“I need no more sleep this night.”
Dagobert chuckled, the warmth of his hand landing on the smooth expanse of her stomach. “Nor do I, love,” he whispered. “Nor do I.”
Chapter 14
The sky became gray over the brilliant banner flying defiantly from the keep as the days grew ever shorter. There was a new bite in the wind as winter settled around Montsalvat. True to Eustache’s expectations, some of the warriors below did leave when the first snow arrived, but those in the keep were still vastly outnumbered. Weeks passed without any tidings, only the hammering of rocks launched from the catapults, signifying that there was a world beyond the curtain walls.
Kado looked down over the invaders one chilly morning, his eyes narrowing. Any fool could see that even though Dagobert might have abandoned his quest, the king had no intention of abandoning his hunt for the last king of the Rhedae.
That only made good sense to a warrior like Kado, for it would be too easy for another generation to rise from this fortress to challenge the king, even if Dagobert put his family legacy aside. The blood royal ran hot and carried the burden of obligation, though Kado would not speculate on the path his great-grandson might choose. Kado wished to ensure that the boy had the opportunity to choose at all, rather than be slaughtered here when Montsalvat fell to the invaders.
’Twas time to speak to Iolande and propose his plan.
Alienor awakened alone one cold morning, disappointed that Dagobert was gone. The sky was turning pink with the first light of dawn. She rose to fetch Thierry before he cried, and spied her husband in the bailey below. He was pacing a distance from the east wall and back again, then staring up at the sky. Curious, she paused with the babe to watch.
Dagobert climbed the sentry tower in that corner of the wall and Alienor could barely see him scanning the road far below. He climbed down and repeated his pacing time and again, the trail in the snow showing that he consistently reached the same spot. His expression was evidence enough that he did not find what he sought. She tended to Thierry, certain that she would learn more of Dagobert’s concern later, and, indeed, she had only to wait until the midday meal.
“’Tis the solstice on the morrow,” he announced at the board.
Iolande’s quick nod told Alienor that the older woman was not surprised. “Our Yule meal will be sparse, indeed.” Her tone was filled with the pessimism that had seemed to grow of late within the keep.
Eustache looked down the table at Dagobert and Alienor watched her husband’s lips thin to a taut line. What had gone amiss? He glanced up in that moment and must have noticed her curiosity, for he smiled and slipped one arm around her waist. He made a face at Thierry who chortled back at him.
“Alienor has already brought us the greatest gift this year,” he asserted gallantly, then lifted the boy from Alienor’s arms. He settled him into the crook of one arm and tickled his feet. Alienor smiled at her son’s delight, feeling the knot of tension pass. She could not help but note that Dagobert’s smile did not reach his eyes.
When he rose to pace the perimeter of the walls as had become his habit in the evening, Alienor passed Thierry to Iolande. She hurried in her husband’s wake, determined to know what was wrong.
“Stay warm,” he said when he saw her.
She shook her head, gathering her pelisson tighter about herself. “I would know what disturbs you so. Of what import is the equinox?”
He regarded her silently for a moment. Finally, he sighed and smiled, offering his hand. They stepped over the threshold and crossed the bailey, leaving prints in the freshly fallen snow. They walked without speaking for a few minutes. Alienor tipped her head back, watching a few snowflakes meander down to them out of the indigo of the night sky.
“Aid was promised me by Yule,” Dagobert confessed softly.
Alienor looked to him in surprise. “From whence?”
He looked as if he dreaded her response. “Toulouse.”
“Toulouse? From Raimon de Toulouse?”
Dagobert nodded. “Aye, the same.”
“You put your trust in the man who so readily betrayed us?”
Dagobert shook his head. “Nay, Alienor, I put only my hope in his promise, for there was no other source of hope.” He pulled her into a hug in the middle of the bailey, tipping his head back in turn to look at the distant stars. “I always feared that ’twould be thus, but the others found encouragement in the prospect of assistance. And hope can give a man strength, even when all appears lost.”
“Could Raimon have been delayed?” she asked. “Or trapped behind the outer gate?”
“Possibly,” he acknowledged. “But my heart says nay. Either way, it does not matter so long as the barbican is held, for he could not reach us by the road.”
Alienor leaned her cheek against his chest and breathed deeply of Dagobert’s scent, finding his mere presence soothing. “What do we do?” she finally whispered, the way his arms tightened around her proof that he had anticipated her question.
“We may have to abandon Montsalvat,” he admitted.
Alienor could not begin to guess what just the thought cost him. This keep was Dagobert’s home and, though life in the fortress was not easy, she could understand his affection for the place. There was something marvelous about Montsalvat’s perch atop its mountain. It was high above the doings of other men as if it aspired to dwell in the heavens themselves. The air was always clean and crisp, and both the raging of the elements and cycle of the seasons seemed more closely bound to their lives.
“When?” she asked, and felt him shake his head.
“I do not know.” His tone was bleak and Alienor hugged him more tightly, wanting to do something to make this leave-taking easier for her spouse.
“Thierry should take his name at Bema,” she said.
Dagobert drew back to look down at her. “’Tis three months away, and they will be long ones with so little food.”
Alienor nodded with determination. “Aye, but I would see him take his name in your ancestral home before we leave. It would be right.” She looked up at him, watching the emotions war in his eyes before he touched one finger tentatively to her cheek. Even though he vowed to have laid aside his quest, she knew this ceremony would be important to him.
“It would mean much to me,” he said unsteadily, then shook his head as he whispered. “I do not know where we shall go, Alienor. I fear...”
Alienor reached up to silence him with a fingertip. She knew his concerns well enough. He feared that they would be hunted no matter how far they journeyed. He feared there would be no safe haven for them. He feared that he had failed her as well as his father.
But Alienor did not believe that.
She was resolved that they must celebrate this one ceremony before they departed into uncertainty, for Alienor had learned the full import of the formal naming their son. ’Twas when Thierry took his name that he would be anointed the next of the line of kings. He would have to be a full knight to take the pledge to continue the fight as Dagobert had, but ’twas at his naming that the family would acknowledge him as the heir apparent. ’Twas only fitting that the ceremony take place at Montsalvat, where similar ceremonies had taken place throughout the centuries. The vernal equinox, signifying the rebirth of the sun, was only three months away, and there could not be a more apt time.
“I would have him named here, and so shall it be,” she said with resolve, stretching up to kiss him. She felt him shiver with relief before his arms tightened around her and knew in her heart that all would be well.
The plan to leave Montsalvat was contrived with astonishing speed. Within days it seemed to Alienor that everyone in the keep was committed to the task. The men were fairly standing in line to assist in the labor of excavating the storeroom, which Alienor did not understand. Why there? Why now? Dagobert answered her questions about the digging with naught but a mischievous smile.
Until the middle of January, when he led her by the hand to the st
oreroom, now filled with rubble. A trove of gold of considerable value had been unearthed, and Alienor was amazed by the sight. She was more amazed by the size of the hoard when it was hauled up into the hall. The vast majority was in minted coins, but there was an assortment of jewelry set with brightly hued gems, as well as a group of blades with beautifully wrought hilts. Many hands set immediately to the packing of the gold into two large and sturdy leather sacks.
“’Tis the legendary treasure,” the red-headed priest she recalled from her wedding day confided over his shoulder. Alienor could not decide whether she was more astonished that she had heard naught of it in almost a year of living at Montsalvat or that the mythic treasure of the keep actually existed.
“’Tis said to be a Cathar treasure hidden at Montsalvat,” Alienor said, more out of a desire to irk the man who had wed her to a goat than anything else. “But you are no Cathar.”
“Oh no?” the priest demanded with a grin. “Have you seen me at the Mass these past months?”
“No Mass is read here,” she noted, distrusting the twinkle in his eyes.
“Aye, and I know it well. Do you not think a Roman priest would protest that, as well as the lack of crucifix in the chapel?”
Alienor laughed aloud, for she had wondered. The Cathar refusal to acknowledge the crucifix as a symbol was a sore point with Rome. ’Twas their conviction that evil had triumphed over good when Christ was killed that prompted their denial.
“I wondered about that at my nuptials, but there were more troubling matters afoot.”
The priest laughed and propped his hands on his hips. “I have never seen a more vexed bride in all my days, though ’twas soon enough you met the man behind the beast.” He nodded at Thierry, now nestled in Alienor’s arms, and she flushed at his implication.
“You are Cathar, then?”
The priest shook his head. “Nestorian, should you wish to be exact, but precious little difference is there twixt the two to most eyes.”
Before Alienor could ask anything more, Dagobert appeared beside her and addressed the priest. “Are you ready then, Connor?” Dagobert’s manner was urgent, but the other man nodded.
“I know the path well and the packs are ready.” He nodded at the bulging leather sacks of gold at their feet. “I merely have need of my companion.”
“I am here, sure enough,” Guibert growled as he approached.
Alienor’s heart sank that the moment of parting was upon them. It should have been sufficient for her to see him safely away from the fortress, but she feared they would not meet again. He pulled her close in his usual gruff way and she knew ’twas no coincidence that he was so late in coming to the hall.
“Be happy, child. ’Twill be soon enough that our paths cross again.”
Alienor could only hope that ’twould be so. Her eyes filled with tears and she forced him to endure a longer hug than usual. “Be safe, Guibert,” she whispered as he stepped away.
Guibert avoided her gaze, making a great pretense of checking that his pack was securely closed. Dagobert pulled Alienor tightly against his side and she welcomed his support.
“Godspeed to you both.” Dagobert reached to shake hands with each of the men in turn. Guibert and Connor shouldered their packs with a bit of difficulty, pausing to shake hands with many of those assembled before they strode out the hall. Darkness was falling and Alienor hoped against hope that they would safely make their way clear of the fortress.
“Fear not, love,” Dagobert whispered into her ear, and she turned into his embrace. “All will be well in the end.”
Alienor could only hope that he was proven right.
“’Tis steady progress they make,” Eustache announced grimly.
Dagobert was forced to cede the truth of it. The fire burned low on the hearth in the hall, and the rest of the keep had long ago retired. Still the two men sat before the dying blaze in an effort to decide what to do.
Only three weeks remained until Bema and the attackers had chosen to renew their assault. Dagobert was uncertain that they could hold off the attack long enough to celebrate Thierry’s naming, but Alienor had been right when she had guessed how much ’twould mean to him to have his son named at Montsalvat. ’Twas a conundrum and he could not for the life of him see his way clear of it.
“I know not what to do.” Dagobert mused almost to himself, but Eustache did not miss the low words.
The older knight stood to toss another log on the fire, turning to sit down heavily beside him, and Dagobert knew Eustache had something to say. He lifted a brow in invitation and his friend smiled in acknowledgment before he spoke.
“’Tis you they seek,” he began. Dagobert nodded immediate agreement. “And perhaps Thierry.”
A cold hand closed around Dagobert’s heart at that thought but he forced himself to face the truth of it, disliking yet again the legacy he had brought his son.
“Do you think the rest would be spared if we left?” he demanded despite the tightness in his chest.
Eustache cast him a look that spoke volumes.
The two men regarded each other silently for long minutes before the crackling flames, each recognizing the truth when they heard it.
“It seems a chance well worth the taking,” Eustache said finally.
Dagobert nodded. “’Tis my suspicion, as well, though I am reluctant to leave this old keep untended.”
The abandonment of Montsalvat was not half the problem, but Dagobert noted that Eustache was willing to let the explanation be. Only the crackling of the fire filled the air between them until Eustache at last cleared his throat.
“There are those that would tend this keep should you go.”
Dagobert considered his friend with surprise, wondering if he had misinterpreted the words. He had never considered that Eustache would not go with him, for they had been virtually inseparable since Alzeu’s death. It seemed incomprehensible that Eustache would want to stay behind when there was adventure to be had of any kind. A quick glance revealed a ruddy flush on Eustache’s neck and with that, Dagobert understood.
There was a lady Eustache did not wish to abandon.
“Aye? Do you know any who would take on such a burden?” he asked, watching Eustache’s ears redden in embarrassment.
“Iolande saw fit to entrust its care to me once before,” the older knight began, and his lack of confidence amazed Dagobert.
Indeed, the man had felt the bite of Cupid’s arrow. Dagobert marveled that he had not guessed.
Eustache inhaled, perhaps mistaking the reason for his lord’s silence, then flicked a glance in Dagobert’s direction. “’Tis true I erred in going to Toulouse myself, but the lesson has been learned, and ’tis my belief that none other could so surely see to the care of Montsalvat.” He spoke in a rush, his confident words undermined by his tone.
“Indeed, there is no other to whom I would entrust the task,” Dagobert agreed. “But it must be said that your offer surprises me. ’Tis unlike you to choose the hearth over the road.”
“I would ask your permission to wed, my lord,” Eustache mumbled, his use of the formal address betraying his uncertainty.
“The lady has agreed?” Dagobert asked, not having the heart to tease his friend in the face of his discomfort.
“I thought to have your word first.”
Dagobert nodded in the firelight. “’Twould ease my concerns to entrust Montsalvat to the care of you and your lady.” he agreed, and Eustache grinned with relief as he reached to shake Dagobert’s hand. “And who is the fortunate lady?”
“Giselle,” Eustache confessed.
Dagobert’s eyes widened with a surprise that Eustache evidently did not miss. Did Alienor know anything of this?
“Aye,” Eustache added with a solemn nod. “’Tis long indeed I have held her in high regard, and the lady has recently given me cause for encouragement.”
“Indeed, I would wish you every good fortune.” The men shook hands again, Eustache’s reli
ef nigh tangible. ’Twas good to know that the fortress would be maintained by those he could trust, but that was but the first of many problems to be solved. “As future master of the keep, I would ask your advice to holding the gate until Bema,” Dagobert asked, watching Eustache stare into the embers.
“Tis clear they will take the gate in less than a fortnight,” that man acknowledged, drawing a nod of agreement from Dagobert. Eustache’s eyes brightened suddenly and he leaned toward Dagobert in his excitement. “What do you think of a truce? We do not care if the gate falls after Bema, for you will be gone and I cannot think that they will harm any others in your absence.”
Dagobert leaned back in his chair and frowned as he considered the idea. “Do you think they would agree to a truce now with the surrender of the keep to take place after Bema?”
Eustache shrugged. “We can only try.” He pulled his chair closer as the details seemed to become more clear. “Consider that we offer to surrender the day after Bema, that we agree to surrender all Cathars to the Inquisition on the condition that the others walk free,” he proposed.
Dagobert shot him a skeptical look. “We already know that they do not truly seek Cathars.”
Eustache shook his head. “’Tis you and your avowed followers we discuss when we say Cathar and they know it as well as we do.”
Dagobert nodded slowly. ’Twas remotely possible that this idea could work.
“We would simply have to leave during the night, sometime after the ceremony,” he mused, flicking a glance to Eustache in sudden recollection. “Remember how Thierry climbed down the west wall that summer when we said ’twas impossible?” he demanded, and Eustache’s eyes lit up in turn.
“Aye, aye, a fine dare ’twas,” he agreed, the conviction in his tone growing as he spoke. “He used knotted ropes, and should we remain within the keep, they could be untied after your descent was complete. No one would know how or when you had gone and you would be halfway to the coast before they sought you. ’Tis perfect!”
Unicorn Bride: A Medieval Romance Page 30