Stolen Brides: Four Beauty-and-the-Beast Medieval Romances

by Claire Delacroix

  The room was warm and lit by oil lanterns. The air was filled with the laughter of men and the smell of roasted meat. There were trestle tables set up and a fire blazing at the far end of the hall, dogs underfoot and ale being poured into crockery cups. Kira kept her head bowed and followed Florine to a table near the kitchen, ignoring the comments of the men as they passed. She did not understand the words but she guessed the intention, and she hoped with all her heart that Eustache’s plan would bring Thierry back to her soon.

  When they put a bowl of stew before her with a spoon, Kira hesitated only for a moment before she ate. The best choice she could make would be to remain strong and healthy, whether Thierry returned to her or nay.

  Chapter 14

  Thierry had never been so cold in his life. He had slept on plains beneath the stars and even in the snow. He had been without fuel for a fire on a winter night. He had been miles from a welcoming yurt when a storm rose suddenly.

  But he had never been so chilled as he was that night, waiting for Eustache beneath the third bridge. Being wet made the difference. Indeed, he feared that he might freeze before the other man arrived.

  He stamped his feet and he paced. He swung his arms and he reminded himself that it was far far colder on the steppes than under the bridge. He blew on his fingers and jumped up and down.

  All the same, his teeth were chattering when he heard the hoof beats of a horse, the sound so loud that he thought it might lead to his discovery. Thierry was startled when he heard a whistle, a three-note whistle his father used to make. He had almost forgotten that, but he whistled back, hoping it had been Eustache—and fearing too late that it was not.

  That man appeared at the far side of the bridge, leading a destrier and a palfrey behind him as if taking them down to the river to drink.

  “All of it—off,” he whispered with urgency, gesturing to Thierry’s wet garments. “It must be burned.” Thierry undressed with haste and stifled a sneeze. Eustache gave him a heavy cloak, encouraging him to rub himself dry. The older man lifted a knife then, and Thierry almost struck down his hand before Eustache’s eyes flashed.

  “It must be done,” he said through gritted teeth and sliced off Thierry’s braid. He walked around the younger man then, cutting his hair shorter in an approximation of the style favored by knights as Thierry rubbed feeling back into his arms and legs.

  “You must shave clean every day,” he instructed. “And get yourself a bath when you can.” He opened the pack he was carrying and tossed Thierry a chemise and a pair of chausses. “You need to buy new boots, for those look foreign,” he instructed, then chided himself. “Why did I not think of that?”

  “You thought of a great deal.”

  “Your father was the king’s captive once. I recalled that incident and planned to prevent its recurrence.” Eustache frowned. “There is coin in the purse here which I hope is sufficient. In the meantime, keep the boots dirty.”

  Thierry donned the clothes as quickly as they were offered, wanting only to be warm.

  To his surprise, Eustache had brought him a mail hauberk. His reaction must have shown, even in the shadows, for the older man smiled. “You have need of a disguise, boy.”

  It had been a while since anyone had called Thierry boy, but it sounded affectionate—and Eustache’s aid was as welcome as his experience. Thierry let the welcome weight of the mail settle over his shoulders.

  “And it does not fit me so well as once it did,” Eustache continued, patting his belly—he did not have a paunch, but neither was he as trim as a younger man might be. He offered a tabard of deep blue, devoid of insignia. “Be a bastard, trained by your father but not claimed by him.”

  Thierry nodded. “And my name?”

  “The first is fine; the latter less so.”

  Thierry bristled. “I cannot sacrifice two names in a single day...”

  “Indulge me,” Eustache said, interrupting him. “I would serve your father by defending you, but if you defy me and reveal yourself so foolishly again, it will not be possible for me to save you again. The once must serve.” He took a deep breath and surveyed a chastened Thierry. “Surely you could be de Havre for a short time without undue suffering.”

  “Less suffering than death,” Thierry acknowledged and the older man smiled.

  “There is the practical thinking I expected of you.” He gave Thierry a belt, then two scabbards, one with a dagger and one with a sword.

  “I would keep my knife and my bow.”

  Eustache grimaced as he considered it. “Not the quiver,” he ceded and Thierry saw how foreign it appeared. “And hide the others in the pack until we meet again.” He met Thierry’s gaze. “Nothing about you must snare the eye. Nothing should remind any soul that a Mongol who poses a threat to the king has disappeared.”

  Thierry nodded understanding. Kira had the pouch, which looked just as foreign. Surely she would not discard it without looking within it? He had told her she would need its contents.

  He wished he had given her the aljofar outright and hoped she did not inadvertently give it away or lose it. If she saw the gem, she would immediately know its value, but he feared in that moment that the purse might be taken from her to be burned and the gem might be lost.

  “Kira,” he began but Eustache gestured him to silence.

  “She is fine and will be well,” he said with impatience. “Did I not give you my pledge?”

  Hoof beats approached the bridge and he lifted up a finger, then touched it to his lips. Thierry held his breath as the horse trotted across the bridge. It sounded as if it pulled a wagon, for the wheels creaked.

  Eustache listened with eyes narrowed long after the horse and wagon had to be gone. The ears flicked on the horses he had brought, but neither of them made a sound.

  Then Eustache bent to draw in the sand, his voice a low whisper that Thierry had to strain to hear. Thierry had to bend down to discern the lines in the shadows and learned more from the motion of Eustache’s hand. “We are here, and this is the Seine. Here lies the heart of Paris. If you ride south from here, so, you can pass Paris on the west side and so continue to St. Arnoult, where you can take the road to Orléans. Ride south and past Orléans, onward to Vierzon—not to Poitiers—and thence to Châteauroux.”

  “Châteauroux,” Thierry repeated, committing the name to memory.

  “There is a monastery at Déols, but continue to a small inn in the town of Châteauroux. There is only one. I will meet you there in two weeks, when the moon is full again. You will arrive late, with only your steed.” He gestured to the saddled destrier, which seemed to be listening to the instructions as avidly as Thierry. “And you will offer your service to me, as if we are strangers. I will accept. We will dine together and if you please me well, I will offer you a woman for your pleasure.” Eustache smiled. “I believe you might favor a small one who rides in my company.”

  “She is my woman,” Thierry said. “Do not let me hear that she has been shared with another...”

  Eustache’s glance was bright. “Is she your wife?”

  “She is my woman,” Thierry repeated but Eustache frowned and shook his head.

  “’Tis not the same and you must know as much. But there is no time this night to argue. The merit of marriage and the obligation of the son of the vine will have to wait.”

  Someone approached the bridge on the far side and both men froze, listening. “Two weeks,” Eustache mouthed, holding up his fingers as he met Thierry’s gaze.

  Thierry nodded, knowing any warning about the aljofar or message to Kira would also have to wait.

  Eustache pivoted, handing Thierry the reins of the destrier before he led the palfrey to higher ground. “Come along, old girl,” he said to the horse, sounding much more feeble than moments before. “You have had your drink and I will have my bed. But then I have had my drink, as well.” He laughed at his own jest, then greeted whoever crossed the bridge.

  They both sounded as if they had over-i
ndulged in ale, but Thierry knew that Eustache was as sober as he. The destrier’s ears flicked as the bridge creaked overhead, but Thierry stroked its nose, ensuring it remained quiet even when the palfrey nickered.

  When the sounds had faded to silence, he ran his boot through Eustache’s map, obliterating it, then stepped cautiously from beneath the bridge.

  There was no one within sight. Not so much as a candle burned in his vicinity. There was no sound of footfalls or voices. The night was dark, for the moon was new.

  He had two weeks to reach Châteauroux.

  Two weeks to find new boots.

  Two weeks without Kira. That last sent a pang through him and he acknowledged that he feared losing more than the aljofar.

  Thierry led the horse to the road and hoped again that Eustache was worth trusting.

  Kira slept on a pallet in the hall between the two women, though she suspected that Florine did not sleep. She turned her back upon Florine, keeping Thierry’s dagger close at hand and noted that the other woman had her back turned to Kira. She carefully opened the purse Florine had given her.

  How much coin did Thierry possess? Kira needed to know.

  Only a few lanterns yet burned, but there was sufficient light to see a little. Kira poured out the coins and grimaced at the sight. They were few, of various currencies, but their denominations were low. There was not sufficient to pay for their return to the East. She doubted they could even have reached Genoa again with so few coins.

  What had been Thierry’s plan?

  There was a small silken bag, as well. She had felt it before, but did not know its contents. ’Twas too light to contain more coin and its contents were not bulky enough. With a frown, Kira spilled the contents out into her palm and caught her breath at the sight.

  A fat misshapen pearl gleamed against her skin. It had a simple gold setting and hung from a gold chain.

  ’Twas an aljofar. Kira would have known the token anywhere but still she blinked and stared.

  Thierry had an aljofar.

  Why did he possess this traditional gift for a bride? The very fact that ’twas hidden away hinted that ’twas not meant for her. Had he wedded before? Was he wedded still? Did he mean to wed another? Did he have a betrothed?

  Would Thierry not have offered the token to her already if he had meant her to have the gem?

  Had he given his purse to her for her to guard its contents, or to ensure that she had the aljofar?

  Nay, if ’twas a gift for her, Thierry would have offered it outright.

  And he had not.

  Was it stolen from tribute offered to the khan? Was it merely Thierry’s share of some tribute? Or had he bought it himself? If he had purchased it, he had a plan for it. Kira knew him sufficiently well to understand that.

  Why was it the only treasure he possessed? If it had been his share of something, he should have had more riches—although he might have spent them all in this ride to Paris.

  In her heart, she feared that he had bought the aljofar for his bride.

  Kira’s hand shook as she dumped both the pearl and its chain back into the small sack, then secured that within the larger purse. Thierry had made no promise to her. She reminded herself of that. Had the Persian woman not made it clear that these Mongols took many wives and did not hold any one above the others? Had she not been warned?

  Aye, she had been warned, and she knew the bitter promise of love, but still...but still, she yearned to be Thierry’s wife and partner in every way. She loved him and she had been fool enough to hope he might come to love her.

  Of one detail, Kira was certain. The gem had traveled with them, at least from Constantinople. She had seen that the pearls in the markets in this land were poor specimens, and this aljofar was magnificent. It was big with a fine luster and she wondered at its value.

  She pulled it out again and slipped it into her mouth, closing her eyes at the sweet taste of it. Of course, he had an aljofar from Oman. Of course, he had one of remarkable value. Had she taught him the value of what he already held, or had he bought it, armed with what she had told him of pearls? ’Twas bitter indeed to think that she might have helped him choose a token of his esteem for another woman.

  Kira knew she would never wear an aljofar, even as a token of another man’s regard, after bearing a child out of wedlock. There would be no doubt that she was no longer innocent, much less chaste.

  If Thierry meant to make his life with another woman, where would Kira go?

  What would she do?

  She had no coin or riches. She had no skills.

  The aljofar had value.

  The traitorous notion of selling it held a certain appeal, though Kira could not so betray Thierry. If the woman had lain beside her, she might have done so, but until she knew for certain that was his scheme, she could not condemn him.

  Even if he did mean to give the gem to another, she had no right to sell it. Thierry had parted with hard-earned coin to acquire a worthy gift for his bride. The aljofar was not hers to take, one way or the other. Kira had made the mistake of conceiving, and she feared she would have to bear the burden of her error alone.

  For as long as she could, she would keep Eustache’s protection and hope for Thierry’s return. She would care for the child growing within her, eating when she could and sleeping as well as she could, and hope for the best.

  If and when Thierry returned, Kira would demand the truth about the aljofar. The very idea stole her breath away, that she would confront and challenge a warrior so much more powerful than she, but she knew Thierry would not injure her as her father had done. He might cast her out, but he would not strike her.

  She clutched his sheathed dagger and the purse, feeling that was meager comfort indeed.

  Two weeks seemed an eternity to Thierry.

  He had feared at first that there was too much territory to cover at leisure, but soon discovered Eustache had granted him more than ample time to reach their meeting point. He had to hold back the horse, which was young and vigorous and yearned to run. He meandered through towns and markets, lingered at inns, bought new boots after deliberating overlong about his choices, visited more than one smith about the steed’s shoes—which were fine—had two armorers sharpen his blades—which were sharp—and skipped stones on the river when he could think of no other occupation. He learned all the roads en route to his destination, taking one and then doubling back to try another, wasting time.

  Mostly, Thierry worried. He feared that Eustache would not be able to obtain Nogai’s freedom, that Eustache himself might be deemed disloyal by the king and join Nogai in captivity. He feared that Kira would be obliged to service the desires of other men in Eustache’s absence, and generally, that all he knew would be lost and this solitude would endure forever. He hated the impotence of his situation and wished that he had never come west—yet at the same time, he was glad to have left the east behind him. He could not regret seeing the land of his birth, much less loving it so very much.

  He knelt in more than one church and prayed for all to come right, even though he had never been given to prayer. Lacking the ability to repair his own situation, he appealed to the divine. He was not surprised to receive no reply.

  He regretted the harsh words he had exchanged with his father and missed that man’s steady counsel. He hoped he might see his parents again one day, though he could not fathom how that might be. He was lonely without Nogai and would even have welcomed the opportunity to play cards with his anda.

  He thought incessantly of Kira. He feared she was cold or hungry. He feared that she might not understand all that passed around her, and wished he had taught her more Frankish instead of limiting her daily word count. He wished he had taught her to use that knife. He wished for the opportunity to confide so many details in her, to hear her laughter again, to watch strangers be charmed by her smile. His life felt barren without her by his side.

  He loved her. ’Twas simple and yet complex. He had no means to
see them housed or clothed or fed. He had no home, for even his yurt was lost behind them. He had no possessions that were his own, save his share of the seven ponies and his bow. He could offer her only himself, if indeed he had the chance to offer her anything at all.

  He wished he had given her the aljofar, to wear as a mark of his love, and he hoped fervently that the gem had not been lost.

  As bidden by Eustache and driven by his love for Kira, Thierry considered the future, his dreams and his goals. Although he had been threatened before, the king’s reaction to his birthmark made him realize his good fortune. He was not ready to die, and that was due to Kira, as well. He wanted to have more time with her. He realized that he would never have been happy as khan, for there was no security in such a post. There always would have been contenders vying for authority. There always would be violence and bloodshed, and the need to watch one’s own back. That was no way to shelter Kira.

  Similarly, he had no lust for the palace of this king with its walls and stone ceilings, its endless corridors and ranks of knights who might or might not be trustworthy. He admired the king’s wealth but did not desire it, not at that price. Thierry’s birthright might be vast, but his wishes were simple. He wished for a place where he could live honorably and labor honestly, a place where he could see the sky and feel the wind, a place where he felt unfettered yet safe. Most importantly, he wanted Kira to join him in making that abode a home. He wondered who their children would favor, if they were blessed with children, and that made him smile.

  He loved Kira, which both tempered his ambition and made him want every treasure so he could offer it to her. He wanted her to be happy, which meant that her desires might well shape his own. He liked how they had traveled together, how right it had felt to solve issues together, and knew they would make a fine match.

  By the time he rode into Châteauroux, two weeks after Eustache had left him beneath the bridge, what Thierry wanted was to talk to Kira and learn her hopes for the future.