Unicorn Bride: A Medieval Romance Page 8

  His thumb landed on that still-swollen bud. Alienor inhaled sharply at the jolt, but his touch was gentle and she readily parted her thighs for him. He kissed her gently, almost reverently, his lips grazing a path down her throat, nibbling at her collarbone, unerringly making their way to the hardened point of her nipple. He pulled the tip into the warm wetness of his mouth and Alienor groaned, grabbing a fistful of his hair even as he slid one finger inside her.

  Never had she felt so cherished and adored, and she positively purred beneath his touch. Was he begging her forgiveness for his stubbornness of the night before? Perhaps for his absence? Alienor could not think clearly, but she would keep her own vow and ask him no questions this night. The storm rose anew within her and she pulled his lips to hers, twining her fingers into his hair as she rained kisses all over his face. He gave her too much by pleasuring her alone; she would share this ride with him.

  “Come with me,” Alienor urged, and she thought she felt him smile against her lips before he leaned back and rolled her to her stomach, His teasing fingers were splayed flat beneath her and wound into the nest of curls at her crotch. His hand moved there and she giggled as he tickled her, gasping when his finger stretched to touch that sensitive bud once more.

  Dagobert rolled atop her, his hips against her buttocks, his other hand sliding beneath them to cup her breast, his breath on her ear as he slowly licked the sensitive spot behind the lobe. She wriggled with delight and his manhood hardened still more against her. Dagobert lifted his hips quickly and slid his strength along her wet folds. Alienor pulled up her knees and he groaned while his fingers caressed her more urgently, his heartbeat pounding against her shoulder blades as she heard herself begging for his possession.

  He melded their bodies together with one long stroke and Alienor lifted her hips against him that she might take even more of his length. He gasped at her move and she undulated her pelvis. The curse that tumbled from his lips and the way his arm tightened around her filled her with a curious and wonderful sense of power. His fingertip teased and she was lost herself, writhing beneath him as he began to move, hardly noticing that he grabbed a fistful of her hair and bared her face to his gaze as they found satisfaction together.

  And so Alienor’s days fell into an easy rhythm, her needlework filling her days and her husband’s ardor filling her nights. Every night he came to her without fail, and every night she kept her vow to asking no more of him than he wished to give. Of his body, he gave her all, but naught of his heart or soul was she apparently to have.

  Her foolish hope that more would grow between them dwindled as the white unicorn took shape beneath her fingers on the precious red samite, Iolande often commented on the piece and Alienor saw the pride in the older woman’s eyes at the work. No doubt Iolande believed that Alienor stitched with such care out of love for her husband, but it was a labor she was sure would be no more or less appreciated than her willingness to welcome him to her bed each night.

  She not expected much from marriage. Protection. Shelter. Pleasure and tenderness had not been among her expectations, but Alienor was grateful for both. She found, though, that time at Montsalvat made her yearn for more of her lord husband.

  Perhaps she would not have minded Dagobert’s silence and single-minded pursuit of a son if Alaric had not been so often in her presence. The contrast between her husband’s reticence and the goatherd’s interest in her was marked and saddened her heart on those days that she thought overmuch about it.

  The goatherd was always nearby, his warm gaze upon her, his encouraging smile at the ready. ’Twas true enough that he teased her and laughed aloud when he managed to make her blush, but he kept her confidence about her faith and indulged her fancies. When guests arrived at dinner and she was forced to eat meat at the board for appearance’ sake, she would find fruit, bread and cheese in her chambers when she retired and he would wink conspiratorially at her when next their paths would cross.

  ’Twas good to have one friend at Montsalvat. Mere friendship, though, was less than she came to desire of Alaric, and the very idea made her feel guilty. Too often now, Alienor found herself aware of him as a man and not a servant, too certain was she that he was finely wrought, too often did she imagine how he would tease a woman in bed.

  ’Twas unseemly for her to think thus and undoubtedly wrong, yet the matter was not helped by the fact that her husband had no face in her thoughts. His body she knew well, its smell and taste, the hard curve of his muscles, the texture of his hair against her lips, but she would know the man and he refused her that one indulgence.

  ’Twas probably inevitable that Alienor’s frustrations would come to this, but when the deed was done, she was as shocked as her husband. Dagobert was undoubtedly stunned when, in the midst of their lovemaking one night in early March, Alienor called out “Alaric” as she found her release—instead of gasping “Dagobert,” as was her wont.

  Immediately she realized her error, but ’twas too late to make amends. Her husband climbed abruptly from the bed and stalked across the room before she could utter another sound. He was at the portal when Alienor called out an inarticulate apology. Her fingertips pressed to her lips when the slamming of the oaken door was the sole reply.

  What had she done? Her tears spilled down her cheeks and she threw herself across the bed, sobbing that she had insulted her lord husband.

  Doubtless he thought she had been unfaithful to him, but worse, Alienor could not defend herself.

  ’Twas only much later, as the sky tinged pink and he did not return, that Alienor realized that Dagobert had not needed to unlock the chamber door.

  Chapter 4

  “Get up,” Dagobert whispered in the darkness of the antechamber, too furious to be polite. Eustache roused himself with some difficulty, sparing a skeptical glance at the shadows still enfolding them.

  “Can you not make merry a little longer? It would do me no injury to have a decent night’s sleep,” the older man growled. He gathered a blanket around his shoulders against the chill of the early hour.

  “She knows,” Dagobert hissed. He paced the width of the room and back while his friend absorbed the tidings. He had the urge to kick the one-horned goat that was at the center of the entire mess, though none of it was that creature’s doing. The fault was all his own. His temper was not improved by the timing of Alienor’s declaration.

  Eustache ran one hand through his hair and squinted at his lord. “And what of it?” he asked. “Most others know within the keep.”

  “You do not understand,” Dagobert insisted, spinning to confront the other knight. He had never made himself so vulnerable to another and now he feared the import of that. “I was convinced that she did not know. The woman has deceived me.”

  “You are not easily tricked.”

  Dagobert was disgusted with his own gullibility. “Desire blinded me, and I cannot be proud of that.”

  “Do you think she meant to deceive you?”

  “I cannot imagine otherwise.” Dagobert leaned closer. “She called me Alaric, in that moment of moments, and until then, I was convinced she saw no link between us.”

  Eustache’s eyes narrowed and he swore softly. “There can be no doubt then.”

  Dagobert was reassured that his suspicious companion had also believed Alienor to be ignorant of the truth. But they were too close to the critical moment to allow anyone to stand in their way—and too late to revise their plans. Earlier this very day, another messenger had come from Brabant. ’Twas only a matter of weeks before they departed for the last confrontation and not a good time for unexpected revelations about one’s immediate household.

  “How else might she have deceived us, I wonder?” Eustache mused.

  Dagobert’s heart sank. How else, indeed? “God knows. I only pray she holds her tongue.”

  “And if she has already loosed it?” Eustache asked the inevitable question and Dagobert’s lips thinned. He could not even bear to think of what Eustache was
suggesting. Was their cause truly worth the sacrifice of anything—or anyone—that lay in their path?

  “Who would she tell? How could she betray us?”

  Eustache winced. “We have had messengers, who have come and gone again. Who can say if a pretty lady waylaid one in the stables or before he reached the gates?”

  What did he truly know about his wife and her loyalties?

  Dagobert inhaled and paced with new vigor. A pang of guilt shot through him with the memory of Alienor’s desire to talk. He could only wonder whether he had forced her into a deception by refusing to speak with her. Would his trusting her have ensured her silence?

  Or would trusting her have accelerated her deception?

  He shook his head, unable to think clearly so soon after his lovemaking had gone awry. He needed a cup of wine and distance from the muted sound of Alienor’s weeping to collect his thoughts.

  Why did she weep? Because she had disappointed him or because she had unwittingly revealed her truth and feared repercussions?

  ’Twas unsettling, that soft sound. Dagobert knew that if he let it fill his ears any longer, he would be tempted to return to bed and console her. Duty bound as always, he did permit himself to wonder briefly whether he made much of little, but quickly dismissed that possibility. What other explanation could there be for the goatherd’s name springing from her lips? She knew. He gestured toward the stairs with impatience and Eustache rose to his feet with a nod of agreement.

  “What of your namesake?” the knight asked, indicating the sleeping goat. “Should he not be back in your chambers?”

  “I do not care where she finds him,” Dagobert said. “There are more important matters at hand in this moment. We must review what she might have overheard.”

  “It has been weeks,” Eustache noted and Dagobert winced.

  “Aye,” he ceded, feeling as if the prospect of success was slipping through his fingers.

  Perhaps he should not have feared what wedding him would cost his bride, but what taking her to wife would cost him.

  The news that came with the morning sun confirmed Dagobert’s worst suspicions, though he strove to hide his disappointment. A delegation from the king himself was said to be riding toward Montsalvat. He heartily doubted that ’twas coincidence or fancy bringing the royal party so far afield. He met Eustache’s gaze steadily when the sentry delivered the message, his gut tightening at the coldness that settled in his friend’s eyes.

  Eustache had never had any space in his heart for spies.

  Alienor! How could she have betrayed him thus? ’Twas unthinkable that he had taken her to his hearth, his bed, his very heart, and she had rewarded him only with deceit. ‘Twas outrageous that he realized in this moment that she held his own heart in her hands.

  He had been a thousand kinds of fool and had no doubt it would cost him dearly.

  To say all was in uproar by the time Alienor descended to the hall would be vastly understating the whirlwind of activity that confronted her. Rushes were being swept out, trestle tables set up, and a fire burned in the second and seldom used fireplace. New herbs were being carried in from the garden by the armload. It seemed to Alienor’s nose that only mint was sprouting so early in the year, and she doubted that even a scrap of it had been left outside. Indeed, they must have scoured the mountainsides to have found so much.

  Iolande stood at the eye of the storm, dispatching servants this way and that with a stern eye and a wave of one long white hand. Clearly, some guests of merit arrived, for Iolande wore a kirtle of deep blue silk. Its hems were rich with silver embroidery, the like of which Alienor had never seen. She glanced to her own olive and gold gown, knowing ’twas the finest she had other than her wedding kirtle. She was reluctant to change to that one after the events of the previous night.

  Would Dagobert ever forgive her blunder? It had been upsetting to find the unicorn sleeping in the antechamber that morning, without so much as a wisp of straw to lie upon. Worse, it seemed that the entire household knew of her error, for they avoided her so surely that she might have been a leper without a bell.

  Perhaps she saw reaction where there was none. ’Twas evident that there was much to be done. The cook raised his voice at a clumsy assistant in the kitchens, his tone filled with impatience, as if to support her notion.

  Alienor approached Iolande, determined to make herself useful. “Madame, how may I be of assistance?” She was stunned when the older woman gave her a look of such hostility that her blood chilled in her veins.

  Had Dagobert told his mother? Surely this could not be.

  “I doubt that we shall need your assistance this morn,” Iolande responded coldly. “I trust you will find some way to amuse yourself.”

  Before Alienor could reply, Iolande moved away to oversee some task on the far side of the room.

  Alienor watched the bustle of activity, knowing that she had not imagined that the usually talkative Giselle had been quiet this morning. She spotted Alaric and would have stepped forward to speak to him, certain that he at least would have a kind word for her. He looked up and met her gaze squarely, a frost in his eyes not unlike that in Iolande’s.

  They all not only knew of her error but considered her so disloyal to her lord husband that there could be no reprieve. Alienor might have expected as much from Iolande, but Alaric’s reaction struck her to the heart. She spun on her heel, running to the stairs, wanting only to escape. She gained the abandoned ladies’ solar and closed the door behind her, her tears spilling down her cheeks as she leaned back against the wood.

  She had erred, to be sure, but no one would grant her the chance to apologize, let alone to make matters right.

  Sometime later, Alienor wiped the last tears from her cheeks, determined to find some merit in the day. She picked up the banner where she had set it aside the day before. She ran her fingertips over the white embroidery of the unicorn’s coat, as soft as the down beneath the real beast’s chin, and the silken floss that she had wrought into the twisted spire of its glossy horn.

  How could such a cruel word have fallen from her lips? How could she have named another, wounding a man who had been considerate of her in his bed? How could she have injured a man who already bore the weight of a secret so burdensome that he was forced to hide within his own keep?

  Truly she did not deserve the respect of his household for her thoughtlessness.

  She would have to earn some increment of their regard, all over again.

  She could not begin soon enough.

  Alienor uncoiled a golden thread from the basket of floss. With care, she threaded a needle with the bright gilt and bent to her task, plying the gold into the curve of a regal crown around the unicorn’s shining horn.

  Dagobert struggled to appear calm even as the hoof beats of the knights’ chargers rang in the courtyard. He knew that his household expected him to keep his composure. They expected him to set the tone that all was normal at Montsalvat.

  The sound of approaching footsteps and men’s voices carried to his ears and he took a deep steadying breath. He was short of sleep and his patience was stretched thin. He told himself it was concern for their pending departure, but even as Dagobert made the excuse, he knew that was not the root of his unease.

  ’Twas Alienor and the shock she had given him that ate at his resolve. The timely arrival of the king’s men could only support Eustache’s suspicion that she was a spy. His lovely, laughing Alienor was a traitor to his cause and a threat to his very life.

  Dagobert’s heart fought against the conclusion even as his intellect insisted that it must be so. Truly, everything had gone wrong since her arrival, the painful loss of Anjou’s support, the sudden attack on Sidon after their betrothal, and now the king’s knights arrived at his own keep.

  He scanned the company assembled in the hall and realized with a frown that his wife was not among them. Did she avoid watching the trouble she had brought upon his house?

  He would not have
thought her a coward.

  Even if these knights had only suspicions, Dagobert feared ’twould not be long before they knew the way of things. Though his household were loyal to a fault, they were numerous and all knew of the conspiracy. ’Twas only a matter of time before someone made an inadvertent slip, or two, and all would be lost. God knew the king did not suffer fools in his close retinue. With trepidation speeding his pulse, Dagobert met the concern in his mother’s eyes, then the steely resolve shining in Eustache’s.

  The knights swung into the hall with a company of squires and retainers, all wearing the king’s insignia of azure and gold. They sported the fleur-de-lis itself, just as he had been warned, and he regretted that his sentry had not been incorrect. There was no way that Iolande could turn away the king’s own knights without severe repercussions.

  The largest of them swept off his helmet and pushed back his coif with confidence and flair. He doffed his gloves and dropped respectfully to one knee before Iolande, the light gleaming on his cropped black hair. Dagobert knew he was the only one who saw the subtle signs of turmoil in his mother’s eyes, as she extended her hand to the knight, indicating that he might rise.

  “Welcome to Montsalvat,” she said, and one of her dogs came to sit against her leg, the beast’s gaze as assessing as that of its mistress. The knight kissed the back of Iolande’s hand, rising slowly to his feet. They looked each other in the eye, the willowy countess of the estate and the broader warrior, each clearly taking the measure of the other.

  “I would request your hospitality, my lady,” the knight said. His voice was clear and deep, and loud enough to carry to every corner of the hall. “We ride through these lands on the business of the king.”