Metal grated on metal as he turned the key in the lock of one heavy door, then the door opened to reveal a dark stone room. Alienor thought she glimpsed a small creature running away from the light before she was ushered inside the small space. She shivered at the dampness and glanced around the barren chamber.
The ceiling was oppressively low, the stone walls sporting a growth of lichen, the floor unswept and dirty. An iron shackle hung from a chain in one corner and she looked abruptly away, not even wanting to imagine being chained thus. The jailer undid her hands and she wrapped her arms around herself against the cold, wondering what infestation they would catch in this foul place.
“Might we have a light?” Dagobert asked quietly while the jailer untied his hands, and the man looked up at him.
“You might set the pallet afire.”
Alienor tried to keep her lip from curling at the dirtiness of the straw pallet in one corner.
“You have no reason to unlock the door should I do as much,” Dagobert replied.
The jailer nodded, his gaze traveling over the cell. Alienor followed his survey and noted that naught else in the small room could burn.
“You speak the truth, but I should not take the chance.”
Alienor saw impatience tighten her husband’s jaw.
“I give you my most solemn word that I will not start a fire,” he insisted.
The jailer studied Dagobert, then mutely handed him the oil lamp he carried and left the cell. The key turned in the lock and Alienor risked a glance to her husband, her gaze caught by the intensity in his gray eyes.
“I would see you once before the end,” Dagobert whispered, and tears filled Alienor’s eyes.
“’Tis true then that they will kill you?”
“Aye,” he acknowledged simply.
“But why?” Alienor demanded in frustration. “What have you done to deserve such a fate? And how can you be one of the kings of Rhedae? I thought that a fable told to children.”
Dagobert regarded her silently before a rueful smile twisted his lips. “Would you know the full truth of it, my lady?”
She nodded, her heart clenching when he sighed and ran one hand over his forehead. He looked so burdened and she wished she could be of aid to him, somehow.
“’Tis a long tale, but I suppose we have time enough.” There was a new weariness in his voice and Alienor did not like the change. “And ’tis only fitting that you know the fullness of the truth.”
With that he turned and spread his cloak over the straw pallet so that the fur might be against them rather than the harsh straw. He offered his hand to Alienor and seated her there, then sat beside her and pulled her against his side. Dagobert eased the warm cloak over her and Alienor pulled up her knees to ward off the chill.
“Cold feet?”
When Alienor nodded, Dagobert pulled her feet into his lap and rubbed them with his left hand until they tingled.
“You are stalling, my lord,” she teased when his hand stilled.
“I am deciding where to begin.” He leaned back against the wall. Alienor watched him frown for a moment before his gaze met hers and he began his tale.
His voice was low as he told her of a race of kings who had ruled France centuries past in the north, when the tribes of the Franks had stretched eastward into the lands of the German princes and southward beyond the palaces of the popes. Priest-kings they were, their bloodline divinely chosen. Their powers were beyond the ordinary and widely known, their mysterious link to Christ was hinted by those who knew the way of things. Alienor leaned against Dagobert, wondering where this fantastic tale might lead.
Soon enough, his story took an unexpected turn, for Dagobert spoke of the assassination of a king of this line. The regicide was committed under the orders of the king’s own steward, the manager of the king’s household. Also killed were the children of the king, all in one afternoon in the forest. They were all murdered, except the youngest son of the king. Secretly, the boy was brought to Rhedae, the home of his mother. Alienor recognized the name of the ancient ruins near her own home.
Dagobert explained then how the stewards had taken possession of the crown in the absence of the rightful king. They had placed it upon the brow of one of their own within a generation, even while the rightful heir grew to manhood amongst his mother’s family. Dagobert’s voice dropped lower as he recited a long list of battles over the centuries, attacks launched from Anjou, Lorraine, Languedoc, all of which had failed, many of which had resulted in exiles, all of which Dagobert claimed had been attempts to regain the crown by these divinely appointed yet ousted kings.
Aye, the lost kings of Rhedae were real.
It was with evident satisfaction that he told her of the betrayal of the usurpers some three centuries past. Yet another line of wrongful kings had seized the crown and held it ever since. The king who held them captive was of this line. Dagobert spoke of yet more battles and his voice grew sad as his tale neared their own time. His gaze fixed in the distance as he named alliances, towns, individuals, many of which sounded familiar even to Alienor’s ears.
When Dagobert mentioned his father, Alienor knew the truth, his words confirming her fears. Pledged to the fight of regaining his legacy, just like his father before him and so back across the span of years, Alzeu de Pereille had witnessed the invasion of his beloved Languedoc and the wholesale slaughter of those around him. Though the attack was purportedly to eliminate the Cathar sect, ’twas clear to those in Dagobert’s family that they were the hunted prey.
“I thought the lost kings was but a tale told to children.”
Dagobert smiled sadly. “Aye, ’tis far more difficult to find the source of a child’s tale than a man who openly declares himself before his time.” He paused and frowned at the floor, stroking her shoulder with his thumb. “’Tis perhaps why they killed so many these last years.”
Alienor nodded and frowned herself. “I always wondered why the crusade continued.”
Dagobert’s grip tightened briefly on her shoulder. “We were pledged to the cause of the Roman church in days long past and they to ours,” he said and she heard his tone harden. “’Twas thus until they chose to betray our line.”
Alienor pulled back in surprise to meet his knowing gaze. “Truly?”
“’Twas the pope who offered the steward the crown as reward for killing the king,” Dagobert said. Alienor fell against him in dismay at such wickedness. “’Twas another pope,” he added softly a moment later, “who called for the crusade against Languedoc.”
“But why?”
“There are many theories, but I suspect ’twas because we did not bend so readily.”
“Aye, you are a stubborn man, to be sure,” she teased, wanting to lighten his mood.
Dagobert smiled and hugged her briefly, pressing a kiss against her brow. She felt his fingers curve gently over her belly once more.
“Tell me about your father,” she prompted, guessing the path his thoughts had taken.
Dagobert cleared his throat. “He was a fine man, noble and strong with a vision true. ’Tis more than fifteen years since he died on the field near La Bessede and I still miss him, each and every day.”
“Guibert told me of that attack.”
“Such viciousness does not make a pretty tale.”
Alienor nodded agreement, recalling Guibert’s disgust at what had been done to the inhabitants of the fortress by the king’s attacking force. It had been days later when Guibert and his company of warriors had arrived. There had been naught they could do but bury the numerous dead. She shivered slightly in recollection of his dismay and Dagobert’s arm tightened around her.
“I saw the carnage with my own eyes, Alienor.” His voice wavered ever so slightly as he spoke. “For I was one of the few of our forces who left the field alive that day.” He shook his head, lost in his own memories. “’Twas not my choice, but my father would have it no other way.”
Dagobert fell silent and she did not
prompt him, aware of his pain as he remembered his father’s death. Wanting to comfort him somehow, Alienor nestled closer, reaching up to stroke the uncompromising line of his jaw.
He captured her hand almost absently in his, then realizing what he had done, he opened his fingers slowly and examined her smaller hand trapped within. His thumb ran over her palm in a smooth caress before he lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it, his composure restored when he began to speak again.
“He knighted me on the field,” he confessed, not without a trace of amazement. “I was but twelve and green as new grass when he took his fatal blow. I was on my knees and knighted, pledged to the fight before I realized how badly he was injured. Then we stood together amidst the fray. His knights surrounded us and protected us.” Dagobert smiled softly. “Eustache was there, young and brash, and my father leaned on my shoulder, bleeding, demanding that I commit to the family cause. He made me swear it.”
There was a long moment before Dagobert continued. “He made me swear that I would take up the cause. ’Twas then I realized that he would die. There on the field, far from home. I realized that my mother would not have even the bittersweet moment of parting that I did.”
Silence reigned again in the shadowy cell, Alienor’s thoughts spinning with the implications of what Dagobert had told her.
“Why the unicorn?” she asked.
Dagobert’s lips tightened. “We had need of a tale,” he confessed with a frown. “’Twas time that I came out of hiding, but there were plans to make, alliances to guarantee before I could fully reveal my presence, much less declare my intent. We had need of time. There have always been stories of mysterious doings at Montsalvat whispered in the area and shape-shifters are common in them.” He shrugged, as if dissatisfied with the explanation himself. “The unicorn has long been not only the emblem our line but our guardian. When this goat was born with only one horn, it seemed a divine sign.” He fell silent and Alienor reached up to touch his face. “We believed it a portent that victory was to be ours.” His voice had fallen so low as to be barely audible.
“You could not have foreseen its fate,” Alienor whispered, wishing there was some way she could make matters turn right for him. She knew that she could not.
Dagobert shook his head and spared her a sad smile. “Nay, I could not,” he admitted heavily. “But ’twas on that morning that the shadow was cast over my heart. It can be no good omen for a man to find his talisman slaughtered within his own keep.” He swallowed and cleared his throat, staring at the flickering play of light on the ceiling.
Alienor gave him a moment to make peace with his thoughts. She wanted to ask one more question but was unwilling to press him overmuch.
Even if it might be their last chance to speak thus.
“There are no others?” she asked finally and he shook his head.
“I am the last.”
Alienor heard his despair. Without hesitation, she placed his hand once more upon her belly, surprised when he caught her close in a compulsive embrace.
“They must know naught of the child,” he whispered fiercely. Alienor pulled back to see that his eyes glittered with either anger or fear. “I will not have your life forfeit because you bear my babe.”
She felt chilled to her marrow. Of course. The child in her womb would continue Dagobert’s bloodline, and so long as she was pregnant with that child, her own life might be in peril.
“Do they not mean to kill us both?”
“I shall claim you know naught,” Dagobert vowed.
A greater weight settled on Alienor’s heart at his pledge. His passion was only for the babe, for the survival of his line and the continuance of his quest after he was gone. She had been a fool to hope he possessed some tender feelings for her.
As if sensing her change of mood, he drew her ever closer, unbraiding her hair with gentle fingers and spreading it loose over her shoulders. He combed his fingers through its thickness, lifting the ebony tresses away from her face, but still she sat with downcast eyes.
“You can trust Eustache with your life,” he told her quietly, apparently thinking that she was concerned for her own safety in his absence. “And Iolande will aid you with the babe.”
Alienor nodded against his chest and he tipped her chin up with one finger, pressing a gentle kiss to her lips. A tear trickled from the corner of her eye and he kissed it away, framing her face between his hands as he bent to taste her lips once more.
“I would love you in the light,” he murmured against her mouth. His eyes darkened to slate even as Alienor chilled at the unspoken reason for his words. The jailer had promised them this one night, but who could tell what the morrow would bring?
Naught good, by Alienor’s wager.
How could she deny him? She nodded and blinked back her tears, standing to remove her pelisson. Her fingers became clumsy when she heard Dagobert’s boots strike the floor and she bit her lip, suddenly uncertain. A rustle of cloth and she struggled to focus on her task, striving to avoid even imagining her husband’s bare broad chest.
Silence behind her and a gentle breath on her neck alerted Alienor to his presence, her skin tingling as he lifted a lock of her hair. Her fear melted when she felt his warm fingers caress her nape, his touch sending tingles along her skin.
Dagobert’s hands slipped around Alienor’s neck and unfastened her kirtle, his fingers sliding beneath the wool and easing it over her shoulders. With nary a word, he unlaced her sleeves, pulling the cloth from one arm, then the other, while she resolutely kept her gaze on the flickering lamp. The laces at her sides were undone quickly and he paused only to cup the fullness of her breasts in his hands for a moment before coaxing the cloth to fall to the ground.
Her chemise was cast aside with similar speed, and Alienor felt the tickle of Dagobert’s chest hair against her back the moment the sheer cloth cleared her shoulders. She felt the dampness of anticipation gathering between her thighs and the quickening of her blood though he had yet to touch her intimately.
When her garments lay in a puddle at her feet, Dagobert picked her up and settled her back against him, his arms wrapping securely around her waist. The hard rod of his arousal impressed itself on her buttocks and she arched back, all else forgotten when he licked the tip of her earlobe with deliberation. The whisper of his breath fanned across her throat and she was glad beyond all else to have this one night.
They would make it one to remember.
“Dagobert,” she breathed, then found herself lying atop the softness of his fur-lined cloak, her husband bending over her with gleaming eyes.
“Alienor,” he murmured in response. She reached for him, framing his face in her hands and staring deeply into his eyes, then she kissed him, surrendered her all to him this one last time.
Dagobert was awed by his lady wife. He was unable to believe that this splendid creature would let him love her, much less that she had let him love her night after night already. The firelight played over her golden skin and Dagobert savored the chance to survey his bride for the first time, marveling that she was more lovely than he had dared to imagine.
Better, there were no longer any secrets between them, no deception however good-willed or misguided. Dagobert felt a contentment welling in his heart that matters were finally as they ought to be. Alienor had been worthy of his trust from the first: her shock at their arrest in Toulouse and her amazement as he shared his truth with her this night combined to confirm what he had long suspected in his heart. He had wronged her with his suspicions, but perhaps this night he could begin to balance the scales more favorably.
’Twould be the only chance he was destined to have.
The ripe curve of her breast filled his hand to perfection and he caressed that nipple once more, a thrill tripping through him when Alienor responded with delight to his touch. What he had sacrificed all these nights of loving in the dark! She was so lovely that he did not even want to blink. Her nipple hardened to a dusky peak beneath h
is thumb and she writhed with closed eyes against the dark tangle of her hair. Her rapturous expression urged him on, that he might see her so beneath him.
Dagobert slid his hands over the slender perfection of her ribs and waist, sparing a soft brush across her stomach where his son grew, caressing the full flare of her hips to her slender thighs. With gentle fingers, he touched the apex of dark curls and she trustingly, willingly, parted her thighs to invite him onward.
Dagobert caught his breath, then glanced up to find her smoky regard upon him. His own arousal was echoed in the tawny depths of the eyes beguiling him with their exotic tilt. She was magnificent and he could never have found her equal had he traveled the known world twice over.
He found the pearl hidden in the dampness between her thighs with two fingers, watching the tip of her tongue slid over the rosy fullness of her lips. She trembled beneath his caress and Dagobert wondered how long he could maintain his own control before such temptation.
In the darkness of their chambers, it had been difficult enough to rein himself in that she might reach the fullness of her pleasure, but here, seeing her passion before him for the first time and beleaguered by their recent chastity, he knew not how he would endure it.
Alienor reached for him and he could not have refused her siren’s call to save his life. Dagobert watched her eyes widen as he loomed over her, finding himself smiling in response to her welcoming smile. He settled himself with care in the cradle of her thighs, a space that seemed wrought exactly to accommodate him. Pride seared his heart when she moaned with pleasure and took him within her tight sheath.
She murmured his name again when he was fully within her and he paused, savoring this moment in the fullness of the lamplight. He knew that he would recall it repeatedly when he was once more alone. He knew that this moment would become a touchstone for him.
Alienor reached up and ran her fingertips over his cheekbones and the bridge of his nose, skimming her fingers across his lips, running her hands through the thick length of his hair. He noted her delight, realizing that ’twas also the first time for her to see him in this intimate moment.
Unicorn Bride: A Medieval Romance Page 18