Unicorn Bride
A Medieval Romance
Claire Delacroix
Deborah A. Cooke
Unicorn Bride
By Claire Delacroix
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Copyright © 1994, 2019 by Deborah A. Cooke.
Cover by Dar Albert
All Rights Reserved.
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Without limiting the rights under copyright preserved above, no part of this book may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior written permission of both the copyright holder and the publisher of this book.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.
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Contents
Unicorn Bride
Dear Reader
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
About the Author
More Books by Claire Delacroix
Unicorn Bride
For generations, legend had stalked the battlements of the fortress Montsalvat. And now Alienor de Perpignan found herself promised in marriage to the man at the heart of the oft-whispered tales: Dagobert, Count de Pereille. A near-mythic being rumored to be a beast by day—and more than a man by night.
That Alienor was his true-destined bride, Dagobert de Pereille had no doubt. Indeed, with her exotic beauty and blade-bright spirit, she could be none other. But could he who bore the mark—and the curse—of ancient kings ever trust her enough to open his heart?
Dear Reader
Unicorn Bride is a book close to my heart and I’m very excited to make it available to readers again—especially with Dar Albert’s beautiful cover! Alienor and Dagobert’s story was one I wrote before I had learned any “rules” of writing historical romance, and a love story I wrote exactly the way I wanted it to be told. To me, it has some of the flavor of historical fantasy, a genre which I love to read. Unicorn Bride was the second book I sold to a publisher, but was published third. It was part of Harlequin Historicals’ launch of bigger books, and had a beautiful cover painted by Judy York in its original edition. That was June 1994.
I was a little bit concerned when I began to edit the book file. It had been more than twenty-five years since I’d last read the book—I don’t re-read my books after they’re published—and while I remembered how much I loved the book, I feared it might not stand the test of time very well. To my relief, I still loved the story. If I wrote this story now, I might tell it in a different way, but I liked the way it unfolded in this version. There are some changes in this edition, but not many. I used an inverted sentence structure to give a medieval flavor to my early books, and I’ve taken that out in this edition, as it seemed cumbersome to me now. Phrases like “fearless he was” have become “he was fearless.” Some adverbs have been deleted—oh, I used to love them!—and some long sentences have been broken into smaller ones. While this made for a fairly intense edit at my end, I doubt that this edition will read very differently from your memory of its earlier version, if you read it before.
There is a Pinterest page for Unicorn Bride, where you can see some of my inspiration. Visit the page for the book on my website for the link:
https://delacroix.net/harlequin-historicals/unicorn-bride/
I always considered Unicorn Bride to be book one of my Unicorn Trilogy and you will find it labeled as such on many reader review sites—even though that designation was never on the cover or in the metadata. Book two in this trilogy is Pearl Beyond Price, the story of Alienor and Dagobert’s son, Thierry. It is currently unavailable in e-book, although you may find an old mass market edition available online. My plan is for it to be the next backlist medieval romance that I republish, so please watch my website for updates on that.
If you’d like to learn about my new releases and sales, as well as have access to special content for subscribers, please subscribe to my newsletter. Knights & Rogues is the newsletter for my Claire Delacroix medieval romances.
You can also follow the blog on my Claire Delacroix website to stay up to date.
I hope you enjoy Unicorn Bride.
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All my best—
Claire
Prologue
Pamiers, 1223
Arpais knew the world and its ways well enough to recognize the sounds of swordplay when she heard them. This was no game or practice, unless a warrior’s daughter could be easily fooled.
Had she not awoken to these same sounds countless times in the East when she rode with her father? How many times had she listened to the distant sounds of the Mongols claiming victory over yet another town? It could not be, she told herself in rising fear, not here, not in this sleepy village where Robert had promised she would be safe.
She listened for some sign that she was mistaken, but the clink of steel could be no other than the blow of blade on blade, and her mouth went dry. The fighting was close, too close for her comfort, and Arpais gathered her new babe to her breast as she dared to peek out into the street.
A man swore and she ducked quickly back into the shadows. The sight of fresh blood between the cobblestones outside her door made her own blood run cold. She watched in horror as her older neighbor came out to investigate. His violent dispatch before her very eyes stunned Arpais, despite all the horrors she had witnessed in this life.
When the knight responsible for the deed pivoted to turn his steely gaze upon her, Arpais’ heart fairly stopped. ’Twas impossible that he would strike her down while she clutched a child to her breast but still she did not dare to breathe lest she provoke him.
The knight stepped closer, raising his stained blade with purpose, and Arpais knew her hope was a futile one. She spun in terror, hearing the knight shout behind her, and ran down the street.
Her daughter began to cry and she hugged the babe tighter, angry tears blurring her vision as she darted through the congested streets. Suddenly, she tripped over a bloody corpse and fell to her knees. She put out a hand and found a warm body. She was horrified to find a glassy stare so close to her own, and she stumbled to her feet once more.
There was no safety here, for the evidence lay before her on the cobblestones of every street and alley. ’Twas a wholesale slaughter. Arpais felt numb as she recognized yet another dead neighbor bleeding at her feet. Her bile rose and she ducked down an alley, desperately trying to think. She could not even look upon the dead for fear of seeing yet another whose laugh she knew and had heard of late.
She was alone, not safe, and she silently cursed the men who had left her in this position. First, her father had returned to the East, then Robert had shown the poor judgment to die and leave her alone in his homeland with their child. A pox on both of them and their grand pl
ans. Arpais clutched the swaddled child closer, knowing that somehow, in some way, she had to ensure her daughter’s survival.
She stumbled over another corpse that was still warm and feared that it might be too much to hope for her own survival.
Her father’s plan for launching a new royal bloodline was forgotten. This was her babe, beyond any lofty political aims, and Arpais would do anything to see her offspring safe. She had to find the child a haven.
The Pereille clan, she thought suddenly, wondering why the obvious solution had eluded her so long. If she could reach Montsalvat, they could offer her child a sanctuary. Arpais spared a quick glance for the distant peak where she knew the fortress loomed, refusing to be daunted by the distance. Alzeu and Iolande would see to her daughter: indeed they owed her no less for the pledges that stood between Alzeu and Robert. Arpais had only to reach the fortress to see her beloved babe safe.
Somehow she must reach Montsalvat.
Filled with determination, Arpais burst into the town square. She looked up from the sickening carnage, the very stillness of one knight standing alone drawing her gaze. He stood alone, his sword yet in its sheath, surveying the carnage. He looked puzzled, perhaps astonished at the chaos surrounding him, and that alone was enough to give her hope. Intuitively, she knew that one way or another, she would persuade him to help her.
To help her child.
Indeed, she had little choice.
Guibert stood motionless amongst the melée, his gaze following the familiar and jagged outline of the hills beyond the town walls. His thoughts were filled with memories of his childhood spent nearby. He could just close his eyes and the years would fall away, peaceful memories crowding out the wanton destruction surrounding him.
It was an abomination to find such destruction in this place.
The sun-baked dirt, the smell of the familiar bracken, the brilliant hue of the sky all recalled the seemingly endless days of his youth. Guibert de Perpignan found himself wondering how far he stood now from his grandfather’s old stone villa. It had been decades since he had set foot in this area, years since he had heard his sister’s mischievous giggle. He could not recall when, if ever, he had previously felt such a keen sense of solitude in his mercenary life.
Perhaps he grew too old for his trade.
He felt an urge to abandon this battle and seek out his kin.
The sounds of battle rose around him, the cries of the dying, the rhythmic thump of falling blades finding their mark. Guibert surveyed the town now cast into disarray with horror. Although normally amongst the first to the fray, he found himself reluctant to participate in what had become his daily task. He was uncertain for the first time of the “justice” he and the other crusaders meted out when he thought of his sister and her proximity to this carnage.
She should have children by now, he realized, wondering where his sister now made her home. Could she have fallen prey to an attack of this kind? To this one on this day? Could he be so close to home and yet be denied a sweet reunion by the very business that brought him home? The very thought turned his battle-weary heart to ice.
Deaf to the victorious cries of his companions, his gaze was drawn again to the ragged peaks jutting toward the sky outside the town walls. Guibert recalled a tale of his grandfather’s, easily recalling the bright-eyed old man huddled before a raging fire on the hearth. He could see those bushy white brows catching the firelight as the older man talked, his three young grandchildren silent with wonder as they hung on his every word. Guibert had been the most keen of all.
His had been tales of the return of the rightful king to the throne, stories of the king who would come from these very hills and restore his divine bloodline to the regal seat. Guibert remembered them all. He looked about himself wondering whether the ancient legend had anything to do with the purge of this province ordered by the church.
Perhaps it was his uncertainty that prompted the woman to trust him, but Guibert never knew the truth of it. No sooner had she appeared from nowhere and shoved the bundle of embroidered cloth into his arms than she was struck down, decapitated by a single blow. Her fingers twitched where they lay across his boot.
Guibert barely glanced up at the other knight’s victorious hoot. His attention was snared by the woman’s blankly-staring almond-shaped eyes. Such beauty. Such frailty. It seemed wrong that she was dead. He barely had the chance to shake his head in dismay before the bundle in his arms began to wail.
Chapter 1
Montsalvat—January 1243
“The timing is terrible,” Dagobert shared his opinion in a low tone that drew the attention of the others. As usual, his quiet words brought the raging argument to a halt.
When the small room fell silent, he met Eustache’s quizzical gaze, then some slight motion of Iolande’s drew his attention to her. His mother pursed her lips to suppress some biting comment and he saw that she had not yet had her say, in her own eyes at least.
Smothering a smile of mingled amusement and affection, he studied the third and last figure in the room. The older man stood by the door and was conspicuously uncomfortable. Ignoring the other two, Dagobert smiled genuinely and gestured to the chair opposite him.
“I would apologize for the rudeness of my house,” he said, beckoning to the older man.
A flush rose over his mother’s features at her realization that she had slighted a guest in her anger.
Appearing no more at ease than a moment past, the warrior cleared his throat. He glanced at Iolande and Eustache, then stepped forward and perched on the offered seat.
Guibert, he had called himself.
“You must understand that this is an issue of much concern here,” Dagobert added by way of explanation, watching the man relax slowly. He must have been tired by the climb. “We are not usually so remiss in our treatment of guests.”
Guibert nodded, apparently reassured, but when he might have spoken, words spilled forth from Iolande instead.
“Neither are we remiss in fulfilling our pledges.” She spoke sharply to her son. “And the honoring of this one is long overdue.”
“We can afford no distraction at this late date,” Eustache said, leaning his fists on the table and bending toward Dagobert to make his point. “Even as we argue this issue, the forces of the crown are advancing upon us.”
“The blood is of utmost importance! Surely even an addle-pated warrior can see the truth in this,” Iolande insisted.
Dagobert held up one hand at the sight of the argument erupting before his eyes once again. His mother fell silent, her expression mutinous.
“I must confess that I am most confused,” Guibert admitted into the terse silence that followed.
Indeed, they had done precious little to make the matter clear to him. Eustache and Iolande had simply argued between themselves, ignoring the fact that Guibert’s agreement to any scheme was key.
Iolande looked to be embarrassed for having lost control of her tongue before a guest. Finally. For his part, Eustache had folded his arms across his chest in annoyance, the stubborn set of his lips telling Dagobert that he would not utter a sound until addressed. If the two did manage to remain silent for a few moments, perhaps this matter could be resolved, after all.
“As indeed you must be, sir,” Dagobert said. “At issue is my marriage to your foster daughter.”
Guibert nodded that he had understood that much at least.
Dagobert indicated Eustache. “From my companion knight’s description, my mother has no doubt that she is the maiden who was betrothed to me at her birth.”
“She strongly resembles the woman who entrusted her care to me,” Guibert confirmed. “Though she did not tell me her name.”
Dagobert nodded. “And the woman...?” he began, a question in his tone, but the older man shook his head sadly.
“Dead long past,” Guibert said flatly. His mouth pulled into a grimace as if some grisly sight were before his eyes once again. “She gave me the babe, but had n
ot the time to utter a single word before she was struck down.”
Iolande expelled a shaky breath and Dagobert knew that she had been hoping for better tidings. But truly, the fact that there had been no word from Arpais in twenty years hinted that she no longer drew breath. He could not blame his mother for hoping, though.
“There is no question that Eustache speaks the truth,” he said, addressing his concerns to her in an effort to divert her. “’Tis an unholy time to make this match.”
Iolande blinked several times in rapid succession, amazing her son that her usually tightly controlled emotions were so openly displayed. She took a deep breath before fixing her gaze on him once more.
“You know that as matters stand, the line would die with you,” she whispered. Dagobert watched as tears rose again in her blue eyes. “Should Eustache be right...” Iolande valiantly tried to continue, but fell silent with a choke.
Dagobert frowned down at his folded hands. Should they be attacked, the king would ensure that Dagobert was amongst those who lay dead when all was said and done. It would be the most effective way to eliminate the threat posed by his lineage. A chill passed over his heart and he appreciated his mother’s concern.
He would not assume defeat to be inevitable, though.
“’Twould not have been your father’s desire to see his line end thus,” Iolande said, her voice uneven. Even in her distress, she would remind him of his duty. “And you know that ’twas this match he wanted for you.”
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