Her fingers hesitated for a moment before continuing over his shoulders and down his arms, and he knew that she had noticed his birthmark. Her golden gaze did not lift to meet his, as he felt the softness of her fingertip slowly trace the outline of that mark on his chest. Alienor glanced up to him now with understanding in her lovely eyes, and he smiled down at her.
“’Tis incredible that such tales are rooted in truth,” she whispered.
Dagobert nodded in silent agreement as she came to terms with the revelation. It was beyond belief, indeed. Alienor glanced from the mark to his face again, her hand leaving his shoulder to slip between them and tentatively touch her stomach.
“And the babe?” It was more a statement than a question.
Dagobert nodded once more. “The mark he bears will be much the same,” he confirmed. “Tis said it appears on the shoulder blade of some but my father’s was exactly thus.”
“I had no idea.” Alienor’s gaze slowly finding its way back to meet his as something evidently occurred to her. “You said son.”
Dagobert smiled. “We have sons.”
She shook her head. “Why did you wed me?”
“Your hand was promised when you were only a babe.”
Her dark brows drew together in a quick frown. “But Guibert...”
“Knew naught of it, for he found you quite by chance. When Pamiers was attacked and your mother disappeared, Iolande feared you lost forever,” Dagobert explained, anticipating Alienor’s next question before she could form the words. “She saw you in Perpignan last Yule and knew you to be your mother’s child.”
“Guibert always said I favored the woman who gave me to him.” Alienor’s smile turned sweet when she met Dagobert’s gaze again. “Pledged as babes?” He smiled himself that the notion pleased her so.
“Aye.” He bent to brush a kiss across her lips and he felt a rush of possessiveness. “You were always mine.”
Alienor opened her mouth to him, lifting her hips beneath him in silent encouragement. ’Twas all the urging he needed to carry them both onward and upward, in pursuit of the pleasure they could give each other. A joyful shout dispelled the quiet of the dank cell when Dagobert finally saw Alienor find satisfaction beneath him, her golden eyes widening with wonder as a flush suffused her cheeks.
The sight was more than enough to drive him to his release as well.
The morning came too soon for Alienor. The sound of increased activity outside the locked door was the only clue that another day had begun. Dagobert was already on his feet, fastening his chausses and listening at the door. There was a frown between his brows. Alienor’s eyes closed again, the imprisoning walls dissolving around her at the recollection of his caresses throughout the night.
“Dress yourself, my Alienor,” Dagobert ordered with soft urgency. She propped herself up on one elbow and ran a sleepy hand through her hair. “Someone comes.”
Alienor thought she might stay wrapped in his cloak, but the blaze in his eyes told her he would argue otherwise. She reached for her discarded chemise and pulled it over her head. She could have slept a week after the night they had shared, and truly, she had no desire to hurry toward the events of this day. Naught good could come of them.
“You must hurry,” Dagobert urged, even as he dropped the weight of her woolen kirtle over her head. In a heartbeat, he was lacing the sleeves for her, and she began to feel some of his urgency. While she laced the sides, he braided her hair. He then slipped on her shoes while she adjusted her wimple, veil and fillet.
The key turned in the lock and Alienor reached for her pelisson. She was dressed and not a moment too soon. The door swung inward and she heard her pulse in her ears. Her gaze flew to Dagobert, only to find his expression stony. He had withdrawn from her again, even after the intimacy of the previous night, and she knew he did as much to protect her. That realization sent a cold shudder through her. Who came to their cell? Did Dagobert know something she did not?
The jailer stepped into the room then, followed by a precisely dressed little man who flicked a glance in their direction. His manner and the ledger he carried betrayed his occupation as a clerk.
Dagobert folded his hands behind his back as if bracing himself for bad news. Alienor stepped a little closer to him, doubting she would be pleased with the outcome of this interview.
“Matthieu de Tours,” the clerk introduced himself with a terse nod. “You are Dagobert de Pereille?” He granted a piercing glance at Dagobert, who nodded agreement. “And your wife, Alienor.”
Alienor nodded even though the man did not look up from his ledger for confirmation.
“I will be brief,” Matthieu addressed the silent Dagobert. “The king has been petitioned with a pledge of Alienor’s innocence in your household’s treachery. Should you confirm her lack of involvement, the king is willing to release her to the petitioner’s custody.”
“Alienor is indeed innocent,” Dagobert said without hesitation. “She is merely my wife.” Alienor’s gaze flew to him in shock. He would dispatch her from his side without knowing anything of this mysterious petitioner?
Merely his wife?
“And the lady also will confirm this?” the clerk asked curtly.
Alienor could not drag her eyes away from her husband, let alone form a word. Dagobert turned slowly to face her and she was surprised by the intensity that burned in his eyes when she did not immediately speak in the affirmative.
“Who petitions the king?” she asked instead, feeling the immediate disapproval of all three men. Dagobert glared openly at her and she folded her hands before her.
“’Tis not my business to speak of this,” the clerk said. “Suffice it to say that his word is considered reliable here.”
Who would speak in her defense here in Paris? Alienor could think of no one, the anonymity of the petitioner making her reluctant to leave Dagobert’s side, even with the temptation of gaining her own freedom.
“The gentleman awaits, madame,” the clerk reminded her.
Alienor risked another glance in his direction, feeling the weight of his will upon her. He wished her to agree. Of that she had no doubt, but she yearned to know why. Whether his interest was in the babe or herself, she acknowledged that she must trust his instincts in this matter. And ’twas true that she had not conspired against the king.
“Aye,” she said. “The petitioner knows the way of it.”
Relief settled in Dagobert’s gaze and she thought some of the tension eased from his shoulders. The sight convinced her that she had done as he desired.
Like a mere wife.
“Excellent.” Matthieu marked her response in his ledger and gestured to the door. “The petitioner awaits upstairs, madame. If you would accompany me.”
“Of course,” Alienor agreed, then was jarred by the realization that she was to leave Dagobert this very moment. She stretched up and pressed a kiss to his cheek, murmuring “God bless you, sir,” beneath her breath as she was sure was expected. He made no acknowledgment of her gesture, and did not soften his stance or expression.
The single word he murmured when her lips touched his stubbled cheek, though, sent a wave of relief coursing through her.
’Twas all she could do not to smile at the clerk and jailer with her newly lightened heart, but she hide her reaction with an effort. She did not spare one backward glance at her husband, as she was certain he desired. She dared not cast a shadow of doubt upon herself or her petitioner, for ’twould be impossible for them to ensure Dagobert’s release should they, too, be imprisoned.
That Dagobert’s release would be obtained, Alienor had no doubt. The word he had whispered to her was “Eustache,” and she knew that loyal knight would not have ridden all this way to Paris alone or without a plan.
Chapter 9
With an apologetic smile, the jailer picked up the flickering lamp. The cell plunged into darkness as the door swung closed behind him. Dagobert dropped to sit on the straw pallet and leaned his
head back against the cold stone, feeling he had just lost a battle. He heard the sound of tiny feet in the darkness and the small room seemed more miserable without Alienor’s presence. He shivered at the dampness and pulled his cloak over his shoulders, taking consolation in the fact that Eustache was in Paris.
He could not imagine how he had missed the party of his knights on the road, and he would not speculate on what that might mean about their numbers. ’Twas enough that Eustache was here and that Alienor was free of this foul place. Even under the weight of his suspicions, Eustache would take care of her, out of respect for her being Dagobert’s wife if naught else.
Dagobert propped his elbows on his knees and sourly considered the state of his life. Naught else, indeed. The phrase was an adequate summary of what he had to offer Alienor other than his name. When he had been executed for conspiring against the king, even that would be worthless to his widow.
To be shunned by polite society would not have been such a burden for him, for he had little concern for such matters and suspected Alienor felt much the same way. Iolande would care for her and the babe should Eustache manage to get her back to Montsalvat, and Dagobert knew that old fortress was unassailable. His family would be safe there, even without his protection.
Finances should not be as much of a problem as they would have been in a city like Paris. Languedoc showed more tolerance than these northern provinces in clerical matters. Somehow Iolande would find a way to pass his inheritance on to his wife or his son, even after he was condemned. Even if she failed for some reason, there were enough who believed in his legacy that the two would be cared for adequately.
Indeed, Alienor might be better off without him. That was a bitter truth to accept.
She had given herself with abandon on their last night together and he treasured his memories already, savoring each recollection like a pearl on an infinite string in his thoughts. Sadly, ’twas not enough to fully warm his heart, for Alienor had made no declaration of love. Though he had not noted its absence at the time, once alone, he was vexed that he did not know how she truly felt.
Had she loved him purely out of compassion for his fate? Dagobert resettled himself on the hard pallet as if changing his posture would make that possibility more enticing. Would Alienor mourn his passing or praise the riddance of the trouble of being wed to him?
How he hated that he would never see his son. There was no consolation that he could not know what Alienor would tell the boy about him. Would she call the boy’s sire a fool or a noble knight? That the babe was a boy, Dagobert had never doubted, and he wished that he had made Alienor pledge that the boy abandon his family’s cause.
Perhaps five centuries had diluted the blood royal too thin. He knew that he had not proven himself fit for the task of regaining the throne and ’twas not for lack of effort. ’Twas evident that he had not the ability to heal by simply laying his hands on the sick as had his forebears, and he could not help but wonder whether that was the only skill lost to his kin over the years.
Truly the time had passed for restoration of the crown. The futility of the quest had been proven over and over again, each time costing the lives of more great men. There had been too much dying for this dream over the years and the cause could not be worth the price it exacted. Would that his son could live a life devoid of this sort of responsibility.
Would that his son could live to hear the lady who held his heart say she loved him.
’Twas not Eustache who greeted Alienor upstairs, but Jordan de Soissons.
Jordan? How could this be? Alienor’s eyes widened as Jordan calmly placed his mark on the clerk’s ledger, clarifying his role as her petitioner beyond all doubt. She stared, wondering how the fates could have betrayed her so.
Where was Eustache?
Dagobert had believed him to be in Paris. Why?
Alienor surveyed her surroundings, seeking another familiar face. The great hall was filled with traveling knights and their squires, evidently guests of the king. The myriad colors of their tunics and tabards were dim in the subdued light. Trestle tables were set up in rows and the men sat talking, eating, playing chess, but not a one looked even vaguely familiar to Alienor. She turned back to Jordan to find him watching her, even as the clerk scurried away.
“Aye, ’tis I who petitioned for your release,” he confirmed with a smile. “Have you no pretty words of gratitude for me, my lady?”
There could be only one reason for his intervention and Alienor retreated a step. “Should your intentions be the same as they were at Montsalvat, I see no reason to thank you,” she replied. That Jordan’s smile widened did naught to improve her temper. What was she going to do? She knew no one in Paris and had not a denier to her name should Jordan recant. All the same, she could not—would not—share this man’s bed in exchange for her freedom.
“’Tis my company or the cell,” Jordan said, as if he had read her very thoughts. When her options were stated so plainly, her decision was inescapable.
“You make the choice most clear,” Alienor said then turned back toward the oaken door that sealed the dungeon stairs. What manner of woman would turn to another while her husband was imprisoned?
She caught her breath when Jordan’s hand closed over her arm with painful vigor and brought her to an abrupt halt. She could not have said that she was surprised by his move, but she refused to look up and meet his regard.
“Should you return there, you will die with your husband,” he said softly.
Alienor could not argue with the truth of it. “’Tis a wife’s place, beside her spouse,” she said.
“Do you not think that Dagobert would wish to see you far from harm?”
These last words carried an unwelcome truth—and reminded Alienor of her obligation to her unborn child. ’Twas clear enough that Dagobert would have said anything to see her free of the tiny cell. She recalled his expression when she had not answered the clerk immediately, as if he would will the very words from her mouth, and her determination crumbled.
If she remained by his side, the heir he so greatly desired would not see the light of day. Even if she survived in the dungeon until the autumn and the birth, did she not owe the child the chance to be born free of a prison?
Alienor cast a glance at Jordan, only to find him watching her closely. He smiled, looking a little less like a predator, and she forced herself to smile slightly in response. He alone might be inclined to ensure her survival in this city of strangers. And he had taken a risk to speak in her defense. Should she prove guilty later or disappear from his care before Dagobert’s trial was completed, ’twould be Jordan who paid the price.
“Why do you do this?” she demanded softly, but Jordan averted his gaze. His sole reply was a slight shrug. Had his gaze softened for a moment before he looked away? Alienor could not be sure and she almost forced him to look her in the eye that she might be certain. “’Tis not unreasonable for me to expect an explanation.”
“’Twas an impulse, no more,” he said, still not turning to face her.
“You wish to lie with me.” Alienor stated the obvious and Jordan nodded, staring resolutely down at his toe. Was that the fullness of the tale? There was no way to be certain. Alienor took a deep breath as she composed her negotiation.
If only Jordan might agree.
“I will not be unfaithful to my husband while he draws breath,” she said, feeling the weight of Jordan’s gaze upon her but unwilling to look up in her stead.
Inwardly she prayed that he would accept her excuse and stay his demands at least for the moment. She did not know what she would do when Dagobert was executed, but that was a bridge to be crossed when she reached it. In her heart, she still hoped that day would not come. Eustache was in the vicinity, she was convinced of it, for Dagobert must have had some reason to expect his friend’s presence here. And she could not plan a rescue if she were imprisoned along with her husband.
“’Tis futile to hope for his release,” Jordan
argued.
Alienor nodded in acknowledgment, letting her fear for Dagobert’s future take command of her heart. Let Jordan think that she grieved, if he so desired, let him think that she only needed time to come to terms with her husband’s fate.
“I do not fool myself about his future,” she said. “But I gave my vow at my nuptials and I would honor him to the end.”
Jordan cleared his throat and stepped away for a moment. The silence stretched between them, the sounds of the men nearby finally impressing themselves on Alienor’s ears. Would he never decide? She thought to shake him into a decision when he finally looked up.
“My quarters are small, my lady, but I would have you share them.”
Alienor held his gaze, needing matters to be absolutely clear between them.
Jordan smiled though the expression was rueful. “I give my most sincere oath that I will not touch you while Dagobert de Pereille draws breath.”
Alienor blinked back her tears of relief at these words. “I thank you for your kindness.” She pressed a grateful kiss on Jordan’s cheek, seeing surprise at her impulsive gesture in his dark eyes.
Jordan reddened beneath his tan, taking her arm and leading her through the crowded room. “Make no mistake, my lady, ’tis not kindness that propels me,” he fairly growled.
Alienor ignored his gruff disclaimer, sensing that she had seen a glimmer of a better man within.
Jordan kept a second-floor room in the home of a widow. The dissatisfaction that touched the woman’s features when she met Alienor left little doubt as to what their arrangement had been. Alienor wished she could have reassured the woman, but such words would be beyond her place. Her own uncertainty in Jordan’s intentions was not yet fully laid to rest either.
The room was clean, if small. Its single glass window opened out over a quiet street that ran behind the building. The widow ran a bakery on the ground floor, the shop itself fronting the larger street on the other side of the house. The warmth of the wood floor beneath Alienor’s feet proved that the ovens were beneath Jordan’s room.
Unicorn Bride: A Medieval Romance Page 19