refused to meet his gaze. “But should you grow tired of coupling with a goat, I should be glad to teach you the ways of men.”
That last comment earned him a glance that would have pierced armor but he only chuckled, then raised one hand as Alienor gained the stairs.
“Sleep well, my lady,” he called after her, feigning his drunkenness again as he raised his voice above the clamor of the hall. Alienor’s cheeks burned with humiliation. “Until the morrow.”
With such a prospect as that, Alienor could almost wish that the morrow might never dawn at all. Hateful man! Why was his presence suffered in her husband’s hall?
“I like it not,” Eustache muttered as he mounted the stairs alongside Dagobert.
The younger man smiled to himself in the darkness at this expected argument.
“’Tis not worth the risk with so many strangers in the keep,” Eustache continued.
“There is little enough that you find worthy of risk,” Dagobert replied quietly, granting his friend an assessing look. “Perhaps I should find you a bride to show you the way of things.”
Eustache snorted with indignation, but his lips curved into a reluctant grin. “Should she muddle my thoughts as much as this one does yours, I am better without,” he replied and Dagobert sobered slightly at the truth of it. “I am unconvinced as yet that she is not at the root of our troubles this hour...”
Dagobert silenced him with one raised hand. “I will hear no more of it.”
“Hear no more of it if you will,” Eustache replied as they entered the antechamber. His voice dropped to a mere whisper. “But think upon it, ere you face yet another surprise.”
With that and a grunt of approval for his own wisdom, he dropped to the floor, sitting with his back to the wall. He drew his blanket around himself then fixed the younger man with a knowing eye.
Those words launched a chill around Dagobert’s heart as his doubts blossomed anew. He stood for a moment, reviewing his conviction in her innocence.
Eustache jerked his head toward the inner door impatiently. “On with you, then,” he said gruffly. “You know well that I have always been inclined to be suspicious, but I would have some semblance of rest this night.”
Dagobert suspected that would be the full extent of any concession he might hear from Eustache. Perhaps ’twas enough to know that this man who saw shadows lurking at every turn was not entirely sure of Alienor’s guilt either, regardless of the uproar in their plans since her arrival at Montsalvat.
The door swung silently inward when he pressed it with his fingertips. He surveyed the chamber with satisfaction, the glowing embers of the fire in the brazier, the seat on the window ledge where one could look out over the hills in daylight. It was a haven, and doubly so when his lady awaited him there.
The bed curtains were drawn against the coolness still clinging to the spring nights. The soft sound of Alienor’s breathing prompted Dagobert’s smile. He enticed the goat with a morsel of food and the beast came to him. If only he could openly retire and awaken in these rooms; if only he could be done with subterfuge once and for all. It was both a simple hope and a complicated dream.
It was a wish that chilled him with its implications. Surely the execution of their plan would be complete within a year. Should he not regain his rightful heritage in twelve months’ time, he undoubtedly would die in the attempt. The reality of his situation filled him with dread for the future of the woman who would become his widow.
What bargain had Alienor unwittingly made with him, even now unaware that she might spend her life on the run, with or without his babe? But there could be no turning back at this late date and Dagobert sighed, feeling anew the dissatisfaction with his lot that seemed lodged so firmly in his heart of late.
He shed his garb and slipped between the bed linens, then pulled the dozing Alienor into his embrace. Her skin smelled of the sweet warmth of sleep and sandalwood; her lips were soft and tasted faintly of wine. She sighed with contentment as she became aware of him and reached to wind her arms around his neck. Dagobert’s heart melted at the flurry of kisses she pressed gently against his throat and jaw.
“However did you know?” she murmured, her breath a sweet caress against his ear, and Dagobert’s heart leapt in panic at the import of her words. “I had no chance to speak to you before I fell asleep.” This last sent his thoughts into a whirl, but he kissed her neck as he sought some plausible excuse.
“I will always know your secret heart, my lady.” He felt the explanation was thin even as he whispered the words, but she laughed under her breath and pulled him ever closer.
“That indeed must be the way of it, my lord,” she agreed.
Dagobert claimed her lips with a triumphant surge of passion, amazed that he had once again managed to leap some invisible hurdle that his alluring wife had set.
Perhaps in her presence, only good fortune could find him.
Dagobert chose to believe ’twas and ’twould always be so.
Jordan watched the keep of Montsalvat from the window of his room over the stables. He ensured that he remained in the shadows so that no one might note his presence. He had learned little in the hall, and had heard naught to confirm the persistent rumors repeated elsewhere that the old line of monarchs rose again from this remote fortress to challenge the king. Jordan de Soissons was a patient man. Some sixth sense told him that the confirmation of his suspicions would come all in good time and he was more than content to wait in the Pyrenees.
He was intrigued that the old countess was so openly hostile to his arrival. He knew that she had not been convinced by his explanation. A sentry walked the curtain wall and Jordan watched the man’s progress, making note of the high level of vigilance. Given Montsalvat’s extreme distance from any other settlement in these parts and the fact that only one fairly arduous road approached its gate, that seemed excessive—which was interesting in itself.
For years, there had been rumors of the Cathars’ gold and jewels hidden somewhere in Languedoc. Did Montsalvat’s treasury house those precious valuables? Was that the reason for the close guard? Even though they had served meat at the board, Jordan had noticed that there were precious few children among the company. His quick peek into the chapel had revealed that no crucifix hung over the altar, as was the Cathar way.
Was Montsalvat merely a last bastion of the Cathar sect, determined to defend itself against the almost certain onslaught of crusaders come summer? If so, there could be naught behind the rumors of the lost king returning and Jordan was wasting his time. Without a doubt, the Cathars were virtually extinct already, expedited along their path to meet the Maker by the fervent response to the pope’s call to exterminate these heretics. Already the battle was lost as Jordan and anyone else with a wit of sense knew, and a season or two more of crusading was certain to eliminate the last of the heretics.
Could the rise of the rumors of old kings and the crusade against the Cathars be interrelated somehow? Jordan marveled that the notion had not occurred to him before. For almost thirty years, the crusading knights had ridden into Languedoc, slaughtering all who came across their path, be they faithful or heretic.
And to what purpose? Already the sole issue of Raimon de Toulouse had been forced to wed the king’s own brother. Already the lands that should pass to that daughter were forfeit to the crown should she die without issue herself. It would take a greater fool than Jordan to miss the inevitable conclusion that the king’s brother would be amply rewarded should his wife prove barren. Jordan knew of his own experience how these matters were contrived.
’Twas almost as if the pope and king sought to exterminate someone whom they knew to be in these parts, someone whose identity or location none had been able to pin down. Why else these decades of senseless killing?
Jordan knew all the old stories of the stewards of the royal line stealing away the power of the throne, killing their lords tha
t they might wield the scepter themselves. As a child left to the resources of the monastery, he had read the romances that insisted the original line survived, fired by the hope of regaining their legacy.
Old stories they were; no more, no less. Romantic tales of fantastic quests and spiritual riddles that had haunted the dreams of a young boy abandoned by his family. That young boy had grown to a young man, one who had earned his spurs not through his heritage or the goodwill of his family, but solely through his own hard work and perseverance in the face of adversity. That boy had become a man determined to defend himself alone, even at the cost of another. He knew better than to rely on anyone else.
They were just foolish stories. Jordan almost lifted his hand to brush the memory of them away. He had no time for such flights of fancy these days, but he also had no tolerance for those who would use such tales for their own advantage. ’Twas a travesty he found particularly repugnant, perhaps because he, despite the hardship of his own life, could still feel the magical allure of those tales.
Only a simpleton would have failed to note the seething hostility against the presence of the king’s knights in this region, and Jordan was no simpleton. The quartering of his men and especially himself over the stables and not within the keep was in itself a definite snub, despite the countess’s polite assurance that these chambers were the only ones available at present.
Something was afoot at Montsalvat. Jordan could practically smell it in the air. Perhaps the Cathars used the old tale of lost kings as a means of concealing their true intent. His lip curled, something deep within him despising the very idea that anyone could twist such a magical tale to support his own grab for power and glory.
He folded his arms across his chest, recalling the Lady Alienor’s insistence that he was not drunk. Which naturally he was not, but her perception of that and resulting indignation were intriguing. Had she not warned the hall of his true state with her open challenge, as if she wanted to ensure that no one was fooled?
As that had been precisely his intent, Jordan had been torn between annoyance and a grudging admiration for the lady’s wits. ’Twas not soon after she left the hall that he became aware of the knight Eustache’s attention fixed on him, and that skeptical vigil had not wavered until Jordan retired to his room.
To be truthful, ’twas the lady who made Jordan reluctant to leave Montsalvat. She possessed a quickness of wit, the like of which he had seldom seen in a woman, and the exploration was definitely worth a few days’ wait. Her features were unusual, to be sure, her ancestry undoubtedly one of mixed blood. He found her tilted amber eyes oddly compelling and intriguing, as exotic as some foreign fruit that he longed to sample.
Yet she was wed to a goat without complaint. Surely that was beyond belief in itself. A unicorn they called it, as if such a beast truly existed. ’Twas but another foolish tale. ’Twas plain enough to anyone who ever tended livestock that this creature was merely a single-horned goat, though whether the other horn was missing by accident or design was impossible to tell.
A goat that changed to a man in the fullness of the night. Truly, they thought him no better than a drooling idiot to trust in such nonsense. A goat that satisfied a lovely woman’s carnal desires, indeed. Jordan heartily doubted as much. Indeed, Alienor might yet be a virgin. He savored for a moment a fantasy of taking her, his daydreams halted by an inability to picture her hair. Assuredly ’twas dark, but fine and straight, or thick and wavy, he could not decide.
But to what purpose did they tell the tale of the unicorn? ’Twas clear the countess had a son and Jordan shrewdly wondered what the man had to hide. Perhaps he was dead and the countess did not want to face any threat of the lands becoming forfeit.
Or perhaps the Count of Pereille believed he had a legitimate claim to the throne. Presumably a more legitimate claim than the king currently enthroned there. Perhaps he merely wanted the throne and was prepared to use any means to attain it.
Perhaps Jordan’s arrival had been anticipated.
He shook his head, dismissing his musings as too farfetched, but an unshakable vestige of doubt remained.
A light bobbed in the keep, visible first here, then there, the moving light attracting Jordan’s gaze as someone climbed the stairs to the solar. Who moved about so late when all were long asleep? Who carried a torch so openly in the darkness of the hour? Jordan pursed his lips as he tracked the light, making careful note of the last window where it was visible before the flame disappeared. Nodding silently to himself, he turned to his straw pallet.
Nay, matters were not as they appeared at Montsalvat.
Chapter 5
Alienor lay back and closed her eyes, listening to the faint calls of the birds while she caught her breath. ’Twas no coincidence that she had been ill again this day, she was sure, and she forced herself to face the truth.
She had not bled since her nuptials and ’twas the third morning in a row she had been ill. Her stomach was even more temperamental than usual regarding food. Her emotions twisted and turned with an unpredictability that made her own head spin. Her tears seemed always close to the surface, which was not typical of her nature. True to her promise to Iolande, she had not interfered with conception, and it seemed that Dagobert’s seed had taken root.
Without a doubt, Alienor was pregnant.
She gazed out the window at the clear blue sky, her heart filled with conflicting emotions. Much as she adhered to the tenet of her faith, disliking the fact that another soul had been trapped in flesh, Alienor could not suppress a thrill of pride that she bore Dagobert’s child. She was pleased that her lord husband would have an heir so soon after their nuptials, and that they together had created a child who would live and thrive beyond their own days. ’Twas beautiful and she could not honestly deny her own satisfaction in that.
It took only a moment for her thoughts to turn to the worst, and she recalled her suspicion that Dagobert desired her only to provide a continuation of his lineage. It could not be denied that he still avoided speaking with her at night. In truth, she knew that he had uttered less than a score of words in her presence since their nuptials, and that did not bode well of the possibility of his having any true regard for her.
Would he cease to come to her bed now that she was with child? The thought sent a chill through her and she knew ’twas not a remote possibility. She shook her head, knowing that she would feel completely abandoned in this household without Dagobert’s nightly caress. Physical intimacy was less than she desired of marriage, but it was better than naught at all.
Alienor resolved that she would not tell him of her pregnancy. Did he not prefer that they loved silently? ’Twould be a fitting response for her to decline to share this news. The truth of her condition would be clear to all soon enough, and she would claim every night possible until that inevitable day.
She would not consider five or six months of her own company.
Filled with a new resolve, Alienor rose to wash and dress. Her determination abandoned her, though, when a frightening prospect came into her thoughts.
Would the child share his father’s curse? Shape-shifter or not, would he be forced to hide within his own abode for all his days?
Alienor could not bear to think of a child so restrained. Perhaps the prefects taught aright and there was only pain for those condemned to take flesh.
Perhaps there was less joy in the conception of a child than she hoped.
“Rise, gentlemen. Rise!”
Jordan’s drunken salute greeted Alienor as she descended to the hall that evening. She was not surprised to find his bright gaze fixed upon her. Truly, she repeated her error of the day before. She had awakened from her afternoon nap late this day, and saw that many had already left the hall. Those who remained were clearly well into their cups.
There was naught for it. She could not retreat. She had to eat for the babe and ’twould be churlish to force Giselle to carry her meal upstairs. If only this Jordan had taken his leave, �
�twould have been much easier to bear the boisterous mood of the late evening hall.
With a bow, Jordan lifted his chalice to her, a mocking smile on his lips. As he beckoned for the few other men assembled in the hall to join him, Alienor’s heart sank. It seemed he would not abandon her easily this night.
“A true flower graces us with her very presence,” he said, his voice loud enough to carry over the company.
Alienor felt hot color rise in her face when they fell silent. Had she not been the very center of attention, she might have turned back to her chamber, regardless of what the others might think of her manners.
Giselle hissed something uncomplimentary under her breath behind her and Alienor restrained herself from agreeing with her maid. ’Twas clear the man was a menace to polite society and most in the keep would cheer when he finally took his leave.
That day could not arrive soon enough for Alienor.
Perhaps she could encourage his departure.
“I drink to your health and beauty, my lady Alienor,” Jordan said.
Alienor frowned at his impropriety even as he drained his goblet. She was no maid seeking a match or a tumble, but a married woman rounding with child.
And wife of Jordan’s noble host, as well.
‘Twas outrageous. She surveyed the hall in hope of assistance, but none looked inclined to come to her aid. Of course, most of the remaining men were of Jordan’s own retinue. How much did these men drink here at the keep? She calculated the cost of their visit and realized how long they had been in residence. One would think a simple tally of the household could not take so long.
“Your comments are most inappropriate, sir,” she said to Jordan. Her words were lost in the roar of agreement that rose from the king’s knights as they lifted their chalices to join the salute.
“Not so inappropriate as my thoughts,” Jordan jested. His wink made his men laugh uproariously. Alienor realized then that Iolande was absent, as was Eustache and even Alaric. ’Twas abundantly clear that she was on her own in defending her virtue this night.
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