The Bride Quest II Boxed Set

by Claire Delacroix

  Esmeraude awakened abruptly some time later and blinked in the darkness, disoriented and sleepy. Her heart was skipping, as if she had been startled, and she listened for a hint of what had disturbed her. The horse dozed beside her, evidently untroubled.

  Night had fallen fully but she was still alone. It had not been a footfall she had heard, or the snap of a twig, or the growl of a wolf. She saw no eyes glowing in the shadows surrounding her. She eyed the patch of star-filled sky visible through the canopy of trees overhead as she listened carefully.

  Naught.

  Esmeraude peeked over her shoulder to Bayard’s camp. The fire had died down to embers, but she could still discern the silhouettes of the horses on the far side of the small clearing. Célie lay bundled against the night and was clearly lost to dreams. Bayard’s squires were nestled together near the horses, their hair tousled. They were also obviously asleep.

  Esmeraude caught her breath as she spied the silhouette of the knight. He leaned against a tree on the closest side of the clearing, his back to her. She had no way of knowing whether he slept, dozed, or was wide awake.

  Until he cleared his throat. Esmeraude nigh jumped from her skin. To her astonishment, Bayard began to softly sing.

  There was a knight name of Tristran,

  Of wide repute throughout the land.

  Trained by faithful Governal,

  He soon had no foe left in Gaul.

  Seeking love, fame, and fortune all,

  He came to the King of Cornwall.

  “Take me, King Mark, into your hall

  I shall be most loyal of all.”

  King Mark looked on the noble knight.

  “We are blessed you arrive this night.

  For we are beset by a giant,

  Fearsome, hungered and adamant.

  He demands youths, to eat his fill,

  Else vows to see each of us killed.

  I shudder that this creature came.

  Morholt is his most dreaded name.”

  Esmeraude shivered in delight. There was something deliciously forbidden about hearing Bayard recount a tale, even while he was unaware of her presence. He sang so softly that she was certain he did so for his own amusement alone.

  He had a fine voice, as well. ’Twas rich and deep, and she recalled all too readily how huskily he had whispered sweet words to her. Esmeraude hugged her knees and strained her ears to listen, for his quiet words were not easily overheard. She shivered, noting that the air had taken a new chill.

  Tristran took this task with a bow,

  Proved his intent by solemn vow.

  The maidens wept, the old men sighed,

  As they watched the bold knight ride,

  Faithful Governal by his side.

  This knight arrived upon the tide:

  He was unlike men they had known—

  His armor gleamed, his blade it shone,

  His horse was fierce, his face was stern.

  “So valiant he,” the women cried,

  “’Tis more than sad that he must die.”

  For none believed he would return;

  As Morholt’s strength they had well learned.

  Esmeraude eased around the trunk of the tree, hoping to better hear what promised to be a most interesting tale. No child raised at the knee of Duncan MacLaren could be immune to the allure of a tale. For Esmeraude, tales were wrought of the adventure she so avidly sought.

  She slipped closer, then huddled against the darkness of a massive tree, where the shadows were deeper. She closed her eyes and listened.

  Brave Tristran rode out without fear.

  How bold was he, his intent clear!

  ’Twas early morn he left the gate,

  And soon he stood before his fate.

  The giant slept upon the shore;

  The ground trembled as he snored;

  As tall as five men he would stand;

  A horse he could crush within his hand;

  A third eye he had in his brow;

  And this it was that opened now.

  He saw Tristran and made a shout,

  That would have turned most men about.

  But Tristran met the monster’s glance,

  Without a quiver in his stance.

  He raised his blade and winked his eye,

  “Attack me, Morholt, and you die.”

  Morholt cried, “I shall prove you wrong!

  It is to me this land belongs,

  And all her spoils shall be mine own,

  Even the youths of that fair town.

  I shall eat all whom I desire,

  Your attack will but earn my ire.

  Know well, Tristran from o’er the seas,

  You first will see my belly pleased.”

  Esmeraude hugged herself, knowing the tale would come aright but anxious for this Tristran before such a foe all the same. ’Twas a heroic tale and one she had never heard before.

  That must be the reason her heart raced so wildly.

  ’Twas most curious, though. Even though she had drawn closer, it seemed that Bayard’s voice was even fainter than before. No doubt he did not wish to awaken the others, but Esmeraude could not bear to miss a morsel of his tale.

  She slipped around this tree and crept yet closer. The palfrey she had stolen snorted and Esmeraude froze, certain Bayard would hear the beast. But he began to sing again, evidently also unaware that the horse stepped heavily in pursuit of Esmeraude.

  Oh, what dire threat that giant made!

  What fear he fed in man and maid.

  But Tristran did not hesitate.

  ’Tis valor which makes a knight great.

  He spurred his steed and struck a blow,

  So harsh the giant did bellow.

  The pair fought most ferociously,

  But they were matched nigh evenly:

  To each wound Tristran did bestow,

  The giant matched with another blow.

  So terrible was their long fight,

  That the townsfolk hid far from sight.

  But as the darkness made descent,

  Morholt leaned down to make his threat:

  “You have valor beyond compare

  O Tristran, a knight bold and fair,

  I know that when I eat your heart,

  I will be stronger than King Mark.

  All those children will then be mine,

  With leisure too for me to dine.”

  But while the monster made his claim,

  Tristran carefully took his aim.

  No sooner had boast passed black lips,

  Than Morholt’s power was eclipsed.

  For Tristran’s blade sank in his eye,

  And the monster gave a pained cry.

  The eye that was betwixt the pair,

  No longer would see foul or fair.

  That roar carried to King Mark’s hall,

  Where townsfolk huddled, one and all.

  They climbed the walls in time to see,

  Morholt stride back into the sea.

  Esmeraude sighed with relief that the fiend was banished, then gasped when the palfrey nibbled on the hair at her nape. The beast’s lips tickled, but she dared not laugh and draw attention to herself. She shooed the palfrey away silently and the beast snorted loudly enough to wake the dead.

  ’Twas cursedly cold and she rubbed her arms, sparing a glance to the sky. The stars were nigh obscured, the sky darkening with clouds driven hard by a wind that had not been blowing moments past.

  Before Esmeraude could think much of this abrupt change in the weather, Bayard sang again.

  Aye, the giant fled Cornwall’s coast,

  Cursing both Tristran and his host!

  The people then were filled with glee,

  For noble Tristran set them free.

  They cheered when he rode through the gate,

  Their gratitude did not abate!

  King Mark embraced the valiant knight,

  And showered him with jewels bright.

 
; “Tristran is my favored servant

  None in this court are more gallant!

  No hope had we of a champion.

  Only a knight as brave as a lion,

  Could succeed at this great task,

  And ensure Morholt gone at last.”

  The people danced, they ate and drank.

  Tristran, they could not fully thank.

  Bayard stopped to take a sip of wine. Esmeraude watched his arm and heard him lick his lips. She desperately wanted him to continue, for surely this could not be all of Tristran’s adventure.

  ’Twas not.

  But there is much they did not know:

  It casts a shadow on my brow.

  Three barons there were gathered there,

  For Tristran’s deed, they did not care.

  Their hearts were darkened by envy,

  ’Twas vengeance soon that they would seek.

  They had granted King Mark labor,

  But they would not share his favor.

  They plotted against brave Tristran,

  Even as they praised that bold man.

  Worse, Morholt fled across the sea,

  To have his wound tended by his niece:

  A maiden fair, noble and true,

  Iseut of beauty and virtue.

  She found a shard of Tristran’s blade,

  In her uncle’s wound and she said,

  That she would ensure vengeance paid,

  By he who the shard fit his blade.

  Oh! A beauteous heroine who inadvertently pledged vengeance upon the noble hero. This was the root of a marvelous tale and could only lead to daunting feats! Esmeraude gripped her hands together tightly and waited with much anxiety, but Bayard halted his song.

  She was certain he merely caught his breath, but her impatience grew with every passing moment. She waited and waited, but he sang no more. There was naught but silence from the other side of the wall.

  She could not even hear Bayard breathing. He did not appear to move.

  Surely he had not fallen asleep, right in the midst of such a story? Had he abandoned his tale, with so much of it unsung?

  Esmeraude waited impatiently. Did he sing more softly than before, so softly that she could not hear him from this place?

  Esmeraude crept closer, then paused. She strained her ears, but heard not a whisper.

  Had he been struck dead? He was uncommonly still and Esmeraude was suddenly concerned. She could not imagine why else he would halt his singing so suddenly.

  She should ensure his welfare. Why, regardless of her refusal of his suit, there was no one else to offer aid, if he truly had need of it. Jacqueline’s father had choked upon a chicken bone, Esmeraude recalled, because no one had come to his aid soon enough.

  Though Bayard did not look to be choking. No doubt he had merely fallen asleep, but Esmeraude had to be certain. She crawled forward as quietly as she could, not wanting to awaken him if he did sleep, and her heart pounded so loudly that she was certain its sound would awaken him. She paused on the other side of the tree upon which he leaned, listened, then took a deep breath and slipped around it.

  Then surprise stole Esmeraude’s breath away.

  Bayard grinned at her, his eyes twinkling merrily. ’Twas clear he had known of her presence and had awaited her appearance. He had shed his armor, for he wore dark chausses and a dark tabard over a white chemise that fairly glowed in the moonlight.

  “So ’tis true after all that you cannot resist a tale,” he mused.

  Esmeraude was embarrassed that she had fallen for his ruse so readily and thus was outraged at him for playing it upon her. “You tricked me!”

  “Nay, I merely feared you had been lulled to sleep.” The glint in his eye made her doubt any such thing.

  “You tricked me apurpose” Esmeraude huffed. “You would mock my affection for tales of daring deeds.”

  “Nay, I simply did not wish to waste my efforts.” Bayard coughed delicately, though his eyes still shone with devilry. “A voice, like a fine instrument, needs to be treated with care.”

  “You mean only to tease me.”

  He moved quickly and caught her shoulders in his hands. Their eyes were almost at a level and Esmeraude caught her breath when he brought his face close to her own. His grip was firm but gentle. The moonlight made him look dashing and wicked and Esmeraude’s heart leapt painfully that she was in his presence yet again.

  ’Twould have been far simpler to spurn him if he had not been such a handsome man.

  Nay, ’twould have been far simpler if he had not known he was such a handsome man. It irked Esmeraude beyond all else that she was susceptible in such a predictable way, and she hoped she could hide her response from him.

  Those blue eyes shone though, as if they saw her every secret.

  “You liked it well enough when I teased you afore,” Bayard murmured.

  Esmeraude’s face heated with a blush, but she held his gaze defiantly. “Aye, but that time, you did not fail to satisfy.”

  He chuckled, lifting one hand to snare a tendril of her loose hair. He wound it around his fingertip, holding her gaze all the while. “And what makes you assume that I shall not do so this time?”

  ’Twas only with greatest difficulty that Esmeraude feigned indifference. “You shall not touch me again,” she insisted. “I have spurned your suit and there is naught to be gained by continuing to court me.” She pulled back, as if to retreat into the woods, but he held fast to her hair.

  Bayard studied her, his thumb caressing the hair wound ’round his fingertip. When he spoke, his tone was thoughtful. “Most women who granted their favor to a man would be vexed if he did not pledge to wed them afterward.”

  “I am not most women.”

  His smile turned rueful. “Aye, I have discerned this already.” He gave her curl a tug, and she found herself leaning closer. “Perhaps I should give you some advice,” he whispered, his eyes dancing. “If you wish a man to forget you, then you should not behave in such an inexplicable and fascinating way. I am not alone in enjoying the challenge of a puzzle.”

  ’Twas difficult to argue with him, for had she not deliberately presented a puzzle to her suitors, and that for much the same reason? “But I do not wish you to be challenged,” she said and his merriment disappeared.

  “Whyever not?” he demanded, and Esmeraude could see that he was insulted. He frowned at her. “Which of the others has your preference?”

  “Well, none of them,” she admitted too quickly. Bayard’s smile flashed and she was hasty to amend her confession. “Only because I have not spoken with any of them as yet. You may be certain that I will find the right man for me.”

  But his smile only widened. “Perhaps you have found him already.”

  “I think not.”

  “Why?”

  Surely it could hurt naught to tell him? ’Twas an excuse and Esmeraude knew it. Truly though, being alone in the woods had little to recommend it when contrasted with a conversation with Bayard.

  In the shadows of the night, when none knew they were together. Esmeraude shivered, knowing that she would prefer a deed more forbidden and adventurous than a mere night’s slumber.

  Had she not made the same choice the night before?

  But this was good sense. Perhaps talking to him would make his unsuitability clear. ’Twas evident that they had wasted little time upon conversation the night before and truly, lust made a poor match.

  And he was wondrously warm, as well. She shivered and found herself leaning against his heat before she could stop herself.

  She also found herself telling him more than was her original intent. “I will not wed you because you wish to wed me solely to win Ceinn-beithe,” she confessed. “’Tis insulting to be desired for one’s dowry alone and I would have more from the man I would wed. A dowry is meant to bless the match already desired, not to be the sole reason for it.”

  Bayard frowned. “But I have no desire for Ceinn-beithe.”

&nb
sp; “But you said...”

  He interrupted her with a dismissive wave. “To be sure, ’tis a fine holding and if it becomes my responsibility as a result of wedding you, then I shall do my best to administer it well, but Ceinn-beithe is not the reason I pursue you.” He spoke with such vigor that she did not doubt ’twas the truth.

  Though still, this did not agree with what he said earlier. “But you spoke of a holding....”

  Something flashed in his eyes, then Bayard looked as resolute and trustworthy as the moment before. And he spoke with uncommon conviction. “Aye, my holding, which I will administer with a bride by my side.” He smiled as he slipped an arm around her shoulders. “Is it not natural for a man to wish for a wife and sons when he takes his hereditary holding in hand? I wish only for a fine lady to share my good fortune.”

  Esmeraude stared at him, amazed that she could have so mistaken his meaning. Her heart began to pound with such vigor that she could barely catch her breath. If Bayard did not wish to wed her for Ceinn-beithe, then he was not the man she had feared he was.

  “What is your name fully?” she asked.

  He smiled. “Bayard de Villonne—knight, crusade, and champion—at your service, my lady fair.”

  He kissed the side of her neck and Esmeraude closed her eyes as she sighed with delight. Bayard was Burke’s son, and clearly had inherited his father’s determination to wed the woman he chose.

  Which forced her to reconsider Célie’s insistence upon this match. Bayard treated her with such gallantry; he recounted tales for her pleasure; he insisted upon ensuring her welfare in a most wondrously protective way. He was alluring and charming. Indeed, he possessed every trait which she had insisted she would have in a spouse, save that he believed he had need of a bride.

  Since Esmeraude wanted a man like this knight as her spouse, she supposed ’twas a deficiency she could overlook.

  Aye, ’twould be simple to lose her heart to this man.

  Perhaps she was already beginning to do so. And surely, he only courted her favor with such diligence because he was smitten with her, as well? Perhaps ’twas naught but male pride that prompted him to deride the promise of love in front of his squires.

  “And you would have me be that bride?” Esmeraude asked.

  Bayard chuckled and she warmed to her toes. “Aye, you, Esmeraude. You are my betrothed and you will be my lady wife.” He kissed the tip of her nose, then rose to lead his errant palfrey to the other horses.