Unicorn Bride: A Medieval Romance Page 6

  “Hush,” he insisted, his thumb moving slowly across the softness of her lips in a rhythm that made her forget all but his seduction.

  “I do not know who to trust in your house,” she managed to whisper before her response to his touch overwhelmed all else, not knowing why those words should rise to her lips before all others.

  “Trust those I trust,” he murmured before his mouth closed over hers possessively. She reached for his shoulders, savoring his strength, tangling her fingers in his hair, inhaling of his scent. Dagobert groaned, his thumb and forefinger closing around her nipple as she opened her mouth to welcome his tongue. Alienor sighed in capitulation, the battle against sensation already lost, and he rolled her beneath him yet again.

  Chapter 3

  “I will take my leave this day if you are settled here,” Guibert said as he and Alienor broke their fast together the next morning.

  It proved that Alaric had guessed aright, for many of the guests had left the previous day. On this morn, the fortress’ usual routine must have been restored, for the meal was a casual affair. There was leftover stew for those who desired it, but Alienor was relieved to note that most took only bread and cheese, as was her usual fare.

  Guibert had beckoned her to join him in a quiet corner when she entered the hall and she had expected this news. He had never been able to remain long in one place.

  “Too long at one hearth?” she teased, relieved to see him smile.

  “Indeed,” he agreed. He was restless, which reminded her that he liked to be on his way with the first rays of the sun. If only she had known he was chafing to go, she would not have taken so long with her toilette.

  “Back to Perpignan?” she asked.

  To her surprise, Guibert shook his head. “Nay, child. There is naught in Perpignan for me these days.”

  “But the house...”

  Guibert shook his head again. “’Tis sold,” he informed her. “I would not return to a cold hearth there. I will turn to Montsalvat now.” He had always said that it was people who mattered most, especially those held close in the heart, and Alienor blinked back her tears at his gruff words. She hugged her foster father impulsively, knowing what it cost him to speak of his emotions at all.

  “And you will always be welcome here,” she assured him.

  His smile seemed almost sly. “I should hope so. My blade is sworn now to your lord’s service.”

  “Guibert!” Alienor felt her mouth drop open in surprise. “You told me naught of this!”

  He colored slightly under his tan and looked discomfited. “A fine man you have wed, straight and true. I would see his cause win the day.”

  Alienor frowned in confusion. What cause? Before she could ask anything further, Guibert rose suddenly to his feet, looking as if he felt he had said too much.

  Alienor felt he had not said nearly enough, for she was mystified by his words.

  “The sun already rides high,” he protested when Alienor gripped his arm and would have held him for another moment by her side. He smiled at her. “Be happy, child. ’Twill be soon enough that our paths cross again.”

  “Be safe, Guibert,” she responded, as had always been their custom. Never had either uttered a farewell to the other, and so it would continue. Alienor kissed the weathered cheek of the man she had known as a father, blinking back her tears when he strode from the hall.

  Guibert had never tolerated tears on his departure, and by tacit agreement, Alienor had never actually witnessed him riding out. ’Twill be soon enough, she repeated to herself, cherishing the familiarity of the words. How many times had he taken his parting thus?

  “’Twas my mistake that we missed the gardens yesterday,” came an increasingly familiar voice from her side. Alienor wiped her tears and turned to find Alaric beside her. The sympathy in his gray eyes revealed that he had seen her reaction to Guibert’s departure. “He shall return soon enough,” he assured her with a confidence Alienor wished she could share. His words were an unconscious echo of Guibert’s own.

  Alienor nodded in agreement, realizing that she was well and truly alone in her husband’s home. Feeling in need of reassurance, she reached out and patted the small shaggy beast standing beside Alaric, wishing her husband was not lost to her by day.

  Trust those I trust. Dagobert’s words echoed in her thoughts and she glanced up to find Alaric’s steady gaze upon her. Her husband entrusted this man with the unicorn’s care and safety each day. Surely there could be no greater trust than this. Alienor summoned a smile, rising to her feet to face the goatherd.

  “I would like very much to see the gardens,” she confessed.

  He smiled, urging the unicorn forward and ushering Alienor toward the door.

  “We shall have to be watchful, for Dagobert shows little discretion once he is amongst the herbs and flowers.” Alaric had that troublemaking twinkle in his eyes and it prompted Alienor’s smile. She knew he would make a jest or tease her, and welcomed the prospect. “My hide would be forfeit if he became ill and was compelled to abandon your bed for even one night.”

  Alienor gasped and flushed. She quickly stepped ahead of him that he might not witness her embarrassment, but his knowing chuckle proved she had not succeeded. Why were these people so intent on discussing such intimate matters?

  “You are worse than a rutting goat,” Eustache grumbled as he and Dagobert climbed the stairs together to the lord’s chamber. The keep was quiet, the hour late, and the sound of snoring rose from the hall below. Eustache’s torch cast a flickering light over the stone.

  “’Tis jealousy behind your mood, no more than that.” Dagobert was unwilling to let his friend’s sour mood affect him. There was truth in the assertion that he was more and more anxious to seek his lady’s bed after only two nights. Her willing response to his touch and her warm companionship each day together wove a web around his heart that was proving difficult to deny. He was blessed indeed to draw such a wife by pure chance and he knew it well.

  He meant to make the most of every moment.

  “’Tis without doubt these nights in the company of a chewing goat that make me so merry,” Eustache said.

  Dagobert grinned. “’Tis all for the greater good, I assure you.”

  Eustache looked skeptical. “I would have you get her with child with all haste so that we might return to more pressing issues.”

  Dagobert suspected that if Alienor were to conceive, he would be the last to tell the household lest he be compelled to abandon her bed.

  And truly, there was little of greater import than his need for a son and heir.

  “Have you heard tell of Brabant?” he asked as they reached the top of the stairs. His heart sank when Eustache shook his head firmly.

  Could something have gone amiss in their carefully laid plan?

  “Nay, but he has yet a fortnight to confirm,” Eustache reminded him. “’Tis unlike him to wait until the last moment but perhaps ’twas unavoidable.”

  Dagobert nodded agreement, then opened the antechamber door and pulled a heavy brass key from his pocket. He heard Eustache close the door to the hall behind him, securing the two of them in the small outer room of the lord’s chambers. Eustache slipped his torch into a sconce on the wall.

  Dagobert fitted his key into the lock on the inner door and the tumblers rolled with a barely detectable sound. The door swung open on carefully oiled hinges. He breathed a sigh of relief when he saw that Alienor did not stir. The brazier had burned down low but there was still light in the chamber. His namesake glanced up from the hearth with interest then strolled toward the door with a wag of its short tail, evidently anticipating the treat Eustache always brought.

  While the goat accepted some nicety from the kitchens, Dagobert removed the cord with his wedding ring and signet ring from around the beast’s neck and slipped it over his own head. He nodded to Eustache before he stepped into his chamber and closed the door, his heart pounding in anticipation.

  Alienor. Sh
e rolled to her side, as yet unaware of his presence, and Dagobert watched the firelight play over her features. How he wished that he could love her in the light, instead of merely hearing her gasp of surprise. Her arm fell to the feather pallet in her sleep, her fingers extended toward him as though she would beckon him to bed. His breath quickened, even though he knew she still slept.

  She was so sweet and trusting. He did not like to betray her. He wondered how long this ploy could continue. How long would it be until Alienor suspected that the cup Iolande offered her each night contained more than wine? How long would it be until a trusted member of the household slipped and revealed his true identity, even inadvertently? He was uncomfortable at the thought of her discovering the truth.

  The time that he had spent in his wife’s company convinced him that she was no fool in her own right. How long until she guessed his dual identity herself? He thought he had already seen speculation in her eyes, and her attempts to touch his face the previous night had surprised him. How long could he curtail her curiosity? If he were to fall asleep when Alienor did not, she would surely find him out. If he were to speak overmuch to her, she would surely recognize his voice.

  What if he confided in her? Could he trust her with the truth of it? The thought stunned him with its insistence and its simplicity. The temptation almost overwhelmed his characteristic caution. He knew so little of Alienor and her loyalties, even of her nature, and certainly knew nothing of her ability to hold her tongue under duress. How deep was her commitment to his house? His heart urged him to trust her completely, but he knew there was too much at stake to take such a risk.

  There had been years of planning and buying alliances. They were near the end of almost two decades of hiding, while making preparations for this single attempt to regain his heritage. Even now the days were rapidly slipping away before his final test, a test failed by each generation of his family for centuries past. Would he manage to regain the crown wrongfully stolen from his ancestors?

  If not, what had he to offer his lady wife? He was a man pledged to this seemingly futile battle to regain what had been lost centuries before. His attention was compromised and his wealth might be taken. At best, he could give her a son who would take up this same task in his wake. He felt in that moment that Alienor had been sorely cheated.

  By wedding him.

  But what was done was done, and he must make the best of it. Dagobert turned to extinguish the fire that he might join his wife abed, for that, at least, was good.

  “Dagobert,” Alienor murmured when he had shed his clothes. He smiled, wishing he could have been more for her. If only he had been born a simple man, and one bereft of such responsibilities. If only he could have loved this woman with the fullness dawning upon his heart.

  He would give her pleasure, though it was far less than he already knew she deserved.

  “Dagobert,” Alienor sighed in the darkness, her body exhausted from her husband’s tempestuous lovemaking. Never yet had he been so demanding and so passionate; never had she imagined she could ride out such a storm of ecstasy and survive to tell the tale; never had she given him so much of herself. The regular sound of his breathing filled her ears, the rapid pulse of the heart beneath her ear telling her that he was not yet asleep.

  She determined she would talk to him this night of all nights. She had so few opportunities that each one had to be seized.

  “Dagobert,” she repeated with slightly more urgency. She had the strange sense that he would avoid her questions. Aye, he was taut and watchful. “I would speak with you,” she whispered, her heart sinking when his thumb landed against her lips.

  “Nay,” she insisted, pushing his hand away. “We have only a few hours together each night and I would talk to you. I would know more of you.”

  Alienor felt him shift beside her and sensed that he rose to prop himself on one elbow. She felt the weight his gaze upon her, even in the darkness, and hated that she could not see him. There were too many secrets between them. She did not even know the color of his eyes, much less what happened to him each day. Where did he go? Why had he chosen the unicorn? Why must he hide?

  His thumb landed again on her lips and her tears rose at his refusal. ’Twas too much to know such physical intimacy and be denied any other knowledge of the man who carried her to such great heights each night. How could he refuse her something so simple as a few words? Had he so little respect for her as his wife? Or did he see her merely as a carrier for his heir?

  That thought was too cruel and Alienor rolled away, turning her back to her husband as her tears fell over her cheeks. ’Twas the only explanation for his unwillingness to talk to her, and his lack of curiosity about her. He saw her only as a means to an end; his passion was all for the pursuit of a son and naught for her. She had been a fool to expect more from this match.

  Silence filled the space behind her. He did not touch her. He did not console her. He did not care. Alienor was certain she had never felt so alone in her life. Iolande had made her promise that she would not interfere with conception. Every soul in this hall who spoke with her was concerned with the events in her nuptial bed. Did the entire household know her womb was all of her that was desired at Montsalvat? ’Twas too much to be borne, and she wept as though her heart would break.

  She thought she heard a sigh just before Dagobert’s arm closed around her waist, but she could not be sure. Alienor struggled briefly but he drew her easily back against him, curling her into his warmth and pressing gentle kisses into her hair. She halfway thought that he might speak, but he did not, disappointment welling in her chest that he would not even offer a few words.

  Despite her turmoil, Alienor’s exhaustion won the day and she fell asleep against Dagobert’s warmth, the pillow wet with her tears. She did not know that her husband stared at the ceiling throughout the remainder of the night.

  “Madame, I would ask for some small labor to busy myself.” Alienor managed to summon the audacity to make this request of Iolande the following morning at the board.

  She had more of value to contribute to this household than her womb, and the morning light had brought a new determination to prove that fact. It was too soon to tell if she could conceive, but she would plan for the worst case and ensure that she maintained a place in the household. She would contribute so significantly that they would be hard-pressed to turn her out even should her body fail to fulfill their expectations.

  “Indeed?” Iolande asked, her pale blue gaze slipping over Alienor. “Have you talent with a needle?”

  “Of course.” Alienor was uncertain why she would be questioned on such a basic skill. “’Tis my understanding that most maidens do.”

  Iolande raised one eyebrow. “Most maidens are not reared single-handedly by a knight,” she retorted, but there was the twinkle in her eyes that belied her tone.

  Alienor impulsively smiled at her mother-in-law, reassured when some measure of the frost in those blue eyes dissolved. “Guibert was oft away and our neighbor took me under her care. She was a seamstress and I learned early to assist her.”

  “Then your skills will indeed be welcome here,” Iolande said.

  Alienor breathed a silent sigh of relief. The wolfhound resting at the lady’s feet stood up and shook himself, apparently anticipating its mistress’ intent.

  “Should your fast be adequately broken, you are welcome to join us.” Iolande rose, her tone less formal than usual. Alienor abandoned the last of her bread, following her husband’s mother to the stairs.

  It was easy for Alienor to see why her presence was so welcome in the lady’s solar, for there were only a handful of women who came to sew for all the inhabitants of the fortress. Even she had noted that at least two hundred souls made their home at Montsalvat. Assigned to piece a man’s tunic, she worked carefully and silently, realizing only as she worked how few women she had seen in the keep since the wedding guests had left.

  The weight of the fabric she stitched was cons
iderable and the weave of the wool was heavy. Alienor knew that this was no ornamental garment but a tunic intended to keep a man warm in battle, perhaps while spending nights outside. A quick glance around the room confirmed that all of the women worked with similar cloth. Such thickly woven wool would block a wind as chill as the stiff breeze that had accosted her in the sentry tower.

  The pieces all fitted together in Alienor’s thoughts as she worked. First there was the design of the castle with its heavy curtain walls, and its location atop a craggy peak with only one road winding to its gate. Then there was the vast number of knights and men at arms within its keep, a population of warriors that seemed to be slowly increasing as each day passed.

  Montsalvat was a fortress in the true sense of the word: it was a bastion to be defended against invaders. The authoritative ring of the smith’s hammer in the forgery far below rose to her ears, a second and remarkably a third smith’s blows chiming in with the first, and Alienor wondered whether Montsalvat prepared for battle.

  Against whom?

  “Your work is fine,” Iolande commented quietly from behind her.

  Alienor jumped, surprised as much by the older woman’s proximity as her praise. “I thank you,” she replied, daring a glance upward to find Iolande frowning.

  “Can you stitch pictures?” the older woman demanded.

  Alienor nodded. “Aye.” She had embroidered hems for the seamstress on many occasions, though she could not imagine why Iolande would ask as much. These heavy garments surely would not be embellished.

  Iolande nodded curtly. “My son needs a new banner and ’twould be fitting for you to take the task.” She nodded once, even as Alienor blinked in surprise, then moved across the room to open a trunk.