“Kado,” she whispered finally and the man laughed. Iolande touched his cheek, her blue eyes filling with tears and her mouth working for a moment. “Tis truly you, Kado, after all these years. I can scarce believe it!”
“’Tis me, Iolande, even after all this time.”
“Kado!” The two embraced, their emotion-filled reunion bringing tears to Alienor’s eyes, though she knew not the identity of this man.
Kado and Iolande parted, their expressions serious as they studied each other silently, tracing the passage of the years on once-familiar faces.
“Alzeu?” Kado asked simply, and Iolande’s joy was banished. She bit her lip and shook her head and Kado dropped his gaze to the floor, shaking his own head sadly.
“I had so hoped to see him again,” he murmured.
Iolande took a deep breath and clung to Kado’s hand. “’Tis fifteen long years since he was killed.” Her voice was husky and the tidings prompted Kado to shake his head sadly.
“And your boy?” he prompted finally.
Iolande sighed. “We had hoped for his return when we heard that someone had come up the east face.” Alienor saw tears rising again in her eyes. “’Tis two months since we have had word from him and already this year the king has imprisoned him once.”
And sentenced him to die. That was not to be forgotten, in Alienor’s view.
“Your tidings are little better than mine,” Kado conceded, and it seemed the full weight of his years settled on his shoulders. He took Iolande’s arm and led her slowly to the high table in the hall, pausing to turn to Giselle. “Have you a bite and a sip for an old man?”
“Of course, sir!” Giselle nodded before she slipped away.
It seemed to Alienor that Kado’s glance lingered on her for a moment, as if he thought he knew her, too. Then he shook his head, turning his attention to Iolande as he seated himself beside her.
“’Tis Arpais you seek,” Iolande guessed.
Kado nodded, his exhaustion evident. “Aye,” he admitted, gesturing to Guibert. “I met this knight in a tavern in Carcassonne and he has proven to be a mighty listener.” The two smiled at each other in admiration. “And quick with a blade, which is no small advantage in these times,” Kado added.
Guibert’s ears tinged red at the praise. “’Twas but a lucky swing,” that knight argued, winking at Alienor before he dropped onto the bench beside Kado.
“You are too modest, my friend,” Kado teased, then sobered again. “He saved my life,” he told Iolande. “And then we talked. When Guibert spoke of Montsalvat, though in hushed tones, I knew that I might find my answer here.” He hesitated for a moment, then took Iolande’s hand in his. “Do you know the fate of my Arpais?” he demanded huskily. “I would hear even the worst of it, Iolande.”
Iolande cleared her throat and Alienor watched her stroke her thumbs across Kado’s hand, clasped so tightly within her own. She took a deep breath before she spoke. “’Twas Guibert who saw her die,” she said softly. Alienor’s gaze darted to her foster father to find his expression impassive.
Kado glanced at the older knight who dropped his gaze. “It seemed likely that you might know of her, for there are few of your appearance in these lands. When you spoke of Arpais, I wondered if she might have been the woman I met so briefly.”
“You guessed!” Kado said.
“’Twas not a tale to share lightly,” Guibert said. “I had to know for certain that she was the woman you sought.” He brushed a hand over his brow as if he sought to free himself of some painful recollection. Alienor wondered what grisly sight Guibert recalled. Kado looked down, his expression grim, then Guibert cleared his throat. “When you mentioned Alzeu de Pereille, I thought you might have met Iolande before. Had I been certain earlier, my friend, I would have confided the tale of that lady’s demise.”
Kado placed one hand gently on Guibert’s shoulder. “I have no doubt of that, Guibert. ’Twas kindness alone that convinced you to spare me the tale until you could be certain she was my Arpais.”
“Much trouble have we seen in these parts since last you traveled here,” Iolande commented, and all knew she sought to bolster Kado for the truth.
Kado must have guessed as much, as well, for he swallowed, then eyed Guibert again. “Tell me only that ‘twas quick.”
Guibert nodded immediately. “Aye, ’twas sudden and without suffering, but she had no chance of escape.”
The other man closed his eyes for a moment. “And the child?” he asked finally.
Iolande smiled and seized his hands. “She entrusted the child to Guibert,” she whispered and Kado straightened. “Who raised her as his own.”
“Nay!” Kado said with wonder.
“Aye.” Iolande lifted a hand to indicate Alienor, as Kado rose unsteadily to his feet. Alienor’s heart began to hammer in her chest. This man had known her mother. Was he her own blood kin? She barely dared to hope.
“Kado, I would have you meet Alienor, who is wedded to my son.” Iolande’s smile encouraged Alienor to step forward. At the older woman’s gesture, she reached for her hood and uncovered her hair.
The delight in Kado’s expression when he gazed fully upon her was enough to make Alienor’s own tears rise. He rounded the end of the table like a man in a dream, reaching up to touch Alienor’s cheek as if he feared that she would dissolve before his very eyes.
“The very image of my Arpais,” he murmured hoarsely. Alienor pressed his hand to her cheek with her own shaking fingers, wanting to console him but knowing not how.
“Arpais,” she repeated softly, and Kado smiled at her.
“My only and most beloved daughter,” he whispered, confirming her suspicions.
’Twas Arpais who had surrendered her to Guibert.
“My granddaughter,” Kado added, as if he could not believe the way of things any more easily than Alienor.
They eyed each other, then smiled in the same moment. Alienor moved closer even as her grandfather gathered her close to his heart.
Kado had a lump in his throat as he held this woman close, this woman who so resembled his Arpais, child of the child he had thought lost to him forever. There was hope then, after all. He should never he have left Arpais in these lands, but it was too late for the resolution to make any difference. Only now did he feel the fullness of his expectation to see her again, only now when he felt the void of her loss within him.
How many years had he teased himself with the possibility that he would see Arpais again if he only rode to the west? How long had he imagined tales of her and Robert, happy and healthy with a brood of children? He knew well enough that Robert would never have willingly abandoned his bride, but it was too late to know the truth. Fate had intervened, through no fault of Robert, and his Arpais had died alone.
But not unloved.
’Twas a miracle that her child had survived, and he owed Guibert far more than he had realized in Carcassonne. He pulled back and touched Alienor’s cheek, marveling. Was this truly the squalling babe he had held, though it seemed only days has passed? She could be no other, this woman who might have been Arpais. He summoned a smile of reassurance for her, seeing the questions in the depths of those eyes. His gaze dropped to her rounded stomach and his smile broadened
The two vines had tangled and borne fruit, despite the upset of his and Alzeu’s carefully-laid plans. The two regal bloodlines had been successfully merged.
“I know naught of my roots,” Alienor said softly.
Kado smiled at her reluctance to make demands of him, even as he knew that her curiosity must be overwhelming. Arpais, too, had been accepting of what came her way and determined to put others first. That they shared this trait as well as such distinctive eyes proved to Kado beyond doubt that this child was indeed of his line.
“Arpais was the light of my life,” he admitted. “I would be glad to tell you all about her.”
“And of yourself?” she prompted.
“Aye. Every tale you might
wish for, and perhaps a few more.”
She laughed then, the familiarity of the sound like a knife to his heart.
For a moment, he thought that he might never force another word past his lips, but the dark-haired girl reappeared with a tray of food. He joined Guibert at the board with relief, knowing their hunger could no longer be denied. The meal would give him an opportunity to put aside his grief, at least for the moment. Alienor sat with Iolande, eyes bright, and, out of deference to her, Kado returned to his tale as quickly as he could.
“You are half Mongol, child, for Arpais was full in her superior blood.” He made the claim proudly, unable to stifle the curl of his lip when he considered the other half of Alienor’s lineage. Robert had been a fine man, but neither Mongol nor even nomad. Kado had been raised with pride in his kind that could not be so readily put aside.
“When her mother died, she rode with me. She was the finest horsewoman in our tribe.” Memories stopped his words again, the vision of Arpais riding, face tilted to the wind, making that lump rise in his throat again. It was hard to speak of her so soon after having his hopes of a reunion destroyed, but Kado owed Arpais’ child the tale.
He should know by now that ’twas folly to rely upon the morrow.
Alienor seemed to understand his dismay, for she covered his lined hand with her own soft one. The contrast between their hands prompted Kado to smile through his pain. A great-grandchild, he mused, shaking his head in wonder, even as his resolve to remain for a while at Montsalvat grew.
He had left Arpais with her infant daughter, granting the responsibility for her safety to her spouse. Only a fool made the same mistake twice.
“It is a long tale in the telling, but rumors came to us some years past of a line of kings who claimed they had been chosen to rule by the divine. These kings sought to regain their rightful heritage, a stolen crown, and were said to be secreted in the ancestral lands of the Visigoths.”
Kado glanced at his granddaughter and saw understanding in her eyes. The tale would be simpler to share, as she was aware of her husband’s heritage. “The khan was troubled in those years. He grew aged himself and saw none fit to take his place as leader of our kind. That made him doubt the will of the divine, and I was sent to learn more of these kings and their claim for him.” Bitterness rose in Kado’s chest and he was forced to look away to regain his composure. “I would never have come had I known that Arpais would fall in love and refuse to return with me,” he confessed. “I would never have willingly paid that price, even for the khan.”
Silence reigned around the table and Kado saw that none would dare ask him to continue, much to his relief. He had already revealed too much and wished to rest before he chose how much more to share. ’Twas clear, though, that Alzeu’s bloodline fared little better than his own.
’Twas too soon to suggest an alternative plan, though Kado already had an idea of the path they might take. He would bide his time, wait for Iolande’s son to return. If that man surrendered his quest and passed responsibility for the battle to his child, if the child was a boy, then there would be time to speak of such matters.
Kado would wait and see his great-grandchild arrive in the world. That event could not be distant in the future, and he would savor each moment in learning more about Arpais’ daughter.
Alienor was her name. He liked it well enough.
“Can you ride?” he asked her and she smiled as she nodded, the resemblance to Arpais startling him anew. “Have you skill with a bow?” He raised a finger. “If not, I will train you...”
If naught else, two months had taught Dagobert much of Raimon’s habits. He stood in the shadows below the man’s second-floor window several nights after discovering Eustache’s location and listened. ’Twas Thursday eve, and though the sky was overcast, Dagobert could have guessed the hour when Raimon’s cry of sexual release carried to his ears.
He scanned the gardens before quickly climbing the trellis on this side of the building. The woman would leave immediately, Dagobert knew. The routine of the sentries meant they would remain on the other side of the house for yet another few moments.
’Twas now or never.
The woman’s skirts were just disappearing and the door to Raimon’s chamber closing when Dagobert gained the window. The chamber was plunged into darkness, and only the sound of Raimon’s breathing filled the air. Dagobert swung over the window ledge and landed in the room on silent feet. He pulled his dagger and eased into the seat beside the bed. He could have waited in the darkness for Raimon to awaken but he was impatient to complete his plan.
Dagobert struck the flint on the table and lit a lantern beside the bed. He savored the look of panic that crossed Raimon’s features when that man spied him. Raimon reached for his servant’s bell but froze when Dagobert turned his blade to catch the light.
“You!” Raimon whispered.
“I escaped the grave.” Dagobert leaned closer. “For you and I have much to discuss, Raimon.”
That man eased backward. “What do you want?”
“You have something of mine and I would have it returned to me.” Dagobert moved closer and the other man recoiled from the dagger that touched his throat. “I have little affection for those who use my mark, especially when ’tis used for deceit.”
Raimon swallowed. “’Twas but a prank.”
Dagobert shook his head determinedly. “The deceit and imprisonment of a knight pledged to the service of another house is no jest.”
“’Tis no jest to challenge the king over his crown,” Raimon snapped. “And inciting his wrath against so many people is folly.”
Dagobert nodded in the darkness. “Aye, there is the truth in that.”
Raimon’s eyes narrowed. “You make a jest,” he accused. “You will never cede this battle...”
But Dagobert shook his head. “Ah, but I have. I tried, which was the pledge demanded by my father, but I have failed. ’Tis sufficient. I will not persist.”
Raimon propped himself up on his elbows. “I can only doubt your word,” he said. “We all know how steadfastly the line of Pereille cling to their pledges.” His brows rose. “Regardless of the cost.”
“Aye, you speak aright, for it has been thus in the past,” Dagobert admitted before he leaned closer. “But ’tis my wife who bids me choose,” he added in an undertone. “And I would cede to her.”
Raimon laughed. “The woman is with child and you would have the babe sworn to the task in your stead,” he accused, his tone triumphant.
Silence hung between them for a moment until Dagobert resolutely shook his head, deciding that there was no reason to verify Alienor’s pregnancy.
“Nay, ’tis not the way of it,” he confessed, lifting his gaze to meet Raimon’s as he continued. “She is Cathar and ’tis for her own company that she would have me abandon the fight. I find myself convinced.”
“What assurance have I that you speak the truth?” Raimon demanded.
Dagobert fixed him with a steady gaze. “You have my word that I have abandoned this quest,” he said. “There was a time that was sufficient between honorable men.”
Raimon held his gaze for a moment, then looked down and shook his head. “My father did support your family’s claim until his dying day,” he mused. Dagobert nodded, knowing that he spoke the truth. “And I, in his stead, willingly took up the cause.”
“Until they took Jeanne,” Dagobert guessed, earning a sharp glance from the older man.
“Aye,” Raimon agreed. “I did not abandon generations of loyalty so readily as that.”
“She is your only child.”
“She is that,” Raimon confirmed, a frown pulling his brows together as he recalled something painful. “It is one matter for a father to see his beloved child bound against her will to a loveless match. ’Tis another to know that a lack of affection is not the sole detail that could be criticized.” He sighed again. “I still bear the scars from the interview that persuaded me, though the event
is more than a decade past.”
Raimon swung his legs out of bed, striding nude across the room then pausing at the window to survey the sleeping town. Dagobert’s gut clenched when the ridges of healed flesh crisscrossing the older man’s back became visible. He shook his head that such a price had been demanded from this man.
Raimon folded his arms across his chest as he looked over his demesne. “I am the seventh Count of Toulouse,” he said softly. “And the last there will be with a drop of my family’s blood.” Raimon flicked a glance over his shoulder to Dagobert. “The Toulousain falls to the crown should Jeanne die childless,” he confided. “Such was the treaty I was forced to sign, and well do all know that she will die a virgin.” He spit out the window with disgust, his brows drawing together as he turned to confront Dagobert again. “No father could give the pride of his days to such a godless match without his heart tearing in two.”
Dagobert nodded in agreement, feeling some measure of Raimon’s pain. “Why did you betray me?”
“You can imagine the threats I receive when the king wants something of me. ’Tis his brother Jeanne has wed, and she lives too close to his hand for my taste.”
“And the summoning of Eustache?”
“But more of the same,” the older man admitted, crossing the chamber to open a trinket box. Something flashed through the air and Dagobert caught his signet ring.
“You have more than this of mine,” he noted.
Raimon folded his arms across his chest, eyeing Dagobert speculatively. “If Montsalvat were saved, what would you do?” he demanded.
Indeed, the same question had haunted Dagobert these past months. “’Tis unlikely the fortress will hold out against so many,” he argued.
Raimon shook his head. “Assume that it does.”
“I know not, for so much depends on the king and his choices. For my part, I would see to my vassals.”
Unicorn Bride: A Medieval Romance Page 26