Alienor rode silently behind him and he felt her hurt as surely as if ’twere his own, though he could not fathom its cause. He had awakened to feel the softness of her breasts pressed against his back and her soft breath on his shoulder. He had feigned sleep a little longer that he might savor the bittersweet touch of her flesh against his own. She had awakened all too soon of her own accord and slipped away. He knew that the chill against his skin in her absence was only a foretaste of how he would feel when she left his side for good.
When the stars began to fade and the moon sank below the horizon, they reached the last turn. He dismounted, holding his very breath as he crept to the lip of the path and stared at Montsalvat.
The fortress was virtually at a level with where he lay, although a great chasm filled the space between them. The bottom of that chasm was rough and uneven with sharp rocks and smaller peaks. Montsalvat crouched on a peak shaped much like a sugar-loaf standing on end. It was encircled by a chasm, then much larger peaks of similar shape. The lone road snaked its way across the rough countryside, rising from the coast far in the south before curling around the foot of the mountain and rising to the fortress itself. Dagobert took a deep breath of that familiar tinge of salt on the wind.
His heart sank when he saw the myriad tents clustered around the road before it began its steep ascent to Montsalvat. Their colors were so numerous and they were sufficiently distant that they could not be readily distinguished one from another.
Ten thousand men.
A defiant banner flew proudly from Montsalvat’s tower. He saw that the attackers had tried to encircle the base of the mountain, a single line of tents making a haphazard path across the uneven terrain.
Predictably, the forces had been focused on the southern face with its road and he could only surmise that the commander either knew naught of the goat paths or considered them impassable. The ring of attackers was sparse on this the eastern side and his hopes gained new vigor from the realization. ’Twould be easy to get to Montsalvat at night and they would not be the first to undertake the journey, of that he was certain.
Judging the amount of time they had left before the sunrise, he chose a suitable spot to conceal themselves in the valley below and headed back to his horse. On the morrow, they would have to proceed on foot and leave the horses.
“’Twill not be so difficult to manage,” he told the expectant women. He did not miss the flicker of dread in Alienor’s gaze nor the assessing gleam of Iolande’s. Fortunately Alienor had seemed strong lately, that fact easing some of his fears that the climb would be too strenuous for her. Had it been any but the east face, he would not have her attempt it: though there were ways to reach the fortress on all faces of the mountain, the other sides were arduously steep indeed.
In silence they made quick progress down this last leg of the path, reaching the place Dagobert had chosen well before the sky turned pink. The site offered more than adequate concealment even for the three horses and they settled in for the day, so close and yet so far from their destination.
That night, Dagobert turned the horses loose, hoping the beasts would not be discovered in time to foil their plans. The destrier led the other two and seemed to be making a path back to the last town. Fortunately, they had precious little to carry other than the clothes they wore on their backs.
With a smile of encouragement for his companions, he stealthily led the way to the ring of knights they must somehow cross. He was considering the relative merits of two apparent breaks in the circle when a man’s harsh whisper made him freeze.
“Who goes there?”
Dagobert’s heart sank. Were they to get no closer than this? He turned slowly to confront the figure crouched in the shadows to his left, noting with relief that Alienor was close behind him. He was astonished when Iolande gave a little gasp of delight.
“Roger!” she whispered with obvious pleasure.
The man’s hooded head tilted to one side. “Countess Iolande?” he asked quietly.
Dagobert watched as his mother stepped forward to embrace the man. Alienor threw him a questioning look but Dagobert could only shrug in response, giving her hand a supportive squeeze when she slipped it into his own.
“Are you still taking messages to the keep?” Iolande demanded of the stranger, continuing to keep her voice low.
He nodded. “I have one from the Count de Foix this night,” he confessed in kind.
Iolande nodded her approval. “Dagobert, do you recall Roger? His mother, Adalays, lives in the village.”
“Aye,” Dagobert agreed, shaking hands with the man. “It has been long indeed,” he added in a murmur, then cast a speculative glance over his shoulder. The king’s knights gathered around a blazing fire outside their tents, not a stone’s throw away, oblivious to the conversation.
“Alienor is my son’s wife,” Iolande told Roger.
The man bowed to Alienor. “We heard tell of the wedding, we did,” Roger began, but Dagobert interrupted what was sure to be a lengthy recollection.
“What word is sent from Foix?”
“Tales of support en route.” Roger offered a tight scroll to Dagobert after a moment’s hesitation. “I could save the climb by giving this to you here.”
Dagobert ignored his comment, unfurling the parchment and squinting in the darkness as he endeavored to read the script in the scant light from the distant fire. Troops, food and reinforcement in but a month, he read, letting the parchment furl shut with a snap. “Have there been other such messages?”
“Aye, Peter’s son in Aragon sent tiding of support in his intent to avenge his father’s murder. Queribus continues to send supplies. Toulouse always sends word of the support they rally there.”
“Raimon de Toulouse?” Dagobert demanded, surprised when the other man nodded. ’Twas odd that Raimon would betray him, then offer to support the defense of Montsalvat, and he could not surmise the man’s true intent. Did Raimon want Montsalvat for himself? Dagobert spared a glance up to the fortress, amazed that ’twas suddenly the focus of so much attention.
He had to talk to Eustache.
“Can you get us into the keep?”
His question drew an immediate nod from Roger.
“Aye, though ’tis easier farther north.” He gestured to the right.
“Let us go, then.” Dagobert was impatient to be inside the fortress again. He was anxious to discuss the matter of Raimon with Eustache. It made no sense that these troops lingered, with the intent of conquering Montsalvat as word of his confinement must have reached them.
“I would spare my lady as much of the night’s chill as we can,” he added, drawing Alienor closer to his side. When Roger looked mystified, Dagobert explained. “The babe comes in but three months.”
“Ah.” Roger nodded, then cast a questioning glance over Dagobert’s shoulder. “Are you just three then?”
Dagobert was confused in his turn. “Aye. Why?”
“What of Eustache?” Roger asked.
“Eustache?” Iolande repeated.
“Eustache?” Dagobert asked at the same time.
“’Tis two months since he rode out to find you,” Roger admitted. “I had assumed you would all return together, but it seems I speak out of turn.”
“Where did he ride?” Dagobert demanded, even as a chill settled around his own heart. What had befallen Eustache? ’Twas unlike him to be impulsive and less so to send no word. Dagobert marveled that his companion would do such a thing, especially after he had been entrusted with responsibility of the fortress.
Who now guarded the keep and kept the attackers at bay?
“Toulouse,” Roger supplied. “A message came from there sealed with your mark. All assumed that you summoned him thence, for he rode out with all haste.”
Alienor gasped. Dagobert closed his eyes, easily recalling the loss of his possessions on the night that he and Alienor had been arrested. Raimon must have claimed his signet ring and used it in his stead. He wondere
d who else Raimon had summoned, and what other messages the count had sent in his name.
“Two months ago and there has been no word?” Dagobert asked, and Roger nodded in agreement. “You are certain of this?”
The other man looked affronted. “Thrice weekly do I make this climb, sir. I know more of the doings at Montsalvat than any other.”
Dagobert nodded. He hoped his horse had not yet wandered too far afield, for ’twas clear what he must do. “You should easily see my wife and mother within the keep then.” He ignored the startled glance Alienor cast his way.
“My lord?” Roger asked in bewilderment.
“I ride to Toulouse,” Dagobert replied curtly. “See that the women make the climb safely and take special care of my wife’s condition.”
Roger hesitated for a moment and Dagobert recalled his statement that he no longer needed to make the climb to deliver his message. With a grimace of distaste, Dagobert dug Jordan’s purse from his tunic and tossed a coin to the man, disliking the gleam of avarice that lit the man’s eyes before it vanished. For a moment, Dagobert doubted his decision to leave the women with this man, but he knew that he had little choice, feeling responsible for Eustache’s undoubtedly ill-fated ride to Toulouse.
“Aye, my lord,” Roger agreed.
“Another two shall I have for you on my return when I see my wife safe,” Dagobert vowed, watching as the man nodded.
“And should you not return?” he asked.
Dagobert slipped his arm proprietarily around Alienor’s waist. “Should three moons pass and I do not return, my lady wife will see to your wage.” He knew there were adequate resources hidden within the keep to cover the payment.
Roger nodded and squinted up at the sky. “’Twill be nigh dawn by the time we arrive,” he warned.
Dagobert breathed a silent sigh of relief, certain that his offer was enough to see to Alienor’s safety.
“But, Dagobert—” Alienor protested, her words cut short when he laid his finger gently across her lips. He smiled down at her, seeing only her fear for Eustache and her own climb ahead in her tawny eyes. Would that her heart would fret so over him!
“Worry not, my love,” he whispered. “All will be well.” He tightened his arms around her for a heartbeat when he kissed her forehead, unable to trust himself to say more. Before he could reconsider his choice, Dagobert released her, meeting Roger’s eyes one last time before he pivoted and strode into the darkness.
Alienor bit her lip, straining to watch the shadow that was Dagobert slip from rock to rock until she could no longer distinguish his form. He had been almost relieved to quit her side, she thought with irritation. She glanced at this Roger, who was supposed to see to her survival, and instinctively distrusted the man. She met Iolande’s gaze, seeing that the older woman was similarly dissatisfied with the situation, then looked back over the rocky expanse in search of Dagobert.
Curse him! And he rode to Toulouse, no less, the very place where they had already been betrayed! As much as she respected the friendship between Dagobert and Eustache, she could not help but wish that Eustache had not ridden out to Toulouse. His choice had been well-intentioned, to be sure, but it seemed his ride and Dagobert’s pursuit could only end poorly for both men. Alienor blinked back pointless tears as she followed Roger and Iolande to what he called the start of the path, then realized that he addressed herself and Iolande in a whisper.
“We are fortunate that ’tis the east face.” Roger looked between the two women as if assessing their strength. “But the climb is still not an easy one, the paths twisted and treacherous. I do not intend to rouse your fear, but I would have you know the truth of it before we begin.”
At his warning, Alienor surveyed the path. Though the mountainside appeared to be nigh a sheer drop, closer inspection revealed that it was not. Alienor was relieved that she could discern a narrow path, though it wound in and out of sight. It was steep in places, open to the sky in some and tucked behind rocks in others, but it was a path. She might have to crawl on all fours and she would avoid looking down, but she could do this feat.
“I came down the east face,” Iolande said. “And I will return by it, sure enough.”
Roger nodded, his gaze lingering on Alienor’s rounded belly.
“Though we be mere women, we are tough enough,” Iolande continued. “Lead on, Roger.” Alienor stifled a smile, knowing the man would be hard-pressed to match her mother-in-law’s determination in the face of adversity.
Chapter 12
September 1243
“Eustache!” Dagobert took the chance and whispered his friend’s name through the narrow window that allowed a measure of air into the cellars below Raimon’s home.
The count’s domicile could no longer be called a keep, for its walls had moved outward to encompass all of Toulouse. Raimon’s home was only a larger and finer version of the other houses in this prosperous town, though ’twas well defended.
Darkness had fallen and even the sentries could do little to dissuade Dagobert from this impulsive choice. He was out of time and coin, and still he had learned little of Eustache’s situation. In two months of hiding and trespassing, the only place he had been unable to search was Raimon’s cellars. If Eustache was not within, Dagobert would have to conclude that his loyal companion was lost.
Was there a stirring in the shadows behind the barred window? Dagobert hoped it might be so. He spared a quick glance over his shoulder to verify that the street was empty, then leaned down to whisper again.
“Eustache!” he hissed, a little louder this time.
The answering groan from below was both unmistakable and familiar. Dagobert closed his eyes in relief before the realities of the situation assailed him. How would he free Eustache from the cellar, if the knight was unwell? How would both of them escape from town if his companion could not walk?
“I will need your assistance to gain your freedom,” Dagobert whispered.
Eustache muttered a curse. “Aye, ’tis exactly that kind of aid I expected,” that knight replied.
Dagobert smiled, reassured that his companion was sufficiently hale to complain.
Footsteps echoed around the corner and Dagobert straightened. “Later, my friend,” he whispered then dove into the shadows of a nearby alleyway. He held his breath as two men paced past, their mail revealing their role as sentries. They argued the merit of some change to their routine and he closed his eyes with relief when they had strolled past, evidently without noticing him.
Would Eustache be able to ride? To run? Dagobert was determined to rescue his friend and began to scheme how it might be done.
“Someone comes over the wall!” The urgent whisper passed through Montsalvat, eventually reaching the solar. When Giselle repeated it in the solar, Alienor hastened to rise and dress. She could hear activity in the hall and bailey below, even though it was the middle of the night.
Could it be Dagobert? She could only hope as much.
Alienor fairly tripped over Giselle in her haste and met Iolande in the corridor outside the solar. The older woman’s expression appeared stark by the light of the lamp she carried, and her fine pale hair hung loose down her back.
Giselle tossed surcoats over both women, tut-tutting under her breath about the chill in the air as all three hastened down the stairs to the hall. Alienor pulled up her hood and took Giselle’s cold hand within her own, barely noting that the maid seemed to share her sense of urgency. The three descended the steps together, each certain that ’twas Dagobert and Eustache who returned.
To their astonishment, ’twas another knight who stood into the hall, awaiting them. A short, curiously featured man stood behind him, surveying the hall with open curiosity. The knight removed his helmet and had barely time to run a hand over his brow before Alienor launched herself toward him.
“Guibert!” she cried as he caught her close.
He studied her features then smiled with affection, his eyes widening when he noted th
e fullness of her belly. “Already ripe,” he said, laughing, and swung her into the air with mock difficulty, kissing her on both cheeks and straightening her hood with paternal pride. “Your lord must indeed be proud.”
“Aye,” Alienor responded simply, flushing at her uncertainty.
“It suits you well,” Guibert teased, pinching her chin as he had done when she was a little girl.
“I am so glad to see you,” she confessed.
“Aye, ’tis good to meet again,” he acknowledged gruffly, and she saw him blink back tears before he pulled her into another bone-crushing hug. “All is well here?” he demanded in a husky whisper that only she could hear and Alienor knew he asked about more than her health.
“He is a good man, just as you vowed,” she said with a small smile.
Guibert grinned in return. “’Tis good,” he said with obvious relief. He turned then to greet Iolande. “’Tis a harsh road that leads to your door these days, my lady,” he jested.
“Indeed, the path is no longer as easy as once it was,” Iolande admitted. “I am glad that you and your companion found your way. Welcome!”
Her words drew attention to the man who had so far stood silently at Guibert’s side. He was short of stature, his hair straight and dark. His complexion was uncommonly golden; his eyes narrow and tipped upward at the outer corners.
He smiled, revealing a set of crooked teeth surrounding one gold one. Alienor wondered how old he was, noting now the slight bend of his shoulders beneath the heavy black coat he wore and the network of lines on his face.
“Although it must be said, my lady, that the most difficult paths often lead to the greatest reward.” He spoke with a strange accent and Alienor wondered from whence he had come. His manners were gracious, though, and he bowed low over Iolande’s hand. “’Tis most gratifying to meet once more, Iolande de Goteberg.” His expression turned mischievous as he glanced up at Iolande. Alienor was surprised to find her mother-in-law apparently astonished to silence.
Unicorn Bride: A Medieval Romance Page 25