“There are those of my faith who will shelter me until I can fulfill the requirements to take my vows.”
He stared at her in shock. “You would take consolamentum rather than remain my wife?” he demanded, but she ignored the catch in his voice.
“Should you be unable to trust me, I would have no choice,” she insisted quietly. “As matters stand, I am your wife in name alone. Better to call me your concubine and mother of your child.”
Dagobert’s lips thinned to a harsh line. “We will speak more of this later.”
Alienor shook her head, not wanting to consider his success should he try to persuade her with his touch. “There is naught more to discuss.” She turned to watch the road rising before them as the magnitude of what she had done swept over her.
Had she truly made such a challenge to her husband? ’Twas unlike her to speak rashly and now she had thrown the fat into the fire.
What had possessed her to give Dagobert an ultimatum?
She might have feared that she had cast aside the life she wanted more than anything else, but he had said naught to reassure her. He had not even vowed to try to meet her demand, much less to change.
Oh, she was a fool indeed, but she would not weep when Dagobert might see, lest he believe her resolve was weak.
She would have all or naught at all.
“All is well?” Iolande demanded in the wee hours of the morning. She rode beside Dagobert once more, for the road had widened again.
He spared her a tired smile. “Aye,” he lied. He adjusted the sleeping Alienor before him so that his mother might not see the truth in his eyes. The sound of their horses’ hoof beats filled the silence, and the sinking moon cast ethereal shadows along the deserted road.
They had not been pursued. They had seen no others and he dared to hope they truly would escape.
“Tis the babe, you know,” Iolande said finally.
Dagobert shot his mother a sidelong look and found her watching him.
“’Twas difficult not to overhear,” she confessed with a rueful smile.
“There is truth in what she says,” he admitted. Too much truth, to be sure. Dagobert stared down at his sleeping wife and his heart clenched at the sight of her. He meant to make amends, but it was clear he had far more ground to regain than he had realized earlier. Where should he begin?
What if she left him? The very prospect filled him with dread.
“Aye,” Iolande agreed, “but the growth of the babe feeds her emotions, makes her more volatile than usual. The midwives say ’tis so.”
Dagobert nodded, having the experience neither to confirm nor to deny this assertion.
“The malaise passes?” he asked, assuming he was expected to do so. He was not at all certain that Alienor’s dissatisfaction with him could be so easily attributed to her pregnancy.
He had been trained from the cradle to be suspicious of all others, and that had served him poorly in marriage. Perhaps his inclination and habit were made worse by his awareness of his wife and his dawning love for her. He felt vulnerable before such emotion, which made his reactions more vehement.
Though just as undeserved.
Would Alienor truly leave him to take the vows of the Cathar parfaits? ’Twas unimaginable that he should survive this last ordeal because of her efforts and yet be without her thereafter. His anger had flared and faded as she slept and he considered her words more thoughtfully. If the consolamentum vows were truly what she desired, he would not stand in the way.
But could he possibly convince her to stay with him?
Again, he wondered at his future prospects, but had insufficient information to guess how bad they might be.
“Usually it passes once the babe is weaned,” Iolande continued.
Dagobert was so lost in his thoughts that the words took a moment to penetrate.
“Weaned?” he echoed in dismay, not appeased by his mother’s delighted chuckle. “’Tis more than a year hence.”
“Aye,” Iolande confirmed. “But she might choose a nursemaid.”
Aye, Alienor would if she meant to depart without the child.
He could lose more than his wife by the autumn.
But how could he prove himself worthy of her trust? He yearned to speak with her, but his mother would attend any conversation he and Alienor might have while they were travelling. He had to credit his mother’s assertion about Alienor’s emotional turmoil, too. And in truth, why should his wife believe any promise he made? Nay, he would show Alienor how he felt about her, letting his actions speak of the love in his heart.
He had four months to argue his case with his actions.
“Tell me about Eustache,” Dagobert urged.
Iolande frowned and he feared her tidings. He knew that his friend would not have willingly let Iolande ride all the way to Paris alone and feared the worst.
“Montsalvat was besieged a week after you departed,” Iolande admitted. “We did not tell you earlier for fear that you would lose heart as a result.”
“Besieged?” It could not be.
“Aye. ’Tis said there are ten thousand men camped in the valley.”
Dagobert shook his head. Ten thousand men? What an enormous cost to expend in attacking a fortress of virtually no value. Montsalvat had no vineyards or orchards, barely any livestock, and was in so difficult a location ’twas incomprehensible to him that anyone would bother to besiege it.
“But why?” he asked.
“You know,” she whispered and his heart chilled.
“Nay.”
“Aye. They demanded you.”
“This was Jordan’s labor.”
“Or that of whoever he rode to tell of what he had learned,” Iolande confirmed. “They did not believe you gone when we told than so, and I had no intention of letting them pass through the gates to confirm the tale.” Iolande’s tone turned bitter as she continued. “They are barbarians, these crusaders, and I would not surrender a single grain of wheat for the value of their word.”
“So, they settled into the valley.”
“Aye, but they guard only the road, the fools,” Iolande murmured.
Dagobert smiled in the darkness, meeting his mother’s triumphant gaze.
“You came down the east face,” he guessed and she nodded.
“I knew you awaited Eustache, but the knights had been unable to ride out because of the attack. I wished to warn you. You should know that Eustache was most dissatisfied with me. We argued as we never have before.”
Given the heat with which these two often disagreed, Dagobert was glad not to have witnessed that battle. “I can well imagine. Did you drug his wine that you might escape the keep?” he teased.
Iolande smiled. “Alas, I could not. He has grown most suspicious in his dotage and takes only a sip of even the finest wine these days.”
“Dotage?” Dagobert repeated, knowing Eustache would be outraged to hear himself referred to that way.
“He has seen thirty-five summers,” Iolande said. “’Tis most elderly for a knight.”
“Elderly? Surely, you go too far in this!” The two grinned at each other, then Iolande began to laugh. Once she started, Dagobert could not resist the urge to join her. He knew that relief fed their laughter, but it felt so good to be a little merry and he did not stop. It took several moments for them to compose themselves again and he felt lighter afterward.
“He acts the old man, you must confess that is so.”
Dagobert withheld his agreement, even in principle. “While you, of course, drink from the fountain of youth itself?” he jested, seeing the brief flash of his mother’s smile.
“Women become wise as we age, for we are the stronger,” she claimed with a twinkle in her eye. “’Tis mere men who lose their vigor and purpose.”
“But in the end, Eustache agreed to let you leave?” Dagobert knew that nothing of the kind had occurred but wished to change the subject.
“’Twas Eustache I charged with respo
nsibility for the keep,” Iolande explained. He had to admire the simple elegance of her solution. “He could scarcely dispute the fact that he was best qualified for the task.”
“And that meant that only you could ride out to warn me.”
Iolande smiled. “He did not like it, but he could not dispute it without abandoning his responsibility.”
Dagobert could readily imagine Eustache’s realization that he had been outwitted. He hoped the defense of Montsalvat had succeeded so that he and Eustache would see each other again soon.
“The dawn arrives.” He nodded toward the first lightening of the eastern sky. “We should find somewhere in the woods to hide ourselves and settle for the day.”
It took a fortnight for them to travel the distance between Paris and Montsalvat, riding hard from dusk to dawn and concealing themselves during each day. July ripened as they rode farther south and the days were hot even in the shade of the trees, the nights scarcely better despite the breeze. Their meager rations put flesh only on Dagobert, giving Alienor a new understanding of what he had endured in prison as her own belly rang hollow. Iolande walked into towns on market days to buy provisions, so careful with her coin that Alienor knew she did not have much. They had bathed in streams when they had the opportunity and truly, she yearned to reach the fortress she had come to consider her home.
Alienor had barely spoken with Dagobert since their argument. The realization that she could not withdraw her ultimatum increased as each day passed with only silence reigning between them. And what else could she say? It seemed absurd to make casual conversation with such an issue unresolved between them and she had no more to say about her objections.
When she chose to ride alone, he did not protest. When she became drowsy, he invited her to join him. Their interactions were polite, even formal, and a far cry from Alienor’s desire. Alienor barely listened when Iolande and Dagobert talked of armies and quests. He would do as he would do, and she suspected, he would choose to uphold his pledge to his father. Perhaps he would die young. Perhaps he did not have the confidence in the future to attempt to win her heart, or even answer her accusations. Alienor could not say. Often she would feel the weight of someone’s gaze upon her and would look up, only to find her spouse considering her. What was he thinking? She knew not and had not the audacity to ask.
’Twas with relief that she realized he took responsibility for her safety more seriously than ever he did, for each day no matter where or when she fell asleep, she would awaken nestled securely against his warmth. More than once on those long days when they rested in the woods, the weight of his arm cast around her waist would bring unbidden tears that their hearts should be so far apart while their bodies lie in such close proximity.
“’Tis Lavelanet ahead,” Iolande said as they crested a hill in the quiet hour before the dawn. Her comment was unnecessary, for even Alienor recognized the misty silhouette of the town that had become visible through the steady downpour of rain.
“Just half a day’s ride from home.” Dagobert looked up at the darkened sky. His destrier stamped, impatient to continue, but he settled the horse with one hand.
Alienor followed his gesture, admiring his skill with beasts. She wished that she had not refused his offer that she ride with him this night. She was wet and cold.
Even after a fortnight, she had not managed to change her body’s rhythm that she might sleep in the day and be awake at night. She was not tired as she had been earlier with the babe: she was filled with unusual vigor during the day, restlessly awaiting their departure, but then inevitably dozed in her saddle once the moon rose high.
“We could avoid a rest this day and be in Montsalvat before nightfall,” Dagobert suggested.
Iolande shook her head. “You forget the situation there,” she argued. “I believe we should stop at an inn and rest. The way will certainly be less easy than when I left two months past.”
“We have insufficient coin for such an endeavor,” Dagobert said, his words prompting Alienor’s memory. His mother poured out the contents of her purse but the coins were so few that there was no need to count them to know ’twas not enough. Alienor urged her horse forward and retrieved Jordan’s forgotten purse from the satchel on Dagobert’s saddle. “I heartily doubt that any would extend their charity to us,” Dagobert continued. His mother nodded, then frowned as she noticed the silver spilling into Alienor’s hand.
“We still have a few coins,” Alienor said.
A slow smile stole over Dagobert’s lips as glanced down at her hand and his pleasure warmed her heart. “You offered it so freely in Paris that I thought the funds exhausted.” Alienor shook her head and he took the pouch, tipping out the coins into his palm. He whistled under his breath as he counted them. “’Tis more than adequate,” he informed his mother, throwing Alienor a sidelong smile. “Were you saving this for some greater purpose, my lady wife?” he teased, and Alienor flushed with pleasure at his mood.
“In truth, ’twas forgotten,” she confessed.
Dagobert chuckled and shook a finger at her, his eyes sparkling so that she could not look away. “’Tis but the prospect of a hot bath that loosens your purse strings.” he teased and Alienor laughed in turn. He watched her so closely that she felt her anticipation rise.
“’Twould be tempting enough for me,” she replied. “But for you ’twould be more necessity than luxury. I will not take the second water should you be first into the tub!”
Dagobert laughed aloud.
“Aye, she speaks the truth.” Iolande agreed. “You have been a fragrant companion these last weeks.”
Dagobert bore these accusations with good humor, regarding his mother and his wife with mock affront. “Am I to be given no allowance for the circumstances that forced me to this low level of cleanliness?” he asked.
Both women shook their heads as one. “’Tis but a blessing that they shaved your head and the lice had nowhere to nest,” Alienor said.
“That is true enough,” he ceded, though she sensed he would make another jest. He lifted the pouch and shook its contents so they jingled. “But you show poor judgment to so insult the one with the coin. Perhaps I alone will bathe this night!” With that, he touched his heels to his impatient horse’s flanks and the beast sped off toward drowsy Lavelanet. The two women laughed as they gave pursuit.
The three found a well-sized room in a clean inn, each of them equally torn between the attractions of the soft mattress, the steaming bath and the fragrant food being laid out on the table before the hearth. Of course, there was no question that Dagobert would use the bathwater third. Iolande took the first bath when Alienor deferred to her.
Iolande examined Alienor’s rounding belly with a proprietary pride when the younger woman undressed for her bath, declaring herself pleased by the babe’s progress. Aware of her husband’s gaze upon her, Alienor hastened into the tub and sank beneath the water. Similarly, she paid keen attention to the food when Dagobert stripped for his bath, finding herself achingly aware of his nudity. She was determined not even to cast a glance in his direction.
When all had bathed, Iolande and Dagobert settled before the dying fire to plan their strategy and Alienor called for more water. She had no doubt that water would be in short supply at the fortress: ’twas always thus in the mountains in the summer heat. Plus supplies from outside were likely being curtailed by the invading troops. She washed all of their garments, for the fabric was fairly choked with dust from their travels. Soon every surface in the room was draped with wet garments. She considered the grimy state of her chemise, trying to decide whether she should be without a single dry garment.
“Are you not tired, my lady?” Dagobert asked softly. Alienor’s skin prickled as she felt his breath on the back of her neck. He lifted her loosened hair and pressed a kiss beneath her ear, and Alienor’s knees threatened to buckle at the simple caress.
Aye, this was why he showed such good humor at the prospect of an inn. He meant to part
ake of the pleasure of the marital bed. That was one matter in which she had his attention.
But ’twas no longer sufficient, not matter how beguiling she found his touch.
“Nay,” Alienor said, her words breathless with her awareness of him. “I have much to do.”
“Indeed?” Dagobert surveyed the damp clothing, then considered the chausses he wore and the chemise Iolande was wearing where she had fallen asleep before the hearth. “What else do you intend to wash?”
“My chemise.”
He smiled, desire glinting in his eyes. “By all means, do not let me interfere,” he teased.
“You cannot,” she began to protest, surprised as his expression turned grim.
“Aye, you need not state it fully, love,” he said quietly. “You have made it clear enough that you abhor my touch.”
Alienor was completely confused and uncertain as to what she should do. Did he think she cared naught for him?
“My lord, that is not...” she began, but Dagobert dismissed her words with a gesture.
“I have neither the strength nor the will for this discussion now, Alienor,” he said and she saw the fullness of his exhaustion. He pierced her with a bright gaze. “Should you wish to join me abed this night, I vow I will not force my desires upon you.”
He took to the bed then and the sound of his sigh tugged at her heart. But he rolled to face the opposite wall, leaving Alienor to wonder as she washed her chemise.
’Twas nigh midnight when they departed on the last leg of their journey. The mountain paths they took to avoid the main roads were treacherous in the darkness. They were no more than tracks for the goats, and difficult to discern even in daylight. Progress was slow and conversation impossible as the horses walked in single file. The relatively short distance remaining to Montsalvat took an unbelievable amount of time to transverse.
Fortunately, the rain had ceased. Dagobert was glad that he had spent so much time playing in the mountains as a child, for he knew these paths as well as the lines on his own palms. They could never have made this journey otherwise.
Unicorn Bride: A Medieval Romance Page 24