Unicorn Bride: A Medieval Romance Page 3

  “’Tis no doubt amusing for you,” she replied. “Was it so unreasonable for me to expect to be wed to a man?”

  “Oho,” the priest replied with a chuckle, waving aside her concerns. “’Tis this form that worries you,” he said, as if everything were clear to him now. “The Count is cursed and condemned to the shape of a unicorn by day,” he confided, patting her on the hand. He spared her a wink. “But by night you will find him man enough to suit you.”

  “What nonsense is this?” Alienor demanded, her ire well and truly roused. Did this man expect her to believe that her husband was a shape-shifter, like some ancient pagan god? “I will not accept tales of magical spells as explanation for this foolishness.” She fixed the cleric with a determined glance. “I demand an annulment.”

  The priest studied her, tapping one finger against his chin as he considered her request. “You must understand,” he finally said, “that path would not be regarded with approval by my lady and patron. Indeed, you place me in a tenuous position by your very request.”

  “No less than you have placed me!”

  “Indeed.” The priest considered Alienor, all trace of humor gone now from his eyes. “An annulment can only be granted if the match has not been consummated.” He shrugged. “In all fairness, I must give the Count an opportunity.” He nodded as though pleased with his decision, then met Alienor’s gaze. “Should you wish the same in the morning, I shall grant your request.” With his very unsatisfactory conclusion, he turned to follow the guests to the hall and the feast.

  “You cannot expect me to couple with a goat!”

  The priest paused halfway down the aisle, glancing over his shoulder with that impish grin. “Unicorn.” He mouthed the correction, shaking one finger at her before striding out of the chapel.

  Alienor bit her lip to hold back her tears of frustration, overwhelmed by her situation. How could Guibert do such a thing to her? Had he known the fullness of the wager he made? Wed to a beast! Could there truly be any worse fate than this?

  “I will tend Dagobert,” came a low voice from her side, and Alienor jumped, having thought herself alone in the chapel. She was surprised to find the goatherd yet standing beside her, sympathy in his gray eyes.

  “Should you wish to retire for a few moments,” he added, and Alienor nodded, grateful for his understanding. He had a deep and soothing voice, and a reassuring manner. It was a relief that someone else could appreciate that her situation was beyond normal, even if he was only a goatherd.

  “Dagobert?” she echoed as she handed him the slim cord. The man smiled and the sight sent her heart lurching about her chest. She was definitely not susceptible to the charming smile of a servant.

  “You did not listen to the ceremony,” he chided her.

  Alienor smiled in turn, feeling a blush heat her cheeks. “I confess I was preoccupied,” she admitted. “Dagobert,” she said as she studied the creature, trying without success to fit the name to the beast.

  “Dagobert V de Pereille,” the man supplied.

  Alienor’s smile broadened at the juxtaposition of name and beast. “’Tis a lengthy name for such a humble creature,” she commented, folding her arms across her chest.

  The man chuckled, reaching down to scratch the creature’s ears with something like affection. His hands were tanned and Alienor found herself noticing the lean strength of them and the gentleness with which he rubbed Dagobert’s ear.

  “A unicorn, nobly born, is not a humble creature,” he said, correcting her. His warm glance made her realize that the chapel was abandoned except for the three of them. Dagobert eyed Alienor’s kirtle again before reaching for the red velvet once more. Alienor stepped backward, away from both man and beast.

  “Do not touch me,” she ordered the beast with a warning finger.

  The goatherd’s deep chuckle reminded her that he had overheard the priest’s words and made it impossible for her to meet his gaze.

  “’Tis said the unicorn comes only to a woman pure and true,” he said in his quiet and confident way.

  Alienor felt her color deepen yet again. To discuss the intimacies of her wedding night with strangers was too much for her characteristic modesty.

  She started when the stable hand brushed one fingertip gently across her chin, tipping up her face with the simple gesture. The tremor that tripped along her veins at the touch of his fingertip startled her with its intensity. She felt suddenly too aware of the warmth in his eyes, and she found herself snared, powerless to move or avert her gaze.

  “Fear not the night, lovely lady,” he murmured.

  Alienor watched, spellbound, as his lips curved into that reassuring smile again. Somehow his words eased her fears, and his quiet confidence restored her own resolve to finish what she had begun. By morning, she would be able to ask for that annulment.

  “I thank you for your compassion.” She smiled back at him, and he blinked as if disconcerted, his gaze dropping to her lips and back to her eyes again.

  “Tis good to see the bride smile,” he said with approval.

  His words reminded Alienor of who and where she was, of how inappropriate it was for her to be studying the outline of this goatherd’s lips. She felt herself flush scarlet, and managed to mumble an inarticulate excuse before she turned and fairly fled the chapel.

  She felt the weight of his gaze long after she had left him and her new spouse behind.

  If Alienor had regained some of her composure by the time she reached the hall, dinner quickly undermined it again. As soon as she reached the head table, Iolande handed her a chalice brimming with mulled wine. Her new mother-in-law’s hands were icily cold when their fingers brushed. The pewter chalice was clearly of some ceremonial value, its decoration too ornate for an oft-used piece. The design echoed the branching grapevines laden with fruit that Alienor had noted in the stained glass of the chapel.

  “To the fruit of the union,” Iolande said as Alienor lifted the cup to her lips.

  She stifled her annoyance that yet another mention had been made of the impending intimacy of her wedding night.

  “Blessed be the fruit!” the company intoned.

  Iolande arched an eyebrow at her in expectation.

  “Blessed be the fruit,” Alienor repeated, wondering at the words.

  Iolande’s smile did not quite reach her eyes. Sensing someone behind her, Alienor turned slightly, startled to find the goatherd watching her as he led Dagobert to the table.

  It seemed the beast had the place of honor.

  Iolande bent and offered the chalice to the creature, making the same enigmatic blessing as it lapped at the wine with its startlingly blue tongue. Alienor barely stifled a grimace and looked away. She was surprised to see the goatherd’s gray eyes twinkling, as if at some hidden joke.

  “Blessed be the fruit,” that man repeated along with the company, his gaze fixed upon her. Alienor flushed anew, the words sounding curiously intimate when they fell from that man’s lips.

  She could not think of a single clever word to say, so she took her seat at the board. A quick glance to her right confirmed that Dagobert was indeed still ruminating. A glance at the company revealed that they all considered the situation to be acceptable. Alienor sighed and lifted her gaze to study the stonework in the ceiling.

  She had only to endure this travesty until morning.

  The meal was served and the scent of the first offered platter made her raise her hand.

  “I thank you, but I will take no meat.” Her refusal, though quietly uttered, seemed to draw the attention of everyone at the head table. Iolande inhaled sharply, muttering something unintelligible under her breath, and Alienor’s heart sank to her toes. She was not among friends and she should have realized as much. Truly she had erred, but the dangerous declaration had left her lips before she thought. Even Guibert looked grim.

  She had been blessed with the tolerance of her neighbors for years and now forgot herself at the board of a count undoubtedly pledg
ed to the king’s will. That king was pledged to exterminate the Cathars, who were known to spurn the consumption of meat. To spurn meat was to be Cathar; to be Cathar, an enemy of the crown. How could she have been so foolish? The response of the others at the head table left no doubt in Alienor’s thoughts that her religion had been suspected and was not appreciated. Could anything else possibly go wrong this day?

  Dare she hope that she might be discarded as an unsuitable bride?

  Iolande’s glare suggested that was a slim possibility. Of course, it could not have been so simple as that.

  The entire party was silent, as if awaiting Alienor’s explanation.

  “I have little taste for venison after the day’s ride,” she said.

  Iolande sniffed with what could have been either relief or disapproval. Alienor watched the other woman carefully, uncertain of her thoughts. The resolve in the older woman’s eyes when she turned to Alienor made Alienor’s heart sink to her toes.

  “I would assure you, my daughter, that we have a fine cook and I would not wish to insult his abilities,” Iolande said, a thread of steel underlying her words.

  “I truly meant no insult,” Alienor responded, “but the day has been long and I have little taste for food.”

  “Understandable, indeed,” Iolande replied. “But you must eat something, my child. Come, the meat is good.”

  “Venison, my lady?” the servant at her elbow encouraged once more, pushing a steaming bowl of stew toward Alienor’s trencher, and she could not bear the smell of the roasted meat. She tried to hide her revulsion but in averting her gaze, she met the hostile speculation in the gaze of the knight seated to her left.

  Eustache was his name and by his expression, Alienor suspected he would see her slaughtered by his own blade, before the entire company, if her religious beliefs were confirmed. She would be in this household on the morrow, alone with her new relations and the politics of their hearth. Alienor meant to survive, regardless of the price.

  She glanced down at the chunks of meat in the stew, bracing herself for what she must do.

  “I thank you for your thoughtfulness,” she said to the servant. She helped herself to three small morsels of meat, the dark gravy slipping over her fingertips.

  “If I may suggest, my lady...” That knight gestured politely to a large and particularly succulent piece of meat, the open challenge in his narrowed eyes leaving Alienor no other option.

  “You are indeed too kind, sir,” she managed to reply. She took the piece of meat and granted the servant a polite smile, indicating that she wished no more. Then she turned to confront the four pieces of meat reposing on her crust of bread as if they were the hounds of hell themselves.

  “The meat is very fine,” the knight prompted, his eyes knowing, and Alienor hated him in that moment with every fiber of her being.

  She had never denied her faith, but she knew she must do it now to ensure her safety in this household, a household allied with the king who had decreed that to be Cathar was to die. Alienor stared at the meat and wished she could rely upon herself to swallow it without making a spectacle.

  The entire company, that knight included, watched her, as if they shared her concern.

  Alienor chose a small piece and put it into her mouth, willing herself to chew in a normal manner. It was impossible to ignore the older knight’s and Iolande’s watchful scrutiny. When she swallowed without incident, she was so relieved that she granted the knight a cheerful smile.

  “’Tis indeed wondrously well prepared,” she agreed, taking another piece. She was pleased to see some measure of surprise settle in his expression. Her stomach rolled threateningly and she knew that she could not eat a third piece of meat so easily, but the knight seemed reassured by her consumption of the stew so far.

  Evidently thinking himself unobserved, Eustache flicked a meaningful glance across the room and Alienor followed the gesture. She was confused when Dagobert’s goatherd, leaning against the far wall, nodded in acknowledgment or perhaps understanding. Alienor wondered why the knight would seek to communicate with the servant. She glanced at the knight from beneath her lashes, only to find him consuming his meal as if nothing untoward had happened.

  Did she see meaning where there was none?

  In that moment, there was a gentle nudge against her knee. A peek beneath the table revealed the large dog who had accompanied Iolande in the courtyard, or one much like him, his tail thumping against the floor when Alienor rubbed his nose. He licked the gravy from her fingertips with enthusiasm and Alienor knew how she would make the remainder of her meat disappear.

  Chapter 2

  The candles were burning low when the women escorted Alienor to the nuptial chamber, their giggles and whispers doing little to ease her trepidation of what the night would bring. Somehow she had managed to hold her chin high throughout the meal. To her relief, no one seemed to have noticed the great dog sitting on her feet, much less his consumption of her dinner. The goat tethered at her side apparently had no taste for the meat. It had preferred to nibble at the flowers arranged upon the board. How strange that she and her new spouse had any taste in common!

  Although the meal seemed endless, it was also too soon that she found herself on the marriage bed. She sat on the rich green cloth covering the wide bed, hands clenched in her lap. The bed curtains were drawn back and tied to the bedposts and the chamber was lit with many lanterns. The women fussed over her sheer nightgown, a garment that Alienor and her kindly neighbor had sewn in anticipation of a man’s pleasure—but there would be no man, no bridegroom and no pleasure. The women remarked on the luster of her hair as her braids were unbound and her long tresses brushed out, but Alienor was deaf to their comments and blind to the splendor of the room around her. Her heart fluttering in fear of what lay ahead.

  There was a light tap and the goatherd himself opened the door. Of course, he led the shaggy white unicorn into the chamber. His quick glance to the bed reminded Alienor what had passed between them earlier and she bit her tongue to keep from commenting that night had not as yet transformed the beast into a man. One of the women scolded him outright for entering the chamber unannounced, and Alienor dropped her gaze. She was keenly aware of how little her garment concealed and imagined that she could feel the warmth of that finger beneath her chin once more.

  She blinked back her tears as the entire party departed, refusing to meet the gaze of any one of them, nodding dumbly in response to their encouraging words.

  The door closed with finality, leaving her alone with her husband.

  The goat appeared to be no more interested in a consummation than Alienor, which was a relief. She watched the beast, her trepidation fading as it chewed its cud with complacency. Apparently, she was unattractive now that she had discarded the red velvet kirtle it had found so alluring. That notion made Alienor smile. The fire crackled in the grate, the light of the dancing flames glinting off the rings dangling from the cord around the creature’s neck, the golden circles half obscured in the thick hair.

  It was tranquil in the chamber, and blessedly quiet. She heard revels from the hall below but it was a relief to no longer need to perform. Alienor felt the fullness of her exhaustion as the moments passed. She rose to turn the lock in the door, then returned to the bed, tired beyond all else. She stretched out full length on her stomach on the massive bed and yawned. Then she propped her chin in her hands and watched her husband.

  Perhaps an annulment would be hers on the morrow. And what then?

  Dagobert. He was not very tall, for her hand could have just barely brushed the top of his head when they had stood beside each other in the chapel, if she had wished to reach out and touch him. Thick white hair hung from his sides and chest, thinning and shortening on his squat legs, dwindling to a fuzziness above his black hooves. The hair hung heavy on his neck, making almost a mane in the back, progressing into a definite beard below his relentlessly ruminating chin.

  His ears flicked now as h
e looked back at her, moving not unlike those of a horse, and his tail swished. A single pearly horn rose from his forehead to a height roughly the span of her outstretched fingers, though it seemed slightly closer to his left ear than his right now that she studied him more carefully.

  ’Twas his eyes that disturbed her the most, she realized. The yellow orbs with their dark vertical slit sent a shiver down her spine. They were what made her doubt that he might become a man. Perhaps he was a demon instead. Indeed, his reputed nightly transition was impossible to believe.

  Alienor was well aware of the darkness pressing against the shutters. Dagobert’s metamorphosis must not be tied to the rising and setting of the sun as one might expect—if indeed the count was a shape-shifter. Perhaps he changed form by choice. Perhaps he did not care to be watched while he did as much. Alienor smiled, glad that she knew so little of men who might change forms. She dropped her chin to rest on her forearms, determined to watch for his change and witness it with her own eyes.

  Within moments, however, she fell asleep.

  The room was dark as pitch when Alienor awakened abruptly, as if some sound had disturbed her. She listened for a moment, then began to rise to rekindle the fire in the brazier.

  To her shock, a man’s strong arm closed around her waist, halting her progress. She froze and found herself urged back into the warmth of the bed.

  Who invaded her chamber?

  Alienor struggled belatedly, but firm lips had closed over hers. The man swallowed her attempt to scream before it started, his strong arm pinning her arms to her sides. She panicked and fought within his embrace, convinced that someone came to take advantage of her situation. The man merely rolled her beneath him, guiding her fingers to the cord encircling his neck and the rings that dangled from it.

  Alienor stared into the darkness in astonishment.