“May Dame Fortune ride with you,” Eustache said.
Alienor lifted her chin and walked toward the stables as if Dagobert did not exist.
Eustache watched her. “Your journey should be interesting,” he remarked.
Dagobert shrugged, unwilling to speculate on what lay ahead of him. “Do not forget our plan,” he murmured and his companion looked momentarily surprised.
“You would continue then?” Eustache studied him closely.
“It seems ’twill be our last and best chance.”
The older knight nodded in thoughtful agreement.
“I would have you ride with us when it is time.”
“I will find you,” Dagobert said then shook hands with Eustache in the darkness of the hall before he strode after Alienor.
Shadows were stretching long across the courtyard and the stables were unusually silent when Dagobert stepped outside into the cool bite of the evening air. Alienor awaited him, her back turned to him and her shoulders stiff. She fingered the reins of the smaller saddled steed as if she were uncertain and he knew by that movement alone that she sensed his presence. He almost stepped forward and clasped the narrow span of her shoulders within his hands, almost whispered an apology in her ear, but pulled himself up short, knowing that each moment they lingered in the keep endangered them yet further. There would be ample time for explanations during the days ahead.
Gradually his eyes adjusted to the light and he spied the other members of his household standing quietly in the shadows. Here was the châtelain; there the ostler; there the smith, the farrier, the marshal, Iolande and two of her dogs, the squire he had trained these past three years. Each of their faces showed mingled hope and disappointment, and each brow was burdened with concern for what lay ahead.
His departure was no secret, but Dagobert could not be displeased. The concern of these people and the send-off they gave him was more important than any escape that would not hold secret until the dawn.
Dagobert acknowledged each with a nod, a slight smile, an easy wink, hoping that he could ease their trepidation by his own apparent confidence. In truth, he did the best thing for the safety of all by leaving Montsalvat, and he saw in the eyes of more than one servant and friend an awareness of this simple fact.
Iolande stood with downcast eyes and Dagobert embraced his mother last, brushing an affectionate kiss against the smooth coolness of her cheek.
“All will be well,” he quietly assured her. She nodded emphatically, evidently not trusting herself to speak. “I leave you with the responsibility of the keep,” he added unnecessarily, and Iolande nodded again, straightening beneath his hands.
“Take care,” she managed to whisper, lifting her gaze to meet his. It might well be the last time they saw each other, Dagobert knew, and he squeezed his mother’s shoulders once more before he stepped away, blinking back his unbidden tears.
To his surprise, Iolande pulled Alienor into an impulsive hug. He watched Alienor close her eyes against the shimmer of rising tears, her lashes long and wet against her cheeks as she returned Iolande’s embrace. Dagobert averted his gaze to find wistful expressions on the surrounding faces, more than one member of the household wiping away an indulgent tear at the two women’s leave-taking.
Iolande whispered something to Alienor that Dagobert did not hear and he watched his wife nod then force a smile to her lips. She darted a glance in his direction and her color rose slightly, making him wonder what his mother could possibly have said. He glanced at the deepening hue of the sky and extended his hand to Alienor, knowing that they had to ride out, despite their wishes to the contrary.
“I will, madame,” Alienor vowed, and turned to place her hand in Dagobert’s, her gaze dropping, as if she meant to ensure he could not guess her thoughts.
Annoyance rippled through him, but then he knew that was more than fair. His regret was followed by a wave of possessiveness that had him lifting her into his own saddle before he had the chance to check his own impulse. Alienor opened her mouth to protest, but he tied her horse’s reins to the back of his saddle.
“You must rest for the babe, my lady,” he said gently, watching with satisfaction as his wife bit her lip and the color rose in her cheeks. “I will hold you while you sleep.” Behind him, a murmur of approval rippled through the crowd of well-wishers, but Alienor’s back was straight and stiff when he swung up into the saddle behind her.
“You will make the road longer with your anger,” he dared to murmur into her hair, closing his arm around her waist in that same moment and pulling her resolutely back against his chest.
“Do you not think it justified?” she murmured, a charge in her words, and he bowed his head.
“Completely,” he admitted and she glanced over her shoulder in surprise. He dared to smile at her. “But unavoidable, as well.”
“I say it could have been avoided,” she whispered and he closed his eyes, knowing she was right.
If only he had trusted her.
If only.
He wished he could be certain of her even now.
To his relief, Alienor did not fight him, but she did not sleep until long after Montsalvat had faded in the distance. Only then did Dagobert pull her even closer, permitting himself the luxury of inhaling the delicate scent of her hair, of letting his gloved hand curve over the soft indent of her waist.
Chapter 7
The smell of wet metal greeted Alienor when she awakened, closely followed by the scent of soaked leather and wet wool. Momentarily disoriented by an incessant motion that did no favors for her stomach, she opened her eyes, only to be confronted by a solid wall of red wool. Her raised hood admitted little light and hid the surroundings from view. Judging by the rows of tight circles impressed against her cheek, the red wool covered chain mail, both of which were stretched over her husband’s broad chest. When she stirred, his arm tightened around her waist, though the horse did not slow its pace.
“’Tis only dawn,” Dagobert murmured, and she felt his chin against her hooded head as he bent down to speak to her. Alienor became aware of the rain drumming on her shoulders, and realized that she sat sideways before Dagobert. Her face was against his chest and her arms wrapped around his waist beneath his mantle. His destrier galloped at a relentless pace despite the rain.
If they had ridden this hard all night, they should have reached Perpignan. Did he not take her back there?
“And the weather is most foul,” he continued, his tone formal. “It would be best if you went back to sleep, my lady.”
“Have you slept?” she dared to ask. When he did not immediately reply, she guessed the truth. She risked an upward glance to his stern features and noted the lines of tension alongside his mouth. He was exhausted, but he rode on. The sky was an endless expanse of gray above his head, and his eyes were narrowed against the cold rain. He flicked the barest glance down at her, and his expression did not soften at all.
That did not bode well.
“Nay, my lady, I have not. It is of no import.” His tone discouraged any further questions and Alienor wondered anew that this virtual stranger would hold her so close to his side.
He looked no less forbidding than when he had greeted her last eve at the foot of the stairs, a strange and hostile warrior clothed head to toe in his mail, his coif leaving only the matching coldness in his eyes visible. Who was this man? Not one inkling of the lover who had warmed her bed illuminated him, nor did a glimmer of the lighthearted companionship of Alaric touch his face. Was this then the true Dagobert? Was this the man whose seed bore fruit within her? Was this the man with whom she would spend the remainder of her days?
He undoubtedly saw her as a burden to his travels. A woman would slow his pace and block the swift thrust of his blade by her very presence. Why then had he insisted she accompany him?
The answer was obvious: ’twas the babe she bore him that earned his loyalty to her and no more. Indeed, Alienor had guessed the whole truth of it at h
er first thought that her husband desired her only for her womb. She had been a fool to hope he might learn to feel differently, but folly was no easier to accept for having been anticipated.
Would she be abandoned as soon as the child saw the light of day? The prospect was chilling. But ’twas clear that this man bore no softness in his heart for her, and that she was being protected solely that his heir might be born strong. Alienor moved, wishing to put some distance between herself and this remote man who had claimed her for his own, but his arm tightened like a steel band around her waist.
“’Tis warmer for you thus,” he said tersely. His fingers gripped her hip and held her intimately captive, reminding her all too well of the sweetness of their unions. Alienor struggled to slow the rapid pace of her heart. She was too aware of the shape of the man beneath his armor. She recalled only too well the feel of those strong thighs clenched beneath hers. She blinked back tears at the recollection of her sense of safety when his weight pressed her into their soft mattress at Montsalvat and he held her captive to the pleasure he had been determined to give.
Never mind the scent of his skin. Even through the smells of wet clothing, Alienor could detect that musky scent of his skin. It seemed too strange indeed to have such intimate recollections of a man who seemed now to be a stranger.
Dismissing her thoughts, Alienor steeled herself with the confirmation of her worst fears in his sharp words. She must not sicken and lose the babe, for ’twas her sole significance to him. Had she not been pregnant, she would without a doubt have been left behind to her own fate. Aye, he had not taken her to Perpignan because he knew about the child. His child. At least, she could hope that he would protect the babe, once born.
“Where do we ride?” Alienor asked.
“Away,” Dagobert conceded.
’Twas far from a satisfactory reply. Alienor glanced up, then saw his gloved hand rising in her peripheral vision. She flinched instinctively, thinking he meant to cuff her for her insistence on asking questions, aware that she knew naught of the man who rode with her.
He noted the gesture and glanced down at her with what seemed to be surprise. His expression made her wish she could have controlled her reaction. The wet reins he held brushed against her cheek as he pulled her hood forward once again. Alienor was enclosed in the cocoon against his chest.
“’Twill be a long day, my lady,” he said, and his tone was distant now, a tone of defeat underscoring his words that Alienor had not heard before. “Rest for the babe, if you can.”
Despite her best efforts to the contrary, Alienor felt her heart soften and she felt his disappointment as keenly as if it were her own.
Instinctively wishing she could comfort him in some way, she tightened her arms around his waist and leaned more fully against him, as if she would gather him close for consolation. For a heartbeat and no more, it seemed that his fingers tightened around her waist, as if he accepted or even welcomed the solace she would offer. Alienor thought she heard him sigh before her eyes closed. She slept again, the pounding of the destrier’s hooves and the drilling of the rain an incessant lullaby.
His wife feared he would beat her.
Dagobert was unable to believe that his life had taken so many turns for the worse. Did she think he cared for her health and rest only so that there might be more sport in the beating? Did she honestly believe that he could touch her cruelly after so much tenderness had passed between them?
He had the right to beat her as her legal husband. Another man might have said he had adequate justification, if she truly had been at the root of his recent troubles. Dagobert spared a glance down at the lady sleeping against his chest and a wave of protectiveness surprised him with its power. He pulled her a little closer and she nestled against him like a cat before the fire, her sleepy murmur fueling a warm glow around his heart.
Could she have betrayed him? Could she have engineered his unveiling with Jordan de Soissons? With every step further from Montsalvat, Dagobert found the accusation harder to accept. Was that his heart or his wits at work?
If naught else, this journey would eliminate her ability to communicate with anyone but him, for they would not stop at inns or taverns. Alienor could not know their path for he knew it not himself. He chose at each fork in the road.
Away from Montsalvat was his sole objective.
Away from those he loved, so that their lives might be spared.
And what of this one he loved but dared not trust? He looked down again. And what of the babe Alienor bore him? Did his son not deserve a better legacy than a life of endless traveling? What else did he have to offer his wife when the comfort of his own hearth was denied to him?
Dagobert thought about creating a new life for his family, away from the demands of Montsalvat, away from the intrigue of his heritage. Perhaps they might ride to Normandy or Germany when this battle was behind him and he could make his way with his blade. Perhaps they could go to Iolande’s family in the distant north, or perhaps over the seas to Outremer, to what remained of the Latin Kingdoms in the East.
Perhaps, but probably not, Dagobert conceded with a sigh of defeat, the brief bloom of hope fading as abruptly as it appeared. There were but two ways for this matter to resolve itself. One left him king. One left him dead.
And the second seemed far more likely at this point.
His legacy to his son and his widow would be all or naught at all.
Alienor had been awake for a while when the horse’s pace slowed, although she had not dared to speak during that time. The rain still pounded on her back and beat on the new leaves of the trees around them; Dagobert still held her tightly against his heat. She pulled back her hood as the destrier’s pace changed, risking a glance beyond the curtain of wool. The sky grew dark around them, and she looked up to Dagobert with surprise that an entire night and day had passed.
“A storm.” He did not spare her a glance but clearly had felt the weight of her regard. “Tis best we stop until it passes.”
Alienor nodded but he had already halted the steed and swung out of the saddle. She shivered, feeling cold and bereft once he was gone. She twisted to grip the pommel, seeing that he led the horses into a cave directly before them. The patter of the rain halted abruptly as they passed into the shelter.
Before she could slide down to the ground, Dagobert was before her, his hands fitting around her waist as he lifted her from the saddle. When she would have stepped away, he held her silently there, between him and the steed. Alienor caught her breath, knowing that he looked down at her, for she could not guess why.
“You are certain about the child?” he asked softly.
Alienor looked up at him in surprise. A flicker of warmth lighted the gray depths of his eyes and she wondered at the concern she saw there. Still he did not release her and her heart raced at the intensity of his expression.
“Aye,” she acknowledged. “I do not lie.”
His gaze flickered and she feared his intent. Did he mean to abandon her in this place, wherever it was?
“October?” he asked, such hope in his tone that Alienor felt reassured.
“Aye.” She nodded slowly in agreement, warmth flooding her veins as his lips curved in an unexpected smile. He shook his head with a wonder that echoed her own and glanced down at her belly, as if unable to believe what she said.
“In truth, you seem smaller than before,” he murmured, and their gazes caught and held. Alienor’s breath caught as his fingers brushed over her stomach, his caress leaving a shiver of pleasure in its wake. He watched her all the while and she felt trapped beneath his scrutiny.
And yet, she would not have stepped out of his embrace for all the riches in the world. She felt that her tender lover had returned and that she could look upon him fully for the first time, as if her initial impressions of her husband’s goodness were all true.
“Iolande says ’tis often thus when the mother is ill early on,” she explained. His gaze slid to her lips as she s
poke, then rose slowly to meet her own gaze again.
“And have you been ill?” he prompted, his voice as soft as silken velvet.
Alienor could only nod mutely in response.
He leaned down and she had nowhere to go, trapped as she was between him and his horse. The realization that she had no desire to evade his kiss stunned her with its intensity. It seemed too long since she had tasted him, too long that she had hungered for his lips on hers—too long since he had reassured her with his touch.
Thunder rumbled in the distance but Alienor barely noticed it, so fixed was she upon her husband’s intent. Dagobert studied her as if he would memorize her every feature. She felt his fingers spread across her back as he lifted her toward him, and Alienor heard herself moan when his lips closed over hers.
His kiss was tender yet potent, one of his hands sliding up to cup the back of her head with infinite care, and Alienor sensed that he meant to reassure her. She realized that her flinch had offended him, that he meant her no harm, that the way he touched her now, almost reverently, was his means of telling her so.
Indeed, she felt treasured and that was most beguiling. It seemed only fitting that she meet him halfway. Alienor slipped her hands around his neck and opened her mouth to him, telling him as well as she was able that she understood. Their kiss turned fiery and warmed her to her toes, so enticing that she made an incoherent sound of protest when he lifted his head.
Dagobert stared down at her, the brightness in his eyes making her wonder what he saw that fascinated him so. Before she could ask, the fleeting expression was dismissed. He turned and she thought he would leave her, but instead, he cast aside his gloves. The warmth of his hands framed her face a moment later. Alienor smiled with satisfaction and his eyes shone as he bent to kiss her again.
This time, there was passion in his embrace, as if he had sipped of a cup and realized his thirst. Alienor’s veil and fillet tipped, then fell away beneath his amorous assault, but she barely noticed their departure, much less the whisper of her sheer wimple joining them. A barely audible sound revealed the unfastening of the clasp on her pelisson, the sliding of its weight from her shoulders the only other clue of its departure.
Unicorn Bride: A Medieval Romance Page 15