“Then I would suggest you keep those thoughts to yourself,” Alienor retorted, her chin rising. This rogue would not drive her from her own board! She took her place with determination. Giselle spared her a smile and darted away to the kitchens, apparently intent on ensuring that her mistress’s time in the hall was as short as possible.
“Ah, my lady, my heart demands to be heard,” Jordan said.
Alienor flicked him a look, not troubling to disguise her dislike. How dare he take it upon himself to embarrass her in her husband’s home? She met his gaze and was not surprised to find lucidity in his brown eyes.
Again, he pretended to be besotted when he was not. What game did this knight play?
She should have held her tongue, for rogue or not, Jordan was a guest, but on this night, Alienor could not.
“What manner of man would feign drunkenness where he is a guest?” she demanded. “What man of merit would so imbibe, and truly, what is the measure of a guest who addresses his noble hostess as if she were a tavern whore?” A quick glance to the knight confirmed that she had completely taken him by surprise. A curious silence fell over the hall, the other knights watching with avid interest.
Jordan straightened before he responded. “Whatever do you mean, my lady?” he asked, his eyes narrowing in assessment.
Alienor was reminded of a cat about to spring on an unsuspecting mouse. Undaunted, she lifted her chin and stared him down.
“I call you a fraud, Chevalier Jordan,” she confirmed, and the hall grew even more quiet.
“Surely you jest,” Jordan countered. His insinuation that she should retract her words in her husband’s hall about this guest’s poor manners took Alienor to her feet.
“If any jest, ’tis surely you,” she retorted. “For any fool can see that you are not in the least drunk. And this is not your only deception, for truly no census could take so long as you have tarried here.”
Jordan leapt to his own feet, striding across the floor to Alienor with alarming speed. “Do you call me a liar?” he demanded, halting but a step before her.
The company gasped but Alienor held his gaze unflinchingly.
“Aye, I do.” She spoke clearly and saw fury flare in his gaze. “And further, I would know your purpose.”
Jordan leaned across the board, dropping his voice to a whisper. “As I would know yours, my lady,” he replied, the drop in his tone ensuring that none could overhear.
Alienor leaned away from him, wondering whether she had made a wise choice in confronting this man when she was alone. “My purpose? I am but my lord’s wife and his interests are my own.”
Jordan, to her astonishment, spat in the rushes. “Do you take me for a fool, my lady?” There was a shadow upon his handsome features, which made him look both dangerous and unpredictable. “What man with his wits about him would believe you are wed to a goat? And happily so, by all accounts.”
Alienor found that she had no ready reply.
Jordan continued, his tone scathing. “What evidence is there of this fantastic change in your husband’s form save your own word, my lady? Or is it all a ruse? Who truly warms your bed each night? Which of the men in the keep come to you?” His eyes glittered and he leaned over the board again, his proximity filling Alienor with fear. He lifted a dark brow and whispered. “Or do they each take a turn, my lady?”
Alienor slapped his face with an abruptness that sent his head jerking hard to one side. He was undeterred though, even as the company gasped. Indeed, he grinned and continued as if she had not interrupted him, even as the reddened imprint of her hand appeared on his face.
“If so, my lady, I would take my own turn,” he whispered wickedly. “Perhaps this night?”
Alienor gasped in outrage. “Fiend!” she had time to whisper before she felt the arrival of another and Jordan stepped back from the board.
“My lady?”
’Twas Giselle.
Alienor turned to the maid with relief. “I apologize but I have decided that I would prefer to dine in the solar,” she said.
Giselle nodded, her gaze flying to the knight who still lingered before the high table.
“It seems that I am more tired this night than I had realized.”
“Aye, my lady. I shall meet you there, my lady.”
And Alienor left the hall, well aware of the tide of speculation passing through the company, as well as the assessing stare of one knight who surely lingered only to cause trouble for her lord husband.
If Dagobert would neither confide in her nor take her council, though, what could she do?
Dagobert stood staring down at his sleeping wife in the middle of the night. He wished he knew why she had been speaking with the king’s knight, no less what had passed between the two of them. The reports had been too vague, yet they were unsettling all the same. Why would she strike the king’s man? The last eventuality he needed was the scrutiny of the crown, much less trouble with the king. If only he could trust this woman; if only he could simply ask her the way of things and trust in her word.
He sighed and ran his fingers through his hair, wondering if they were ever destined to have the rapport he desired above all to have with his wife. Would there always be secrets and distrust? Or would his days be cut so short that naught else could evolve? How would his quest end? And how soon?
Dismissing his thoughts, Dagobert climbed into bed and pulled Alienor into his embrace. He smiled for the first time that day as she nestled against him with an incoherent murmur of welcome. Her warmth spread through him and he closed his eyes, savoring the delicate scent that rose from her skin and the sense of tranquility he felt in her company. Surely, he could trust in that? Surely he did not dare. She stirred no further and he did not have the heart to wake her. Holding her close was all he needed in what precious little remained of this night.
No matter what else happened in his day, it seemed that Alienor could draw the tension from him and give him ease to rest. She was the sole one who demanded naught of him; she was the sole one who gave to him instead of taking. Dagobert praised the day he had reluctantly taken her to his side. When he was in this bed with Alienor, it seemed absurd that Eustache suspected her of being the source of the betrayal within the house—but then, Eustache had never experienced the tranquility that Alienor shared with Dagobert. ’Twas in the quiet hours of the night that Dagobert had no doubt of his wife’s trustworthiness.
If only such conviction would not fade so readily before the harsh light of day.
His thumb drew rhythmic circles against the smoothness of her shoulder and he watched her closely, as if he would discern the very secrets of her heart. Dark lashes splayed against the smooth golden contour of her cheeks, and her rosy lips were even more full in sleep. Waves of dark hair fell over her bare shoulders in disarray and he slid his hand through the tresses, watching the ebony strands catch on his fingertips. He seized a fistful of the thick softness and lifted it to his nose, inhaling of his wife’s sweet scent.
Aye, he could lie like this forever.
Alienor sighed, her breath soft against his skin, and her hand eased across his chest in a slow caress. Dagobert smiled and tightened his arm around her shoulders, bending to brush a kiss across her forehead. Exhaustion rose within him and he surrendered to the temptation to sleep. He pulled Alienor yet closer into his embrace, knowing that he would not trade these moments for all the riches in Paris.
As the days passed, the winds of March that wailed around the keep grew steadily warmer and less insistent. New grass unfurled in the bailey and a few intrepid flowers dared to poke their heads from the chill of the earth.
Alienor’s stomach grew more steady. She missed the festivities of Bema and the celebration of the equinox that she had previously enjoyed with the Cathars in Perpignan. The spring equinox was not celebrated at Montsalvat and she was hardly in a position to encourage a change.
No one in the household had yet learned of her condition. Even Giselle remained ignora
nt of the soft curve of her mistress’s belly and Alienor could not help but wonder how long this fortunate condition could continue. Iolande commented one day in the solar that the spring had put roses in Alienor’s cheeks. Alienor’s hands had frozen over her work, certain her secret had been detected, until the other women laughingly agreed and talked of losing their own fairness of complexion thanks to the warm sunshine.
Iolande seemed preoccupied these days, as if concerned with matters in another sphere. Alienor wondered at the cause, though she knew Iolande was unlikely to confide in her. More than once she glanced up and found the older woman frowning down at her work as though she saw not what lay before her. Perhaps ’twas as much Iolande’s preoccupation as Alienor’s cleverness that kept Dagobert’s mother from learning of the babe.
Alaric seemed touched by the same reflective mood as Iolande. Alienor was disappointed to find him distant on those rare occasions when their paths did cross. She noted that he was apparently so occupied that the care of the unicorn was often entrusted to a young squire. Alaric himself was seldom to be seen around the hall or stables. Only Eustache seemed much as before, his assessing gaze darting from one face to another around the hall as if he sought some hidden piece of a greater puzzle.
And that Jordan. Still he lingered at Montsalvat and still his presence plagued Alienor. He was no gallant knight, despite his spurs, of that Alienor was certain. He consistently vowed he would show her the way of real men should she so much as crook a finger in his direction. ’Twas improper and disgusting and Alienor could only be amazed that no one seemed to have noticed his manner—or perhaps no one chose to take issue with it. Perhaps she was no better than a brood mare, even in her husband’s view. ’Twould be a fine change of events if she had a husband who would take issue with such insult, whether it be by night or day.
How she wished she could dismiss her sense of foreboding. Something was awry. Some peril drew near. But Alienor could neither name it nor halt its approach.
’Twas at the end of March that Alienor awoke one morning and discovered that Dagobert was not with her in either form. To her surprise, the chamber door was still locked. She rose hastily, that feeling of dread multiplying with speed.
A quick survey revealed that the unicorn was not hidden in the solar. The brightness of the morning sun fed her trepidation. With alarm, Alienor turned the lock and opened the heavy door, nearly colliding with Giselle in the darkened antechamber in her haste to find her husband.
“My lady, the floors are too cold for you to be barefoot.” Giselle began to scold as she attempted to usher her mistress back into the solar, but Alienor interrupted her abruptly.
“Where is my lord Dagobert?” she asked, and the maid fell silent in surprise.
“He is not within?” Giselle gestured to the open door.
Alienor shook her head quickly, her fear rising. ’Twas no good omen that Giselle had not seen the unicorn outside the room.
“Nay, he is not there and the door was locked when I awakened.” Alienor heard her voice rising. “Giselle, something has gone amiss. I know it in my heart.”
“My lady, certain I am that all is well.” The younger girl spoke with an authority that belied her years, but that that did not settle Alienor’s fears. “I would have you return to bed while I send someone to seek my lord and return him to you.”
“Nay, Giselle, I would know the truth of it, and I would know it now.” Alienor pushed past the girl into the corridor.
“Not without your pelisson, my lady!”
Alienor hastened to the stairs, and barely noticed the weight of the silk-lined garment settling over her shoulders. Her pulse picked up its pace as she reached the hall below. A quick survey of the common room was enough to convince her that the unicorn was not there. Alienor made for the stables.
“My lady, you have no shoes!” Giselle wailed, but her words fell on deaf ears.
Alienor had to learn the truth.
“My lady.” That firm voice caught Alienor’s attention. She halted before an obstacle, then looked up to meet the concern in Alaric’s eyes.
Truly she had missed him these last few weeks.
“What is amiss?” he asked softly and she was glad to see that he shared her concern, even without knowing its root.
“’Tis the unicorn,” she confessed. “Have you seen him this morn?”
“He is not in your chambers?” Alaric asked.
She shook her head, even as she realized he had not answered her directly.
“Nay, and the door was still locked.” the narrowing of Alaric’s gray eyes made her fear the worst. “He is not in the stables?”
“I thought not, but perhaps I was mistaken. Let us look again, my lady. I am certain he cannot be far.” With that, he took her hand within the warm breadth of his own as if she were but a child and led her toward the stables.
“I have a dreadful feeling,” she confessed quietly.
Alaric shot her a sharp look. “Do you have the sight, my lady?”
Alienor shook her head. “Never before, but this portent of trouble is most strong.”
“It seems most odd that he was gone.” Alaric said naught more but squeezed her fingers tightly in reassurance.
Alienor was glad of his company in this quest.
A cry of alarm rose from the smithy just as they gained the stables and Alienor’s mouth went dry with fear. She glanced up to see Alaric’s lips thin into a grim line, the expression making his visage more harsh and forbidding than she had ever seen it before. She shivered with foreboding and he must have felt the tremor, for his grip tightened on her hand and his gaze dropped to hers.
“Fear not, my lady,” he murmured, but she heard the lack of conviction in his tone and knew she was not alone in her trepidation.
’Twas in the smithy that they found the slaughtered unicorn.
Even fearing the worst could not have prepared Alienor for the scene and she could scarce look upon it. The profusion of blood, the smell of freshly killed meat, the senseless violence of the gentle creature’s death was all too much for her to bear. That the beast had been brutally killed and not the victim of some accident was obvious. Its head was fairly decapitated from its body, and the long slash that split its ribs left its innards spilling out onto the dirt floor of the smith’s shop.
Its single horn was missing, the place where it had been crudely hacked out of its skull still oozing blood. Had it been killed for the reputed healing powers of the horn? It seemed as though the killer would have them believe that was the only justification, but the sheer brutality of the killing spoke of hatred and murder.
When she spotted the silken cord and its golden rings lying amidst the bloodstained white fur, memories of her wedding day assaulted her. In that moment, Alienor fancied she could feel the smoothness of that silk cord beneath her fingers once again, and could feel the sunlight filtering through the stained-glass windows in the chapel with their enigmatic pictures. She recalled the warmth of the cord when it lay against her husband’s neck as he came to her in the night and the bile rose in her throat.
She did not care that she fell to her knees in the bailey and voided her stomach. She felt only the heat of her own tears scalding her cheeks and dismay in her heart. The reassuring strength of Alaric’s hands closed over her shoulders and she welcomed his support even in her despair. When her retching finally stopped, Alaric left her side. Alienor knew instinctively that he fetched the cord, but she had neither the strength nor the will to ask him for the token of her husband’s wedding ring.
She buried her face in her hands as she knelt on the new grass, uncaring of who saw her in this state. She would never know her husband’s gentle touch again. Without the premise of the unicorn and his change of form, Dagobert would truly disappear into hiding.
She was effectively a widow now, a widow who bore a babe. Too late Alienor regretted that she had not shared this news with Dagobert, knowing that the pregnancy would have pleased him. She co
uld not care any longer that the source of his pleasure might have been only in the continuation of his line.
She wanted only to think of his pleasure and joy.
Alienor did not hear the anger expressed by those around her. She was unaware of the watchful presence of the king’s knight Jordan. She was only dimly aware that ’twas Alaric who swept her up into his arms and carried her back to the solar.
“She must be told,” Dagobert insisted when he and Eustache finally were able to confer without the threat of being overheard.
“We cannot risk it,” Eustache replied, as resolute as ever. “Already the stakes have been raised and your claim must be suspected.”
“I would not see her in such distress.”
His companion shook his head. “You still do not see the import of this, for your wits are so fogged with desire for this woman.”
Dagobert flung out his hands in exasperation. “My wife thinks me dead! How can it be unkind to grant her relief...”
Eustache sprang toward him with an outstretched finger, silencing the younger man with a touch before he could continue. The knight’s voice dropped low and his gaze was intent. “Aye, that she does believe as much, and she has more sense than you for that.”
Dagobert was impatient with the notion, for his concern for Alienor filled his thoughts, but Eustache continued.
“The lady thinks you dead because someone has tried to kill you,” he said slowly. “Make no mistake, my friend. Someone is trying to force you out of hiding.”
Someone had tried to kill him.
The battle had already begun.
“I would still confide in her,” Dagobert spoke with quiet insistence.
“Aye, and you would regret the telling,” Eustache asserted. “We have had naught but trouble since you took this bride. I would not jeopardize what meager hope remains of our emerging alive from this quest.”
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