Unicorn Bride: A Medieval Romance Page 4

  The ring, the cord, the unicorn, her husband.

  “Dagobert,” she whispered in shock, all the fight dissipating from her. She tried to discern his features in the darkness, but to no avail. All the same, she had no doubt that it was a man in truth who touched her.

  It was true. It had happened. He had truly changed from beast to man, as incredible as it seemed.

  “Alienor,” he whispered in response, his voice as deep and resonant as a caress. His fingertips slipped over her face in gentle exploration, and his thumb caressed the curve of her lips.

  Alienor closed her eyes at the tenderness of his touch, a grateful teardrop squeezing out of the corner of one eye. ’Twas true, she knew not how or why. Indeed, she could not care for the explanation in this moment.

  Her spouse was a man, and he desired her.

  Perhaps all would come aright.

  She felt him bend toward her and parted her lips, sighing with satisfaction when his mouth closed over hers again. His kiss was both gentle and possessive, coaxing her to meet him halfway, hinting of his desire. His strong hands slid down the length of her, broad palms cupping her breasts, the edge of a thumb drawing a gasp from her as it slid over her nipple. Emboldened by the darkness, Alienor reached up and explored him, too. She ran her hands over the smooth warmth of her husband’s broad shoulders, discovering the corded strength of his neck. Her fingers tangled in the thick mane of his hair. It was long and wavy and clean, and she smiled as she explored his body. He was all strength and power, warm beyond belief, and as male as could be.

  He was nude, she realized as she caressed the warm satin of his skin. Her heart sang that he was strong and tall,—indeed, she stretched out to run her toe down the length of his leg and barely could reach his ankle. His knee slipped between hers and he rolled to his side, gathering her up against him without breaking his glorious kiss. His tongue nudged at her teeth as his fingertips eased between her thighs.

  Alienor shivered with pleasure when he found the sweet spot of her desire. His arm tightened fiercely around her waist, his lips falling to taste her jawline and tease her earlobe as he caressed her with slow, sure strokes. His hair fell across her face and Alienor breathed in the clean scent of wind and sun and masculinity. His questing lips eased aside her sheer gown, finding her tight nipple, and when he kissed it, she arched to his touch. He moved immediately to support her, lifting her against him as he tormented her with his touch.

  Alienor moaned as a storm gathered within her, her hand sliding through the wiry hair on his chest and across the taut strength of his abdomen. She closed her hand around the thickness of his manhood, wanting to give him as much pleasure as he gave her, but uncertain how to do as much. Dagobert gasped against her breast and she parted her thighs even wider, wanting to feel his strength within her, wanting his possession to be complete.

  Needing no other invitation, he lifted his weight between her thighs, pulling the skirt of her sheer chemise out of his way. Alienor heard the rasp of his breathing in the darkness as he fought for control. She trembled, suddenly fearing the pain that would accompany their union. Dagobert murmured something low and reassuring against her throat, then his hands were on her again, the warmth of his touch easing her concern as no words could.

  He cupped the back of her neck, bracing himself on one elbow as he lowered himself atop her, tasting her eyelids, her nose, her cheek, her lips in an endless caress. The slight weight of his rings fell against her breast and Alienor closed her eyes at their smooth warmth. He was her lawful spouse. This was good and right—and would be only the first of many times they met abed. His other hand returned to stroke her softness, one finger sliding within her as his thumb teased her hidden pearl. Alienor raised her hips to accommodate his touch and he kissed her leisurely, the intoxicating movement of his tongue diverting her attention as his manhood replaced his finger.

  She gasped when she first realized his size and he paused, kissing, caressing, as he made easy, incremental progress. When his length was buried within her, Alienor shivered with relief. She wrapped her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck in complete surrender. Overwhelmed by sensation, she pressed her lips to his throat.

  Dagobert shuddered from head to toe at her submission and held her close, his teasing fingers managing somehow to caress her yet again while he pressed kisses into her ear and along her length. Alienor felt the heat gather in her veins and arched against his weight, tightening her grip on him as if she would meld their very flesh together. Dagobert groaned and she felt the tension grow in him, his arm like a vise around her, his hand gripping a fistful of her hair as he moved within her with deliberation.

  Suddenly, the universe exploded into a thousand stars, the blood rushing hotly through her veins, and Alienor cried out her husband’s name. He moved with power, his hands clasping her buttocks as he rose above her. He was a shadow against the shadows as he lifted her bodily from the bed and Alienor felt as if she were floating on a cloud of pleasure. Then he spilled his seed within her, and roared with his own release.

  Then he cradled her in his embrace, drawing her close as their breathing slowed. He held her fast, his warmth curved behind her and the beat of his heart against her back.

  It was done, Alienor thought as he pressed a kiss to the back of her neck.

  And it was good, she concluded as sleep claimed her anew.

  Alienor awoke with a smile when the morning light streamed through the shutters. She reached across the great bed for her husband, but the mattress was cold beside her.

  He was gone.

  Her eyes flew open and she sat up abruptly. She surveyed the chamber, telling herself that she should not be surprised to find the white unicorn present instead of her husband.

  The golden rings that had brushed against her skin so many times the night before hung from the beast’s neck, just as they had the night before. A quick glance confirmed that the door remained as securely latched as she had left it.

  Was it true that he changed form?

  Alienor was still skeptical. She could not have dreamed her husband’s tender lovemaking. A flush rose over her cheeks in recollection of the things they had done, and the pleasure she had experienced beneath his hands.

  She certainly felt as though she had barely slept. Alienor lifted the weight of her hair away from her face, noting her own nakedness. The sheer gown was draped over the end of the bed and she remembered Dagobert removing it before he had made love to her the second time. The dull ache between her thighs was evidence of their passion, to be sure.

  As was the bloodstain on the bed linens.

  There would be no annulment.

  Alienor watched the unicorn, the beast returning her look as it calmly chewed. She was skeptical of the tale of his reputed powers, even on this morn. It seemed of greater probability that she had been deceived somehow. Perhaps Dagobert had secrets to hide from prying eyes. Alienor could make no criticism of that, for she, as a Cathar, had secrets of her own.

  They were wedded. His secrets were hers to keep.

  Her responsibility was to her lord husband.

  She rose from the bed and scratched the creature’s ears, surprised at the softness of the white fur.

  Guibert must have known the truth. He had not consigned her to a poor situation but an affluent one, well beyond any expectations she might have had.

  Alienor was well aware that her marriage had given her a security and position that was rare. She was accustomed to being practical and to recognizing good fortune when it found her. Her husband desired her, despite her common status and her unusual appearance in these parts. He had touched her with kindness and passion.

  Should Dagobert respect her privacy, ’twas only fair that she respect his.

  She shivered in the morning chill and wrapped her arms about herself. And should her spouse insist on loving her with such breathtaking thoroughness, Alienor decided that she might make a concession to the rigors of her faith and bear him a
child to assure his line.

  Surely a son and a secret kept was a small thing for him to ask of her.

  Surely she had the wits to keep Guibert’s wager and see her own future assured. If she did, there might come a time that she could do more for those of her faith. As the wife of the Count, her influence might prove potent indeed.

  “Fool!”

  Dagobert spun on his heel at the indignant cry, his eyes narrowing when he saw Eustache’s displeasure.

  “Did I not warn you that naught of merit would come of this whimsy?” that knight demanded.

  Dagobert spared a glance around the stables to confirm that they were alone before he spoke. “What is this nonsense?” he asked, deliberately keeping his voice low. “And what recklessness prompts you to address me now?” He indicated the morning sun spreading across the stable floor from the courtyard and Eustache had the grace to look sheepish for a moment. Dagobert doubted that the older man would be easily deterred, even so.

  “Are you truly not angry with the woman’s folly?” Eustache demanded.

  “Of what folly do you speak?” Dagobert asked. He was too tired after his wedding night to be overly concerned with Eustache’s endless worries. “Tell me and be done with it.”

  The knight’s eyes narrowed and Dagobert knew his exhaustion had been discerned. “One night of bedding the wench and you cannot see the danger she poses.” He shook his head with disgust. “In truth, I had expected better of you.”

  Dagobert thought he could hardly have expected better of his new wife but did not say as much aloud. He fought against his smile of reminiscence.

  “Tell me what disturbs you, Eustache,” he offered again, relieved when his old friend’s frown eased. “I vow the woman will not make me soft,” he added, only to see Eustache’s features harden anew.

  “Soft would be naught compared to dead,” the older knight replied. Dagobert’s brows rose in surprise. “Surely you did not fail to notice that she refused the meat last night?”

  “Aye, she did,” Dagobert acknowledged. “What of it? Even if she is Cathar, she would not be the first in this household.”

  “Hardly,” Eustache snorted. “But ’tis rotten luck all the same, and that you cannot deny.”

  Dagobert frowned at the stone floor as he considered the implications of his new wife being Cathar. Eustache was right and he should have seen the full import of the situation earlier.

  “Indeed, you may speak the truth, my friend. That she is my wife is of greater import. Our match could be construed as an alliance of the house of Pereille with the Cathar sect.” He scowled briefly before eying his companion. “Perhaps we read much into little, for she did finally eat the meat.”

  “I was not the sole one to see her feed most of it to one of Iolande’s beasts.” Eustache kicked some straw with his boot, glancing up when Dagobert chuckled.

  “She did?” he asked, and Eustache nodded ruefully. “Perhaps she is more clever than you would give her credit, my friend.”

  “Only one night in her bed and your brains are addled,” Eustache muttered, his poor mood restored. “Truly this does not bode well for the future.”

  “Eustache, you always see trouble lurking in every shadow.” Dagobert brushed off his chausses, then stretched with leisure. He doubted that anything could ruin his spirits this morning. Alienor’s religious convictions were but suspicions, and the import easily dismissed after the night they had spent together.

  Did the Cathars not take a vow of chastity? Clearly his wife had taken no such pledge. He glanced at his companion to find Eustache no more appeased than before. Would news of Alienor’s sweet loving make him doubt his conclusions? Dagobert suspected not.

  “Aye, ogres at every turn,” Eustache agreed. “Crusading season but two months away, the king’s troops fairly knocking at our door and his spies dining at our board. Pope and king persisting in a crusade purportedly against the Cathars, which we both know to be a hunt for your sorry hide. Truly, I overreact.”

  “Spies?” Dagobert demanded, his attention captured by the casual comment. This was much more serious than he had thought. Rumors in his own home or among his own people were one thing; rumors in the king’s court quite another.

  Eustache studied him for a moment, then nodded. “Perhaps you have not completely forgotten your responsibilities, after all,” he observed. “There were those at the board last eve who I have seen in close company with the king at Fontainebleau.” Eustache eyed Dagobert. “’Twas interesting to see them dressed as troubadours, not the nobles I know them to be.”

  “You are certain?” A chill settled around Dagobert’s heart at Eustache’s affirming nod. “Spies at my own hearth,” he mused and turned to pace. So it had come to this. How much did the king suspect? Dagobert knew well that the king had no qualms of conscience in using the threat of the Cathar heresy as an excuse to hunt his family. Eustache’s tale of spies put new light on Alienor’s choice.

  The tale of his new bride’s refusal of meat would be certain to travel and he could not even speculate what rumors it would prompt. Surely one simple gesture could not manage to send all their plans into disarray? Dagobert feared that he knew better. The road was long to Paris and who knew how convoluted the tale would become before it reached the court.

  And there was so much at stake. Should suspicions of Alienor reach the king’s ears, the verbal assurance that his house agreed with the king’s crusade against the Cathars would no longer be enough. His participation in the attacks on his friends and neighbors would assuredly need to be enthusiastic, for the king would welcome any excuse to assault Montsalvat itself. It had been only thirty years since the crown had last declared the Pereille lands forfeit—ironically enough as penance for the flat refusal of Dagobert’s father, Alzeu, to join the crusade—and the regaining of Dagobert’s rightful legacy had been arduous, indeed.

  The merest whisper of acceptance of Cathars in the house of Pereille at court might send crusaders and papal legates swooping down on Montsalvat come summer, intent on repossessing the lands. And what disastrous timing! This threat came just as years of planning were finally moving into place with such precision.

  “Quietly ensure that the curtain walls are in good repair,” Dagobert commanded. “And keep a close monitoring of those who demand accommodation.”

  “I have already sent a few trusted men into the villages to listen,” Eustache said with a confirming nod.

  Dagobert sighed, hoping against hope that this summer would not be worse than he had already anticipated it would be. “Tell me the moment we receive word from Anjou and Brabant. We cannot take the risk of sending envoys.”

  Eustache nodded, striding out of the stables and into the morning sun.

  Dagobert remained behind, tipping back his head as he recalled the image of his new wife when he had left her this morning, her features soft with sleep. He regretted with all his heart that she had to be thrown into the midst of all this trouble.

  But she was his wife in every way and it was impossible now to turn back.

  They would make their future together, whatever it might be.

  A tap on the door sent Alienor scrambling out of bed for a garment to cover herself. She pulled her chemise over her head before crossing the floor to turn the key in the heavy door. Iolande stood on the other side, as icily aloof as the previous day, her gaze sweeping over Alienor’s disheveled state as the younger woman curtsied.

  “I trust all was well last night,” Iolande said, glancing at the beast at the hearth before she stepped into the room. Her obedient hound dropped to its haunches in the doorway, awaiting its lady’s command.

  “Indeed... Indeed yes, my lady,” Alienor stammered, feeling a complete fool before this woman’s flawless composure. To her dismay—but not her surprise—there was a gaggle of women behind Iolande, jostling and joking, their smiles expectant as they awaited the sheets. Alienor swallowed at the knowing smirk that would surely curve the short priest’s lips at
the evidence of her broken maidenhead and hoped she would not have to face him this day.

  “Dagobert always sought to do his rightful duty,” Iolande murmured as she stared down at the stained sheets. Alienor flushed, folding her hands before herself. With one swift gesture, Iolande flicked the linens from the bed then tossed the evidence of the consummation to the excited women.

  She stood utterly still as her vivid blue gaze fixed upon Alienor. “It seems that you will not receive your annulment,” she said softly, and Alienor flushed scarlet.

  So the priest had told her husband’s mother of her request.

  “I meant no offense, my lady,” she offered with quiet boldness. “You must understand that the situation was most uncommon.”

  “Indeed.” The single word seemed to hold a wealth of meaning when it fell from Iolande’s lips. Alienor waited, guessing that her mother-in-law was not done.

  “I would ask that you not hinder your natural processes,” Iolande said finally, her voice so low that no other could hear.

  Alienor met that knowing gaze in surprise. Surely Iolande could not be so certain that she was Cathar, but the older woman’s next words dispelled all doubt.

  “I would not have my husband’s line without one male heir,” Iolande said, her tone allowing no argument.

  Alienor nodded once as Iolande watched, the older woman’s gaze as sharp as that of a hawk on the hunt.

  She knew.

  Only the Cathars held procreation as a sin, but Guibert had warned her that she would be expected to bear sons to her new lord husband. ’Twas the way of things and her duty to Dagobert. She had delayed taking her final vows as a prefect when she had learned of her pending nuptials.

  “I was told ’twould be thus,” she confirmed, her voice as soft as Iolande’s. One blond brow rose a fraction in apparent surprise. Alienor held Iolande’s gaze steadily, hoping her agitation at being so easily discovered did not show. “I will not shirk my duties to my husband’s house.”

  Their gazes held silently for a charged moment, then Iolande turned abruptly to the women still chattering outside the door.