Dagobert dropped his head to his hands, rubbing his temples with his thumbs. Much as he would contest the point, he feared that Eustache was right. The loss of Anjou’s assistance greatly reduced their chance of success and he suspected from Brabant’s reports that that knight brought fewer blades to the cause than he liked to admit.
’Twas all going awry, this intricately laid plan unraveling before his very eyes. The brutal murder of the goat left no doubt that his identity was suspected by someone who did not sympathize with his cause. There was too much risk in bringing another soul into the circle of conspiracy, let alone confiding in his wife, whose arrival here seemed to coincide remarkably with the start of their bad luck.
As much as he loved Alienor, would he risk his very life to confide in her the truth?
If only he could hold her close once again before he was forced to ride out to war. Even as the thought formed, Dagobert knew ’twas not to be. His very presence in the solar would prove the unicorn fable false. It would prove that he did still draw breath and he could not take the chance. Better that she remain ignorant of these dark doings and perhaps she might escape unscathed.
Such a visit might also reveal his true identity to the killer.
But it was bittersweet indeed to know that he must ride out to what would surely be his last battle, sooner than he had anticipated and without the blessing of his bride.
How he wished they could have parted with truth between them.
How he resented the burden of his legacy, thanks to his beguiling bride.
On the second day that Alienor lay inconsolable in her chambers, Iolande came to visit. The sound of a great dog’s nails on the stone floor betrayed the older woman’s presence even before she spoke. Alienor managed to rise to her feet to greet her mother-in-law. She was weak from her refusal of food, and her eyes were swollen from her tears. She knew her hair hung in tangled disarray around her face but she could not find the strength to care.
“My lady.” She curtseyed before Iolande, well aware she was being studied.
“Tis said you do not eat,” Iolande accused. How like her to spare no time for pleasantries.
Alienor nodded in acknowledgment. “Aye.” She felt herself waver on her feet before Iolande’s fingers gripped her upper arm and steadied her.
“Endura is for cowards,” Iolande whispered in a low hiss.
Alienor’s gaze flew open in shock at the reference to the Cathar practice of elected suicide by fasting. The older woman glared down at her with determination.
“No one would be so fool as to tell you there is no evil in this world, but daring to live is the greater challenge, child,” Iolande continued. Her tone was scathing and her gaze burned with passion. “’Tis only by living that any of us can diminish the power of Rex Mundi.”
Alienor shook her head, stunned to hear such familiar words falling from Iolande’s lips. She was amazed to hear the name of the Dark God himself uttered in this place.
“Cathar,” she said softly, half a question and half not.
Iolande arched one brow, the gesture telling Alienor all she needed to know.
She recalled that Alaric had told her in her first days that she was not alone at Montsalvat.
“I took the consolamentum vows when my husband died.” Iolande confessed to the taking of the final pledge as if it were not remarkable.
The admission, though, filled Alienor with admiration. She nodded, understanding the abrupt loss of love that would prompt a woman to take those final vows of poverty and chastity. Alienor herself had plenty of time to consider making such a vow: the consolamentum required a year of preparation and she could not begin before her babe was born and weaned.
It was evident that Dagobert did not intend to return to her, given her last two lonely nights. Alienor feared for his safety, for the threat against him could not be misinterpreted after the unicorn’s death. It was too late to wish he had taken her with him into hiding, but Alienor wished for that, all the same.
“I did not pursue endura,” she corrected quietly. She glimpsed the flicker of relief in Iolande’s eyes before even that sign of emotion was suppressed.
“Indeed?”
The question hung between the women for a moment before Iolande turned and strode a few paces away. She spoke in a tone that brooked no argument. “Understand that I will not tolerate two deaths under my roof in so short a time.”
At the older woman’s gesture, Alienor sank into one of the chairs beside the brazier, feeling relief flood through her body after the effort of standing. Despite Iolande’s determination, she did not know whether she had the strength to bring this child to light. Without her spouse, the effort seemed meaningless. Alienor sighed and would have closed her eyes, but firm fingers gripped her chin and tipped her face upward, compelling her to meet a steady blue gaze.
“’Tis unseemly for you to wallow in your sorrows so,” Iolande spoke harshly, her tone so lacking in emotion that Alienor almost gasped aloud. Her only son was lost to them all, hunted if not already dead, yet Iolande showed no more emotion than she might for the passing of a stag planned to grace the board this night.
“Truly, I did not think you so cold.” Her discomfort gave her words a bite she would not usually have allowed herself but she had no chance to regret her tone.
For, to her surprise, Iolande smiled.
“Aye, it has long been said that I have no heart at all.” She spoke as if it was a jest, then her eyes narrowed and she studied Alienor. “You have better color now—perhaps I should vex you more.”
Alienor felt an indignant flush flood her cheeks, which only served to give Iolande greater satisfaction. The older woman released her chin and strode to the door, calling for a servant to build up the fire. She sent Giselle to arrange a hot bath and a meal for her mistress.
“You will lie abed no longer,” Iolande informed Alienor.
“I have no reason to rise,” Alienor argued. What meaning had any of this without her husband by her side? Who would rejoice in the birth of her child in this hostile keep?
Annoyance flickered across Iolande’s features at her words and the woman strode back to her side. “You have more sense than this,” the older woman hissed, gripping Alienor’s upper arms and giving her a little shake. “What foolishness fills your thoughts that you think it finer to fade and die rather than welcome the fight and emerge victorious? Do not take the easy choice, child, for I was not alone in expecting more of you.”
Alienor looked up at Iolande with defiance. “There is no victory for a babe born without his sire.” She fairly bit out the words, pleased to see that her admission had stunned Iolande
“A babe?” the older woman breathed in wonder. Alienor nodded, watching Iolande’s lips work for a moment. “The fruit indeed is blessed,” she seemed to whisper, her lips curving into a smile much warmer than any Alienor had glimpsed so far. “When?”
“Before Toussaints.”
“October,” Iolande whispered, her delight clear. “Aye, ’tis a good month for a babe, well before the snows and after the heat of summer.” She made to leave, then turned back, her eyes sparkling as she shook an admonishing finger at Alienor.
“You should have made this confession sooner, for there is much to be done. We will need more goats so that there is ample milk for you, and runners must be sent to the coast for fish. You must eat well in this time!”
“Aye, my lady.” The first glimmer of hope Alienor had felt in days lit in her breast, this tenuous alliance with Iolande giving her courage to fight. “Your approval surprises me,” she dared to comment.
“You would say ’tis unfitting for a Cathar to rejoice in birth?”
Puzzled by her attitude, Alienor nodded. “Aye. We are taught as much.”
“And of your role in this...” Iolande’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Are you ashamed, Alienor?”
Alienor flushed, not yet having come to terms with her part in bringing this child into the world. Had she
not sinned in the eyes of her faith? Her own eyes filled with tears and she was surprised to find the older woman’s hand covering her own with a sympathetic squeeze.
“You are not a parfait, child,” Iolande said with soft conviction. “And your vows lie far ahead, if indeed you ever take them. Consolamentum is for widows, ascetics, those who have tasted the fullness of life’s pleasures and found them wanting.”
“But I have tried to follow the faith,” Alienor objected, seeing Iolande shake her head even through the haze of her tears.
“Do not be so hard on yourself,” she admonished. “There are many amongst the believers who do far less than you do even now. You are young, Alienor.” The two women’s gazes met. “Do not deny yourself a natural pleasure in this child’s arrival. ’Tis a miracle, a triumph of love. Feel no guilt for your part in the deed.”
Alienor took a deep breath and considered Iolande’s words thoughtfully, hoping that the older woman did not tell her nonsense just to ease her heart. She dared to hold Iolande’s intent blue gaze, watching as her mother-in-law arched one brow.
“Make no mistake,” Iolande continued with a smile. “My counsel will change drastically should you bear six more.”
Alienor laughed at the unexpected jest, feeling closer to the countess than she ever had before. Perhaps she and Iolande could raise a warrior straight and true. A shadow of sadness crossed her heart again. There was no way for her to bear six more children with Dagobert gone, and the fear that had plagued her since she became aware of her conception returned to haunt her anew.
“Tell me, child,” Iolande whispered, her voice warm and close.
Alienor could not keep silent. “The fate of the babe concerns me,” she confessed and heard the long release of Iolande’s sigh. “Will my child be forced to hide all of his days?” Out of the corner of her eye she saw the older woman shake her head as if with regret.
“Look at me, Alienor,” Iolande commanded, but Alienor had not the strength to see the confirmation of her fears. “I would have you know that I tell no tales,” she insisted in a firm but quiet voice. Alienor looked up finally, blinking at the sincerity she saw in Iolande’s blue eyes.
“’Tis unhealthy for the babe if you fret for naught. Know that Dagobert’s affliction was a recent one, come upon him when he gained his manhood.” Iolande smiled a little. “Indeed, it was a burden he willingly chose himself. A legacy is one matter, but it was his decision to seek its return.”
“I understand.” Alienor closed her eyes and took a deep breath, feeling the weight of her concern slip from her shoulders. Her child would be able to choose, and that was sufficient to ease her fears.
Truly now she had no more to mourn than the loss of the babe’s sire.
Though that was burden enough, for it was a weight upon her very heart. Would she ever see Dagobert again?
“I would have you renounce your quest.” Iolande’s words rang with quiet conviction in the small darkened room.
Dagobert found his own shock at his mother’s request mirrored in Eustache’s gaze. They three were alone in the chamber and the keep was quiet as others slept.
“Surely ’twas not you, my lady.” Eustache frowned as he implied a connection between the goat’s death and Iolande’s request.
Dagobert winced in anticipation of her reaction and bent his attention upon a hopelessly curled missive. He would not be caught in the resulting battle.
“I?” Iolande straightened to her full height.
Dagobert suspected that Eustache already regretted his hasty words. Indeed, the knight looked more than a little cowed before Iolande’s indignation.
“I do such a thing?” she demanded. “Truly, you have lost your wits for once and for all, Eustache de Sidon, should you believe such nonsense. You know that I abhor the killing of any creature, even to fulfill the duties of the lord’s board. ’Twas the workings of Rex Mundi’s hand you witnessed in the smithy, a calculated display of evil intended to strike fear into those who viewed the carnage.”
Iolande leaned toward Eustache, the light of battle in her eyes.
Dagobert stifled a smile when Eustache flinched.
“I only thought...” that knight managed to say before Iolande interrupted him.
“What do you know of thinking? Naught at all! Should you have the poor judgment to truly believe your accusation, I know that you have no place at my hearth. You are welcome to leave and think such foolery elsewhere.”
Eustache held his hands up in surrender. “Mine were impulsive words, my lady, and sorely regretted ere they left my mouth. I am sorry, my lady.”
Iolande folded her arms across her chest, her anger only slightly appeased by his apology.
Dagobert cleared his throat and drew their attention back to the matter at hand. “Why would you make this request now?” he asked his mother.
Something flickered in her gaze, a glimpse of emotion that was banished quickly, as was her wont. “I had a dream,” she said, but her words did not ring with her usual conviction.
Dagobert knew that this was not the true reason and he suspected Eustache did as well. That man looked at his hands, apparently fighting the urge to challenge Iolande again so quickly.
“It was a vision of your demise.” Iolande’s tone became more confident. “Truly, I would not have you ride to your death when all seems allied against you.”
Dagobert folded his hands together on the well-worn table. He considered his mother’s words for a moment even though he knew ’twas impossible to grant her request at this late date. ’Twas unlike her to show reservations about any plan of action and he wondered what had prompted her demand.
“I appreciate your concern,” he began, but Iolande let him say no more.
“You cannot go!” she said with unexpected passion. Indeed, she extended one hand to him in appeal, a most emotional gesture for his mother.
Dagobert met her gaze with confusion. “What has changed?” he asked quietly.
His mother turned away.
“’Twas the dream,” she insisted.
Dagobert shook his head, determined to get to the root of this despite her apparent unwillingness to confess the truth.
“There was no dream,” he said softly. Even though she glared at him, Iolande did not assert her lie again. She offered no new explanation but merely held his gaze with defiance, but then he recalled what she had said just moments before. “’Twas the murder of the goat that frightened you.”
Iolande looked blank before she nodded slowly in agreement. Had he only succeeded in handing her a new excuse?
“’Twas an evil death,” she agreed. “I would have better for you.”
“There will be no death for my lord and friend in this battle,” Eustache asserted, but all three knew their doubts were shared. So much had gone wrong that their mission seemed doomed before it was fully under way. The chances had always been slender that Dagobert could succeed in his quest or even return unscathed.
“I ask you only to step back from the fray,” Iolande asked again, drawing her son’s gaze to hers.
Dagobert pushed his fingers through his hair and stood up to face his mother. “I do not have that option, and you know it well. I took a vow many years past, a pledge sworn to my sire, and I will not break my word at this late date.”
Son and mother stared at each other for a long moment until Iolande’s lips thinned with displeasure and she turned abruptly away. What was this? She had never endorsed the notion of a man breaking a vow, let alone her own son. She walked to the door, pausing to cast one last glance over her shoulder.
“Your father regretted his folly in the end,” she said, the softness of her tone belying the cruel words.
Dagobert gasped before she turned and strode from the room, leaving her words hanging in the silence behind her.
His father had regretted his path?
Dagobert could not believe it.
It was inconceivable! The man had died, blade in hand. He had
survived his injuries by will alone, and only long enough to extract a vow to continue the quest from his twelve-year-old son. Dagobert vividly recalled the blaze of passion in his father’s eyes and the weight of that man’s conviction. He could yet feel his father’s hand upon his shoulder that he might hold himself upright to hear Dagobert’s vow. The blood had been running from his father’s midriff, but those gray eyes had brimmed with conviction.
Dagobert would never forget swearing that oath to his dying father. He would never forget being granted the weight of that sword, the one borne proudly by his father and his father before him. He would never forget his father dying in his arms, content that the battle would continue without him. In this moment, Dagobert hated Iolande for daring to cast a slight upon the nobility of the man he had nigh worshiped all these years. How could she utter such hateful words?
How dared she challenge his recollection of his sire?
He would not be twisted to some purpose she refused to declare!
A dream. His mother had no dreams and if she did, she would have discounted them.
He had a dream, a dream given to him by his father, and Dagobert would not abandon it, not for any price.
“My lord, I would counsel...” Eustache began, but Dagobert silenced him with a single glance.
“I will hear no more of it,” he said with uncharacteristic sharpness. “We ride to Paris in one week to meet Brabant, whether the king’s knights linger at Montsalvat or not.”
Chapter 6
“That will be all, Giselle,” Alienor told her maid, checking the tightly-laced cuffs on her kirtle once more. ’Twas past time that she showed her face at the board, for she had been absent two days. Iolande’s attention had given her the encouragement she needed to leave the quiet of the solar.
“Sir!” Giselle gasped, her startled exclamation drawing Alienor’s attention. She fairly gasped herself to find the knight Jordan standing on the threshold. He was resplendent in his azure-and-gold tunic and polished mail, with his hair neatly combed.
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